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writerpeach · 1 year

Text

Insatiable

IVE Yujin x m!reader

17k+ words

Part two of Overindulgent

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Read on AFF

You shouldn’t have slept in so late.

The sun’s been up for hours now, but you’ve tried your best to ignore it piercing through the curtains. It doesn’t help that you’re all wrapped up in sheets that don’t even belong to you—sheets that still smell like last night, that smell just like Yujin. You don’t even know what time it is, and if you were to check your phone right now, you’d see at least a dozen snoozed alarms. It’s late enough that you know you’ve already missed your first class, and if you don’t leave the sheets, you’ll miss your second. But you can’t be bothered to move a muscle when you’re so comfortable, so warm, so enveloped in Yujin’s warm embrace.

Sleeping the entire day away sounds like a great option, but you can feel Yujin stirring awake as evident from the gentle kiss she plants on your cheek. You don't want to wake up. The only thing you want is to fall back asleep and ignore everything.

It’s not like you’d miss anything important, but Yujin remains persistent, with soft lips peppering your neck and shoulder with kisses that are much too tender for you to resist.

"Yujin, it’s too early," you mumble, voice hoarse and heavy with exhaustion.

“It’s almost noon. Did I wear daddy out too much?” Yujin asks, with sleep still caught in her voice, and you can hear the way she’s smiling without even looking at her beautiful face.

“Noon is still early. Let me sleep.”

Your request falls on deaf ears, because Yujin continues her assault of affection and you can feel her arms pulling you closer to her warm body. You try to suppress the groan that bubbles up in your throat when her lips find that one spot behind your ear, that one spot that has the best chance of waking you up and getting you going.

"What do I get in return?" she teases, and you can hear her cute giggles.

“Nothing,” you reply, without missing a beat.

"Not even a kiss?"

"No."

"That's not fair, daddy,” Yujin whines and squeezes you tighter, burying her head into your neck to inhale your scent before kissing your skin all over again. You want to protest again, but those lips are doing wonders against your body and she's doing everything she can to get you to wake up.

Yujin is relentless, but just like her younger roommate Wonyoung, always ends up getting what she wants, anyway. So you give in, grumpier than ever, and roll over to face her, putting down all your barriers. “One kiss.”

She doesn’t say anything else. Yujin just grins, leans forward to seal your lips with hers, then kisses your cheek, your forehead, and the tip of your nose.

“I said one—“

“That was one kiss. One kiss on each part of daddy’s cute face.”

You want to roll your eyes at her, but Yujin’s so goddamn adorable this early in the morning, like waking up to a puppy staring at you, that you can’t possibly stay annoyed for long.

“Fine. I‘ll get up.” It doesn't take much to convince you when it's her, so reluctantly you get out of bed with Yujin attached to your arm, rubbing your sore muscles with a gentle touch. You’re still in her bedroom, so it doesn’t take long for you to spot the pile of discarded clothes scattered across the floor, but you only bother to grab your shirt, since you’ve slept in your boxers, and pull it over your head, just enough to make yourself look presentable.

Yujin giggles behind you, and you give a still sleepy glance at her over your shoulder, watching the pretty smile on her face extend in a way that brings you out of your sleep-fueled daze. She kisses your neck one last time, then disappears inside her giant closet, re-emerging in a tank top and the shortest booty shorts you've ever seen on her. Yujin's never had much of a problem of showing herself off, which is a blessing because that sculpted body of hers is something else.

“Stop staring, daddy,” she playfully says, but you know she loves the attention, and she could have picked any other outfit than something that leaves so little to the imagination.

“You wanted me awake, now I’m awake.” You don’t even try to hide the way your eyes wander her body, how her top barely covers up her midriff, and how those black shorts ride up and hug the soft flesh of her cheeks so well. There’s nothing sexier than Yujin’s confidence, which fuels your gaze that continues to be shameless, mapping out the curves of her body, and you can’t look away for a second, not when Yujin puts herself on display like this.

“I’ll go make some coffee, daddy.”

Yujin spins on her heels and gives you an even better view of that plump backside that practically swallows up the tiny shorts that serve to highlight the fullness of her thighs. Her tight butt bounces with every step, and it’s downright mesmerizing as she makes her way downstairs towards the kitchen. You're following right behind, eyes glued to Yujin’s delicious body, to the way those wide hips sway—and it’s way too early to be drooling over her like this, but you can’t help it.

When you take a seat at the kitchen island, Yujin pulls out two coffee mugs out from the cabinet and starts the process of grinding the coffee beans. Before you met her, you survived off the cheap stuff from the cafeteria, because you don’t know the first thing about making coffee (it tasted horrendous but got the job done). Still, watching the way Yujin goes through the routine, it’s all very meticulous and fascinating at the same time, how effortlessly it all seems when she’s filled the room with the rich scent of fresh coffee. After only a few minutes, the entire process is done, and Yujin is expertly pouring brewed coffee into your mug from a French press, like she’s been doing this her whole life. It feels so domestic, and it’s a wonderful start to the day.

“Here you go, daddy." Yujin places the warm mug in front of you, then puts a couple sugar cubes in it to add just a little sweetness, stirring it with a smile. She knows your tastes perfectly by now, and even though you’re always teased for how you take your coffee, you’d drink it black if you had to, just because she’s the one to make it.

The first sip is like heaven, but you don’t expect anything less, and it has you closing your eyes, leaning back in your chair with a deep sigh of appreciation.

“Thank you,” you say, taking another sip of the rich beverage as Yujin settles herself right beside you. “It’s delicious.”

Yujin doesn’t even bother to sip from her own mug, instead basking in the steam’s aroma, and she’s more interested in watching you drink, watching the enjoyment in your eyes after every sip. You drink your coffee with the littlest of sips, both to savor the taste, and to not burn your tongue while you cradle your mug, waiting for it to become a more acceptable temperature.

"You know what would be even more delicious?" Yujin asks, nuzzling her face into your neck, and you’re almost scared to answer her, because you already know where this is going.

“No, I don’t,” you say with much hesitation. “What?” The last word rolls off your tongue with feigned ignorance, but you already know what Yujin is about to say as you take another sip.

“Breakfast. Do you want some breakfast, daddy?”

While it might be worded like one, you know it’s not an innocent question.

Waiting for her to drop the pretense, the grip on your mug tightens at Yujin’s words. Before you can bother responding, Yujin steals your mug and moves it away from the edge of the counter, hopping up to take its place on the island herself.

“I’ve got something daddy loves to eat,” Yujin purrs, with a smirk that tugs on the corners of her lips. Her thighs spread apart on the counter, those ridiculous long legs dangling off the island, and those shorts look so thin without any underwear underneath that you can clearly make out the outline of her cunt.

“I’ve barely started drinking my coffee,” you say with false annoyance, as you try not to salivate, yet all you can do is envision yourself in between those thick thighs, squeezing your head enough to deprive you of air.

“But don’t I taste better?” Yujin tries to entice you by rubbing her inner thighs, trying to lure you towards what she has planned. For now, you resist, remaining calm in your chair, sipping on your coffee and doing everything to deny Yujin’s seductive advances.

Ignoring her question is the only real option here, even while she’s tantalizing you with those legs spread so obscenely wide, it’s impossible not to stare. You’ll fold eventually, but you have to pretend that you have the upper hand. Yujin knows you too well by now, knows what works and what doesn’t, so she tries another approach, knowing you can’t stop staring at those alluring legs that activate all the right spots in your brain.

During your next sip, you feel Yujin’s feet caressing your crotch through your boxers, while her toes flex around your hardening shaft that causes you to nearly choke on your coffee. Yujin knows how to apply the right amount of friction to get your full attention, and the moment those gorgeous soles are teasing your growing cock, you’ve lost all interest in your coffee.

Yujin doesn’t say a word. She just playfully wiggles her toes around your length, squeezing it a little harder, adding just a little more friction. It takes a moment to compose yourself, gripping the edge of the chair tight and taking a deep breath, knowing you can’t do anything but succumb to her teasing feet that press into the bulge against your boxers.

She knows she has you now. Yujin knows she has you wrapped around her little finger, that you’ll worship every part of her, from head to toe, and then you’ll do it all over again.

If you’re not careful, Yujin’s going to make you explode, but that’s not exactly your choice to make.

“If daddy doesn’t wanna have me for breakfast, then I guess I’ll just have to keep playing with your cock like this. But I’m not gonna make you cum. Not gonna let you get even close, not until you taste me.”

It’s amazing how her words are both bratty and commanding at the same time. You know Yujin isn’t going to stop rubbing those pretty little toes all over your cock until you’re crumbling beneath her, because she’s only interested in what she wants—and what she wants is watching you squirm.

This is only the start. It's only going to get worse and worse, and you’re already trying so hard not to moan, trying hard not to stain your boxers. Resisting is all so pointless, so futile, because Yujin has this chapter written, and you’re just hoping it doesn’t end with a cliffhanger.

“You want more of this, don’t you? I know how much daddy wants me. Wanna feel my toes in your mouth so bad, don’t you? Or do you wanna rip these shorts off me and take me right here?”

It’s frustrating how good Yujin is at teasing you, how she always has the upper hand, and knows that in her presence, you’ll never say no to her. Your defenses break down bit by bit, and even through the thin material of your underwear, the pressure on your aching cock becomes too much to bear. You’re falling apart at the seams, and there’s no way to stop the thread from unraveling.

In the end, all that resistance was just an illusion, and you cave in, because of course you do. You’re dying to get your hands on Yujin, to taste every part of her, to rip those clothes off that she just put on. Yujin knows you better than you know yourself. And you don’t care how weak it makes you, because you’re hungry, you’re famished, not for breakfast, but for Yujin herself.

Ever so slowly, you lift one of those pretty feet from your crotch, bringing it to your mouth, and plant gentle kisses all over the soft sole of her foot, from her heel, to the middle of her high arch, then every one of her toes gets attention, from the big toe, all the way down to her small toe, and nothing gets left out. Yujin giggles with each kiss, while you give her what she wants, and she loves this part—she loves getting pampered by you, loves watching you worship her feet, especially when she has your undivided attention.

So as you pepper kisses along the length of her lengthy sole, Yujin keeps her other foot wrapped around your shaft, still massaging your needy cock through your boxers, and it’s obvious how much you needed this.

"You’re so hard," Yujin murmurs, her toes curling around your swelling tip, and bites her bottom lip in anticipation as you lick along her foot, your hungry, wet tongue, painting stripes along the bottom of her pretty sole. You trace her delicate foot from heel up to her toes, savoring the taste, and pressing your face against it before taking a deep inhale.

“God, Yujin,” you desperately groan, and you can smell her distinct scent even with your eyes closed. “Every part of you is just perfect.”

It's sweet, like vanilla, with a little hint of musk from sweat that you lick up, the salty flavor adding to your desire to worship Yujin. You continue your devotion to those priceless feet, switching from left to right, and running your tongue over Yujin's cute toes, tasting them one by one. It’s such an indulgent, shameless act, but she looks so relaxed while you lick all over her perfect, smooth soles, toes curling when you suck on them between your lips, coating them with your saliva, and god—you could just do this for hours.

“That feels fantastic, daddy,” Yujin says, and stops teasing you just long enough to press both feet against your face, letting you have your fill, as she enjoys watching you kiss, lick, and worship them. Her soles rub all over your mouth and chin, the tip of her toes indulging your eager tongue before her feet part to let you lick them both clean, and then you’re taking as many of those toes into your mouth as will fit, moaning as you suck on them, until you’re completely lost in savoring every inch of perfection.

It's a sight to behold, and Yujin is enjoying every second of it.

And then you’re in for one more round of vigorous worship, slobbering on Yujin’s soles, slurping on her toes, getting to taste as much of her pristine feet as you can, before her toes slip from between your lips with a loud, messy pop. You’ve hardly had enough, pressing both soles to either side of your face, which makes her smile at the lewd look of bliss that takes over, as you take another deep whiff, completely intoxicated by her utterly divine feet that deserve every bit of attention.

It’s out of the realm of possibility to think straight when you have Yujin up on a pedestal, with that body just waiting to be devoured, and it’s not enough now that you’ve been serving at the church of Yujin for the past several moments, transformed into a ravenous animal, left with an uncomfortable erection in your boxers that she needs to take responsibility for—

You’re going to do just that when you get out of your chair, pulling Yujin’s body towards you so her ass sits right on the edge of the island, and yank her shorts down, taking a moment to appreciate her pretty, bare cunt. There’s a bit of surprise on her face when you take the initiative, but you’re not letting a single second go to waste before you’re kissing her thighs with the same fervor, rubbing your face into the soft, supple flesh, licking them, biting them, listening to how she gasps when you’re tasting her sensitive skin.

Your cock continues to throb with anticipation, and you can’t hold yourself back, because there’s a fire that’s been lit inside you.

Yujin bites her lip hard, stifling a whimper as she looks down to watch you bury your head in between her legs. You continue licking along her inner thighs, working your way up, but never going where she wants you to most. It’s a slow process, turning the tables and teasing Yujin, savoring the taste of her thighs while her gorgeous pussy glistens, begging for attention, clit throbbing in need of your tongue.

“Daddy, no more teasing,” she pleads, but you’re not going to listen, even while her hands guide your head, you’re intent on kissing her thighs, leaving behind little love bites that have her squirming on the kitchen counter. Yujin lets out an adorable, frustrated little whine, but you pay her no attention as you run your tongue along the soft flesh of her thigh, dangerously close to her pussy.

“Yujin, you’ve gotten me this fucking hard, so you’re going to wait,” you say, looking up to watch the reaction on her face every time you plant your lips on her soft skin.

“No, daddy, I can’t. I’m so fucking wet,” Yujin says with a breathless, needy whine, and she parts her folds with two fingers to give you a better look. “Need you to taste me, need your mouth on my cunt. Right now, daddy.”

You’re trying to keep it all up, keep whatever semblance of control you have, but Yujin keeps touching herself in front of you, letting you see how wet she is, how ready she is to take your cock. After all you’ve done, you falter, because you can’t wait either, and you’re just as zealous to feast on her cunt.

It’s embarrassing how you’re falling back on your words, but who could blame you when you’ve been treated to such a delicious-looking meal inches in front of your face? So without a second thought, you dive in, tongue first, finally pressing your mouth against Yujin’s needy little cunt, and she lets out a gasp of relief when you’re tasting her slit.

Her pussy is already soaking wet for you, and it only takes one more lick before Yujin’s a whimpering mess, clutching on to the end of the counter as you work your tongue inside her, gathering up her sweet juices that spill out to keep your tongue satiated.

“Daddy, fuck, don’t stop. Don’t stop, need you to eat my pussy,” Yujin says, and she’s torn between begging for more, and taking it, but the way she’s threading her fingers through your hair lets you know which route she’s about to take. Either way, you’re not about to stop lapping at her pussy when she takes control, pulls your face in deeper, and she’s guiding your head between her spread legs, urging you to lick every last inch of her.

It only gets better when those immaculate, supple thighs shut around your head, trapping you in place. And it doesn’t even matter that you can’t even breathe, because you don’t need air, not when you have Yujin to breathe in, and she keeps you right where she wants you. Her thighs feel soft and warm, so utterly divine that when they press against the sides of your face while you devour her, you’re in absolute nirvana.

Yujin’s taste is nothing but intoxicating, so dangerously sweet that you can’t help but drink up every drop that spills from her perfect cunt, and you’re going to eat her out like she deserves, like your entire purpose in life is to make her feel good. You’re a mere mortal in comparison, and you’ll keep devouring her pussy until she cums on your face as many times as she pleases, because that’s the least you can do for a goddess like her.

"Yujin, you taste so fucking good," you groan, burying your tongue in her silky folds. She lets out a little yelp when you drag your tongue up her slit, and suck her clit into your mouth, flicking the tip of your tongue across it. Yujin keeps tugging at your hair, desperate to force your tongue deeper inside, and she doesn’t care if she chokes you with her thighs—and you’ll welcome it.

Your mouth is so fucking wet, but you’re still insatiable for more, because your tongue just can’t get enough of Yujin’s juices, a thirst that will never be quenched. Yujin dictates every little move you make, from how fast your tongue moves inside her, to how often she lets you come up for air, which matters little when all you can breathe is her heavenly arousal. She keeps her thighs locked around your head, a position you never want to escape from, wanting to stay trapped in that suffocating warmth as you keep your lips locked around her clit, and you’ll eat Yujin out for eternity if she lets you.

"Fuck,” Yujin says, letting a single syllable of her satisfaction slip out between moans. “You’re so good, so good at that daddy. Need you to keep eating me like this. Need you to make me cum.”

You’ll listen to anything she demands at this point, even as she’s whining and whimpering, while you explore every bit of her soaked folds, sucking hard on her clit, and you’re long past addicted to every drop that fills your lips. This is all familiar, you’ve done this enough times that you can do in your sleep, so you know how to get Yujin to the finish line and then some—but you also know that Yujin’s satisfaction never comes after just one orgasm. You’re going to keep your tongue buried between Yujin’s thighs, going to keep sucking on her clit, and even if your jaw gets sore, you won’t stop, not until she’s begging you to.

It may not get to that point, when the moment Yujin arches her back off the counter, her thighs start quivering with anticipation, and you know she can’t hold on much longer. Your mouth works overtime to draw out that much desired release, as the grip on your hair becomes so tight, so unrelenting, that you’ve done everything right when her fingernails dig into your scalp. Nothing’s going to stop her from climaxing, from making an absolute mess on your face, and you’re welcoming it all, licking her sweet pussy like your life depends on it.

“Daddy, I’m gonna—fuck!“ Yujin cries out, and then she’s convulsing on the counter, letting out the prettiest whines and moans as she cums, she cums hard on your face and her thighs begin violently shaking around your head, while you’re drinking up as much of it as you can.

With you slurping all the juices from her sensitive pussy, Yujin lets out the prettiest whines, gasping for air as she squirms on the kitchen counter, unable to remain still, unable to do anything but ride it all out. She keeps her thighs wrapped around your head, because she doesn’t want you to stop licking her soaking wet folds, and you wouldn't dream of denying her more bliss.

“Make me cum again, daddy. Make me cum again on your cute face,” she demands, and you’re happy to oblige her without hesitation. Not that you have much of a choice with your face pressed into her messy cunt, but you’re still eager to deliver more pleasure until her toes curl tighter, and her entire body shudders from the blissful waves of another orgasm crashing into her.

Now that you’ve gotten that sensitivity going, the second time Yujin cums it’s just as beautiful, even if it doesn’t last as long. You’re almost disappointed when the pressure around your head releases, because you’ve grown accustomed to inhaling the scent of Yujin’s pussy for what feels like forever. But when her thighs spread open for worship once more, and you lick them clean, she flashes you a look that you know means she’s not even close to being satisfied. It’s a look you know all too well.

“Daddy got to have his breakfast, so now it’s time for mine.”

Not even taking a moment to let her stamina refill, Yujin hops off the counter and palms your bulge. She makes short work of your underwear as it falls to your ankles, and your cock is already twitching for attention that she gives right away, stroking with slow, methodical pumps as she captures you in her sultry gaze.

The last of your patience runs thin, but Yujin's ran out long ago.

You’re dying to be balls deep inside her, and the feeling is mutual for her. There’s no more waiting to be dealt with as she grabs the hem of her tank top, yanking It over her head, and you follow in her footsteps until you’re both stripped of your clothes, standing bare ass naked in the middle of the kitchen.

There's only a moment to appreciate the parts of her body that you’ve yet to worship, how perfect those breasts look before her hands are already back on your cock, pumping with a tight enough grip to almost hurt. You take the chance to get your mouth on her tits, sucking on her taut nipples, swirling your tongue around while she pumps you, until Yujin releases your cock and leans back on the counter. Yujin is just so damn perfect, and you keep showing that by kissing her abs in just the right places, moving down to the curve of her hips, then back up her chest, peppering along her collarbone.

Yujin stops you when you get up to her neck and has this glint in her eye that can’t be ignored. “Fuck me, daddy. Right here, right now. Wanna feel your big cock in my little cunt, and then—“

The rest is a mystery as Yujin breaks eye contact long enough to spin around, bending over the counter to present you with an irresistible view of her tight ass. You can see the wetness glistening along her folds at this angle, and it’s impossible to hide how desperate you are to bury your aching cock in her cunt. It doesn’t help the way Yujin shakes her ass at you, tempting you with those full cheeks that would have you on your knees if not for how badly she needs to be fucked.

“Daddy,” Yujin growls, sounding more like a warning as she flashes a look over her shoulder that’s a silent message for you to get inside her, right now.

Almost as soon as you line up behind Yujin's body, she grabs the base of your shaft, guiding it between her legs, and takes away any chance to savor that initial penetration when she presses it against her slick opening.

It's overwhelming the way your cockhead slips between that silky flesh, parting those pretty wet folds and Yujin at least lets you do the rest, sinking inch after inch, until there’s no part of you left to bury inside her.

Yujin’s incredibly tight, but always feels so warm and welcoming, and there’s no need to take things slow, not when she’s all out of patience, pushing her ass back to meet you. It’s a signal heard loud and clear. When you grab her wide hips, your shaft plunges inside that familiar heat, and the grip her velvety walls offer is so fucking good it makes your mind go numb as you start to move faster inside her.

“Fuck, there you go, daddy. Pound me, pound my little cunt, make me feel full,” Yujin says, like that wasn’t always the plan from the start. There’s no way your thrusts are anything but deep and unforgiving, bottoming her out in no time, and she takes you so well, so effortlessly, that you’re the one having trouble adjusting instead of her.

“Yujin,” you start to say, but the way her pussy stretches around your cock, allowing you free rein to give her a proper dickdown leaves your mind blank. There’s nothing of importance to say other than how perfect she feels, or how good you want to make her feel, so you’ll just shut up and keep pounding her tight cunt.

You’re already hitting so deep, your cockhead kissing her insides, and it has you falling into a quick, powerful tempo that leaves Yujin clutching the edges of the counter for support. It’s a view that’s only made better when Yujin looks back, letting you see the deep lust in her eyes, the kind that’ll keep your hips moving until they give out. It’s everything you love about this position, letting you appreciate the best parts of Yujin’s body, particularly the way that thick ass jiggles when your hips meet, when she pushes back against you and matches your own pace.

Despite the fact that you’re, in theory, the one in control, Yujin is guiding the reins, demanding you fuck her harder, digging her nails into your thigh when your cock doesn’t move as fast as she likes, when it doesn’t rearrange her guts hard enough. There’s no doubt she’s calling the shots, there never was, and the little glances she gives over her shoulder serve as a stark reminder to pound her pussy without her telling you to.

You match Yujin’s groans with every thrust you make, burying your cock so deep inside her warmth, and holding such a tight grip on those flawless hips she’ll bruise no doubt, but she doesn’t even care—Yujin just wants you to keep this pace up, keep pulling her back whenever you ram inside her. She can take your cock so well, even as your pace grows erratic by her orders, but you never let up, because she needs your cock like air, needs to be stretched like her perfect little cunt deserves.

And you’re going to listen to whatever Yujin says, even as your hips start to burn from drilling her cunt so hard, putting every amount of force into your thrusts until she’ll feel it in the next morning. You're already so fucking close with how much she clenches around your cock, but you have to last until she's satisfied, until she’s screaming your name.

But that won’t be long, because Yujin is so fucking wet, and you can see the puddle between her legs that only grows, only serves as more evidence of how good a pounding she’s getting. It’s as loud as it is messy, but it leaves Yujin with a craving for more, leaving her frantically rubbing her clit, and the clench around your cock gets so fucking tight you almost explode.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, make me cum, daddy, make me cum on your thick fucking cock. Fuck, then you can cum and then I can taste—“

“Oh, good morning.” Wonyoung nonchalantly walks past the action happening, like you’re not in the middle of plowing her older roommate, and opens up the fridge. To be fair, you’ve become so accustomed to her interrupting the two of you, it does little to distract you at this point.

“Don’t mind me, just grabbing something to eat before class,” Wonyoung says, grabbing some yogurt and fresh berries from the fridge shelf, then uses her hip to close it shut. She takes a seat on the other side of the counter so casually, watching you pound Yujin, while taking her time to peel back the foil lid, then starts to slowly dip her spoon into the yogurt, mixing in the berries at the same time.

Her eyes are fixated on the action, but she’s eating a healthy breakfast with such a vacant expression on her face, like this isn't the slightest bit strange. Wonyoung chews slowly, taking occasional glances in your direction while you’re ramming your cock into Yujin who doesn’t seem bothered in the least, not even when you start spanking her ass, just to make those plentiful cheeks jiggle, so she can moan louder and tighten up around your shaft.

“We’re out of blueberries,” Wonyoung says, as her lips pout, like you’re not railing her best friend in front of her, slapping Yujin’s ass hard, that it’s enough to make her squeal when the flesh ripples—and she does it again so fucking loud when you give her another rough spank, one deafening strike after the other that has your full concentration on the hypnotizing waves her ass cheeks make.

You’re absolutely destroying Yujin’s cunt, finding new angles to piston into her that have her letting out guttural cries of pleasure, and her tender asscheeks have the most beautiful hand prints on them, a pleasant shade of red that keeps deepening. Yujin gets impossibly tight whenever you spank her, making the most pathetic little whimpers while you deliver those stinging slaps to her ass, but Wonyoung makes little if any acknowledgment, uninterested in anything but her yogurt, eating it in relative silence.

It’s impressive how Wonyoung can maintain such a straight face, despite how loud you’re making Yujin scream, filling that cunt so perfectly, and it gets where you’ll try anything to get her attention—so you go harder on Yujin, ramming your shaft into that tight pussy so rough, that she can barely hang on to the kitchen counter. You’re doing whatever possible to elicit a reaction out of the younger girl, fucking the air right out of Yujin, that it becomes a challenge not to burst when your hips keep slapping against her reddened ass, because her pussy feels so fucking unreal—

Wonyoung has all but turned to stone, and while her eyes might dart from you to Yujin, it's impossible to tell if she's judging, aroused, or just enjoying the show. That stoic expression hasn’t changed one bit.

“Daddy, need you to give it to me, ruin my fucking pussy. Your cock feels so fucking good inside me, but you’re not pounding me hard enough,” Yujin says, which you find impossible to believe, but then again, you’re pretty sure that she’s getting off on her younger best friend watching her get dicked down.

So as Wonyoung just keeps eating her yogurt through it all, licking her spoon clean after every bite, paying no mind to how raw and vulgar the sounds of flesh smacking against flesh get, as you put every little ounce of strength you have left. Yujin is bent over so obscenely, taking all your cock without issue, and pushes back to meet each and every thrust that gets buried deep inside her.

There’s so much sweat dripping down your bodies, and you’ve given up on trying to break that poker face on Wonyoung, leaving you with nothing left to distract you. Yujin can take so much without any trouble, as if she’s showing off how much her pussy enjoys being pummeled, and all she does is beg for more. You keep the hand that isn’t on her hips moving, and the more it meets the deadly curve of that round ass, the better it gets watching the recoil on those sweaty cheeks.

Yujin's on the verge of release, and you’re not far behind, both chasing an earth-shattering orgasm that’ll have you both reeling, but as dangerously close as you are, Yujin's even closer, clenching hard on your cock, so fucking tight that you'll burst any second now.

You’re moving on auto-pilot, and when Yujin turns her head back to meet you halfway with her lips, your mouth crashes against her own, then you’re planting hungry kisses down her neck. There’s not a part on Yujin’s body that doesn’t taste good, and you kiss as many places as you have access to, from those beautiful shoulders, to that bare back covered in sweat, doing everything you can to prevent the inevitable.

All it takes is one solitary thrust that hits just right until Yujin’s legs begin to tremble, and when you do it again, she almost collapses on the spot. One more time, and she’s cumming on your cock without any warning, gushing on the kitchen floor, and it takes everything you’ve got to keep yourself buried. She’s squealing, gasping as you fuck her through the violent orgasm that rips through her body, and the only thing you can think about is how fucking desperate you are for relief while you hold her hips, helping her ride through the intensity of her high that shows no signs of yielding.

The kitchen (and Yujin) is going to be such a mess after this.

Yujin keeps convulsing on your cock, taking you closer to that edge, while you drill her as fast and hard as your hips will allow, driving her to a second greedy climax that you’re a fraction of a second from blowing your load inside her. Yujin’s so fucking wet, so unbearably tight that you’ll have to make a conscious effort to hold on, because you can't last much longer, not with how euphoric it feels to be buried in her cunt.

“D-daddy, daddy, are you close?” Yujin asks, out of breath, and it’s the easiest question in the world to answer. All you can do is nod at this point during the next lust-filled kiss, and it takes all of your remaining strength to pull out from her heat at the right time.

Yujin drops to her knees to finish you off, tasting herself on your needy cock, and it won’t take long at all until you’re filling up that pretty mouth.

While this is all happening, Wonyoung licks her spoon clean one last time, still sitting on the opposite end of the island, and gets up out of her chair without a passing glance, tossing her empty yogurt cup away. She leaves without any parting words, without the slightest bit of recognition that Yujin now has your cock jammed down her throat as she grabs your hips, bobbing her head at an impossible to deal with pace.

You’re on board a rocket that’s already been lit, about to explode at any moment, because the back of Yujin’s wet throat feels like heaven, and the way she looks up, waiting for you to cum is more maddening than you know how to handle. Her nails dig deeper into your hips, and you’re spiraling out of control while those sexy lips of hers stay perfectly sealed around your cock, tongue tracing the underside of your cock. Yujin isn’t going to stop until she has you cumming down her throat.

That gorgeous face is so eager, so happy to swallow all the cum out of your cock, and her eyes show how badly she wants it as her hands leave your hips, finding your wrists before she guides them up the back of her head.

“Yujin—fuck, you’re gonna make me cum, you’re gonna make me fucking cum,” you groan out, and you’ve never seen those sparkling eyes widen so much. You know Yujin can’t wait, nor can you, not with how sloppy her mouth is, how deep she’s taking you into her mouth, and she’s sucking you off so well you can hardly think straight, every messy slurp making your head spin.

Yujin doesn’t even gag when you instinctively start fucking her mouth, getting a strong grip on her head, and you’re not even sure how she can even breathe with your cock crammed so far down her throat—not that she cares, because she just keeps staring up at you, keeps showing you how much she wants you to cum in her mouth, like she needs it to survive.

It’s fucking filthy, wet, and you can’t even settle into a rhythm before your cock throbs, your lips groaning Yujin’s name in a chant as the only warning she’ll get before you press her face down into her crotch, holding her there until your hot seed shoots down her throat.

Your legs threaten to give out when you unload down Yujin’s waiting throat, but she takes everything you have to offer. It’s not the least bit difficult for her to swallow it all, smiling with her eyes as you’re pumping all the thick, gooey cum into her stomach, and she makes sure none of it goes to waste, throat milking it all out.

Yujin fucking loves the taste, the thickness that fills her mouth, the texture that she can’t get enough of, swallowing every last drop like it’s the best damn breakfast she’s ever had. And when there’s nothing left in your balls to empty, Yujin keeps her mouth on your shaft, keeps that powerful suction going, even when you can’t take anymore.

“Yujin, please,” you can barely get out, and you’re not proud of begging, but fighting against the aftershocks and overstimulation is an uphill battle that makes you nearly pass out against the kitchen counter. But fortune favors you, since there’s pity written on Yujin’s features, so she lets you slip out of her mouth, licking your sensitive cockhead clean before doing the same to her lips.

“Thanks for the delicious protein, daddy. It really makes the best breakfast.”

With whatever strength left, you hold on for dear life against the kitchen island, and Yujin just stares at you in your post-orgasm daze, licking her lips like she’s ready to go again. Because you know she is.

“Daddy—“ It’s just one word, but she says it with affection in her voice as she saunters over to you and caresses your cheek. Both of you are covered in sweat, but you really took the brunt of it, given that you’re still gasping for air, still recovering from such a mind-blowing, toe-curling orgasm Yujin just helped you reach. “I think we should skip the rest of our classes today. Don’t you?”

She has a point. You’ll only have a couple of classes left in your day even if you went, and you’re not particularly compelled to spend hours listening to some old guy drone on about histories of countries you’ll probably never even visit in your lifetime. You also know with your schedule clear that Yujin’s liable to jump your bones the entire day, and you’re already exhausted as is.

But really—when has Yujin wearing you out ever been a bad thing?

✦ ✦

To nobody’s surprise, Yujin is insatiable.

On the kitchen floor still lies a heap of clothes, but there’s no point in putting them back on, since they won’t be staying on. Now that your schedule’s been freed, Yujin has the rest of the day planned out—and it involves you, her, and whatever surface that’ll hold her weight.

Wonyoung’s classes won’t be over for several hours, so there won’t be any more interruptions, which gives the perfect opportunity to jump in the shower and share the hot water together. In reality, it’s the only reprieve you’re getting, and that’ll only last until the water warms up—getting clean is only an afterthought.

Once the water starts streaming down your bodies, it relaxes all your tired muscles, and Yujin helps soap up your body, which is really just an excuse to get her hands on you again. And her hands feel amazing when they massage all the sore spots on your body underneath the running water (which is always as hot as possible when Yujin’s involved).

You’ve never felt so relaxed, so calm when Yujin helps shampoo your hair, working her fingers deep in your scalp. Something in your gut tells you that feeling is only going to last until it all gets washed out, even as Yujin smiles innocently when she helps rinse out your hair.

When the last of the shampoo falls down into the drain, it takes all the purity of the shower with it.

Yujin begins soaping up your body, running her hands along every part of your chest and stomach, and it doesn’t take long before she gets a little too handsy. Little by little, her hands travel down your hips, and you know where they’re going to detour, that there was zero chance you’d actually use the shower for its designated purpose.

It doesn’t matter though, when Yujin looks so ethereal surrounded by running water, with her wet hair stuck to her face, accompanied by the prettiest smile you’ve ever seen. You’re definitely staring, which no one could blame you for when the only thing better than Yujin’s naked body—is Yujin’s naked body all wet and soapy.

Distraction comes easily when you’re busy getting lost in all the curves of that immaculate figure, and you’re only interrupted when Yujin uses your hips to spin you around, facing you away from her as the hot water starts to pelt your chest. The only thing more soothing than the running water is the way her arms wrap around your waist, how the weight of her perky breasts press into your back. Yujin’s soft lips latch onto your neck, peppering it with kisses, and her hands inch lower down your torso, with no mistaking where they’re heading.

“Daddy,” Yujin whispers, wrapping those eager fingers around your length, and it only takes a few pumps before she brings your erection back to life. “Gonna keep milking you, gonna keep draining those heavy loads out of your balls over and over until they’re sore, until you can barely walk.”

You have little of a response to offer, only groans that tell Yujin all she needs to hear when the grip on your shaft tightens. The hot breath on your neck only serves to leave you more speechless, and the way she’s jerking you off nice and slow only makes it worse, especially with how you’re still sensitive, but you’re not about to admit that—she’ll know regardless.

Yujin’s words hold so much weight to them, because you know how relentless she can be, how easy it is to gain control over your body. You know her words are a promise, a guarantee that she’ll do whatever she likes, and she lets out a little giggle when your shaft twitches in her hand. “You’re gonna cum all day for me, right? As many times as I want. All over me, all inside me, everywhere. Your cum belongs to me, daddy.”

It gets harder to speak the more Yujin reveals her intentions, the more those fingers squeeze the tip of your cock just right, making you let out a desperate moan. She keeps nibbling on your neck, pumping your length at an agonizing pace, just so your shaft doesn't get the kind of attention you need, just enough to keep you hard for her.

“Just thinking about all the ways I can make daddy cum makes me so fucking wet. You’re gonna breed me so many times today, gonna pump all your loads inside me.“

When Yujin finishes her sentence, she licks over your earlobe, blowing hot air into it as the path her fingers take speeds up, gets just a little tighter. It’s the littlest bit of pleasure, but it draws out your moans, and without even noticing, your hips are bucking on their own, fucking her fist to bring yourself to another release.

“You need to cum again, don’t you?” Yujin asks, but her question comes with more intense jerks of her hand, giving you the pace you desperately need, which makes you twitch between her fingers harder than before. “Then you have to let me do it, daddy.”

Yujin stalls your hips, holding them in place long enough so you’ll get the message. All you want to do is move, thrust your shaft in between Yujin’s delicate little hand, but it’s clear she’s not going to allow that, so you hold back anything that voices your frustration. She nips at your ear, and her soapy hand slides along your shaft with ease, twisting the right way, and given the attention you’ve been craving,

It's embarrassing how close you already are, especially after such a rough, sweaty session on the kitchen counter. “Daddy likes when I take my time, don’t you? When I get you all worked up, because it’ll feel better when I make you cum…”

You’re not going to admit anything, regardless if she’s right or not. Which she is, but you’re fucking greedy right now, and all you want is to fuck Yujin against the shower glass, until you fuck another load inside her. You can’t even see her face right now, but you know what smug expression is on her face when she strokes your cock just the way you like it, bringing you closer and closer, and you can feel the hardness of her nipples as her wet tits stay squished against your back.

Maybe it’s for the best that you can’t see her, since you know she'd have that familiar shit-eating grin plastered on her face, knowing how fucking close you are to unloading in her hands, because nobody but her can get you off quite like she can.

“Yujin, please,” you moan, a regrettable use of words, because you don’t need her knowing just how desperate you are to cum, but it’s too late when she chuckles into your ear.

She’s maniacal in her ways, releasing the grip on your cock, just to laugh as it throbs in the air—then she’s teasing that sweet spot with the pad of her finger, applying the least amount of pressure when she traces your shaft from base to tip, prolonging every bit of pleasure you’ll beg for.

You’re a fucking wreck already, and Yujin just keeps building and building your orgasm, making you chase it. It only becomes more of a challenge not to move your hips when she gives ample amounts of pleasure, just to steal it away at the last possible second, until you’re letting out more whimpers of desperation.

There’s no comfort in being under the hot water anymore while Yujin keeps you riding that edge, keeps you right where she wants you. “Please, please,Yujin—“

Your pleas go unanswered while her free hand rakes against your wet abdomen, giving an extra dose of stimulation that only makes it all worse, and she never maintains the same speed of those tormenting strokes for long. Yujin knows how to torture your cock better than you give her credit for.

“Maybe I should make daddy wait until we’re out of the shower?” You’d rather perish at such a suggestion.

You’re at her whims, powerless, vulnerable as could be, when she uses her thumb to rub lazy circles around your cockhead, and embarrassingly helpless, waiting for the moment when she has mercy on you, when she’ll let you blow a load like you never have before.

What makes matters worse is Yujin knowing how close you are to the edge, that if she squeezes your cockhead just right, you’ll shoot an absolute mess between her fingers and all over the tiles. You could be selfish, take matters into your own hands—quite literally. It’s not like Yujin hasn’t given you permission to cum, and she doesn’t punish you for anything—but there’s no satisfaction in taking the easy way out.

So you’re left with the only other option—keeping your composure. A task made nearly impossible when Yujin keeps changing the pressure, only allowing as many strokes as it takes to reach that dangling edge once more. All you can do is wait for it to all build back up again, then hang on tight, which isn’t easy when Yujin keeps teasing the other parts of your body: playing with your nipples, giving your balls a gentle squeeze, doing everything but letting you reach the nirvana you’d give anything to reach.

“Yujin—“ You don’t even care how needy you sound, or how frail your voice comes out as, you’re not above getting on your hands and knees to beg at this point. Even when it seems like you've been edged for days, Yujin knows how well you can endure it.

“Don’t you worry, daddy. I said I was gonna milk your cock, so that’s what I’m gonna do,” Yujin purrs, as fingers rub the sensitive tip of your cock. It's too much pressure, and it takes everything to hold back from spilling, even when you're so fucking close. Yujin squeezes your heavy balls once more, then again, like she’s gauging how much you’ll blow when you’re finally permitted to finish, and you’re a hair's breadth from releasing it all.

There’s a wet kiss planted on the back of your neck as Yujin applies a firm grip at the base of your shaft, and those magical fingers move at a pace that you’ve been dying for as they twist around your cock. Yujin rubs her thumb around your sensitive slit, and begins to pump with such ferocity that your breathing gets heavy and weak, fueling the anticipation more and more, until you’re almost there—

You just pray that Yujin lets you finish this time.

She gives every bit of stimulation you can take, cycling through sucking on your neck, blowing puffs of hot air into your ear, and whispering the absolute dirtiest things she can imagine, words that could make you cum on their own. And the knot in your stomach just keeps snowballing.

“Give me your cum, daddy. Give me that big fucking load, I need it, I need to milk it right out of you,” Yujin commands, with a death grip on your shaft, jerking you off so fast as that pressure just keeps boiling until you’re at a breaking point. Everything blurs together, and it’s impossible to do anything but let the inevitable happen, because regardless if Yujin lets you or not—you’re going to fucking cum.

One light stroke is all it takes to reach the point of no return, and Yujin wraps her free arm around your waist in order to keep you upright while your climax hits like a truck. Your load shoots out like a geyser, coating Yujin’s fingers as you spray it all over the tiles, moaning uncontrollably. As you let out all that bottled up bliss, your whole body spasms out of control, but Yujin keeps you steady, keeps pumping all of your seed out, the sheer force of it making her giggle.

It doesn’t feel like the spurts ever get weaker, even as Yujin keeps squeezing the tip of your cock, prolonging your euphoric high for as long as she can. The relief only gets better with every heavy pulse of your shaft, and it feels like it’s never going to end—you just cum, and cum, and cum, while Yujin whispers words of praise into your ears, milking that massive load out of you as promised. Every little drop gets ejected from your pulsating shaft, until your balls are depleted, absolutely drained, and there’s nothing left to spill.

By the time it all subsides, every muscle in your body still trembles, and even after you’ve been milked dry, your cock still throbs for Yujin. The aftershocks fire off like the Fourth of July, and it’s a losing battle trying not to collapse, but Yujin ensures you remain on your feet.

Yujin turns you around to face her, and there’s a dangerous grin on her face—something you should be worried about, because only she knows what else you’re in store for. Without even noticing, the water gets turned off, and Yujin helps you out of the shower, draping a towel over your shoulder to aid in your recovery. Little by little, you regain your senses until you feel like a functional human again.

There’s not a mirror left that hasn’t been completely fogged over, but the cool air feels so refreshing on your hot skin after being in there for ages. Yujin can’t stop smiling as she takes care of you, drying off your body and ruffling your hair, because she knows you’re going to feel that high for days.

Once you're all toweled off, squeaky clean, and refreshed, it all comes full circle when Yujin drags you back to her bedroom, one of the biggest places in the apartment. Her bed is spacious enough to accommodate a small army, but it’s just you, her, and that killer smile, with all the room for whatever Yujin has in mind.

Again, clothes seem like such a frivolous waste of energy, and neither of you can even be bothered with those fancy silk bathrobes Yujin looks so good in. Besides, there’s this inescapable feeling you’re going to need all the energy you can spare.

Your suspicions get proven once your back hits the mattress, when Yujin’s lips place chaste kisses down your shoulders and chest before resting her head on you. It’s the rare occasion where you have time to relax, even being aware there’s some devilish intentions stored up, but you’re able to just enjoy the moment with Yujin nuzzled against you, but god—her skin feels so impossibly soft, and she smells so good, even though its just shampoo, body spray, and her natural scent.

“Did you have fun yesterday?” Yujin asks out of the blue, and you don’t have the faintest idea what she’s referring to, but with her, you’ll have to prepare for anything. While you’re waiting for her to explain, her fingers run through your hair, scratching the back of your scalp, which relaxes you enough to fall asleep in an instant as your heavy eyelids shut tight.

“Did you have fun plowing our Wonyoungie yesterday?“ Yujin repeats, with a bit of clarification that leaves a disastrous blush on your face when your eyes spring open. “I went out for a swim while you two were…busy and I could still hear her from the pool.”

It all feels like a lifetime ago that you railed Wonyoung across the entire apartment, but in reality, less than twenty-four hours passed. The image stays fresh in your mind, how you can still feel how Wonyoung clung to your body as you ravaged her down the hallway, and made her cum on your fingers, then again on your tongue, and then even more times on your cock than you could count. You can still hear the whimpers in your ears when you folded Wonyoung in half, and it wouldn’t matter where Yujin was—there wasn’t a quiet spot in the entire apartment.

“Sorry, we should have been more—”

Yujin interrupts you with a kiss before your defenses get too worked up. “There’s no need to be sorry. Hearing you pound that little brat senseless really got me going. Do you know how jealous hearing her scream daddy over and over made me? I just wanted to lie out and enjoy the sun, but I couldn’t stop touching myself, hearing the way you fucked her brains out.

There’s no bigger smile than the one on her face right now.

Jealousy wasn’t a trait you expected from Yujin, but it’s not surprising given how possessive she can get. That image alone, there's something so arousing about it—even more when you know Yujin loves swimming in the nude, and her getting off by the pool as she hears every single scream from Wonyoung, it sends blood flowing to all the right places. Yujin can discern how you’re processing the information, how it gets the gears in your head turning and all your fantasies brought to the surface.

“I don’t usually get myself off when I have you and Wonyoung to do that, but the way you just kept pounding her and pounding her—“

Yujin’s eyes can’t stop growing when she relives the events from yesterday, and it’s clear this is only going to end one way. “I hope you came in her, daddy. I hope you pumped all your cum in that little slut.”

“You think there’s any way I wouldn’t?” You’re almost annoyed that she would dare ask such a thing, like Wonyoung’s tight little body isn’t tailor made for breeding. Regardless, Yujin can only beam from ear to ear, because it’s the answer she wants to hear, even though it would take a herculean effort to not finish inside your mutual younger roommate.

"Wonyoung has such a nice body, doesn’t she? Her perky little tits, tiny waist, and that face? Oh, isn’t it so gorgeous? She’s like a model. Doesn’t it just make you want to blast a nice, thick load all over it? She would look so pretty covered in your cum, daddy.” Yujin looks absolutely feral when she talks like that, and she’s pushing all the right buttons to provoke a reaction out of you, one that you’re hopeless to defend against.

“You know what’ll be even better?” she asks, adding a pause that’s just there to torture you. “When I watch your cock wreck her cunt, being right there when you breed that little cumslut. I can’t wait to see how she takes your huge cock, how that bratty face looks when you’re filling up that pretty little pussy.”

It’s hard to not let your arousal get carried away when Yujin keeps putting ideas in your head, but you have no barriers left to build. She gets you riled up so easily, with just a few simple words to plant the seeds, and your imagination will grow the rest.

“But you know I can’t just watch, right?” Yujin adds, as her voice develops into a low murmur against your ear. ”Next time—we both get to play with her.”

You can see it so vividly, the image of sharing Wonyoung as she gets stretched out on your cock, using her petite body, dominating her in unison, defiling her in every position imaginable—it really gets the blood between your legs pumping. All of it serves as just a sample to whatever Yujin has planned, and she unravels the next step by grabbing the back of your hand, pressing it in between her thighs so you can feel the wetness pooling out of her cunt.

There’s that hungry look again in Yujin’s eyes when she grinds on your fingers long enough to coat them in her inexhaustible slickness. Your respite has all the life span you expected—she won’t be satisfied with just getting your fingers messy, there’s a much more grandiose plan awaiting.

Yujin releases your wrist, but that warm, wet mess clings to your fingertips, dripping down your hand, like it wasn’t obvious she’s raring to start the second act. You get a moment to see how her arousal glistens on your fingers before she brings them up to her mouth, tasting her own sweetness, and sucks it right off without breaking eye contact.

Everything about it looks so erotic, the way Yujin sucks so greedily on your digits and uses the same energy when she goes down on you, cleaning up every single spot of the mess she created. Yujin hums against your fingers, and sucks with such fervor, like the juices she’s licking clean are the most delicious thing she could have in her mouth. It’s hard to decipher the expression on Yujin’s face, whether she looks so ravenous because she’s tasting herself, or if she just loves having your fingers in her mouth.

It doesn't really matter in the end, because it’s all done to grab your attention. You’re just trying to keep that lingering arousal in check, not let it get too carried away—but you can’t say the same for Yujin, who’s gotten so messy with how she’s salivating on your fingers, long past cleaning the taste off them. This is all for her own enjoyment.

“Daddy…” Her voice starts out muffled with how her lips stay attached around your fingers. “Oh, daddy…” Yujin drags out her syllables when she shifts position into a full straddle, resting her weight on your lap as she keeps sliding your wet fingers past her lips. It’s the right kind of messy that has saliva dripping down her chin, and you know there’s no way Yujin can’t feel your cock stiffening up again once she releases your fingers with a sensual pop, letting them travel up her toned abdomen, right up to the valley between her naked breasts.

“I know you love getting your tongue in my cunt,” she says, using your saliva coated digits to squeeze one of her sensitive breasts, then teases her stiff nipple in lazy circles, poorly stifling out a little gasp. “So this time, I’ll make it easier for you.”

This is the part where all of your muscles tense up waiting for Yujin to pounce. It’s an overwhelming anticipation when she brings your index finger back into her mouth, using the tip of her tongue to roll around it before taking it down to the knuckle without even gagging, and makes such a lewd display of it, using you to satisfy her oral fixation.

“Just lay there, daddy. Stay right there so I can ride your cute face.”

The words come out so casually when Yujin pops out your finger, and there’s no answer you could give besides an obedient nod. She knows this, of course, not that it matters what random assortment of words get strung together; the answer will always be the same, but even under that thousand-mile long smile, there’s something more sinister waiting.

It’s a look that sends your heart racing, the suspense deepening when Yujin makes the slow crawl up your body, and ends with a devastating kiss before grabbing the headboard to pull herself up. No other vantage point offers a more appetizing view of that tantalizing pink flesh, and there are no barriers between Yujin when she hovers right above your mouth, spreading herself open with two fingers so her arousal drips down your face.

“Daddy—” Yujin begins to say, but it doesn’t matter how her sentence finishes, because you’re too lost in how tasty her cunt looks. You can’t imagine how it looks on her end, how starved you must look, but you can’t contain your insatiable lust for Yujin, dying for a taste.

And then, that craving becomes reality as Yujin lowers her hips, until those heavenly thighs return to either side of your face. There isn’t even a warning—not that you need one while she presses her soaking wet folds against your face, smearing it with her nectar that trickles into your mouth. You don’t even get the chance to get your tongue on her, because she’s just spreading that wetness wherever she can, and it’s only when you try to savor that taste that she’s pulling away—

Yujin wants to make you work for it.

All you can do is whine at first when her cunt hovers out of reach, and there’s no point in hiding the desperation written all over your face, because she senses every bit. The mischievous laughter and giggles get more and more infuriating when those dripping pussy lips graze your mouth, but she doesn’t keep up this game for long, because the temptation to let you feast becomes too strong to fight.

Once Yujin eventually puts her weight down on you, smothering your face with that soaked cunt, it's like you can finally breathe again once you’re allowed to taste her, and the need for oxygen no longer feels all that necessary. You give her wet entrance the most tentative of licks, savoring the taste that lingers on the tip of your tongue when she grinds against your mouth, which makes you groan right into her, and you just need more.

Can you breathe, daddy?” Yujin asks, not in concern, but a playful little tease when her cunt presses harder against your face. It’s a question devoid of any importance right now, but you shake your head as she keeps lowering herself on you just right, letting you bury your tongue right into the source, and she uses those sinfully soft thighs to squeeze your head like they’re never going to let go.

Yujin moves without an ounce of haste, working at a deliberate tempo so she can savor all those sensations at once while she gets her hands all over the back of your head, keeping your tongue buried between her wet folds. She’s just loving the way you’re desperate to devour her cunt, licking as much of her as your tongue can reach, tasting all that tangy slickness when it flows right into your mouth. This is the perfect spot for you to be, getting her off while you suffocate between those thighs, drowning in her arousal that clings to your lips and keeps trickling down your face.

The real fun happens when Yujin starts to roll her hips, when she’s dominating your face, suffocating you with all her weight. Her cunt drools right on your tongue, soaking every corner of your mouth when you hit the right spots, then she begins to really use your face, tangling those slender fingers in your hair, and grinding on your mouth to further entice your appetite. “Oh fuck, right there, daddy—keep that tongue out, keep making me feel good. You love eating my pussy, don’t you?”

A rather pointless question, one that gets answered with frantic licks instead of words. There’s no greater honor than pleasuring Yujin, and she doesn’t hold back anything when she grinds those powerful hips on your face, fucking herself on your tongue until it leaves an absolute welcome mess on your lips. Yujin loves the attention, having a perfect sense of control, and your sole purpose is to work your tongue through that wet cunt, providing your mouth that she can use to her heart's content.

Yujin clutches the headboard for stability, hips moving with such force that she’s using you like a toy to fuck your face, and all you can do is keep your tongue flicking faster to keep up. She tastes so fucking good, even when you can’t gather up all her nectar into your mouth, the rest spilling out in sticky streams that flow down your chin like a delicious, seemingly endless fountain.

And all the noises she makes, the way she groans, whines on your tongue, all that breathless panting as her body writhes in ecstasy sound so unbelievably sexy, that makes you want to lick her cunt forever.

“Gonna—gonna cum hard, daddy,” Yujin cries out, your favorite words to hear while those hips move on their own. She gets right on that edge, keeping your head still, and she’s almost there, so close, that you can literally taste it—

“Daddy!”

Yujin tenses up when that climax hits, her cunt gushing all over your face. It’s all flooding your tongue, lips, and everything in between as she squeezes her thighs like a vice around your head, just riding those endless waves of bliss that you hope never end.

You’re rather disappointed when she slows her hips, even if it lets you savor the shower of arousal that’s blessed your face. The biggest surprise is how it’s rather calm—because you know firsthand that Yujin can climax like a hurricane. When it all passes and she gets her breathing back under control, you’re a bit too eager during the aftermath, cleaning up wherever you can, while she’s still dealing with the aftershocks, with only enough energy to play with your hair.

Once Yujin catches her breath, she lets out those adorable giggles again while she stays right there on top of you, and takes her sweet time getting off your face, getting a good look at the absolute mess she’s made of you. “Look at daddy all covered in me…”

Yujin is barely even panting, which isn’t that unexpected given how relentless her stamina is, and you’re more in need of recovery than she is. Still, it doesn’t stop her from leaning in to take a kiss before she licks the side of your face, tasting herself all over you.

The words come out muffled when Yujin says, ”Daddy, you taste so good.” She finishes cleaning off her mess until all she leaves are those affectionate kisses alongside your jaw, because she’s never really done with you.

“That’s all my Yujin—“ you stop yourself mid-sentence, realizing the words that just left your lips, nearly choking on them. It’s the sort of thing that just slips out in the heat of the moment, when your mind is too fogged over and consumed with Yujin’s lingering taste. You can tell you've made a mistake when her eyes widen, but there’s no backtracking now—not when you’re this flustered.

Before Yujin can say anything else, you seal her lips with a kiss, one that’s supposed to end in an instant—but she locks in that embrace, keeping your lips captive into something much more prolonged. You know it’s fruitless to disguise your vulnerability when there’s nothing that can wipe that stupid, smug grin off of her face, and after what feels like forever, you’re both just staring for what feels like forever, until Yujin breaks the silence with the most endearing little laugh.

“What was that, daddy?” she questions, and there's an innocent blush on her face when she surrounds in that intense eye contact, but there’s no chance that’s going to have you repeating what just slipped out.

“Nothing,” you mumble, as if Yujin would be satisfied with that response. You know there isn’t anything that will get you out of this, but it won't stop you from trying, looking off to the side to avoid the intense eyes staring a hole through you. Yujin’s a woman with impenetrable defenses, and she’s not going to be distracted easily, holding your face between her palms to prevent your gaze from averting.

“Daddy…”

Yujin pouts with that cute puppy face that isn’t remotely fair, and it doesn’t help that she’s cutely rubbing your cheeks with her thumbs, trying to coax an answer out of you. The power in her gaze never falters, and when she realizes you have no plans to cave, she leans into the crook of your neck, grazing those warm, full lips right on your neck to get those juices flowing again.

“Yujin—'' You want to at least attempt a show of protest, but she’ll know it isn't even half-hearted when her hand cups the back of your head, as she fully latches her mouth onto your neck. It's that special little area that always makes you melt, and you're just lost in her touch, how that warm, wet tongue traces just the right spots, and then she grabs something hidden underneath a pillow—

You only get a moment to glance at a set of light pink, fur-covered handcuffs before Yujin restrains your wrists to the headboard above, leaving you helpless with no choice but to indulge in her desires. There’s an expression on her face that’s all so familiar, but there isn’t enough time to think when Yujin kisses down your body, licks a nipple while flicking the other with her thumb, then travels down your abdomen, sucking marks wherever she can on your skin.

“Our little Wonyoung got to have you inside her all day yesterday, didn’t she?” she asks, that jealous, possessive tone laced in every single syllable, but the question isn’t really intended to get a response. “How many times did you cum inside her? Three? Four?” I can only imagine how pretty her pussy looks when it’s dripping your hot load…”

There’s not another word from Yujin’s lips while she keeps marking your body with her mouth, as she works down to your thighs, spreading them apart before kissing every single spot she can get her lips on—and you’re already getting so hard with just a handful of kisses alone.

The worst part is you can’t even touch her, which makes you tug your frustrations out against the metal around your wrist that prevents you from doing so. It’s already so much to deal with, because Yujin can be the biggest tease, the cutest brat, and the sexiest little demon, all at once—you know you’re in for a long ride.

“But now, daddy,“ she starts, and there’s a different tone to it when it rolls off her tongue. “I get to keep you all to myself. I get to have your amazing cock filling me, pumping my pussy full of that thick cum.”

Those words are enough to drive you insane.

You can feel the hot breath on your thighs that’s she’s kept open, but she hasn’t touched your cock that’s throbbing inches away from her face, only kissing everywhere but where you need, a directionless assortment of pecks that’s only meant to torment.

“You look so good in handcuffs. And now, you’re—all—mine.”

The kisses on your thighs stop just as fast as they start, and then she caresses them, keeping that blood flowing into your loins. Her nails scratch against your skin for some extra stimulation, not enough to cause pain, but to draw your attention from what’s next. “I need you to cum again.”

Every single word Yujin says drips out lust like honey.

The mere sound of her voice puts you on edge, and Yujin sounds so breathless when she squeezes your balls, rolls them between her fingers as your cock twitches for her. If that wasn’t enough, she dips her head down, making nothing but the most shallow licks through your sack, which is more than enough torture—because you can’t even lay a fingertip on her beautiful skin, can’t run your fingers through her hair, you’re so powerless to do anything but squirm and fight against your restraints.

“Your balls feel so nice and heavy, and your cock—“ Yujin pauses as she grabs your shaft by the base and squeezes. “This beautiful fucking cock just belongs inside me. It deserves to fill me up, god—I just need you to breed me again and again, daddy…”

You’re hesitant to say anything that can give off a reaction, since Yujin’s gotten you so riled up that any little thing will set you off, so you remain silent, just letting out a sigh that she manages to still hear. It’s all she needs.

“You need me on your cock, don’t you, daddy? Because I need that thick cock pumping those hot loads, filling my cunt deep.”

It’s a rather redundant question, but that doesn’t stop Yujin from slowly running her hand up your shaft, giving a squeeze at just the right places. She moves nice and slow, feeling your entire length as it throbs under her touch, then takes her thumb to stroke that sensitive part just underneath the head, making the tiniest circles to make you jerk against your restraints.

“Please, Yujin,” you gasp out, long past the point of desperation. She just keeps massaging the swollen tip of your cock, spreading precum everywhere, and you’re fucking leaking like a faucet, but all you want is for her to ride you, to take you so deep until you’re on the verge of exploding—

But you know there isn’t going to be any mercy when she keeps up those little, teasing touches all over your sensitive head, then wraps those fingers around your shaft again, giving it a light stroke, another squeeze, and she just holds it.

“I love seeing you this hard,” Yujin says, stroking down to your balls, giving them a gentle fondle to draw out some more of your frustration, then returns back up to your tip, getting all that precum that oozes out all over her fingers, using it to coat them while she licks it off.

All this teasing is not only doing a number on you, but Yujin, who cuts her plans to indulge herself short. Her hand speeds up the strokes, pumping up and down your entire shaft, giving your head the most generous amount of attention, and then she lets it all go—lets it smack against your abdomen.

“Gonna ride the fuck out of you, daddy,” she growls, and it sounds like both a promise and a threat, but you’re just happy she’s moved past torturing your cock, watching with bated breath as Yujin aligns herself with your length, grabbing it at the base to position it right against her slit. You can already feel the heat emanating from her dripping folds that kiss your aching cockhead, as she positions herself into a squat, spreading those legs wide, and it’s all so close in reach—that you’re just begging for her to drop those hips.

Then Yujin raises herself just enough to place your tip against her entrance—and there isn't any warning or moment to get prepared before you sink into her warmth, all at once, just until her ass rests on your lap, until every single inch is swallowed up by those velvety walls.

"Oh my god," Yujin groans, and rolls those hips in your lap, savoring that fullness inside her pussy before she even thinks about lifting herself back up. It’s slow and methodical, the first agonizing movement she makes—a long, slow rise of her hips that gets held a little too long before she makes her descent, impaling herself on your shaft, making herself all perfectly stretched out.

Yujin starts riding with all the power in those shapely thighs, fucking herself onto your cock, and you can feel that silky grip take over, the one that squeezes so fucking tight that you hope it never lets you go. It’s the best reward Yujin can give you. You’ve earned it you think, for enduring everything Yujin has thrown at you, and with each stroke of her hips, you feel those wet lips of her slit tightening up, glazing your cock in all her juices when she raises up again, just to slam down hard, burying you in that intense heat.

It all repeats over and over, while the frustration never ends, only being able to watch it unfold, and it’s like she’s taunting you with the use of her hands, playing with your chest, digging her nails against your chest, teasing your nipples before her hands just run all over you.

“Yujin—“ you moan, the first thing that leaves your mouth in quite some time, and it sounds so unbecoming, so pathetic, because you're so, so desperate to get your hands all over those sexy curves, get your tongue all over her beautiful skin. Those hips keep the momentum rolling as they crash against you, the sound of her supple asscheeks making a resounding smack whenever they collide against you, and Yujin rides you just like you’ve yearned for, in a state of peak euphoria, like you're all hers to use for as long as she wants, for as long as she needs.

Being forced into this passive role, it has you more pent up than you can stand, only able to watch your cock get swallowed up to the hilt, without the ability to touch a single inch of that toned body, and Yujin knows it. She’s executing this devious plan of hers to perfection, because she sees the annoyance in your eyes, that you’d give anything to squeeze that perfect ass, lift her up and make her take more of you, but you can’t—and she fucking loves that more than anything.

“Daddy, you like this, right? You like watching me fuck you? Watching me stretch myself on your thick, throbbing cock, fuck—you’re going to make such a huge fucking mess inside me.”

Yujin moves those hips with such ferocity that it gets your breathing all heavy and uneven, becoming a struggle to keep up with that dizzying pace that gets your moans going, getting every last inch deep in her pussy. Her nails dig into your chest like she wants to etch her name there, as she squeezes that perfect little cunt around you, taking you balls deep like it isn’t even a challenge, and nothing gets in her way of doing so.

She fucks herself like there’s something to prove, like you didn’t already know how good Yujin is at riding cock, and then shows off just how wild those hips can really get, starts to fuck you harder than you can comprehend, taking it all to a new level as that body keeps up a brutal pace.

There’s nothing for you to do other than lie there helplessly, but what’s there to complain about when you have the best view of how your cock disappears into Yujin’s suffocating heat? You can feel every orgasmic sensation, those juicy lips that grip so fucking well, and they might never let you go.

“God, Yujin—“ you breathe out, and you can’t even finish a sentence at this rate. Yujin is fucking your cock so fast that the slap of her ass against your crotch becomes hypnotic, the obscene sounds of her dripping cunt being impaled mercilessly get so fucking loud that it almost drowns out any noises Yujin makes.

It’s fucking beautiful to watch how hard those hips can bounce, and Yujin isn’t showing any signs of slowing down, quite the opposite—she’s just taking advantage of your body, riding your cock like she fucking owns it, taking that girth as deep it’ll go. Not a single fucking inch of it gets neglected through those suffocating slippery depths, as she uses you like her own personal toy, and you’ve never been more proud to be treated as such.

Yujin’s so intent on making you hers, leaving scratch marks on your skin as a display, like she wants to really drive home who owns you, and when she takes every inch you have to offer, there’s absolutely no breathing room—and you wouldn’t dream of any. Those careless motions keep herself stretched out, so you can see how much your cock disappears into her pussy, how wildly her breasts bounce with each pump of her hips, how the sweat just runs all down that beautiful body that you wish you could lick clean.

“Daddy, your cock—feels so good, feels so fucking good when you get this deep in my cunt. I’m gonna make you fucking breed me,” Yujin says, and she’s so drunk on lust that her words are slurring, her face a mess of sweat that makes her look even more all too irresistible.

Through the thick of it all, Yujin leans in, demanding your lips, and her kisses are so wet and sloppy that there’s hardly anything left but lust in them. She takes every chance to slip her tongue in your mouth, biting down on your bottom lip every so often just as another show of dominance—a display to make sure you know she’s still got the reins until she pulls away, resuming her focus on taking your cock like a champ.

“I’m gonna make you cum,” she says with such conviction, nothing less than a guarantee, when she takes both your cheeks in her hands, looking deep into your eyes that show every bit of compliance.

The look she flashes nearly gets you creaming inside right then and there, and Yujin looks absolutely depraved. With each sharp drop of those hips, you jerk harder against the handcuffs that shackle you, and it’s only getting tougher to breathe. Yujin only gets tighter and tighter the rougher she gets, putting more aggression into those movements—the harder your hips collide, the faster she goes, until it’s unbearable how good it all feels.

“Daddy’s gonna pump all that hot cum inside me until I’m all nice and filled up.” You’re already too close to comfort to respond with anything but a moan, and you have to grit your teeth just to hold on whenever that pussy tightens, whenever Yujin takes you to the hilt.

And then she hits her climax out of nowhere with one last drop of her hips, a tsunami with no prior warning. She braces herself on your chest, but it’s not enough; she’s shaking, shuddering, legs quivering as she throws her head back, moaning your name, and it’s just so wet—

That greedy little cunt grips tight, tighter than you can bear as Yujin keeps climaxing on your cock, and the waves hit one after the next, making her shriek and scream—but you’re just tugging on your restraints hard enough to leave more marks as you try to hold back from exploding inside that warm velvety heaven.

Yujin’s selfish for more bliss, even before her body can settle down, she’s frantically rubbing her clit to expedite another explosive climax that rips through her body with such ferocity that your cock slips out of her heat—and then she’s violently squirting all over your stomach and crotch, her juices raining down your body in a torrent. “Fuck, fuck, oh my god—“

All at once, that gushing between her legs splashes down everywhere, showing no plans to relent as her legs threaten to give out underneath her, and the sounds that spill out of Yujin are just as unstoppable as the mess that showers you, until her entire body is a shaking mess. The spasms rocking her don’t get any easier to manage, not unlike your cock that twitches in pathetic throbs from the loss of her heat, aching to be sheathed once again.

There’s no pause for Yujin to rest, even if her legs can’t stop trembling, she goes straight to shoving you back inside her at the right moment, because there’s only a modicum of time to spare when she resumes the vigorous riding of your cock, picking right back up where she left off.

“Give me all that cum, daddy, need you to blow that fucking load deep in my cunt. Come on, I know you can’t last any longer. Breed me, breed me, fucking fill my womb, daddy.” Yujin couldn’t sound any more demanding if she tried, and there’s nothing to stop the floodgates from bursting open when your balls tense up, eager to flood her insides.

That’s the last set of words you can comprehend when she slams her hips down one last time, purging every remaining ounce of restraint from your body.

All that’s left to do is groan in ecstasy when her slick, pulsating walls milk that load right out of your cock, pumping it inside Yujin, like her pussy has been begging for it for days. That first spurt is always so intense, and it shoots so fucking deep that your toes curl like crazy, leaving you on the brink of blacking out. There’s just so much cum that gets released into that hot little hole, and you can’t stop moaning her name on your lips, bucking so desperately in the air, while Yujin just keeps rolling those hips, extracting every single drop of that thick seed, and fuck, it feels like there’s so much more left in those balls to drain.

Yujin can just feel your entire body trembling beneath her, how that hot cum fires into her, and she can feel how you throb, your entire shaft twitching when she milks it for everything she can, taking all those spurts that fill her to the brim, until you have nothing left to give.

You’re so fucking drained to the point of feeling delirious—three orgasms in as many hours as you’ve been awake is a lot to endure, but there’s not a thing left in your aching balls, and Yujin knows it. Even with that endless stamina, you think she might finally let you rest when she finishes out the tuckered out gyrations that keep you buried in her sticky folds, clenching around you to earn the last remaining spurts that leave you lightheaded.

“There's so much in me, my pussy just feels too good not to fucking fill up, right? And it feels so good to be daddy’s perfect little cum dump…”

Her cunt doesn’t leave a drop left to spill out, but that’s not going to stop Yujin from keeping your cock nice and hard inside that warmth, while she grinds in slow, tortuous motions to let your climax ride out for as long as possible.

When her hips finally settle and there’s nothing but exhaustion from your lips, Yujin leans forward to move the hair from your sweaty forehead, then runs her fingers through it to help you catch your breath, even as your eyes struggle to stay open.

“Your load feels so good inside me, daddy,” Yujin says, and there’s hardly any fatigue in the way she’s speaking. “It’s just so warm, my pussy feels so full. I made you cum a lot, didn’t I?”

There's a sense of pride in her tone as her hips give one last pump on your spent cock just for good measure. All you can manage is a weak, muffled groan, but that's all Yujin needs, because the satisfaction on her face couldn’t be more obvious when she brings those perfect lips to your own, taking a long kiss that feels like there’s some finale to this all.

Heavy as they feel, you keep your eyelids from falling, just so you can take in Yujin’s beauty, from the sheen of sweat on her soft skin, to the strands of hair sticking to her forehead, and how she looks when her lips curl into this beautiful smile you’re almost certain has a hidden meaning behind, but you’re going to enjoy it anyway.

The end of the line of this all has to be within reach, you figure, (at least you hope), so there's only one thing left for Yujin to do, and the anticipation has never been higher. With widened eyes, you intently watch as she sits up, lifting her hips off you until your cock regrettably slips free of that hot vice—then you’re left with the perfect view of that huge creamy load spilling out of her messy pussy, oozing down her sweaty thighs.

Her slit looks so glistening, and those lower lips are such a fucking mess when your seed drips out of her, but it’s so enticing you can’t look away, not wanting to miss a second of the spectacle.

Yujin spreads her legs a little wider to show you her cum-filled pussy, how it leaks down to the sheets, and then dips her hand in between those thighs, collecting your messy load that you’ve given her, or rather that she’s taken from you onto her fingers, fucking it back into her folds before bringing them to her mouth.

It’s all such a filthy sight that it keeps you hard and throbbing, seeing Yujin lick her fingers clean, humming in delight like it's the best meal she's had, before shoving her fingers right back in her cunt to scoop up more. She keeps giving that thick, gooey load another taste, and Yujin just looks so pleased with herself.

That same look doesn’t dare disperse when Yujin takes her time to crawl over your body, inch by inch, until it fades into something more wicked—and then she seizes your cock, jerking it off hard and fast, because she knows how fucking raw and sensitive it is.

“Fuck, Yujin—god, oh my god, please,” you cry out, but Yujin just keeps stroking away at your overworked length, with nothing but sadistic pleasure etched all over her face. There’s hardly any bliss left in those furious strokes, it’s just pain and pleasure, competing back and forth, with the former sure to take the lead soon enough.

“You're not all tired out are you, daddy?” she asks, with that same grin clinging to her lips as she grips harder around your shaft, squeezing a harsh fist around your tender cockhead, drawing out every ounce of overstimulation. There’s no energy left to protest, and it’s not like anything you would say would convince Yujin anyway.

“I said I was going to keep milking your cock, so come on, daddy—don’t you have more cum for me? Don’t you wanna blow another load?”

You open your mouth intending to plead her to stop, that your cock is too fucking sensitive, but all that comes out are sounds that don’t resemble anything even close to words, nothing but loud, embarrassing whimpers and whines that you can’t hold in. There’s little you can do but lay there as Yujin refuses to stop stroking your cock, looking you right in the eye with that cocky little smile, like she still has a point to make, ensuring every frantic pump she makes is a cocktail of agony and bliss.

“Doesn’t this feel good, daddy? Having your cock jerked off while you stare at my naked body? You can’t be that sensitive if you’re still so fucking hard,” Yujin taunts, with a grip long past painful, and that fucking grin isn’t going anywhere.

Those devilish fingers just keep pumping, keep torturing your cock, sliding over your shaft as Yujin squeezes with so much intensity that you’re barely cognizant of how much every stroke hurts, but she’s prepared to send you towards yet another release that your balls don’t have to offer.

And just like that—in record time, you’re blasting whatever is left from your balls in the short time they’ve filled back up, shooting all over your stomach, glazing your abdomen in this thin, watery semen that doesn't even compare to the previous pleasure Yujin has drawn from your body. But she’s so greedy she won’t give a damn, because milking out such a pitiful, measly load like that still gives her all the satisfaction necessary.

At the very least, Yujin cleans you up, because those pathetic clear strands that splatter across your abdomen belong to her, and she wouldn’t dare let them go to waste. Her tongue drags all the way across your stomach, dipping down to your balls, before flicking up to your cockhead, cleaning off your unbearably sensitive slit.

Yujin spends just enough time using her tongue to play around with your cock to drive you up the wall, licking wherever she can, and then she seals those greedy lips around your swollen head, applying the harshest suction she can muster. You’re not sure what she’s doing can even be classified as pleasure anymore, and it’s all making you squirm so uncontrollably that you’re liable to break those cuffs.

The littlest touch sets all those sensitive nerves ablaze, making you almost blow another load when her mouth slides down to your base, and Yujin just holds you there in her warm throat—one, two, three. It’s just mere seconds, but it all feels like an excruciating eternity when she comes up with a messy pop, planting a parting kiss on your oversensitive tip that’s just dying to be left alone.

She stalls for a moment, letting the anticipation really linger—then out of nowhere, she lets go of your helpless cock as it gets that chance to rest against your stomach.

Yujin doesn’t do anything else, but keep that fucking smug look on her face.

And you’ve never been so relieved.

Yujin swings her legs around your hips, playfully messing up your hair more than it has been. Beads of sweat still cling to her body, but she doesn’t even look the slightest out of breath. “Daddy—“

There’s another pause before she offers up the rest of her thoughts.

“Oh hey, there you two are.”

It’s Wonyoung. Because of course it is. She’s standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, and god knows how long she’s been there. Based on her wet hair, she’s fresh out of the shower, with a white towel wrapped over her petite figure, but still somehow manages to bask in elegance.

Wonyoung takes one look at you on the bed, in your pathetic state of recovery, but unlike before, there’s acknowledgement straight away when she then turns her attention to Yujin. “So that’s why you weren’t answering your phone…”

Yujin looks over her shoulder and smiles at Wonyoung. “We've been a little preoccupied."

"I can see that.” Wonyoung takes a couple of steps inside the room, and looks so amused at the sight of you bound to the bed, her gaze shamelessly wandering along your naked body. “Well, since none of us have class tomorrow, I thought we should all go out for dinner. Get a couple drinks in us without having to worry about being hungover for early morning lectures.”

The last thing you want is to venture out of this apartment, especially in this state of exhaustion, but there’s such excitement in Wonyoung’s eyes when she speaks that you couldn’t fathom turning her down.

Yujin looks back at you, and all you can give is the weakest nod of approval. “Let me get daddy out of these handcuffs, and then we’ll get cleaned up.”

An eerie silence fills the room when the cuffs come off, and you feel like you’ve risen to the surface for air, even though your wrists are rubbed raw and sore. Yujin rectifies this by kissing them with the most tender smacks, massaging her thumbs into your reddened skin, and it feels a little strange to regain the use of them after being without them for so long.

Now, the messy sheets underneath your bodies should probably be tossed—there’s no saving something so stained with copious amounts of sweat and other bodily fluids (yet another reminder that, god, Yujin just squirts so much), and it’s not like she doesn’t have an infinite amount of similar expensive sheets with a matching pattern in her linen closet.

“You know, daddy looks good in handcuffs…” Wonyoung says with a cheeky smile, as she edges closer towards the bed. Between the two women, they share a knowing glance, one that makes them both giggle out loud at once, leaving you a little terrified of what they’re both thinking.

“What are we in the mood for?” Wonyoung thankfully changes the subject to focus back on food, something you’ll never pass up an opportunity to indulge in.

“There’s this new steakhouse that we should try. It’s on the other side of town, but—“

“Oh, I love steak!” Wonyoung says, interrupting the older girl, and again, there’s just so much enthusiasm in her bright voice.

“Steak it is then.” After Yujin dismounts your body, not a single one of your muscles wants to cooperate when you try to lift yourself up. Yujin can’t help but let out a pitiful laugh as she offers assistance, though it ends up being more of a struggle to try to support your dead weight when your limbs refuse to move in tandem with your thoughts.

“You really did a number on him, huh?” Wonyoung asks when she settles beside the older girl on the edge of the mattress, making it dip with the added weight.

“It’s nothing daddy can’t handle.”

That sass in Yujin’s tone is all the motivation you need to lift yourself up, and then, before you know it, you’re on your feet, albeit with wobbly legs that feel like they’re made of jelly.

It’s strange how natural it feels to be in the middle of Yujin’s bedroom, fully naked, while your two pretty roommates sit and stare at your nude form like a piece of meat. The marks on your wrists won’t fade for days, but it’s the least of your worries right now, because the thought of a nice, juicy steak makes your mouth water almost more than Yujin herself.

“…Are we getting cleaned up or not?”

Asking Yujin that is a dangerous gamble, but you know that Wonyoung will keep you on schedule, as you’ll never hear the end of her complaints if you keep her waiting.

“I’ll get myself dressed and wait in the kitchen,” is all Wonyoung replies with, the hem of her towel flirting just above the curves of her ass when she departs. It’s enough to rile up your imagination, but you keep those thoughts suppressed.

Because you’re sure there’s going to be a lot more where that came from before the night is over.

#ive smut #yujin smut #kpop smut #reader insert #izone smut #male reader #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #ive #yujin #ive x reader

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

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What is Broken IV (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader) FINALE

The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers

Warnings: traumatic childbirth, blood, semi-suicidal thoughts, Aemond is fantasizing about murder again, all the angst

Point of View: Limited third person omniscient

Author's Note: I don't understand why, but thanks so much for all the support I've gotten from this horribly angsty fic! This is my first go at angst so I really appreciate it. I'm gonna work on two happy-ish fic chapters before I get started on When It Breaks, but it's coming...

And a huge, enourmous thanks to @ewanmitchellcrumbs and @ripdragonbeans for being my betas for this! I was so anxious about getting this absolutely right and they were so kind and encouraging. Love yall forever 💜💜💜

Taglist is done via reblogs

Series Masterlist

What is Broken

She was so light, his ābrazȳrītsos.

Even while carrying their children – their sons – Aemond swore she was lighter than when he left. He held her close to his chest, her head resting on his shoulder and her legs draped over his forearm. With every step, he could feel more of the liquid that had spilled from her womb - now mixed with small, hateful tendrils of blood - dampening his sleeve.

Gods, how much blood had he seen in the past year? How much had he spilled himself? There had even been times when he reveled in its metallic tang. But the sight of her blood was nothing less than abhorrent.

He ran faster, until he could not make out the faces of those he passed, shouting for a Maester to be sent to their chambers immediately. One of them must be a servant. With luck, the Maester would already be there when they arrived.

She cried out as he began to ascend the stairs, wincing with each step, her weak grip on him tightening. “It hurts, Aemond.”

“I know, my love.” He slowed down, though his pounding heart urged him to do just the opposite. “I’m so sorry. The maester will be here soon, and he’ll help you feel better, hmm?”

“He has to stop it. It’s too early,” her voice cracked, and Aemond’s heart with it. “They’re not ready!”

But it couldn’t be stopped, not by man or gods. Their children would be born today. The only question was whether they would survive. If their mother would survive. Her poor body was so weak, and her heart… he had broken that, too.

If any of them died today, that blood would be on his hands, and he would gladly accept his damnation to the worst of the seven hells.

“Come now,” he chided gently as they reached the corridor to their chambers. “Our sons are dragons – they will be strong. And so will you, ābrazȳrītsos.”

“Sons?” She lifted her head, her entire body trembling with the effort it took. Her eyes – those beautiful eyes now gilded by the setting sun outside the windows – locked with his. “How… you sound so sure.”

Just one more lie. One more, and then he would never lie to her again.

Besides, this lie was small, nearly inconsequential. Many fathers insisted that their children would be sons until the child itself proved them wrong. It would be so easy for her to believe. The truth would hurt her – perhaps weaken her further. Aemond did not want her to hear Alys’ name. She should never have to even think of that witch ever again.

But he could not bring himself to do it. He could not sully the birth of his sons with yet another lie. He pushed their door open with a shoulder, never breaking her gaze. “Alys told me after you left. Before… she had a vision of us holding our sons. I’m so sorry, love.”

She slumped again, her face dropping into the curve of his neck. Once, she kissed him there, slept with her head tucked there. Now, it was simply where her head lolled. “I’m glad it’s sons. You’ll have two heirs…”

Her words were cut short by a gasp of pain, but Aemond heard it clearly. It echoed in his very bones. So if I live, you’ll have no more need of me. The gods had just crumbled the ground beneath him, his heart and soul with it. He was falling, falling, falling…

“I am glad, too.” He set her down gently in the bed, brushing away several tangles of hair stuck to her sweaty brow before arranging the pillows around her, hoping he was adequately managing to hide his devastation. For he could not bear to be without her, could not bear to love her only from a distance. He would go mad. Yet he would happily accept that horrible fate if it meant he would not lose her to the Stranger. “Mother will be, as well.”

“Mother!” She tried to rise, but he held her softly to the bed. “I can’t do this without Mother, Aemond. We must return home immediately!”

“I am afraid that is not an option, Princess.” Maester Artos stood just within the doorway, maids and Septas streaming in behind him. He was a mountain of a man, better suited to the battlefield than the birthing bed. But he was good at what he did – very good. Aemond had seen him work miracles on men who should have never survived their injuries.

The moment the women began attending to his wife, he approached the Maester, speaking quietly so as not to frighten her. “Something is wrong, Artos, she is bleeding. And she’s very weak.”

Artos hardly acknowledged him, looking only at the princess lying in the bed. “The blood is not the problem. She is distressed and too thin.” He stated, as cold and clinical as all other Maesters.

“Yes, I know that already.” Aemond took a shaky, calming breath. He did not like the way Artos observed her, as if she was a thing to be studied rather than a woman – a princess. Perhaps when it was all over, he’d kill the man for it. “I fear she is not strong enough to survive this.”

She cried out behind them. Two maids were pressing damp cloths to her forehead. Another was hastily braiding her hair back. A Septa had begun cutting away her dress, leaving her only in her chemise as two more maids removed her slippers and stockings. Two other Septas knelt by the windows, praying, while one woman who seemed to be neither maid nor Septa laid metal and wood instruments atop a tall, thin table.

It took every ounce of Aemond’s self-control not to go to her. To shove away each woman because it should be him – and him alone – to touch his wife while she was so vulnerable. He should be the one to protect her, but he couldn’t. He could only hurt her, it seemed.

“Artos!” Aemond hissed.

“Is her spirit weak as well?” There was suspicion in his dark eyes. The same he’d shown when he confirmed Alys was carrying a child. If he hadn’t been so proficient a healer, Aemond might have killed him then.

But for now, Aemond was glad Artos was alive. He swallowed, avoiding looking back at the bed as his wife continued to whimper and moan. “Yes.” The maester just hummed before approaching the bed. Aemond followed, kneeling at the bedside, the maids immediately clearing away.

“This is Maester Artos, ābrazȳrītsos.” She stared wide-eyed at the hulking mass of the man who now knelt between her legs. Aemond tugged on her hand, her gaze snapping back to him. “I know him well. He’s going to take very good care of you, I promise.”

She shuddered, her eyes closed tight as she squeezed Aemond’s hand so hard he had to bite his tongue to keep from crying out. He delighted in it. She was not as weak as he thought, thank the gods. If she needed to break every bone in his hand – in his body – to live through this, he would let her do so without complaint.

“Are you going to stay with me?” she asked, her voice already ravaged by screaming.

Aemond blinked. When they first learned they were to have a child, he swore he would. But now, it seemed impossible for her to want him there. Not after what he’d done. “Do you… want me to stay?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out but another moan of pain. Her eyes darted all over his face. The longer she stayed silent, the further Aemond’s stomach dropped, and his heart ached.

“I believe it wise to have the prince wait outside,” Artos said decisively.

Aemond felt her hand slide out of his, the sensation the same as if he were falling from Vhagar’s back—her answer.

He nodded, and though he knew he shouldn’t, he leaned over her and kissed her forehead, trailing a hand down her cheek. “I love you.”

As he walked to the door, he still held a little shred of hope in his heart, waiting to hear her say it back.

It never came.

The moment the door shut behind Aemond, she regretted sending him away. She wanted to call him back so she wouldn’t be alone with so many strangers. But panic began to set in as the maids pulled her gently down the bed, and her voice failed her.

“It won’t be long now, princess,” the maester said, but she found no comfort in it. She couldn’t even remember his name. Alton? Alyn? Amos? Aemond had said he trusted him, but…

But that meant he had been here when Aemond was with Alys. And that glint of pity in his eyes, not just for her conditions, but for what he knew. He knew. Seven Hells, he’d probably been the one to care for Alys and her pregnancy.

Alys. Alys, Alys, fucking Alys!

She did not know what to think of the woman who had stolen so much from her. Had she stolen it, or had Aemond given it? She could hardly make sense of what she’d learned in that dreary little room.

Alys was not the evil, scheming witch she had first imagined. But neither was she innocent in the affair, not wholly. She was not remorseful for her actions, but she apologized for hurting her. She had been kind.

Blinding pain shot through her, and she screamed. Wordless and desperate, her only outlet for release. She needed to scream, needed to roar, needed to breathe fire. Anything to distract from this. Gods, she even wished for a moment for Alys to be there, holding her hand. At least then, she could return some of that pain.

“Princess,” the maester said, though he sounded far away. Though it was more likely that her shouting was drowning him out. “Very soon, I will ask that you push. Do you know how, your highness?”

Push. That’s what the septas had instructed Helaena to do at the birth of her twins and for Maelor. She even had vague memories of the word from when she peeked through the open door to her mother’s chambers when Daeron was born. But what it meant and how to do it?

Her confusion must have been apparent, for the maester continued. His voice was frustratingly calm and steady. “It is fine if you do not, princess. You must simply follow your instincts. When you feel the urge, push the child outward with all your might.”

“I have no might.” She heard herself laughing through tears and only then realized she was crying. Someone took her hand – she didn’t know who. But the feeling of another’s skin on hers was heavenly.

“You have carried these babes for months,” the maester – Artos! that was his name – said gently, “while your husband and the realm were at war. In my estimation, you are the mightiest woman in Westeros.”

She felt nearly every muscle she had tense, turning her answering grateful smile into a grimace. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have weathered her pregnancy as well as a paper boat in a storm. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not still love her husband after he betrayed her. The mightiest woman in Westeros would not have let her emotions weaken her or put her children’s lives in danger.

She was far from the mightiest woman in Westeros, and she could not do this. She wasn’t strong enough. She was only a weak and broken little girl.

A maid approached, a fresh cool, damp cloth in her hands. The princess had not looked at any of their faces, too absorbed in her pain and panic. But now, she caught the eyes of this girl—deep, rich brown, so similar to her own – to her mother’s.

“I want my mother,” she whispered to the maid, even knowing it was impossible. “I can’t do this without her.”

The maid gaped at her as if she could not fathom a princess ever speaking to her. She looked to her companions for guidance, but the princess only looked into the maid’s eyes and thought of her mother—the scent of the rosemary oil she used in her hair, the warmth of her embrace, and the soothing tones of her voice.

“Please, I want my mother,” she begged. A new surge of pain gripped her, radiating into her legs. They were coming faster now; she barely had time to breathe between each wave. “Please.”

“I’m so sorry, Your Highness.” The maid’s voice was high and breathy, nothing like her mother’s. “The queen is not here.”

She cried, turning away from those false eyes. She was alone – entirely and utterly alone.

“Princess, I need you to be strong now.” Artos’ sweaty brow was furrowed with half a dozen creases, his eyes wide and mouth a firm line. He looked more like a commander on a battlefield than a maester. The Grand Maester would have smiled at her, but he was not here, either. “Your labors are progressing quickly. It is nearly time to push.”

“I don’t know how,” she cried. She refused to open her eyes. If she kept them closed, she could almost imagine she was home.

Artos wrapped his hands around her ankles, pushing them upwards and further apart. “You do, princess. The Mother wove the knowledge into your body. Listen to it, and all will be well.”

“I – ”

Her next scream rattled the room, the keep, the entirety of the Riverlands.

Fire, ice, steel, and claw seemed to rake down her spine to her thighs. But Artos was right; her body reacted to the pain, her muscles moving near-unconsciously to force the babe out of her womb. She followed the instinct, pushing it harder, harder, harder.

“Very good, princess!” Was that Artos or Orwyle? She couldn’t tell anymore.

It was never-ending.

Pain, pushing, and a brief moment of reprieve.

Again.

It lasted hours, days, perhaps even years.

Was a child – a son – even worth this pain? How could she love someone who had tortured her so? Would she ever be able to look at him without remembering how she suffered?

Pain.

PAIN.

Then –

“Stop, princess!”

She went limp, vaguely beginning to feel other sensations creep in: the coolness of the water on her forehead, the slight scratching of the sheets beneath her, and the hushed whispers of the maids and midwives.

The pain was still there, but softer. Less insistent.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice nearly unrecognizable, even to her.

Artos emerged from between her legs, relief painted over his harsh face. “Nothing is wrong, princess. It is simply time to be gentle and allow your body to do its work.” He smiled, chuckling under his breath. “I can see your babe’s white hair – quite a bit of it.”

Laughter bubbled up in her throat. Deep, joyous laughter. Another slight wave of pain passed through her, but she didn’t care at all. She was thinking about her niece and nephew, how Jaehaerys was born with nearly a full mane of silver frizz while Jaehaera had not a single hair on her head until she was over a year old. “He has hair?”

“Yes, although I do not know yet whether it is a boy, princess.”

“It is. He is.”

There was one more brief surge of pain, and then she heard her son cry.

It was torture to wait outside while his ābrazȳrītsos screamed with pain. At first, Aemond stood leaning against the wall, as Aegon did when Helaena began her labors, but his knees failed him when he heard a scream that rattled the world.

He’d been on the floor since, resisting the urge to cover his ears. But he had caused her this pain, so he must listen.

He would be in that room with her if he hadn’t been a weak, damnable fool. He would have held her hand, letting her release her pain onto him. She had only squeezed his hand once, yet he still felt the ghost of her touch on his skin. He would savor that pain for the rest of his life.

It seemed to be never-ending, the torture his son was inflicting upon her. How could he ever forgive the child for doing this to his own mother?

Then, it stopped.

Aemond leaped to his feet, panic infecting his blood like a disease. Why had she gone quiet? What was wrong? Was she dead? He couldn’t face –

A babe cried—his first cry, with his first breath.

Their son.

He tried to push the door open, but it was locked.

“Let me in!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the door. “Artos, let me in!”

There was no answer, but he could hear soft voices inside. None sounded like hers. Oh gods, had she brought their son into the world at the cost of her own life?

Aemond slammed himself against the door again and again, not caring for the damage he was doing to his own body. “Open the door now, Artos!”

He threw himself against the wood again and again. At some point, it had to yield. Either it would, or his body would.

It opened just before he launched himself at it again—not all the way, but it was open. Then, Artos stared at him through the gap with his hateful, disapproving gaze.

“Let me in,” he growled. Trying to force the door open was useless, as the maester was practically a giant and, apparently, throwing all his strength into holding it closed. “If you don’t let me see my wife, I swear I’ll – ”

“Your wife has not finished her labors yet, my prince.” Damn him, the mountainous bastard. “But I am pleased to inform you that she has borne you a son.”

Though he knew it was to be a son, the words still shot through him. A son. His son. Their son.

“Is he healthy? Is she?” There was no more fight in his voice. The warrior prince had vanished, replaced only by the husband and father. By all the gods, he was a father.

Artos nodded. “The boy is small but healthy. Your maester may have miscalculated the date of conception. He is remarkably healthy for being born so early.”

“And my wife?”

“She is tired, but well. The second babe is not quite ready to emerge, so she is resting.”

The weight of all the world was lifted from his shoulders. He felt like the little boy he had once been on Driftmark, wanting nothing more than to see his zaldrīzītsos and take comfort in her embrace. “May I see her? Please.”

“I’m afraid not, my prince.” Artos at least had the decency to sound genuinely apologetic. “She needs this rest. With the first birth, she was wonderfully strong, more than I could have ever imagined. But I fear she has depleted her strength. She fell asleep the moment it was done.”

“Is… is it bad that she fell asleep?”

Artos sighed, his eyes turning to the floor. “Ordinarily, no, but with how thin she is, how weak… it worries me.”

No. No, no, no. “Is there anything you can do? To help strengthen her?”

“I am afraid not, my prince.”

“Well, do something. Do whatever you can.”

A soft moan came from behind the door. Ābrazȳrītsos. Aemond pushed against the door, opening it as far as he could to try and catch the barest glimpse of her.

Her eyes were nearly closed, her reddened cheeks making them appear as dark as night. Her chemise was soaked through with sweat and whatever other fluids came out with their child. But no blood beyond what he already knew to be there.

“Ābrazȳrītsos! I’m here!” He shouted. It took a moment for her to look his way. He could have sworn she smiled. “I’m with you! You must be strong, my love. I know you can be. I love you! I love you so much, ñuha zaldrīzītsos!”

Artos pushed against the door, forcing Aemond back. “That is enough, my prince. Upsetting her will only drain her strength.”

Aemond knew it was true, that his presence would likely upset her rather than comfort her. So, he stopped resisting and allowed the maester to close the door. Just before it closed, he whispered one final command, “Take care of her, Artos. She is my world.”

The pain returned, worse than before. The lightning crept down her spine again, but it was now accompanied by a great force set on tearing her body apart at the seams. Pushing brought no relief, nor did it seem to move her son any closer to the world.

Artos came to her bedside, resting the back of his hand against her brow.

“It’s worse this time,” she confided in the maester when it finally ebbed. “It’s so much worse. Why?”

He sighed and sat on the bedside, his massive hand nearly eclipsing her head as he stroked her hair. It made her feel remarkably like a kitten. “I cannot say, princess. There are many possibilities. This child could be larger, in a slightly different position, or…” He hesitated. “As I said, there are too many possibilities for me to be sure.”

His pause unsettled her, but it soon faded away when another wave went through her. “Is he nearly ready? I can’t do this much longer.” At least she knew what to do this time, so surely it would be better.

“Ah, another son, is it?” Artos stood from the bed to examine her spread legs. Several maids gently moved her to replace the sheets beneath her. “Not yet, but soon. Your motherly instincts will tell you when.”

Motherly instincts. Gods, she was a mother now. There was a child on the other side of the room that she had given birth to, that she had grown within her. A son who would depend on her for his entire life. Her, and his father.

Aemond would be a good father, she knew, even if he were decidedly lacking as a husband. But as a father, he would be attentive, kind, and loving. He would give their sons all the love he was denied by their own father.

They would not repeat the mistakes of the past. They would love their sons. They would not ignore them, speaking to them only to scold them. They would teach them the language of their ancestors themselves instead of relying on tutors. As soon as they were old enough, they would teach them how to be compassionate and fair rulers. They would not force them to marry for political advantage or the continuation of the bloodline but let them fall in love, as they had.

She could see them now. Both with white hair and unruly curls. Bright lilac eyes. The elder would take after her, but with Aemond’s determination. The younger would take after their father but with her gentle temperament.

As if the vision was summoning her second son, she felt her body constricting, muscles tightening. Without fear, she began to push.

“Princess, stop!”

Artos screamed as if someone was holding a sword to his throat, desperate and panicked. His eyes were wide and bulging as he looked from her face to where her second son should be emerging. “You mustn’t push now, princess. Not once. I…”

He stood, pulling one of the Septas aside. Others followed, and their frantic, poorly hushed whispers grew louder. She knew the sight should frighten her, but she forced herself to remain calm. Aemond said he trusted this man and had seen him work miracles. Whatever was wrong, Artos would fix it.

She was sure.

Artos burst out of the door without warning. Aemond pushed away from the wall. “Is it over?”

The maester sighed.

Shit. Seven Hells and all the Gods.

“Your wife is strong, my prince,” he began. Holy gods, he sounded as if he would cry. “Enough so that I would have little doubt that she could deliver your second child, but…”

“What’s wrong?” Aemond felt his heart race, his blood surge, his finger twitching for his sword. He was going into battle, but this was not a battle he could fight with steel or fire. This was not a battle he could fight at all. “Artos?”

“The babe is not in the right position.” He moved his hands as if it would somehow make Aemond understand what he was saying.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that the babe cannot be born, your highness.”

No. This couldn’t be happening. Not after everything she had suffered and survived.

“If she were to continue her labors, neither she nor the child would live.” Artos put a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at comfort. “I can save only one. Who survives… that is your decision, my prince.”

The gods were cruel to force this upon him – the very choice that had damned their family decades ago when Viserys chose to sacrifice his wife and queen for the chance at a son. That was where the seeds of destruction had been sown.

Aemond could not repeat the mistakes of the past. He would not be like his father. He had his son and heir. A second would be preferred, but not at the cost of his ābrazȳrītsos.

His ābrazȳrītsos, whose heart would break to lose her son. Who would never forgive him if he decided to –

He couldn’t choose. He couldn’t let her die, and he couldn’t let their son die.

He couldn't live without her, and he couldn’t take away her will to live.

He tore himself out of Artos’ grasp and stormed into the room.

Aemond threw open the door, his eyes wide and wet, and suddenly, she was not so sure that Maester Artos would fix whatever was wrong.

He ran to the bed, not sparing a glance at their new son. She burst into sobs the moment he took her in his arms. “Oh, ābrazȳrītsos,” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temples. She entwined her fingers with his, desperately squeezing. “I’m here now. Everything is going to be fine.”

Liar. Sweet Liar. Beloved Liar.

“I want Mother. I want Helaena.” Her voice crackled with tears and exhaustion. Everything hurt. Someone – most likely her – was crying, though it sounded distant. And if Aemond was here, not waiting outside…

If Aemond was here, holding her hand and stroking her hair, it meant something was wrong. Something was very wrong.

“Mother is not here right now,” he said, squeezing her hand tighter. He wouldn’t look at her, wouldn’t meet her gaze. “And Helaena… she can’t be here. I’m so sorry.”

“She told me she would hold my hand like I did for her. She promised!”

“I know. I know, my love, but it is not possible.”

Because Helaena was dead. So were Daeron, and Jaehaerys, and Jaehaera, and Maelor, and Otto, and Ser Criston, and nearly every other person she loved. Aegon would be dead soon, too, then she would only have her mother and her husband.

Her mother, who had begged her to forgive the husband who betrayed her and broken her heart.

“I can’t do this alone, Aemond. I can’t.”

“You can, I know it. You are so strong, dearest.” Yet there was no confidence in his voice.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tear his hair out just to make him hurt, too. “I can’t! I’ll die if you make me, Aemond, I know it. I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.”

He pursed his lips, eyes narrowed. “My love, I…” his voice faded, leaving them in total silence, save for that distant crying.

Then, he kissed her—not the soft kisses on the temple or head of the past fortnight, but the way he had kissed her when he said goodbye all those months ago. His lips slotted against hers perfectly, and she opened for him on instinct. She knew she should stop, push him away, and scold him, but she couldn’t.

Everything felt wrong—her entire body felt wrong. But this, kissing Aemond, felt right. Her desperation for comfort far overpowered her anger and resentment. Her trembling hand rested on his shoulder, her fingers bunching in his shirt. She pulled him closer, wanting more—more rightness, more connection, more feeling.

More Aemond.

But he pulled away, resting his brow against hers as she chased his lips again. He placed a hand on either side of her face, holding her still. “I’m going to fix this,” he rasped, his voice shredded by fear and desperation. “I will fix this, I swear.”

Then, he let go.

He stood from the bed and turned away from his wife.

He was leaving. He was fucking leaving her.

She screamed his name, cursed him, begged him to come back, hurled insults, and cried for him. He couldn’t do this to her, not after everything he’d already done.

This was not love. The heat that burned in her chest was not love.

It was hate.

For the first time in her life, she truly hated Aemond.

“Alys!” Aemond bellowed as he descended the stairs to the servant’s quarters, taking the steps two, three at a time. No one dared approach him. Not even Artos had tried to stop him as he ran away from his ābrazȳrītsos.

She may hate him forever for this, for leaving her when she was so weak and scared.

Fine. It would be worth it.

“ALYS!” The door snapped from its upper hinge as he tore it open. The witch was precisely where she’d been when Aemond left, her hand on her chin as she looked into the fire. What vile hell did she see in her visions now? “Alys!”

“I heard you, Aemond.” She did not look at him, only staring at the flames, those green eyes flitting around as if she were reading a book. “The entire continent heard you.” There was no humor in her voice, no hint of a smile on her face.

He swallowed, panting. He was crying – weeping like a little boy. That didn’t matter now. Very little mattered now.

Aemond fell to his knees before the witch with whom he had destroyed his life. He would do whatever she asked, destroy what little was left of his pride if necessary. “I need your help, Alys. Please.”

“She’s dying?”

“Yes. The maester said I had to… that I had to choose who to save.”

“And you can’t choose between her and the child.”

“No, I – ” he swallowed as his voice shattered. He was going to vomit. “I can’t, Alys. I can’t. Please.”

“What is it, exactly, that you want me to do?” She was colder than the Wall, than the entirety of the lands beyond it.

“Save them, both of them.”

Alys’ eyes narrowed. Her face was painted with an expression he had never seen. He had no clue what it meant. “What would you sacrifice,” she asked flatly, “to ensure your wife and her children – your true heirs – live?”

“Anything,” Aemond croaked, “Everything.”

One corner of her sinful mouth lifted in a way that did not bring him comfort. She sighed as if taking the time to thoroughly consider his plea. The wicked bitch was gleefully stalling when the lives of his wife and child could end at any moment.

“Please, Alys,” he begged again, desperation crawling through his veins like spreading ice. “I cannot live without her, and she will never recover from her grief if she loses the babe.”

Something passed over her face, and she smiled fully. “You have always been a man of loyalty and nobility, Aemond.” Her grin sharpened as she laid one delicate hand upon her belly. “Almost always, at least.”

“Alys,” he growled in warning.

“Oh, don’t be a beast about it,” she scoffed. “I will do it – save them. If only in memory of our time together.”

Aemond sagged as relief swept through him, but it did not last long. She was still dying. The babe was still dying. Whatever Alys would do, she needed to do it now. He opened his mouth to command her to start, but she held up a hand to stop him.

“I promise it will be done.” She flung her hand to the door in dismissal. “You should be there for her. She is still so very frightened.”

He needed nothing more to run back to his wife.

She was alone. Even with Maester Artos and the dozen women hovering around her, even with her son cooing softly from the cradle by the window, she had never felt so alone.

Aemond was gone.

He’d left her. Without even a goodbye, he’d left her. He had not even stopped to meet his son.

Artos murmured something to one of the Septas, who quickly gathered the other women on the far side of the room. He approached the bed, again seating himself upon the edge, and pressed the back of his fingers to her brow briefly before petting her hair. “How are you feeling, princess?”

“Am I going to die?”

He hesitated in answering. “I cannot say for certain…”

“I know something is wrong. Please, tell me.” Her heart constricted as his fingers brushed against a spot where Aemond had kissed her. “You told him, now tell me.”

“Very well,” he sighed. His harsh face fell, and she swore she could see his eyes glistening. “The babe is breech. It should emerge head-first, but it is not. It’s… the way it is attempting to come out is nearly impossible. Should I not intervene, one or both of you will die.”

No. No, no, no, it wasn’t fair. To suffer for this long, to endure what she endured, only for her child to enter the world wrong? In a way that would kill them? She had always been good and devout. She prayed and studied holy texts, listened to her Septas and the Maesters, and avoided sin at all costs. Then why was she being punished?

Unless… the gods had not sent this to punish her.

Aemond had abandoned her and their marriage – their holy union – when he slept with Alys. It would be fitting, and very like the gods, for him to lose that which he had forsaken. She and her second son were merely instruments of punishment. But it wasn’t fair.

“There is nothing you can do?” She felt hollow as Artos continued to look at her in pity.

The warrior-maester looked as if he were about to cry, as well. “In these situations, it is usually asked of the father whom he would rather save.”

So that was why Artos left the room – to ask Aemond whether to save her or the child.

“Who did he choose?” Either answer would devastate her. He would either prove the fragility of his love for her, or he would willingly break her heart by killing their son. Whatever he chose, he would become a kinslayer thrice over.

“He… he did not, your highness.”

“What?”

“I explained the situation, and he stormed in here – to you. When he left, he said nothing. He just ran. I presumed he had…” But he hadn’t. Had not said a word about the peril she and their son were now in.

A coward. Too frightened to maintain his vows of marriage. Too weak to admit his wrongdoing. Too cowardly to even make this most crucial of decisions. The gods damn him.

If they hadn’t already.

“So… what will you do?” If she had to be the one to make the decision, so be it.

“There are three options.” None of them were very good, she knew, simply by looking at his forlorn face. She had thought him a grave man when she first saw him. Now, he looked mournful – a reluctant harbinger of death. “I can forcibly remove the child, more than likely killing it in the process. I can attempt to save it and, in so doing, certainly kill you. Or we can proceed with the birth, risking killing both of you and pray that the gods may be merciful.”

Such a choice – a decision of life and death – should be difficult. It should tear away at the soul to condemn another. It should be far beyond the limits of the heart or mind.

But it was easy.

“Save him,” she whispered. “Let me die.”

Artos frowned deeply, shook his head, and said something in return, but she did not listen – she could not and would not hear his words. She only vaguely saw him move to the end bed, ripping away the sleeve of his robes as he barked orders at the maid and midwives. Perhaps the gods were merciful to dull her senses now so she could pass peacefully.

What did it matter if she died now?

She will have fulfilled her duty and given her husband his heirs. Finding a new wife would be easy – what woman would not want to marry him? Even if news of Alys spread beyond the walls of Harrenhal, surely it was nothing in exchange for a crown. Aemond would have everything he needed to be king.

If she lived, what sort of life would it be? To raise one son while constantly mourning the other. To be the wife of a man she could no longer trust. To remain empty, a shell of her former self. She would be alive, but she would still be a ghost.

“Save him,” she said again, her voice fading.

It was easier this way. Hadn’t she already learned that it was easier not to fight? Letting Aemond take care of her was easier than fighting him. Perhaps it would be easier to let him care for the children, too. He would love them enough that they would not feel her absence.

Distantly, she felt pressure between her legs, then heard her firstborn son cry out to echo her own screams.

Her son.

Oh, he had no name.

She couldn’t leave him motherless and without a name.

Months ago, she had decided on names, but they were hard to remember now. What was it? She could grant him this one last gift. She just needed to remember…

“Daeron.”

Yes. It had been her brother’s name. Her kind, brave, daring brother. He died some months ago. There had been a battle. Why was her little brother fighting? He was too young for that.

Tendrils of pale mist crept into the edges of her vision, playfully willing her to sleep.

Once she was gone, Daeron—her Daeron—would have a little brother, too. He would need a name as well—a strong name, a courageous name. When she was dead, he would need courage.

“Aenar.”

A strong name. With courage enough to forge a new beginning.

There. Names for her sons, the little princes.

With that last parting gift, she could close her eyes at last.

Goodbye, she tried to say.

I love you, my children.

Be kind to each other.

Love each other always.

Goodbye.

The mist filled her vision, illuminated by a distant light. It was cool, like a late spring morning. She did not hurt anymore. Did not feel anything but an overwhelming sense of peace.

The distant light faded.

The mist darkened.

Through it, she swore she could see grass-green eyes and hear the faraway cry of a babe.

She was still screaming. Good.

Screaming meant she was still alive. Screaming meant Alys was fulfilling her promise. Screaming meant that Aemond was racing back to his wife – his living, breathing, beloved wife – and not her corpse.

The door was still locked when he arrived—one final obstacle between him and his family.

No, not final. Far from it. The door was the only tangible thing keeping him from his wife and children, yes, but there was far more beyond it. The pain he caused her, the hatred his ābrazȳrītsos now surely felt for him, and the third child that would soon be born still kept them as far apart as the earth and stars.

They would get past it. They had to. They were siblings, husband and wife, now destined to become King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They were meant for each other. The gods or fate or whatever else had made her for him and him for her.

They were two parts of the same whole, cleaved.

“Prince Aemond.”

Cregan Stark, the man who humiliated him and his wife mere hours ago, stood behind him. Aemond snarled. “Leave. Now.”

Stark stood strong and still. “You have been my enemy. You may be still, I have not decided. I have no admiration nor respect for you, my prince. In short, I do not like you.”

“Do you want me to kill you?” Aemond asked. He did not wish to greet his sons with blood-soaked hands, but if Stark didn’t close his fucking mouth –

“To lose the woman you love so dearly in this way… it is a pain I know all too well and one I would not wish on anyone. I have instructed all my men to pray for the Princess and the child, and I will join them soon. Negotiations will be postponed indefinitely.”

“I…” Perhaps Aemond had underestimated the brute, if he was a brute at all. And though he knew the prayers were unnecessary, gratitude still dulled his rage. “Thank you, Lord Stark.”

He simply inclined his head and walked away, leaving Aemond leaning against that godsdamned door, listening to nothing but the sound of his own panting breath.

Oh gods.

He froze.

The screaming was gone.

It was silent.

Was she dead?

Had Alys betrayed him?

He would kill her. He would tear her apart with his own hands and –

A child cried.

Then…

Oh, thank each and every god a thousand times over.

For then, Aemond heard his wife laughing.

“Princess?”

She always expected that the voice of the Father would be deep and smooth, but shouldn’t it be the Mother to greet her, given how she died? And shouldn’t the gods greet her by name, not her title?

“Princess, it is time to wake up,” the voice said again. “Open your eyes for me.”

Oh, her eyes were closed. She should open them.

The Heavens were not as bright as she imagined, nor as golden. They were dark and sparsely decorated and looked very much like –

“I am not dead?”

Maester Artos looked down at her and smiled. It reminded her of the few times she had seen her father smile at her, sparking a warmth in her chest she had not felt for years. She had not known she still remembered those smiles. “I am very happy to say you are not, your highness.”

“But, my son – ”

“He lives, too.”

It couldn’t be. After all the suffering of the past year, she could not believe it could be true. Loss had become a certainty, as sure as the sun rising each morning.

A babe cried, and she turned toward the sound. A young maid was wrapping an infant boy with a shock of white curls in a cobalt blue blanket. Daeron.

A different, softer cry came from the other end of the room. There, another boy with only a smattering of silver wisps atop his head was being gently cleaned by a Septa. Aenar.

Her sons – alive and well and here.

She threw her head back against the pillows and laughed.

She laughed with joy and relief, with eight months of eager waiting and sickness. She laughed with a body nearly dead, saved only by some miracle she did not understand. And she laughed with a heart that was both shattered and overflowing.

This was the moment she had dreamed of since she learned she was pregnant, since the moment she married Aemond. She had dreamed of this all her life. It was her destiny, even if it was vastly different from how she had dreamed it. For she was not at home in the Red Keep but within the cursed stones of Harrenhal. Her mother was not by her side but miles away. The family that was supposed to crowd around her and coo over the children were nearly all dead. And her husband…

“Let me in!” he shouted through the door, the wood pounding against stone as he threw himself against it. He had been doing that before, but she did not notice until now. It was so like him, the impatience and need to act, that she laughed again. “Ābrazȳrītsos! Is that you? Tell me you are safe!”

Taking her laughter as permission, Artos opened the door. It was mere heartbeats later that Aemond was upon the bed, his eye flitting over every inch of her, his hands roaming to try and locate something wrong, to stem blood that did not flow or relieve pain that did not exist.

“I’m fine,” she said, breathless. “I did it, lēkia, and I’m fine.”

“You did it?” He looked down at her in utter disbelief and joy before his eye drifted to the Maester. Tears slipped from his eye and caught the light of the setting sun. “She did it…”

Her gaze went to the maid that held her firstborn – the girl with eyes like her mother’s. Fitting, for her to be the one to hold him. But it was her turn. “Bring Daeron to me,” she ordered,” some strength at last returning to her voice. “I want to hold him.”

Aemond stared at her. “Daeron?”

Was he angry that she named their sons without him? She couldn’t quite tell. Her mind was still fuzzy, like the mist she had seen still lay over her, casting everything in a sweet, happy light. She shrugged. “There are already too many Aegons, so…”

He laughed. She had missed that sound – she loved it so dearly. He settled into the bed next to her, their bodies fitting together perfectly, like two halves of a broken plate. So many familiar feelings – the warmth of his arm around her, the rhythm of his heart, his lips kissing her temple in the gentle way that always sent shivers down her spine. Hadn’t her spine hurt not long ago? “Daeron is perfect.”

Indeed, he was absolutely perfect. So tiny and precious as he was put in her arms, looking up at his parents with wide lilac eyes. Neither she nor Aemond said anything as they beheld him, taking in each tiny, perfect detail. The wild curls of his silver hair. Each and every eyelash framing his bright eyes. The pink of his lips. Fingers and toes so wonderfully soft and small. A toothless smile that lit the world.

“He’s going to be king someday,” she realized aloud. How could someone so tiny rule an entire kingdom? He had a lot of growing to do before the Conqueror’s Crown would fit.

“A great king, I think,” Aemond mused. He held out a finger, and Daeron instinctively wrapped his hand around it. “Wise and strong. Daring, like his namesake.”

“He must be kind, too.”

“He will be,” Aemond assured, brushing out her damp, tangled hair with his fingers. The feeling was so familiar, but each touch had her flinching slightly. “We will raise him to be kind. His brother, too.”

“Aenar.”

Aemond stiffened. Had he forgotten they had another son, or did he not like the name she gave him? He pulled his finger back from his son’s fist to touch the babe’s hair. “The Exile?”

“I just thought…” Perhaps it had been a foolish name. But it had felt right when it came to her, when she was on the brink of death. “Our family needs a new beginning.”

“Yes… I suppose it does.” He kissed her again with slightly too much pressure. “Another fine name.”

She looked at the Septa that had been cleaning him. Maester Artos stood with her now, along with several other women, crowding so much she could not see the babe. “I want to hold him, too. Bring him to me.”

None of them moved. The room fell silent.

“Allow me just a moment longer, princess,” Artos said. His voice shook, and he would not look at her or Aemond. “I am still finishing my assessment of the boy.”

He’s dead, her mind insisted. They saved your life at the cost of his. He died because of you.

“No,” she whispered. “No, no, no.”

Daeron began fussing in her arms, disturbed by how she began to tremble. She failed one son by killing him, and now she was already failing as a mother to the one who survived. Aemond tightened his arm on her shoulders, pulling her closer as his free arm gently lifted their son into his own grasp.

He hushed her, ducking his head to press his cheek to hers. “Lykirī, ābrazȳrītsos. Izūgō daor īlo bēvili gō.” Calm, little wife. Do not panic before we have reason to.

“Kostan daor,” she whimpered. If Aenar was dead…

“Is he alive?” Aemond’s hand moved to shelter Daeron’s head as if to shield him from whatever danger or heartbreak lurked. She turned to press herself into him – into the safety of his arms.

Brother. Husband. Protector.

Why did the feel and scent of him no longer make her feel safe?

“Yes, my prince,” Artos answered.

“Will he remain that way?”

“Yes…”

“You could tell me he’s green-skinned and winged for all I care.” His arm curled protectively around her, but it did not comfort her. Rather, she bristled against it, the possessiveness of it. He did not notice. “He’s alive, and that’s enough. Bring him.”

Artos hesitated but obeyed, hastily wrapping the babe in a dark blanket.

He looked whole – unbroken. Aenar’s eyes were closed as the Maester placed him in her arms, but she could feel his warmth, his little heart beating, and the faint rise and fall of his chest. He only woke when a tear fell from her cheek onto his.

Even then, he did not cry. He only looked at his mother with bright eyes – the same shade of violet as his father's and brother’s. “Ñuha trēso,” she whispered, and he smiled. My son.

“Taobosa sylvȳse,” Aemond added. “He already recognizes the language of his ancestors. He will serve his brother well. Dārys sepār Ondoso zȳhon.” Wise boy. The King and his Hand.

They had two perfect sons. So why did Artos still look like that?

The Maester’s frown deepened. “I am afraid…” he cleared his throat. “It appears that the younger prince was injured during the birth.”

She examined him again but could find nothing wrong. He was perfect. Surely, Artos was mistaken.

“May I?” His large hand hovered over the edge of the blanket.

Her instinct was to pull away, to not let this man touch her son. Yes, he had saved both their lives, but he must be wrong now. Why should she let him make a problem where there was none?

She suppressed that instinct and allowed him to uncover Aenar’s right arm. Artos’ demeanor had made it seem as though something was horribly wrong – that the arm would be missing or deformed. But it was just an arm, small and plump and pale, with a splotch of reddish-purple covering the shoulder like a pauldron.

“It… is it a birthmark?” She brushed a thumb over it, the skin smooth but slightly raised. A birthmark wasn’t an injury, nor was it exceedingly unusual. There were several families where such a mark appeared on nearly every child born.

“Explain yourself, Artos,” Aemond hissed. He looked ready to tear the man to pieces. If he did, he would likely do so without even setting Daeron down.

With a sigh, Artos ran a finger down the length of Aenar’s arm. “Note how he gives no reaction.”

“So he is calm,” Aemond spat. “I fail to see the injury.”

“Do the same to the elder.” He repeated the touch. “Gently, my prince.”

Aemond obeyed with a scowl. The moment he touched the babe, Daeron squirmed and flailed his arm.

“But he looks fine.” She looked down at her second son, her wise boy, and held out a finger, as Aemond had with Daeron. Aenar’s left arm squirmed within its wrappings, but the right was still. She touched the arm, silently pleading with the gods for it to move, for that tiny hand to reach for her.

It remained still. A desperate noise escaped her. “What did I do wrong?”

“Nothing,” Aemond and Artos said in unison. Her husband attempted to pull her into his chest, but she pushed him away. An embrace could not fix this. Nothing could. He did not pursue her again.

“It is not uncommon among children born breech.” the Maester explained. “I have seen many such injuries and many even worse.”

Artos offered no sympathy or apologies, and she was thankful for it. There was nothing he could say to ease the pain of knowing that her son would never be whole, just like his father. But unlike Aemond, he was never even given the chance, wounded from his first breath. What would the people call him? ‘Prince Aenar One-Arm, son of King Aemond One-Eye?’

“What do we do?” She asked her husband, the Maester, the gods. Anyone who may have an answer.

Aemond’s face was drawn with grief – for his son and for himself. “He will adapt, as I did. I will ensure it. He will be stronger for this. I promise.”

I cannot trust your promises.

The thought was a sudden gale of icy wind scattering the lovely mist coating her mind into oblivion, leaving her with only stark, wicked reality and the faint memory of green eyes.

“How did I survive?”

Too quickly, Aemond turned to her, taking hold of her chin and pulling her close to him. “It does not matter, ābrazȳrītsos. All that does is that you are still with me. You and Aenar.”

If he wasn’t holding her firstborn, she would have shoved him from the bed.Liar. Liar. Liar.

I will fix this. he’d said before he left her. The pure, unrelenting anger she felt as she watched him leave had prevented her from considering what those words meant. Now, she could think of nothing else. What could he do? He was no midwife nor Maester. He had no knowledge of childbirth, beyond the few questions he’d asked of Orwyle months ago. What could he have done for her and Aenar except beg the help of another?

Of Alys.

Alys, who had eyes the color of fresh grass and possessed a dark magic that allowed her visions of the future. Was she also able to influence that future?

How?

At what cost?

What had Aemond promised her in exchange for their lives?

“No Maester wants to admit to ignorance,” Artos smiled sadly as Aenar continued to try to wriggle his left arm free of his blanket, “but I cannot explain it. All I can think is that the gods are kind to you, princess, and for that, I am glad.”

She could not look at him or any of the others in the room who watched her as if they could see the Mother’s hand upon her shoulder.

The gods weren’t kind. They were cruel to allow her to now owe her very life, and that of her son’s, to the two people who had destroyed her. Would she ever be able to look upon Aenar and not remember? To not feel her soul torn between unyielding hatred and infinite gratitude?

Yet, she had her life – and her sons. Surely anything was worth that.

Wasn’t it?

“I’m tired,” she said. The day had seemed to last a year, and the sun had not even set. “I want to rest now.”

After what she endured, no one argued.

His ābrazȳrītsos fell asleep mere moments after Daeron and Aenar were settled into their cradles. She did not even wake when Aemond lifted her so the servants could replace the soiled bedding. Just as she had so many times before, she tucked her face into his neck as they sat in the window, sighing contentedly. Now, he lay beside her in the bed, trying to memorize how it felt to have her in his arms.

When she woke, he knew she would never allow him to hold her like this again.

She knew. Somehow, his wife knew what he had done to ensure she and Aenar survived, and she would never forgive him for it for as long as she lived.

But she would live.

Aenar would live. Though he would bear the wounds of his father’s sins forever.

After his wife had fallen asleep, Maester Artos had told him that it would likely be necessary to amputate Aenar’s arm. The purple mark on his shoulder had grown, apparently indicating further bleeding within the limb. If it grew much more before morning, the arm would be removed before midday.

It was his fault, Aemond knew.

Alys had told him that in her visions, both boys had been healthy. But that was before his ābrazȳrītsos knew that he betrayed her. Before he brought her to this cursed place. Before he failed to stop her from meeting Alys and learning the full extent of his sins.

He only hoped Aenar would not grow to hate him for it.

For now, the boy slept in his crib, limp arm hidden beneath the dark blanket he was swaddled in. Aemond rose from the bed, moving closer to his son.

How peaceful he looked now, with the redness of his skin finally faded. He did not have as much hair as his older brother, but his was wilder - more reminiscent of his mother’s curls than his father’s straight locks. At least he had that part of her, if not the warm brown eyes Aemond had hoped for.

In the other cradle, Daeron fussed slightly, though he did not wake. It seemed he resented being confined within the tight swaddle of his blanket. The thought made Aemond smile, remembering how his younger brother once did the same. It faded quickly.

He had to go to Alys. To thank her for giving him his family - a kindness he did not deserve. To say goodbye to the child he would never meet. Another cost he would force himself to pay.

He had to go now, while his ābrazȳrītsos slept.

“Before our wedding,” he whispered, careful not to wake her as he approached, “I promised to hold you every night I could, that I would do anything to return to you when I was away. I have failed to uphold that promise, and for that, I am so sorry.”

When he stroked her cheek, she turned into his touch, a small smile upon her lips. Seeing that some unconscious part of her still reacted to him with love warmed his heart, even as the knowledge that her conscious mind would never allow her to do so felt like a dagger buried in his gut.

Aemond knelt at her side, basking in her beauty, memorizing her peaceful face. “Now, I swear my devotion again. I know you no longer wish for me to hold you, and I promise I will not try to persuade you otherwise. But I swear I will always be with you, to love and protect you, even if I must do it from a distance. I will never fail you again.”

It did not matter that she could not hear his vow. Even if she did, she would not believe him. But he made it anyway, for his own sake, and so the gods, wherever they may be, would hear him. It was to them he spoke next.

“Should I ever harm you again, I pray that the gods will strike me down where I stand. And if they do not, I shall do so myself.” He kissed her brow - the sealing of a promise and a farewell - and left.

A maid shrunk away as she passed Aemond in a corridor deep beneath Harrenhal, cradling the bundle of cloth she carried closer to her chest. It was one of the same maids who had tended to his wife—the young girl with deep brown eyes. She did not wear the clothing of a midwife, but the colors of her linen dress were similar. Perhaps a midwife in training.

Strange, then, for her to be here. Stranger still for her to be seemingly performing the duties of a laundress.

He glanced down at the bundle of cloth she carried and froze.

There was blood. Too much blood.

A young midwife, carrying bedlinens soaked with blood.

What would you sacrifice? Alys had asked.

Aemond ran.

He knew what he would find. There was no other explanation. Yet he still hoped and prayed he was wrong. Loss had followed him like a loyal dog for so long, but today it was banished. It must be.

Alys stood in front of her fire. One hand rested on a stomach that was not as distended as it had been only hours ago.

His wife’s stomach now looked very much the same.

“What did you do?” His voice shook with fear and guilt and shame. Gods, he felt so weak.

Her eyes, cold and distant, slid to his. “What you asked.”

“I didn’t ask you to…” This blood was on his hands - the blood of his child.

The word that had haunted him for more than a year - the word that had nearly led to the death of every person he ever loved - echoed in his mind.

Kinslayer.

Killer of his nephew. His uncle. His child.

Aemond looked back into the corridor, hoping to see the young midwife again. Had he not looked closely enough? Had she been carrying the body of his child within those bloody linens?

“I only wanted you to save my wife and son.” His words were a justification, a plea. It fell on the deaf ears of the gods and the dead child’s mother.

“And you thought there would be no cost?” Alys laughed, cruel and cackling. “No god in the world is so generous as to save a life and ask for nothing in exchange, boy.”

“I didn’t think – ”

“You never do.”

Grief morphed into anger. Reckless, aimless, dangerous rage. “You should have told me!”

“What would you have done?” She faced him fully now, her hand falling to her side. There was no trace of the woman who had once comforted and reassured him - who had kept him sane amidst the insanity of war. There was only annoyance and derision. It reminded Aemond of his dead half-sister and her bastard sons. “If I had told you?”

“I –”

“Would you have left your wife to die? Let her son die?” Alys’ lip curled in a hateful sneer. “You could not choose between wife and son, yet you believe you could have chosen between two sons?”

The world stopped. Only Alys’ flickering fire and burning eyes remained.

“I… it was a boy?” Aemond leaned against the wall, sliding down to his knees, savoring the scrape of the rough stone against his back. He deserved every bit of pain. More.

Alys let a single hint of sorrow slip through her cold façade. “It was. Three sons within a year. What your father would have given to have had the same.”

The last thing Aemond wanted to do was to think about his father. The king who had nearly destroyed his throne by choosing one child over another.

Gods, was he any better?

Did his ignorance of his son’s sacrifice absolve him of blame? The guilt?

It certainly didn’t feel like it.

Alys sighed. “Better for his death to mean something than for his life to be spent destitute and fatherless.”

“I would not have allowed that to happen,” Aemond said. It was a reflex, a reassurance he’d grown used to giving since he learned he seeded a bastard.

“Wouldn’t you? Perhaps if my visions had not changed. But now…” She shook her head, more exasperated than sorrowful. Did she mourn the child at all? “No. You’d have wanted us as far away as possible and done anything you could to not think of us.”

“I would have ensured your comfort.” The words felt as hollow as his chest.

“Your wife would, yes.” Alys smiled fondly, just as she had when his ābrazȳrītsos sat across from her earlier that very day. She had never smiled that way for Aemond. Never truly cared for him. He should have known. “She is kind-hearted. But not you. Your resentment of me, of us, would have festered until you found some way to be rid of us.”

He wanted to deny it. To say that there was nothing that could drive him to do what she insinuated. Once, it would have been true. But now, with the man he’d become in the war and how close he’d come to losing his heart itself, it would be a lie.

If he had killed Alys along with the rest of her cursed family, would he have become this man? Would he have learned to cherish the metallic tang of blood and its warmth as it coated his hands? Would he have become so proficient a liar that false words rolled off his tongue like a Valyrian lullaby? Would he have grown so accustomed to violence that it now came as naturally to him as loving his wife?

Would he have broken his ābrazȳrītsos’s heart?

He’d trusted her visions. It had been a mistake.

One mistake that led to thousands more, and it was all her fault.

Alys was the one who lied, who deceived him. Who had pulled his strings as if he were no more than a puppet, knowing that he was married and his wife was lonely and infirm.

His failure as a husband. His wife’s pain. The death of his third son.

Her fault. Her fault. Her fault.

Aemond’s heart slowed, his breathing becoming deep and steady. No longer the heart of a broken boy or a desperate husband. Now, it was the blackened heart that had carried him through countless battles and raging rivers of blood.

“I will be rid of you now,” he hissed as he stood. “And I will be rid of you forever.”

The bitch had enough sense to look scared.

“In memory of the son you killed, I will allow you to live. But no more than that.” She didn’t even deserve that, this woman who did not mourn her own child. Perhaps it was good that the babe was gone, for surely he would have suffered with a witch as his mother.

He approached Alys, sneering down at her and the false bravery on her wicked face. “As Prince Regent of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I banish you from these lands forever. You have ten days to leave Westeros. After that, if you are ever seen here again…” He reached out and grabbed her by the throat, holding just tight enough to steal a bit of her breath - just enough to make her fight for it.

“I will kill you myself,” he promised. “Without hesitation or remorse, I will kill you. Slowly. And I will savor every moment, for it will bring me far greater pleasure than that withered cunt of yours ever did.”

She fell to her knees when he released her, clutching at her throat as she coughed and gulped for air. He didn’t care. He only turned on his heel and left, not sparing a single glance at the woman who had only hours ago been carrying his bastard child.

Only one woman mattered now, had ever truly mattered to him.

His ābrazȳrītsos was still asleep when he returned to their chamber, as were their sons. They had no idea where he had gone - that he had even left at all. No inkling of the fact that a moment ago, he had again become the man who wiped an entire bloodline from the earth, slaughtered tens of thousands, and delighted in the suffering he had wrought.

Now, as he leaned down to gently kiss his sons’ brows and muss their soft hair, he was a mere man of twenty, his heart bursting with love and affection for his family. How could a heart overflow with such love at the same moment it was fracturing with grief and regret?

It was a question far beyond him at that moment. Perhaps forever beyond his reach.

He was so tired. Too tired to consider the heartbreak that would come when he woke in the morning and his wife pulled out of his grasp. He could face that pain when it came. But now, he needed to feel whole, if only for a few hours.

So, Aemond climbed into bed with his wife, wrapping his arms around her and tugging her into his chest. He remained awake only long enough to kiss the top of her head and whisper, “Jāla tetan, ābrazȳrītsos. Īlon lentot selagon kosti.” It is over, ābrazȳrītsos. We can go home.

She woke to the sound of Daeron fussing. Strange how quickly she was able to tell them apart, even just by their little noises of discontentment. Although, considering she had been with them every moment of the last seven - near eight - months, it may not be strange at all. Perhaps that was why she felt so sure that it had been Daeron who occupied the top of her belly, constantly pestering her with his tiny fists pounding against her at the most inopportune times.

“Hush, little prince,” a soft voice said. “You’ll wake up your mother, and after what you and your brother put her through, I dare say she needs her rest.” A maid was speaking to him, a slight, old woman leaning over his crib. She had not seen the maid before, and somehow, it comforted her.

Daeron continued to grumble. She moved to stand but found Aemond’s arms wrapped around her waist. Thankfully, he was still asleep. Quite deeply asleep, apparently, for when she untangled herself from him, he did not wake.

The maid curtsied when she saw the princess approaching and stepped away from Daeron’s cradle. His fussing had now roused Aenar, but the younger prince made no sound, only glaring at his brother in what seemed to be intense displeasure at his sleep being interrupted.

“Is something wrong with him?” she asked the old maid. Daeron quieted slightly upon seeing his mother but still fussed.

“Nothing to concern yourself with, princess.” The old maid had a kind, soothing voice - that of a wise grandmother. She looked at the babes with fondness and a hint of apology. “They are simply hungry.”

“Where is the wetnurse?” She immediately regretted asking. In her sleepy haze, she had forgotten that Alys was the wetnurse at Harrenhal. Why wasn’t she here? Did she even want Alys here? No, of course she didn’t. Had Aemond requested another be found so she would not have to see Alys again?

The old maid looked away, sighing. “I’m afraid she’s left us. No wonder why, poor thing lost her babe again. Such a shame. We all thought she’d had a miracle with this one. But not to worry, Maester Artos sent some men to find another girl from the closest village.” She shook her head and again leaned over Daeron’s crib. “You’ll be fed soon, darling prince, don’t you worry.”

Alys’ child - Aemond’s child - was dead?

It was a good thing, wasn’t it? There would be no bastard son of the new king, no living reminder of what he’d done. This was good news. She should be happy, shouldn’t she?

But she wanted to cry.

“Mother, forgive me,” the old maid looked horrified as she clutched her pendant of the Seven-Pointed Star. “I should not have said that, princess. Not when you’ve only just finished your own labors. Please, forgive me.”

She glanced at Aenar, now peacefully asleep once more. How close she had come to losing him. It had devastated her. Made her willing to forfeit her own life if only he could live. If she had lost him and had to live with that loss… it would have driven her mad.

“How…” she licked her lips. “How many children has she lost?”

The old maid dropped her pendant. “I do not know, exactly. Enough that we all stopped counting.”

Oh gods. She blinked to clear her eyes, wiping away an errant tear with her thumb. “You said she’s gone?”

“Yes, princess. She left in the night. Didn’t say where she was going, to my knowledge.”

It made no sense. If Aemond had struck a bargain with Alys to save her and Aenar’s lives, why would she leave? Had whatever he offered her not been enough to keep her in the place where she’d lost so many children?

Daeron cried again, his face reddened and wrinkled. He was so hungry, she could nearly feel it herself. She… she could feel it. When she looked down at herself, she saw two dark stains on her chemise right above her breasts. Her milk had finally come in, which meant -

“I can feed them.”

The old maid looked aghast. “Princess, there is no need - ”

“I want to do it.” She was their mother, why shouldn’t she be the one to feed them? It was her body that made them, that brought them into the world. It made sense that it would continue to care for them even now. “Can you show me how?”

It took a moment for the maid to close her mouth before she smiled gently. “I’ve raised nine children myself, princess. I think I know a few tricks.”

The maid had gone by the time Aemond woke.

Daeron was still suckling at her left breast while Aenar had fallen asleep using the right as his pillow. She had not realized how heavy and uncomfortable they had felt until the boys had drunk from her, easing the pressure that she’d become accustomed to.

“You should not be doing that yourself,” Aemond muttered as he raised himself on an elbow. His eye darted from son to son, only ever glancing over her exposed breasts. Once, he loved to worship them, quite similarly to how his sons fed from her now. “Where is the wetnurse?”

Did he not know that Alys had left? Had no one told him of the death of his child?

No. Those were the faint remnants of tear tracks lining his cheeks, and there was a deep sadness in his eye that was not there when he held his sons for the first time. He knew. He knew, and he was grieving, though he was fighting to hide it. She still saw it.

Perhaps that was the real reason he never returned to King’s Landing during the war - he knew she would be able to see the guilt on his face.

“There is no other wetnurse,” she explained gently. “Alys left. They’re looking for another woman now.”

Aemond froze, his gaze growing distant. She could not decipher his expression. Rage? Guilt? Sorrow? Grief?

“I’m sorry, Aemond.” He frowned and shook his head, but she continued. “Truly, I am.”

“It’s better this way,” he whispered. He didn’t believe it. Neither did she.

He reached out to her. No, not to her, but to Aenar, gently stroking his hair. She allowed him to take the babe and hold him against his own chest.

Aenar opened his eyes and looked up at his father. Then, he smiled.

Aemond took in a deep breath. “That boy should never have existed,” he said, letting Aenar take hold of his thumb and mouth at it. “I already had what I needed. And wanted.”

So it was a boy. Another son. A brother for her own. Would he have had his father’s nose, as Daeron did? Or his stern brow, like Aenar? Gods, why did she care?

“You are allowed to mourn him. He was innocent. I bear him no ill will.” Bastard or no, a babe was a babe, blameless of his parents’ sins. Deep in her heart, she mourned him, as well.

Again, Aemond shook his head. “I cannot mourn what never should have been.” He turned his head to face her, face open and pleading. “And I am mourning too much already.”

“I am alive. Aenar is alive. There is nothing to mourn.”

“You know that is not what I mean, ābrazȳrītsos.”

She did. He mourned not for the loss of a life, but for the loss of their life. The life they should have shared, and would have, had Aemond not strayed. In truth, she mourned for it, too.

“I know.”

They sat in silence for a moment as Daeron finally finished feeding, stretching his little arms to push her breast away. She pulled her robe closed again to combat the chill.

Aemond raised a hand to help her. She flinched away. He winced in response.

“Ābrazȳrītsos, please.” His voice was already breaking, his eye watering. The sight should have tugged at her heart. His begging should have fanned the flames of her anger. But looking at him, she felt very little of anything, save a small seed of pity. “Alys is gone. My… the bastard is gone. Can we not return to the way we were? Pretend none of this ever happened? Can’t you forgive me at last?”

The answer came without hesitation.

“No, Aemond.”

Within her, there was no longer a grassland, barren with loneliness and despair. The never-ending field of raging fire had also vanished. In its place was a small, lush garden, safely contained within tall stone walls draped with flowers and a polished iron gate – locked firmly, but perhaps not sealed forever.

“I shall always be your sister, your blood, and the mother of your children.” Daeron cooed, as if he knew she was talking about him, and she could not help but smile down at him. “I will remain your wife in the eyes of gods and men. And when Aegon dies, I will be your faithful queen.”

Aemond shook as his breath quickened, failing to keep the heartbreak. “You will be a wonderful queen, ābrazȳrītsos. I know it.”

She pulled away, taking Aenar from him and into her empty arm. “But I will never again be your ābrazȳrītsos.” She forced herself to ignore the whimpering, broken cry that escaped him, the breath that carried it echoing like a death rattle. “I will not share your bed. And I will no longer allow you to hold my heart.”

Between desperate sobs, Aemond raised his head to face her. Utter devastation lay in his eye, but so too did acceptance. Anguished surrender. “My heart is and always shall be yours.”

I don’t want it, her mind told her, even as her heart cried, I will cherish it forever.

But her decision was made. In all but name, their marriage – their once legendary romance – was finished. A few fragments of love remained but would never be repaired. Could never be.

Slowly, she rose from the bed, her sons still in her arms. Aemond began to reach for her, but when she did not even acknowledge him, he covered his face with his hands and wept. Though it tugged at her heart, it was the same she would feel for any man weeping so, no longer the instinctive pull of a wife. She did not comfort him.

The soft, pitiful sounds of Aemond’s grief faded as she walked toward the eastern window, settling herself in the cushioned seat just beneath it.

Daeron smiled, watching the trembling branches of an oak tree dotted with the first tight green buds of the season. Aenar angled his head just so, until the sun warmed every bit of his fat, pink face, then promptly fell asleep. She sighed, taking in the sweet scent of spring on the wind, and realized she had not breathed so easily in months.

It was a lovely morning in Harrenhal.

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lovelookspretty · 6 days

Text

lover of mine

drew starkey x actress!reader au

— in which drew and y/n, secretly exes, must fake date in order to keep the peace at a mutual friend’s wedding, but the forced proximity makes them question whether they ever truly moved on.

warnings: sexual themes !! but eek another cliffhanger i fear yall are gonna eat me alive

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authors note: i havent slept and its 8am because ive been writing this for U GUYS 😞 let me know if u would like to be part of the tag list tho thru replies, anons, or dms !! notifications are always on <3

drew jolts awake, his heart racing from whatever dream he’s already forgotten. he blinks against the early light streaming through the curtains, his eyes squinting as he scans the room. instinctively, his hand reaches for your side of the bed, but it’s empty.

“y/n?” he murmurs, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand. his brain tries to catch up to his surroundings, still sluggish from sleep.

just as he’s about to throw the covers off and go looking for you, the door creaks open. there you are, balancing a tray in your hands with a small but proud grin on your face. his lips curl into an instant smile at the sight of you, and it’s relief that washes over him.

“good morning,” you draw out playfully, your voice teasing as you approach the bed. drew watches, amusement in his eyes.

“what’s all this?” he asks, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes but already intrigued by the spread.

you gesture to the tray proudly, listing off the items you’ve prepared. “made us both some eggs, bacon, toast . . . oh, and fresh fruit,” you say, pointing at the colorful array of berries on the side. “figured i’d bring it to you since you were still sleeping.”

he chuckles, sitting up properly and glancing over at the tray with a grin. “so did the others get the same royal treatment?” he jokes, looking up at you with raised eyebrows.

“obviously.” you nod, a smile tugging at your lips. “the girls and i were up early making breakfast for everyone. the guys are already up and eating, but i thought I’d bring yours here. you know, special delivery.”

he shakes his head, still smiling as he takes it all in. “so, breakfast in bed? don’t mind if i do.”

“shut up,” you say as you crawl onto the bed carefully, setting the tray between you both.

as you settle beside him, drew is already popping a blueberry into his mouth. he chews thoughtfully, an amused look crossing his face. “you know,” he says, pausing to finish his bite before continuing, “you never did stuff like this when we were together.”

you glance at him, casual as ever. “we were always too busy,” you reply nonchalantly, reaching for a piece of bacon. “i don’t think we ever really had time to eat breakfast together in the mornings, or whatever.”

it’s such an offhanded comment, one you barely think twice about, but drew does. his fork hovers mid-air as your words sink in. he realizes how right you are—there was always something else, always a rush to be somewhere or do something. sure, you spent time together, but not like this. not with simple, meaningful moments that could’ve mattered.

his thoughts flicker back to the night before, to the messages he saw on his phone. that nagging feeling from last night returns, tugging at him. he quickly glances over to the nightstand, his head whipping around so fast that it draws your attention immediately.

you laugh, startled by his sudden movement. “dude, are you alright?” there’s amusement in your voice, but you look at him with mild concern.

he blinks, pulling himself together, and his heart beats a little faster. “yeah, yeah, i’m fine,” he replies quickly, trying to shake off the tension that suddenly crept in. he flashes a quick smile, picking up his fork again and taking another bite. “just thought i, like . . . misplaced my phone or something.”

you raise a brow at him but let it slide, not thinking much of it as you continue eating.

drew takes a bite of the eggs, and his eyes flutter shut as he lets out an involuntary moan. his hand flies to his mouth, covering it as he starts to laugh, almost embarrassed by how dramatic his reaction is. “oh my god . . .” he mumbles, shaking his head like he can’t believe it.

you look over at him, confused but amused by his reaction. “what?” you ask, smiling, not quite getting what’s so funny.

he finishes chewing, still grinning, and gestures at the eggs with his fork. “these. i know it has to be you who made the eggs.”

you raise an eyebrow, genuinely puzzled. “what do you mean?”

“there’s just something about the way you make them,” he explains, his voice sincere. “i don’t know what it is, but it’s like i could pick your eggs out of a million different versions. they’re always so . . . perfect. they melt in my mouth every time.”

you laugh, slightly bashful but clearly appreciating the compliment. “whatever,” you say, though you’re smiling. “they’re just eggs.”

he shakes his head, still smiling back at you. “no you’ve got, like, the magic touch or something.”

curious now, you take a bite of your own eggs, chewing thoughtfully before pausing. you look over at him, nodding slowly in agreement.“you’re right. these are good.”

drew laughs at your half-joking realization, and you can’t help but join in. the moment feels light and easy, like a glimpse of what things used to be, even if it’s just for a second. “told you,” he teases, leaning into you as he takes another bite.

you grin, leaning back into him. “okay, fine, maybe i do have a magic touch.”

the laughter fades, leaving a comfortable silence as you take another bite of your breakfast. it’s easy, almost natural, how quickly you fall into this rhythm—like no time has passed. drew shifts beside you, the subtle change in his posture drawing your attention.

he clears his throat, looking over at you. “thanks . . . by the way,” he says, and you look at him as he gestures to the food. “for breakfast. this is really nice.”

you give him a small smile, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. “just don’t get too used to it.”

you’re laughing and singing songs with the girls as you make your way down to the beach. you’re only really carrying your towel with you as you skip down to an open spot. libby’s protecting her large floppy hat as she runs there with you, shouting that you all should make camp here.

you look behind you and wait for the others. you spot drew immediately as he carries the bluetooth speaker in one hand but on his opposite shoulder is the large tote bag you gave him earlier. he posed for you when you said he looked like a mother.

“hurry, hurry, hurry!” you say, mainly to drew, because he has the groups shared essentials. “i can literally feel my skin aging the longer you guys take.”

roman trudges through the sand, clearly not enjoying the trek, even though it’s better than if they didn’t stay at a beach house like they are now. “you know, if you’re so concerned about your skin aging, maybe you should’ve thought about that before today,” he says, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

gia grimaces at how stupid he is. “or maybe you should’ve thought about showering before leaving the house, babe,” she says, then continues walking over until she reaches you and libby.

roman stops in his tracks, feigning offense. “i’m literally holding your second bag to the beach. like who even does that?” he gestures dramatically to the extra tote slung over his shoulder.

theo comes up from behind and pats his shoulder to say that it’s okay as he passes by, so roman mumbles something under his breath as he continues.

eventually, you’re stripping down to your bikini as you watch the waves. you unbutton your shorts and pull them down, shimmying out of them before tossing them onto your towel that’s already been laid out.

you pull your hair away from your face as you look toward the group. “is anyone going in the water?” you ask them, but there’s several no’s and not yet’s that make you frown.

“i’ll go in later maybe,” theo volunteers for you. “i just came down here to bring the chairs and set my towel down but i still need to cook the hotdogs in the backyard.” he’s pointing behind him, and you groan.

“so boring,” you mumble as theo nudges oscar before they start heading back to the house to begin making late lunch already.

“y/n?” gia says as she plans on handing you the sunscreen next. she and roman have already had a turn as they share their towel together. roman looks as grumpy as ever as he rubs the sunscreen into his skin while gia sits pretty and tries to keep her hair out of her face.

you drop to your knees on your towel and shuffle forward to reach for the bottle that gia hands you, and you plant your butt back down on your towel.

drew finishes setting up the speaker for leila to play her music, and he glances over just in time to see you about to apply sunscreen. he hesitates for a moment, then clears his throat, “you want some help?”

you look up, a bit surprised but also amused. “are you volunteering?”

“maybe,” he replies, “just thought i’d help out.”

you bite your lip, considering it. “okay, but just my back, please.” you’ve already squeezed some sunscreen into your hand so you decide to spread it on your legs while he gets to work on your torso.

he steps onto your towel and crouches down behind you. as his hands glide over your skin, you can’t help but sigh in relief. “you’re kinda really good at this. i feel like i’m at a spa.”

drew grins, glancing at you. “guess i’ve picked up a few tricks over the years.”

there’s a moment of playful silence as you finish your legs, and he begins massaging the sunscreen into your shoulders. you tilt your head back a little, relishing in the feeling.

it almost feels nice to recognize the familiar hands across your skin. he’s dipping down toward your chest as he settles down to get closer, reaching around you. you make it easier by leaning back against his chest while watching his hands, making sure he’s not doing anything he shouldn’t be.

but it’s like you’re in a daze as you witness the way he rubs it into your chest, around your bikini top, and down to your waist. he knows your body well enough to know that he’ll cause goosebumps immediately, and he does.

a part of you feels guilty, like it’s almost wrong—but it is all for the plan, right? you make up the excuse for yourself as drew’s hands move back up, edging the bottom of your breasts as your breath hitches. you hear his breathing by your ear as you watch him be so careful, so cautious with where he touches you.

but before it goes any further, he pulls away, and honestly, you think it's a smart choice. you swallow down whatever you just felt as you pull yourself together, and you glance behind you as he gets up. “thanks, star,” you murmur, and you hear a faint ‘uh-huh’ as he sits back to do his own.

you make sure he’s rubbed everything in briefly before turning back to see what he’s doing. he’s already spreading sunscreen onto his arms when he catches your eye, and there’s a smile when he understands the situation.

he nods to the bottle that’s just laying on the towel, and you know what this means. that it’s alright if you want to help him too.

you take the bottle into your own hands and squeeze some out onto your palm, then crawl behind him to sit down. you work on his back for a while, and you can’t help but admire him while he can’t see you.

you notice everything. the way his back muscles flex, how he flinches the moment your hands touch him, but also the way he relaxes into your touch the second after.

he’s waiting patiently for you, and you hear him chuckle a bit after you finish, so you crawl on all fours to sit down in front of him. you give him a look, asking if he’s already done it yet, but he shakes his head.

you smile to yourself as more sunscreen lands in your palm, and you massage it into his shoulders first. he sits up straight for you as you slowly make your way down.

you can’t tell if he’s flexing his abs as a joke but you look up at him and make eye contact, just inches away, and you smile at each other. he’s stupid but it still amuses you regardless.

he leans back and holds himself up by his palms, looking up to the sun. his eyes are clamped shut as he scrunches his nose briefly.

you move your hands lower until you reach his v-line, a little underneath the hem of his shorts. you shouldn’t be going there but you do anyway. he tenses immediately when you start and you know what you’re doing—you can’t help it—but you pull away and spread the remaining sunscreen on his face to make sure he’s fully covered. you feel like a mother when you do, but ignore it.

“i appreciate it, thank you,” he says to you, and you close the sunscreen bottle and toss it back over to one of the open chairs in case anyone else needs it.

with that, you get up, looking toward the water as you adjust your bottoms. you look back at drew, “come on.”

“what?” he says out of habit, before realizing what you’re talking about. “no.”

“come on,” you say again as you walk to him and grab his arms, then his wrists, to pull him onto his feet. you know he’s willing because you’re even able to move him.

you let go of his wrists as you make your way over to the water. “let’s go! just for a bit! you can just dip your feet in.”

drew doesn’t say anything but him rolling his eyes tells you everything. he’s so sassy, but it makes you grin as you hold your hand our for him to take. he’s slow as he walks over, pretending to not want to, and you groan.

“okay then go sit back down if you don’t want t—”

you’re terrified when he starts charging at you, and you scream as you run to the water as if it’ll help you. he runs in there with you, but you’re constantly looking back and going deeper in when you see he’s still determined to catch you.

he’s pretending to be some monster as he fake growls, though it’s just his face with no round, while clawing at the water as he tries to make his way over to you.

the small waves hit your torso and your hair as it splashes up your body. it’s colder than you thought it would be, and your mouth gapes open in shock.

drew ends up catching up to you and he scoops you up with ease since you’re in the water, and you wrap your arms around his neck as he carries you further into the ocean by your bum.

you look toward the group and see what everyone’s doing in just a brief moment—theo and oscar still gone, you see roman even heading back to the house to help probably, gia’s tanning while laying on her towel, then leila and libby are talking while on the beach chairs right beside her.

drew stops walking when you reach a good spot that won’t kill you in a wave. hopefully. but he doesn’t set you down. the water already reaches high on his torso, so he assumes it’s best not to put you down and risk an incoming wave.

you hold on tight as you look out to the horizon, and you pull away to look at him. there’s an instant smile that forms when you’re face-to-face.

“the water feels nice,” you say awkwardly. the ocean is cold against your back but any body part that touches drew’s body is warm. he’s warm. “i’m really glad you came.”

drew cocks his head to the side as he squints his eyes, “i’m pretty sure i had to. leila wanted to go to the beach today so uh . . .”

“no you fucking—” he’s laughing and you have to wait until he’s done. “you know i meant on this trip,” you tell him.

“i’m glad you came too,” drew says, and you pull him closer again, burying yourself between your arm and the side of his head, and you close your eyes as the waves push you back and forth.

hours pass, unexpectedly. you didn’t initially plan on staying there for so long—none of you do, but time just flies. you’ve eaten the hotdogs provided by the boys, which you heard some got burnt thanks to theo.

you played volleyball a bit after, boys vs girls. you wanted to sit out but leila convinced you to stay.

“don’t be such a baby, roman!” you remember gia yelling to her boyfriend from across the net, and then he was hit with the volleyball again.

now it’s nightfall. you’ve all packed up and returned to the house simultaneously to take showers. some stay to talk or build really sad sand castles out of cups from the house while others occup the showers.

“why don’t you and theo just shower together?” you remember libby asking leila as you and her laid on the chairs together while libby was on the floor with said sand castle.

leila grimaces. “washing sand out of his ass is not romantic whether you’re about to be married or not.”

now you’re all clean, dressed in your pajamas with your freshly wet hair as you sit on the floor with leila. drew is already taking his turn in the shower while you discuss the little scrapbook leila brought on the trip.

she said that she bought everything literally on day one, and she hasn’t gotten around to filling it out yet because she doesn’t know how to. she grabbed you to help and you went to your room to see what she had.

there’s different stickers, paint, flowers, glitter, possibly the entire arts and crafts store all over the floor as you two plan even the first page. she had absolutely no idea what she was doing—you’re certain that she went to the store that day and just started grabbing whatever she thought was cute, but you don’t blame her.

“i just want to show this to our kids or something when they’re our age,” leila says as she rearranges the photograph of her and theo when they first started dating, and she frowns at the memory.

“are you thinking about kids?” you ask her as you glue on a piece of paper in the corner of the page that leila insisted was aesthetic.

leila shrugs, “i mean, you know how it is. eventually, just not now. i don’t think theo and i are ready for that.”

“waking up to crying in the middle of the night,” you let her picture it herself as you scrunch your nose up, “when you already haven’t been able to sleep for days.”

“that’s the only part i’m not excited about,” leila tells you, and she pauses as she thinks about it. “besides the vomiting, the screaming, the pooping, so really i—”

“—should not have a child anytime soon,” you cut her off, and she chuckles, nudging you with her shoulder as she plays around with some of the stickers.

leila sighs after a bit and she looks around, but it’s difficult to see right away when all the stuff is on the floor. “what time is it? i feel like it’s getting late, or it’s ice cream sundae time.”

“probably the second one,” you mumble as you look around for your phone. you don’t know where it is but it clearly isn’t there. it must be in one of the tote bags downstairs, but that’s too far away. “hold on.”

you get up and carefully step over the mess you’ve created—though leila’s already collecting everything to call it a night—and approach your side of the bed. your phone isn’t there still and there’s no clock in this particular room.

you take a peek over at drew’s side of the bed. his phone is laid face down on his nightstand, almost about to fall off. you sigh as you grab it and plan on putting it safely on the nightstand after you check the time really quickly.

“it’s just 10,” you tell her.

she nods as she stuffs her bag with more supplies, muttering under her breath, “definitely sundae time.”

you’re about to put his phone down when a notification comes in. he has a million already pending but you don’t even plan on looking at them until this one comes in just now.

‘ are you seriously with her? ’

you furrow your eyebrows as you check the name.

mila?

is this his girl best friend or something?

another notification comes in right after that that you can’t ignore.

‘ i’m going to sleep. just text me tomorrow. ’

‘ please. ’

‘ i miss you. xo ’

the words blur together for a second, but the meaning behind them hits you all at once. he’s been talking to someone else this whole time, since before the plan was even made probably. you feel a twist in your stomach, but you try to steady yourself, taking a slow breath.

you weren’t expecting this, but it’s not like he owes you anything. you knew things had changed between you two, but seeing these messages—it hurts more than you thought it would.

you’ve been getting closer, laughing together, and just being there in the ocean in his embrace . . . and the whole time, someone else has been on the other side of his phone, waiting for him.

if you had known, if drew had told you he was still talking to someone, you never would’ve agreed to this plan.

you feel uncomfortable, a little betrayed, but not heartbroken. it’s not that deep—not yet. but it’s enough to make you feel like you’ve stepped into something you weren’t prepared for.

“you wanna make the sundae with me?” leila’s voice barely rips you from your thoughts as she gathers her things in her bag and stands up, waiting on you.

“what? no, i’m fine,” you tell her. “i’m probably gonna head to bed soon? i don’t know, i’m tired but i’ll let you know. i’ll probably join you, knowing me.”

she smiles at you but leaves it at that, and leaves the room, leaves your thoughts to grow bigger and louder now that you’re alone.

you don’t check any more of his messages, respecting enough of his privacy not to dig. the weight of those few words heavy in the air as you switch his phone off and set it back down on the nightstand.

i miss you. xo

you shake your head, trying to push the thoughts away. this was supposed to be for your friends, just a harmless plan to avoid awkward questions. that’s all. but now, you’re starting to wonder if there’s more going on here than you realized.

this wasn’t part of the plan.

@rubixgsworld @itgirlbrina @thepopcultureaddict @samsmelodrama @kissfinalgirl @itsamegazaddysworld @willowpains @toterry @wearemadeofstardust0 @maybankslover @itneverendshere @httpsdrewstarkey @ilyrafe @cl4uus @sunny1616 @pillowprincess4him @yootvi

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angelwings-crossbowstrings · 6 months

Text

Blood Ties Chapter 22

Series Masterlist

Warnings: A bit of angst; Poorly written smut; oral (m rec) A/N: We all knew he'd be pissed and he has never been on good terms with emotions. This poor man, I swear. Regardless, he's getting better! We'll be moving forward soon!

The sun was warm against your skin when you finally felt awareness creeping into your subconscious. You must have slept all night. There was only the slightest hint of worry before you realized a warm chest was rising and falling evenly below your head, with only the slightest hint of a wheeze, the calming cadence of a heartbeat against your ear. You were safe and warm in bed with a recovering Daryl. He still felt feverish but it wasn’t so drastic anymore. Had Carol given him the tylenol since you had apparently fallen into a coma?

Stretching your legs, you smiled and snuggled closer, the baby obviously wide awake as well, rolling against the sore patch of skin you actually laid on. You had almost forgotten about it. Truly had almost forgotten about the entire ordeal. The hunt, the injury, your father, and—oh, god—the fact that Daryl had known you were gone and had to be sedated. Hadn’t you talked to him? Had he answered? It was then that you decided to look up at him—

And he was staring right back at you.

He didn’t say a single word, not yet, but his face said it all. Stoic, eyes calm but with a blue inferno burning just behind the surface. His hand was on top of yours, his fingers beginning to drum against your skin.

“Good morning?” You smiled behind a wince, knowing you were about to be reprimanded beyond anything Hershel could have said the night before. He only hummed, an upward jerk of his chin returning your greeting. “You’re mad.” You knew he was, and he had every right to be, but you stood by your decision to hunt, to find some form of independence whilst protecting him and caring for the group.

“Mhm.” He replied simply. If the impending backlash wasn’t looming, you would have thought it was amusing. The fact that he had yet to say anything at all was more daunting than any words he could have spoken.

“Are you gonna yell at me now?” You moved back just the slightest bit and propped yourself on your elbow.

“Mm-mm.” Daryl shook his head. His fingers continued to drum on top of your hand. You distantly wondered if that hurt the IV lingering in those veins.

“Can you say something?” You sat up completely and pulled your hand away, rubbing at your sore belly with the other before you thought better of it but it was too late. His eyes had already moved to that spot and squinted. The hand closest to you, reached out to grasp your sweater and pulled it up. You let him. There was no sense in trying to hide it. The bruising was a bit worse but not so much that you were compelled to call for Hershel. “It’s fine. I promise.” He didn’t just let the fabric fall back into place. He jerked it down before retracting his hand. “Daryl.”

“What?” His voice was raspy, downright gravelly and he coughed from the use of it.

“I know you’re upset with me, and I—”

“Upset. Right.” He nodded, suddenly invested in the IV, turning his hand over as if he was contemplating tearing out the tubing. Keeping his head still, his eyes moved back to your stomach. “Hershel checked it?”

“Yeah, first thing I asked him to do.” Anxiety was bubbling up inside your chest. Somehow, his impassiveness was much worse than the anger you had expected. “The baby’s fine, doing pirouettes and shit in there.” His jaw was moving back and forth, a sure sign that he was chewing on the inside of his bottom lip. “I knew you’d be furious with me, but it was something I had to do.”

“Don’t gimme that shit, Y/N.” There was finally a hint of vexation that, oddly enough, soothed some of your worry. “Didn’t hafta do nothin’.”

“You needed—still need—to be in this bed. No matter what I say, you’re always busting your ass and running your health into the ground to provide for us—for me. I couldn’t let you—”

“I know what m’doin’ an’ I don’t regret it. You’re the one pregnant an’ s’my job to make sure you’re both eatin’ an’ safe.” The archer snapped, pushing himself up a little higher on the pillows, his arms trembling from the effort. “Ya had no business out there. Could’a got a lot worse than a fuckin’ bruise.” He swallowed hard, adam’s apple bobbing while he looked down at your belly again. It occurred to you then that he had improved enough to say full sentences without gasping, making your endeavor even more worth it.

“I won’t apologize. I got a bruise. You got fucking pneumonia!” You squared your shoulders and could have sworn you saw a flutter of admiration before his eyes returned to that stoney glare.

“Then don’t.” He hissed lowly. “Only reason I ain’t throwin’ ya outta here is cause I need to keep a eye on ya so ya don’t do something even more stupid.”

“I’m a fucking adult! I don’t need your permission! Maybe I’ll go back out today!” You wouldn’t, and you knew damn well that he had grounds to act how he was but it just wasn’t who you were to back down. It just wasn’t.

“Over my dead body.”

“Well, I won’t be waiting long if you keep this shit up!” You gestured vaguely toward him, to the whole of him. He’d been on death’s doorstep, the very reason you had gone out in the first place. Was there no way for him to understand where your head was when you made that decision?

“Ain’t fuckin’ drugged today.”

Well, that was very true, and now he knew to watch for Hershel. There wasn’t a single doubt in your mind that he would plow right through anyone who stood in his way. You were oddly thankful for that. He was getting better but he still wasn’t there. Not by a long shot, especially if the worsening of his voice was anything to go by; the way he started to wheeze and visibly hold back coughs that he needed to allow to happen.

“It’s done, Daryl, and I’m here. I’m alive. The baby is fine. Can’t you just let it go and focus on getting better?”

“Can’t you just stop bein’ a horse’s ass an’ take care’a our baby instead’a worryin’ ‘bout me all the goddamn time?”

Your hands flew up toward the sides of your head, ready to grasp handfuls of your own hair and rip it out. “We’d both like for you to be here when they’re born, you absolute stubborn, clueless jackass! We both fucking love you and want you to fucking be here!” You realized your mistake the moment the words fell from your tongue but you refused to take it back.

Me too, crazy girl.

You gasped, watching the change wash over him from irate to docile to confused. Goddamn it, you had been so tired, you had missed it and it was likely he’d not admit it again without the influence of a drug loosening his tongue.

He loved you. And you were fighting with him when all he wanted to do was protect you and the little life you had created together. You wanted to cry, wanted him to say it again. You had to find middle ground, had to find a way to make him comfortable enough to show you that part of him.

With a quick curl of his lip, obvious disdain, whether toward his own weakness or your actions, he leaned toward the bedside table for the cup of water. The sound he made when you reached to help could only have been described as a growl. “Don’t need ya to mother me.”

“I’m not mothering you, Daryl.” You snatched up the cup and held it out to him, the snarl he gave the gesture making you think he wouldn’t take it. In the end, thirst overpowered petulance. Still, he glared at you over the rim as he drank deeply. When the cup was empty, he tossed it across the room rather than handing it back. “Stop being such a child. There’s one baby in this room and that’s enough.” With a sound of utter frustration, you made to get off the bed, halted by a firm hand on your forearm. Middle ground, middle ground, middle ground.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

“To get more water. You need to keep drinking.” When you moved again, he tugged you back.

“You’re stayin’ right the fuck there.”

You tried to pull free but he held fast, just tight enough to stay you but not enough to hurt. There was a conscious effort to keep your tone level. “Let go, Daryl. It’s just downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

“Nah.” His eyes narrowed, challenging. The staredown was rather intense and it was you who relented. His intentions weren’t out of anger even though that’s what he was displaying. He was scared. You had sacred this seasoned hunter, a man molded out of pain and a past that he still hadn’t shared with you.

You acquiesced to his demand, sliding back toward him and up to the pillows to sink into them beside him. The shocked expression didn’t linger, reverting to stoicism before he released his hold and placed both hands on his lap. You didn’t stop him when he began to tinker with the IV tubing. As long as he wasn’t trying to remove it.

“I know I scared you and for that, I’m sorry.” You occupied yourself with rubbing your hands over the swell of your abdomen. You wouldn’t remind him that you didn’t feel a single hint of remorse for doing what you did, but the way he was handling this, you had terrified him. You were fully aware of that before you had left, but seeing the effect firsthand had you feeling horrible. As difficult as it was, you watched him and refused to turn away, bidding him to look at you. When he finally obliged, he looked so defeated, your heart crushed under the weight of his despondency.

You could picture him tearing out that IV, blood flying, Carol begging him to stay in bed. Hershel would have run to the door by then, hearing the commotion. The old man might have tried to block the exit but he wouldn’t have stayed when he saw the determination, the anger and the fear. No, he would have gone for the morphine then and alerted Rick and the others.

Hershel said he took on all three. Feverish, breathless, and weak, Daryl had fought three healthy men to try and get to you. Even when you were in no immediate danger, he had been so desperate.

When exactly had he become your person?

He once touched you so roughly, simply claiming you for pleasure. It wasn’t something you could ever hold against him. It had been the same for you. You had just wanted to keep feeling something when the world around you was dying.

Daryl was all you ever wanted to feel now. You wanted to be surrounded by him, drown in him. Breathe him in and let him flow through your veins.

Before you could say another word or think another thought, the archer was leaning toward you and curling a hand around the back of your neck to pull you in, simultaneously dragging the nasal cannula from its position, just in time for his mouth to cover yours. It was desperate, full of a need that he couldn’t articulate, and any objections you had were swallowed eagerly. Your hand came to rest on his cheek, lips moving against his, opening for him when his tongue probed the seam of them. His right hand found your belly, laying flat before twisting into the fabric of your sweater. You were the one to separate, nuzzling your cheek against his when you felt his grip on your neck tighten. It was too easy to reach and remove his hand, moving back only enough to bring his knuckles to your lips.

“Scared the shit outta me.”

“I know. I’m right here, Daryl. I won’t do it again. I promise.”

There was a sound from deep in his chest, amplified by the rattle of what little fluid remained, as he shook his hand from your grasp and wound his arm beneath yours to pull you closer. “Y/N, I—” When you angled your head to search out his gaze, he avoided you, his cheeks tinted but not from fever. With a soft smile of understanding, you worked his fingers loose from your sweater, one by one, avoiding the IV line.

“It’s okay.” You whispered against his ear, shifting back and kissing those knuckles just as you had the others. It was one of those moments you had played out in your head while hunting. Daryl needed reassurance. He needed to understand that when you promised, you meant it.

He needs you. He’s always needed you just as much as you’ve needed him.

He was watching you, brow drawn inward, as if he didn’t know what was happening, where to go next. This time, you would take the lead. He had been so open, so gentle with you after the incident in the forest. He had shown you his insecurities to soothe your own. Now, you’d show him that you were there and that you planned to stay.

Your lips slotted over his and this time, it was him to grant you access, your tongue licking eagerly into his mouth to savor that familiar taste of him. You couldn’t get enough, but you needed to keep things slow. He was still sick. You needed to take care of him. He chased you when you pulled away, halted only by your splayed fingers on his chest.

“Let me.” You stated softly, the corners of your mouth lifted when he settled back onto the pillows. Your sweater was the first thing to go, bra following shortly after, any shame you felt over your body quickly dissolving under the heat of his gaze. He said nothing but the hand limited by the IV came to rest at the hollow of your throat, his calloused palm flat as it explored each breast, round and fuller from the pregnancy. His touch was gentle, the memory of you explaining that part of you was sore and sensitive. Fingertips grazed your nipples and you gasped, quick to grab his wrist below the tubing. His hand was guided to his lap, where he left it.

Pulling your lip between your teeth, you slowly dragged the sheets away. Daryl was still only clad in boxer briefs, his desire for you already obvious. When you sat yourself on his thighs, your damp heat through the leggings lured his attention but only momentarily. His eyes lifted right back to yours. There was no objection when you slipped your fingers into the waistband of his last shred of clothing, creeping backwards toward his feet and pulling the fabric along with you.

He was fully hard before you pulled the underwear off his feet and tossed them aside, finding him once again chewing the inside of his lip. He watched you stand and slip off your own clothing, but he remained stock still, only his eyes shifting with your movements. Completely bare to him, you crawled forward, your belly heavy below you but unhindering. However, your thighs trembled ever so slightly to hold your embarrassingly slick core away from his groin, not yet ready to give in to that desire.

His hands moved up your sides, over your ribs and back down to your hips, settling there. Each kiss you initiated was accepted and returned, small and chaste, your own hands exploring the planes of his chest and abdomen. Muscles twitched beneath your fingertips, his pulse jumped against your lips while your mouth carved a path to his collarbone. That special spot that made him suck in a sharp breath and, surprisingly, tilt his head to grant you better access.There was no scoff or sarcasm, no resistance, no attempt at control. He just gave it up to you. Maybe he just needed it.

“Just let me take care of you, okay?” Your request was a whisper against his skin, each word spoken into a different area, your mouth ending just over his right nipple. Your tongue flicked against the nub, your lips puckering to blow cool air against it just to watch him shiver. You’d never tell anyone that the badass bowman had sensitive nipples. It’d be your own little intimate weapon. You paid attention to the raised skin of old injuries, a brief kiss to each one. He was so beautiful, scars and all. You wished he could see himself as you did.

His breath stuttered with each wet press of your exploring mouth, muscles shuddering while pre-seminal fluid smeared over your skin on your journey. His cock twitched against you, the tip pressing into your sternum, your own nipples pebbling with your arousal. Daryl’s stomach spasmed when your tongue dipped into his navel, circling once before you continued downward.

It was difficult to suppress a chuckle when he growled, your intentional avoidance of his aching length not going unnoticed. His hip bones were prominent and deliciously inviting. You licked and nibbled over the ridge and then moved to the other side to do the same, eyes locking onto his hands fisting into the sheets. It wasn’t your intent to torture him, though the prospect of exploring that option in the future was indeed enticing. Before he could protest, your hand was wrapping around him, his body quaking with a heaving sigh of relief.

Rubbing your thumb over the tip, you collected some of the wetness there, finding it just enough to help your hand slide down in a smooth glide. Once, twice, and on the third stroke, he lost the battle with self control and his back arched, right hand holding the bed sheets so tightly that you could see the IV catheter that lingered in a vein just beside his knuckles. For a moment, you thought the simple touches were bringing him to orgasm but with a noise of discontentment, his eyes sought out yours. His gaze was dark, clouded with lust. There was no way you could deny him.

You never looked away while wrapping your lips around the head, swirling your tongue around the girth before dipping it into the slit. You yearned to continue, literally ached to take him over the edge positioned just as you were but his breathing was too fast, too unsteady. With a pout, you pulled off of him and climbed upward to place a hand on the side of his neck.

“M’good.” He argued without hesitance, but fell into a coughing fit. Worry overriding desire, you shifted back slightly and let him sit up to get himself under control. His forehead rested just above the valley of your breasts, your fingers idly carding through his hair. When you tried to place the cannula back onto his face, he languidly swatted at your efforts.

“You’re not.” You pressed a kiss into his hair, hand releasing the device and gliding over the scars on his back. He didn’t react and that would always make your heart flutter, this time to a degree you were sure he could pick up in such close proximity. “Catch your breath. I’ve got you.” It took a few moments and you remained patient. Surprisingly, so did his erection. When he was breathing easier, he lifted his head, cheek and nose nuzzling your neck.

“Y/N.” He rasped, his hands smoothing over your sides and around to your back. “Need ya.” There was so much more than a sexual desire within that statement. It wasn’t something he actively tried to conceal. He wanted you to know of your importance in his life. For that time, it was as close to a declaration of love as you would get without some sort of influential stimulant.

“Daryl.” With a hand on each side of his face, you guided him, your lips meeting his. “Lay back for me.” The command was soft against his mouth, but he did as he was told. Even as he moved, you were reaching between your bodies and guiding him to your entrance. He met no resistance, eased by your arousal, and slipped inside. Your walls stretched and molded around him, dragging a whimper from somewhere deep within you that melded with the groan vibrating over his tongue.

His hands scrabbled to your hips, jaw clenched and twitching, words grating out of him. “Are ya—”

“I’m fine. Just—” You exhaled and gave yourself a moment to adjust. “Just relax, okay.” You felt his grip loosen, only slightly but enough for you to pay closer attention to how his jaw was just shy of going slack. “Let me take care of you.” You placed your hands over his—mindful of the IV—with the first roll of your hips, his head pressing back into the pillow. Fighting the urge to chase the pleasure you knew awaited you was just simply so arduous but necessary. You needed him as desperately as he needed you. Maybe it was selfish to have him like this while he recovered, but you had come so close to losing him. He had been so scared that he was losing you. This was something so far beyond carnal.

The rhythm you settled on was slow, leaning forward slightly to press your palms into the pillow on either side of his head. It allowed you to dip forward, stealing kisses and nuzzling against his cheek while you rode him so agonizingly slowly. His breathing only picked up slightly, if not a little ragged, rough palms exploring your hips, your thighs, the round of your belly. Periodically, his hips would jerk, a silent plea for more that you couldn’t give him, not then. He let you soothe him, allowed you to keep him on his back when you both knew he could change that if he truly wanted, sick or not.

“Christ,” Daryl grunted, squeezing your waist. “Are ya tryin’ to kill me?”

You risked a chuckle, rising on your knees until he almost slipped out of you before sinking back down. “Quite the opposite.”

“Goddamnit, woman, I ain’t gonna break! Can ya just—”

You silenced him with your tongue shoving straight past his lips, swallowing the frustrated growl and drawn out moan that followed, your walls purposefully squeezing him. You’d get him there.

Eventually.

In fact, you were almost certain it was you suffering the most. You were in control but forced to refrain, the hormones raging through your blood demanding a satisfying release that was just not approaching fast enough. Your clit was stiff and throbbing and yet to be touched. You were barely catching yourself before taking on a pace that would send him into a frenzy.

As if reading your mind, his left hand wedged its way between your bodies for his thumb to press against your neglected bundle of nerves, igniting a fire deep in your belly. “Daryl.” You panted, rocking against him while his digits continued to work at you. “Oh, god, don’t stop.”

“Didn’t plan on it.” He rasped, urging you forward to kiss you hard, teeth and tongues clashing. It wasn’t long before you could hear it in the way he grunted against your mouth, suppressing whines as well as wheezing. You could feel it in how he twitched and swelled within you. Regardless, he didn’t leave you to guess. “M’gonna—”

“Just let go.” You would be right behind him. Hell, maybe right in front him. You had just taken the liberty of attempting to swallow down any sound he might make when he reminded you how he could play your body like a finely tuned instrument and added just enough pressure to his strokes to send you spiraling, forcing your own shout against his tongue.

The high you rode was seemingly endless, pulse after pulse and wave after wave. The contractions of your velvety walls had Daryl following you almost immediately, his release warm as your body welcomed it, pulled it deeper. His hips were driving upward in steady, shallow thrusts to meet your downward presses, keeping you suspended in bliss with him until you were too sensitive to move. Even in the aftermath, you had enough presence of mind to squeeze his bicep when the pressure became overwhelming.

Your forehead rested against his when reality began to flicker back into focus, his wheezing breaths the first thing you were able to hone in on and react to accordingly. With clumsy movements, you grabbed the nasal cannula and positioned it on his face, pulling him to sit up so you could rub at his back, encouraging him to cough.

“Shouldn’t have let you take that off to begin with.”

“Quit fussin’, it ain’t that bad.” He promptly coughed but shot you a look when you opened your mouth. “Feel like a old man in a nursin’ home.” He rasped, trying again to clear his lungs.

“But your dick still works just fine. May have gotten me pregnant, Dixon.” Your concern melted into laughter that had his eyes squinting.

“Think s’funny?” He snapped harmlessly, a hand pressed against his chest.

“Just imagine how Hershel would have reacted if I’d needed to go get him.”

“Nah. Don’t really wanna.”

He was still inside of you, softening but the sensation somehow a comfort that you weren’t ready to give up. Fingers smoothed back his hair, just long enough now to be tousled and spiked, the epitome of proper sex hair. Fingertips whispered over his jaw, once and then again, the love you felt for the man threatening to doom your heart into an explosion.

“Daryl, I—”

He caught your wrist, that uncertain, conflicted look in his eyes. Like he didn’t understand how you could be compelled to feel so strongly for him. Like he just knew you could find better in almost any man that wasn’t him. Maybe he didn’t remember what he had said, after all. Maybe you had read into his earlier words simply on a mission to find what you wanted to hear.

His thumb grazed over your knuckles, back and forth. “I know.”

You wanted him to hear it again. Over and over until he believed it. Leaning forward, you brought up your other hand to mimic the previous actions of the first, lips brushing his, preparing to remind him of exactly how you felt and would continue to feel.

As if on cue, there came a small knock on the door, your wide eyes meeting before you both turned to stare at the entryway.

“If you two are done,” came Carol’s small voice, quivering with laughter, “I have Tylenol.”

#murda writes #blood ties #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #the walking dead #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon smut #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl x female reader #pregnant!reader

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incognit0slut · 10 months

Text

Right Kind of Wrong (18)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer and Y/n resolve their feelings. wc: 3k A/n: You have no idea how happy I am being able to write fluff after seventeen parts. SEVENTEEN. Only happiness from now on (which isn't much because sadly there are two parts left)

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17

THE FIRST THING she became aware of was the constant noise ringing in her ears. The soft hum of the room greeted her as she slowly drifted into consciousness. Feeling slightly disoriented, she blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the muted light filtering through the half-closed curtains as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings.

Hospital. She was in a hospital. The sterile scent of antiseptic lingered in the air as a sudden wave of panic threatened to engulf her, but then a gentle, calm voice cut through her confusion. Her gaze shifted to the side, and relief washed over her as she spotted Spencer sitting on a nearby chair, engrossed in the book he was holding.

For a moment, she observed him—the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest, the strands of hair that fell across his forehead, and the intensity in his eyes as they traced the words. His soft-spoken tone was soothing, and after a moment of listening to him, she realized he was reading the book aloud for her.

"...and with that, Sherlock Holmes deduced the mystery, much to the amazement of Dr. Watson," his voice filled the room, and she couldn't help but smile faintly at the choice of literature. She shifted in the bed, and the quiet rustle of sheets prompted him to look up from his book.

"Hey," he greeted softly, placing the book on the bedside table. "You're awake."

She responded with a nod, accompanied by a small, appreciative smile. "Sherlock Holmes, huh?"

"I found a copy in the waiting room. Someone must've left it," he explained. "Thought I'd borrow it before giving it to Lost and Found."

Her gaze lingered on the tired lines across his features. "And you decided to read when you could have slept?"

"I wanted to be here when you woke up again."

A soft smile adorned her face but her brows twisted into a frown as she registered his words. "Again?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness." He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair. "The doctor said it's common among patients suffering from dehydration."

Her frown deepened, and the weight of the situation began to sink in as she processed his words. Her fingers unconsciously traced the edge of the thin hospital blanket for comfort.

"Is Eric..."

"He's injured, although not fatally. My shot wasn't aimed for anywhere vital," he explained, shifting his chair closer. "But he's in custody. You're safe now."

Relief washed over her, but a flicker of fear remained in her eyes. "I don't remember much after what happened."

"That's understandable," he said gently. "Your body and mind went through a lot. It might take some time to process everything."

She managed a weak nod and her eyes traced the outlines of the IV line snaking into her arm. "How long have I been here?"

Spencer glanced at the clock on the wall, his brows furrowing slightly. "About a day."

"A day," she repeated, the concept feeling both distant and immediate. The realization settled in and a pause hung in the air before her gaze shifted to him again, seeking clarification. "As in twenty-four hours?"

His face twisted into a frown, uncertainty clouding his features. "...yes?" he replied, unsure where she was going with this.

"And I've been sleeping for most of the time?"

"Well... yes."

"And you? How much have you slept?" When she was met with silence, her expression softened as her eyes took in his weariness. "Why are you still awake, Spencer?"

He sighed, a conflicted expression crossing his face. "I just... I didn't want to leave your side."

She studied him, her eyes tracing the lines of exhaustion that clung to his face. Deep lines etched across his forehead and the shadows underneath his eyes spoke volumes about everything he endured. The fading bruises, the slouch in his shoulders, and the tousled strands of his hair all painted a picture of someone who had weathered more than their fair share.

It was evident that even the hospital room had taken its toll on him, and the subtle change into a fresh shirt was his small attempt to regain a pretense of normalcy. But who was she to judge? Here she was, lying on the bed, all weak and worn out. She couldn't deny that she, too, must be presenting a less-than-picture-perfect image.

With a gentle sigh, Spencer eased into the chair beside her bed. "How are you feeling?"

She took a moment, assessing the sensations in her weakened body. The dull ache in her limbs, the lingering throbbing in her head.

"Like I've been hit by a truck," she finally responded with a smile, trying to ease the tension. But his head suddenly seemed to be elsewhere. He absentmindedly nodded, and it was clear to her that something was on his mind.

"Hey," she spoke softly. "What's wrong?"

He looked up, meeting her eyes, and she waited for his response. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and finally found the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry."

Confusion clouded her eyes. "For what?"

"For... everything." He let out a sigh. "For hurting you, for not being there when you needed help, for not realizing what was happening sooner. For not seeing the signs."

She shook her head. "You can't blame yourself. You were there when it mattered, and you saved me."

"But I should've protected you from the start," he insisted, his eyes searching hers for understanding. "I should've stayed with you—"

"It's not your fault. Don't apologize for something that he did."

"But I could've prevented it from happening if I didn't leave your house in the first place."

She studied him for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Look, if you're going to keep on apologizing, might as well do it in comfort." She shifted over on the bed, making room between them. "Come here."

His gaze flickered between her and the mattress. "I'm not sure that's allowed."

"What? Do hospitals have a policy against sharing a bed with visitors?"

"Well, technically—"

"Spencer," she interjected. "Just lie down with me. Please."

He hesitated for a moment, but after a brief internal debate, he relented, deciding that being close to her trumped any hospital regulations. Slowly, he settled onto the bed, careful not to disturb any wires or machines. But then she suddenly sat up and Spencer frowned. "Wait, where are you going?"

"Outstretch your arm."

"What?"

"Outstretch your arm," she repeated.

He followed her instructions, and she laid back down, resting on his arm. As she nestled against his side, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread through him. He simply looked at her, his expression a mix of curiosity and amusement when she kept pressing herself against him. His hand instinctively fell on her waist. "What exactly are you up to?"

"Testing a theory. I read somewhere that lying on someone's arm can regulate their heartbeat and help with stress. And given your guilt-ridden apology, it seems you could use a bit of stress relief." She then settled a hand over his chest. "But it doesn't seem like it's working, your heart is beating really fast."

He felt a blush creeping up his cheeks as her fingers traced gentle circles over his chest, the warmth of her touch sending ripples through him. "Well, you're lying unexpectedly close to me, I wasn't exactly prepared for that."

She laughed softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. "Just... try to relax. You've been through a lot too. You don't have to hold yourself together for my sake."

He slowly nodded, letting himself sink into the moment with her. The rhythmic rise and fall of her chest against his side, the gentle pressure of her hand over his heart. But guilt still rippled through him when he studied the weariness in her eyes, or the IV line sticking into her arm, or the bandage wrapped around her hand. He hated seeing her so weak that he couldn't help but blurt out another apology.

"I really am sorry."

She shifted slightly, turning to look at him. "I know you are."

"I wish I could have done more to protect you," he continued.

She reached up, tenderly brushing a strand of hair from his face. "You did what you could with the information you had. No one could have expected what happened."

He sighed, and she continued to trace gentle lines across his face as they fell into a comfortable silence. But much to her dismay, it didn't last long when he suddenly interrupted their moment. "I... I have another apology."

She was the one who let out a sigh this time. "What is it now?"

"I..." he hesitated, searching for the right words as his eyes wandered around every corner of the room but on her. "I-I want to apologize for being rough on you that day when we... when we—you know."

She raised an eyebrow, amused at where this conversation was heading. "You mean when we had sex?"

He nodded and diverted his gaze away from her, looking slightly embarrassed. She laughed and cupped his face, forcing him to look back in her direction. "Why are you suddenly so embarrassed?"

His cheeks flushed a shade of pink as he met her gaze. "I'm not used to discussing these things so openly, especially when I feel like I mishandled the situation."

Her laughter softened into a warm smile. "Spencer, we were both in a difficult place that day, I wouldn't say you mishandled anything." She leveled her gaze on him. "I trusted you. I knew you weren't going to hurt me, which you didn't, and I can assure you that I enjoyed the sex very, very much."

"But I-I tied you," he insisted. "I used handcuffs on you. Handcuffs."

"Well, did it ever occur to you that I liked being tied? That I like it when you're in control?"

He studied her, and let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding when he fully registered she was being serious. "You do?"

She chuckled at his wide-eyed expression. "Yes, Spencer, I do. I thought it was very obvious." She gave him a smile, fingers tracing soothing patterns on his cheek. "But if it makes you feel any better, we can come up with a safe word."

"What's a safe word?"

His brows furrowed in confusion, prompting her to burst into laughter. She couldn't help but find his innocence endearing.

"It's something you say to stop or slow down during sex, especially if things get uncomfortable or overwhelming," she explained, her laughter subsiding.

"Oh," Spencer said, a hint of realization dawning on his face. "That makes sense."

She nodded, still smiling. "So the next time we explore our sexual needs, we can use our safe word."

There was a pause before he murmured, "Next time?"

Her smile faltered at his question. "Do you not want a next time?"

Noticing her sudden withdrawal, he placed a hand behind her, pulling her closer to him. "I want there to be a next time," he confirmed and sighed in relief when he felt her relaxing again. "You know, I just want to spend more time with you in general."

Her smile returned, warmed by the sincerity in his words. "Yeah?"

He nodded. "I want to take you to dinner."

"Dinner sounds lovely."

"And take you out on a date."

Her smile widened. "What kind of date do you have in mind?"

"Well, I was thinking of the museum. Or maybe the library." Then his eyes lit up with a hint of excitement. "There's also this planetarium I've always wanted to visit. Did you know that the planetarium nearby has one of the most advanced digital projection systems? It's supposedly a state-of-the-art projector that can simulate the night sky with incredible accuracy."

A genuine smile graced her lips. The excitement in his voice brought a sense of relief to her. It wasn't just a reaction to his enthusiasm about their planned date, but also the subtle transformation in his demeanor. He seemed more relaxed.

"That sounds amazing." And just because she couldn't stop herself from flustering him, she added, "But the real question is, will there be sex in this future date?"

Spencer's reaction was immediate, his face flushing with embarrassment. "Stop teasing me."

"I'm serious," she laughed, thoroughly enjoying his momentary discomfort. "I want to know what I'll be expecting."

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his composure. "I guess... If you want to, then yes."

"Of course, I do, but I want to hear it from you." She grinned when he gave her a pointed look. "Spencer, you've given me more orgasms than I can count, why is it so hard for you to say the word sex?"

Spencer shook his head, attempting to brush off the embarrassment that lingered. "You're unbelievable."

Despite his attempt to resist, there was a subtle twinkle in his eyes that betrayed the amusement he couldn't fully conceal. A reluctant smile stretched across his lips, and he finally conceded, "Yes, Y/n, we will have sexual intercourse in the future."

She laughed, the sound echoing in the room. "How romantic."

Her teasing expression softened into a warm smile, and Spencer couldn't help but be captivated by the warmth in her eyes. Feeling a surge of affection, he gently pulled her closer. There was a subtle shift in the air. Their eyes locked, and for a moment, she nestled into his embrace. But it was hard to fully linger in his arms when her IV line seemed to be getting in their way.

"Hold on, I think I have to turn around," she said, her fingers tracing the thin tubing connected to the IV. Spencer released his hold. "I should probably get off the bed."

"Don't you dare," she threatened, and turned to the other direction gracefully, adjusting herself without much difficulty. Once settled, she pressed her back against his chest and he instinctively wrapped his arms around her again.

"Better?" he asked, his voice a low murmur.

She nodded, a contented smile on her face. "So much better."

Spencer held her a little tighter, and somehow, his hand found its way to hers, softly intertwining their fingers. He held on to her as if he didn't want to let go, as if the simple act of holding her hand offered a sense of grounding in the aftermath of everything that had happened. And with a contented sigh, she leaned back into him, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest. She reveled in the moment because life had taken them through twists and turns, and yet, here they were—finding solace in each other's company. The warmth of his hold enveloped her like a protective shield, and for a fleeting moment, the worries that had weighed on her seemed to dissipate.

Gratitude swelled within her—a deep, heartfelt acknowledgment of this moment, of being alive, and of the shared embrace that grounded her to the present.

"Hey, Spence?"

"Hmm?"

Her fingers gently traced over his hand, still intertwined with hers, savoring the connection that seemed to defy the odds. "Thank you for staying with me."

She felt a reassuring squeeze from his hand.

"I'm here for as long as you need me."

"Don't you think this is a little too much?"

Garcia threw Morgan a glare as they walked down the hospital corridor, her heels echoing in the narrowed space. Her eyes then shifted to the balloons in her hand, the container of freshly baked cookies she made in the other hand, and the bouquet of beautifully arranged flowers dangling from Morgan's arms.

"She deserves a warm welcome after what she's been through," she countered. "And it's my first time meeting her in person, I can't come empty-handed. That's so unlike me."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, sure, but we're just visiting. It's not a party."

Garcia huffed. "I believe in spreading happiness wherever I go. And besides, who wouldn't want flowers, balloons, and delicious cookies after being stuck in a hospital bed?" She looked over to the rows of the door down the hallway. "What room did Reid say she was in?"

Morgan glanced down the corridor lined with identical-looking doors. "Room 108."

Garcia led the way, her heels clicking purposefully as she cradled the balloons and cookies with a determined air. Morgan followed, still holding the bouquet, and couldn't help but shake his head at Garcia's unwavering commitment. As they approached the door, she paused to adjust her cookies and then knocked lightly on the door, only to be met with silence.

She turned to Morgan. "Do you think she's asleep?"

"I don't know." He pulled out his phone and tried to dial Spencer's number, only to be met with a constant line of ringing. "He's not answering."

"I think we should just go in."

Morgan hesitated for a moment, then nodded in agreement. Garcia took a deep breath and gently pushed the door open, stepping inside. The room beyond was dimly lit, with the curtains drawn, followed by the soft hum of medical equipment filling the air. It seemed like an ordinary hospital room, but what seemed out of place was the sight before them.

Because Spencer lay on the bed with her, both peacefully sleeping.

"Oh my god," Garcia gushed, stepping further into the room. “Oh my god.”

Morgan couldn't help but wear a surprised smile. "Well, that explains why he wasn't answering his phone."

Garcia carefully placed the balloons at the foot of the bed and Morgan followed behind her, setting the bouquet on the bedside table. She then motioned for him to place the container of cookies there as well before she held her hands together, watching the scene before them. "This is like a scene straight out of a romance movie."

Unable to contain her excitement, she took out her phone and snapped a discreet photo of them. Morgan shot her a disapproving look, but she just waved her hand dismissively and whispered, "It's for the memories."

"Come on," he insisted, grabbing onto her arm. "Let's leave these two to rest."

"One more picture!"

Garcia's voice echoed in the room, and Spencer stirred in his sleep. Morgan and Garcia stilled for a moment, holding their breath. They waited for another second, and thankfully, the couple seemed to be too deep in slumber to hear the commotion in the room.

Morgan gave Garcia a pointed look. "That's enough, Garcia. Let's go."

"Give me a minute,” she lingered. “Let me take one last video."

Morgan shook his head. He took her phone out of her grasp, ignoring her protest, and finally dragged her out of the room—leaving the two lovebirds behind.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: that last scene is kind of a bonus, I just thought it was cute

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