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tteokdoroki · 7 months

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ೀ⋆OCT 1ST PRINCESS DIARIES ━━ satoru gojo + breeding !

୨୧ — caution, you are now watching. satoru gojo + breeding. thirty days until you become queen, thirty days to get married and thirty days to stop sneaking around with the man trying to steal your crown… (5.2K)

୨୧ — rated r. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact ! nsfw, heavy smut, royalty!au, enemies to lovers (?), forbidden romance, infidelity and cheating, spit kink, breeding kink, daddy kink, pregnancy kink, breast play, agoraphilia, baby trapping, oral sex (f!recieving), unprotected sex, princess + fem!reader, lord!satoru gojo.

୨୧ — director’s note. woo happy spooky season my loves. welcome back to another tteokdoroki kinktober! im excited for you to see whats in store this year, hope you enjoy this fic to start off mwah! - m.list ⋆ kinktober m.list ⋆ taglist ✧

you have thirty days to get married.

being from a small town, somewhere that’s not even on the map — you never expected your family name to carry much meaning aside from the one you carved out for yourself. let alone expect your name to come from royalty.

if you thought discovering how to be a teenager at sixteen was hard, then try discovering how to be a princess at sixteen on for size. everything you’ve ever done since finding out you were royalty has been for your family. you’ve kept your head down, out of the spotlight aside for the occasional appearance and charitable events. you’ve studied hard, double-majoring in international relations alongside political science and diplomacy.

you’ve prepared yourself thoroughly enough to feel ready to take the mantle of queen — especially with your grandmother planning to step down. all of your accomplishments have been leading up to this very moment — it’s so close that you can practically feel the weight of the crown on your head.

except there’s one itty, bitty, little problem.

you still have to get married in thirty days. otherwise, your family title will be poached from right beneath your nose.

satoru gojo (aka public enemy number one) is the nephew of a member of parliament who just so conveniently knows genovian law better than your grandmother does. since satoru came of age before you did, and he’s lived in genovia for longer than you have, and has some random distant relative in connection to the first king — the men of parliament have decided that he too is in line for the throne.

especially if you, the princess, do not marry before your coronation.

how ridiculous is that?

and not only is this satoru gojo an evil, conniving, crown-stealing bastard. but he’s charming, a silver tongue wrapped around each and every one of his words. charming, like a prince (blegh) he’s also stupidly attractive. with deep sapphire blue eyes that are gorgeous enough to make the crown jewellers weak in the knees and a smile so sweet it feels like a sugar rush whenever he looks at you. there’s something so unique about the frostiness to his soft white hair, matching his unfairly long lashes — the ones you know girls back home would kill for.

it angers you to know that you’d been dancing with your rival at your welcome ball, pains you to know that you’ll never forget his slender fingers splayed out against the small of your back to guide your every movement. if you had been back in college (and had a few litres of hard liquor in your system), perhaps gojo would have been the type of guy you’d have snuck into the dorms for a night of fun and an NDA in the morning — your secret signed away from the paparazzi’s keen eyes.

alas, these are very different circumstances and there’s a lot riding on you being sensible about the situation. yet, satoru proves himself to be a problem every chance that he gets — cornering you in closets with his breath hot against your ear, trapping you against the walls while the ghost of his touch feels like heaven against your skin… on the staircase too, insistent on reminding you of the passionate dance you once shared.

all while you’re set to marry the duke of another country so you can keep your fucking crown (pardon the language, your highness).

suguru geto would be the perfect king consort if you managed not to mess this up. he is warm, where satoru is a flip between disastrously hot and frustratingly cold. he balances you out, a mellowness to your clumsiness whilst understanding your need for a rushed proposal and wedding. raised a gentleman, suguru is mindful of you in every action he takes. he doesn’t stare too long but smiles when you think he’s not looking and he’s a wonder with your grandmother — the parents, too. his family gem (a serpentine, making you feel much like a snake) sits heavy on your ring finger, dazzling under camera flashes at your engagement dinner…. and he recognises duty and honour above anything else too.

if satoru is your enemy, then guilt is your friend. no matter what either of the men in your life do, you find yourself comparing their every move. when you’re with suguru your mind is away chasing the fairies, imagining the touch of another man who sets your heart alight in a cool blaze — like gasoline trickling through your veins waiting for its candle match. when you’re with satoru, all you can think about is how wrong this is. how geto doesn’t deserve this. but you’re an addict without a cure, and your drug is satoru gojo and you don’t see yourself ever quitting him.

you're in desperate need of a wake up call and a nicotine patch, the cocky yet lecherous air about him almost acting like a smog in your healthy and capable lungs. sometimes through the fog, you wonder if satoru knows how much he weighs heavy on your mind— though if he did, you’d never hear the end of it.

the current queen tells you not to worry about the white haired man that’s slowly freezing over the four chambers of your heart. you tell yourself that suguru geto is the only man that you need, one that could help you rule and create a beautiful and better kingdom for many years to come. geto tells you that he loves you, that he can’t wait to marry you in two or three weeks time and you respond with equal (yet, faux) excitement.

perhaps that’s why you find yourself sneaking away from this respectful, loving man to be with the one trying to ruin your life?

why are you following satoru gojo deep into the royal gardens, where the rose bushes are the only witness to your sick and twisted sins?

your back hits the jagged pattern of tree bark before your brain can catch up — causing a little wet whimper to bubble up on your pinky-peach tainted lips. the flutter of pain just beneath your skin only lasts for a second before it’s replaced by the sensation of satoru’s fingers traversing up the dips and curves of your body. he soothes you where it hurts the most, rough fingertips leaving bruising marks made with affection along your thighs and small of your back while he swallows your sweet gasps — licking into the wet cavern of your mouth to taste you.

“you’re not even…” his words spill into you, adding fuel to the spark of lust beginning to form a pit in your stomach. “you’re not even attracted to him,” he spews, surging forward like a storm knocking on your door to press his greedy spit slicked lips to yours. his tongue, syrupy and wet, intertwined with your own, filling you up and giving you something to suck on.

before you can even think of kissing your rival back, he retreats and takes his swollen lips with him — latching onto your neck and weaponizing his teeth against it. you gasp, your angel’s song tipping out into the rose garden while your fingers tangle in silver-moon locks and let him work against you, claiming you just below the neckline of your dress where no one will be able to see.

except for maybe your fiancé and only god knows how you’ll be able to explain the marks to him tonight. ‘oh you know me, suguru. i’m way too clumsy for my own good.’ you’ll say, all while thinking about how the man after your crown blew your back out at your engagement party.

you know why satoru’s acting such a fool — taking risks that he wouldn’t normally. the dress you’re wearing, the colour of his eyes, drives him fucking insane. you can’t say that you didn’t ask for this, like it wasn’t on purpose.

“can’t fucking stand you,” gojo groans against your skin, nose pressed to your collarbone as he inhales the candied notes of your perfume. “been giving me those angel eyes all day. knowing that i can’t take my fucking eyes off of you when you wear that colour, princess.”

he’s insufferable, but here you find yourself at the mercy of his touch — offering up your body to satoru gojo like a sacrificial lamb as your back arches away from the tree and presses your chest into his eager strawberry tongue. it leaves a slimy track over your neck and dips between the cleavage of your dress while gojo makes his descent down to hell — tasting the shimmering crystals of salt on your skin.

satoru gojo belongs on his knees.

kneeling before you with the royal blue tule of your dress between his shaking hands. you can tell he’s trying not to rip it off of you. born to worship you. mirth weighs down his lashes and desire dances between the navy blue flecks in his sapphire eyes — he needs you so bad it might kill him. from this position he can practically smell how turned on you are, he’d recognise the mouth-watering aroma of your drooling cunt anywhere, slick gathering in the crotch of your barely there panties.

there’s a depraved, royal treasure hidden between the string of fabric that runs between your juicy pussy lips — swollen and waiting to be devoured by your enemy. not that you’d ever admit that to him. “i think you should be referring to me as your queen.” you manage between ragged breaths, satoru eyeing the way your chest heaves from beneath the bust of your dress.

instead of responding, his head unceremoniously dips beneath your skirts and he drags a thigh over the width of his broad shoulders. “watch your mouth,” the lord purrs salaciously as he licks up your inner thigh, the vibrations shooting straight to your swollen clit. “let’s remind you of who’s really in charge.” the both of you feel it, the aching throb of your pussy against gojo’s lips as he wedges his face right between your thighs. you can’t help but grind against him in wanton, desperate to be filled up with fingers, tongue whatever your sworn enemy has to offer up to the crown.

but your warmth and wetness does nothing to coax satoru into tongue fucking his way past your clenching, creaming entrance. rather, he draws his head back just a touch and rubs at your cunt like he loves you, dips his fingers just into your quivering hole and then — smack !

juices run down satoru’s arms as if he’s taken a bite into the fruit that tempted eve while he laughs in awe of just how fucking sloppy you are between your thighs. the spank to your puffy folds makes you jolt in surprise, causing you to scratch your back against the jagged tree bark.

“gojo!” you squeak in warning as your thighs close around his veiny hand.

he sticks his tongue into his cheek, smirking in amusement before prying your shaky legs apart. “that’s not quite right, try again for me, princess...” gojo repeats the process, running between your slick folds and spanking you against them when you fail to respond. “you know my name, baby. c’mon it’s easy, i’ll even say it with you. d…d…”

you refuse to stoop so low, to let demeaning words escape from underneath your tongue but not having satoru’s mouth on you is like torture — just his breath against your cunt is akin to dangling a carrot in front of a starving horse. you know what that pleasure is like, you crave it and you’re not above begging no matter how royal you may be.

“f-fuck, daddy!” you whinge defiantly, screwing your eyes shut and letting your head fall back against the tree. satoru wastes no more time then, slotting his hot mouth against the entire length of your silken slit. the first thing he does is moan, the vibrations shooting twinges of ecstasy from your clit through the rest of your body and even reaching your head — making the world around you spin.

the tip of his tongue teases its way past your entrance, squirming around to brush up against pleasure spots your little fingers can’t even reach. “that’s right princess, knew you could do it. you’re not just some stuck up little girl.” the white haired lord praises, drawing back from your quivering hole — connected to you by a string of your glistening slick.

“shut up, just… put your mouth to good use.” you grunt, your hips canterint down onto gojo’s face to keep him quiet. your fingers take root in his silvery moon locks, dragging the man and his pink tongue onto your sex once more. gojo takes the hint, making your cute little clit his next victim as he rolls it between perfect rows of pearly whites and sends your eyes into the dark depths of your skull.

the sinful and salacious sensation provides a welcomed distraction from your responsibilities as the crown princess. if your grandmother could see you now, you know that all she’d feel is disappointment— especially if she knew her granddaughter was fucking the biggest threat to the crown. and suguru, your poor fiancé — he was probably stuck mingling with guests he didn’t even know, looking for your eyes in the crowd like he always did.

shame should be burning through your veins, not the white hot trickle of desire that you’re filled with as satoru slurps your juices from between your fat pussy lips. the needy groans he lets out against you inch down your spine, drown you in stormy waves of lust and you find yourself addicted to the bob of gojo’s head from underneath your tule skirts. you’re just so wet, pouring the royal family’s riches, liquid gold straight into the man’s greedy mouth as he drinks you in.

your nectar glazes his cheeks and chin in a devilish shine, brighter than the crown set to sit atop your head — his mouth barely parts from your ravaged and swollen romping as if he’s married to eating you out, tongue licking you up and down before your juices even have a chance to drip to the ground. you can only imagine what would happen if the press found out, your life would be over and so would satoru’s. but you don’t care, because every second that gojo spends between your thighs dragging you to orgasm is worth it. every single time.

he grips at your ass, pulling you back onto his tongue as it flickers in and out of you. the whole ordeal is disgusting and delightful and you never want it to end. pleasure mounts high within you, evident in the shakiness of your gripes and grouses, lust laden in its tune.

“s-satoru…satoru. i’m gonna… g’na fuckin’ cum!” a high pitch squeal tears in your throat like music to gojo’s ears — now working relentlessly to get you off just like you need. he doesn’t care if he’s suffocating, at least he’ll die a happy man between the thighs of a princess.

he chuckles against your sex. “such a dirty mouth for such a proper lady.” the lord says as if he’s a scolding you.

but you can barely hear him, for static rings in your ears as your body loses the war to your orgasm. your release bubbles up on his tongue like the fresh pop of champagne, while your brain fizzles and clears itself of all logical thought. guilt is replaced by bouts of lust, making you realise that this cycle of avoiding and fucking gojo will never end. you’re too addicted to him and he’s too obsessed with you, as long as things remain that way — sex with him will always be on the agenda.

you can’t promise yourself, your grandmother or suguru that this will be the last time.

dopamine dances across gojo’s brain as he drinks in the tangy-honey flavour of your release, letting it splatter against his puffy lips as they encircle your clit to prolong your orgasm. you gush as if you’re a rushing erotic river, spilling into satoru’s earnest mouth while he licks you clean with wanton.

“look at that… oh look at you. cumming for me already.”

“f-fuck you.”

“fuck me?” he smirks, making your gut lurch with wanton. “fuck you. i’m the one that’s working on it, princess.” satoru slowly rises to his feet, licking a nasty spit-slicked trail from your hole to the cleavage peeking out from underneath your dress. he doesn’t even stand to his full height, his large frame towering over you as he yanks down the front of your dress to lick and suck and play with your breasts until you can’t tell what’s up or down anymore.

his perfect teeth graze a pert nipple which makes you gasp and cry, loosely looping your arms around satoru’s neck while his ravaging mouth works your sensitive breasts, even going as far to swipe his tongue over the spot where each one meets your ribcage. he doesn’t leave any marks, you’re not his to keep. large and rough hands replace the warmth of his mouth on you to toy with your mounds of flesh — pinching and pulling as satoru kisses you senseless. you groan at the taste of your slick on his tongue and salt of your skin as well, tugging him closer so that there’s no space between your heated bodies.

“don’t cry,” satoru comments softly against your swollen, cherry-bitten lips — cupping your face between his fingers. blinking slowly, you allow your frenzied brain the chance to catch up to reality and you don’t realise the tears that wet your cheeks until he points them out. why are you even crying? “you’re too pretty for that.” his compliments do nothing to clear the lustful, confused fog settling over your mind like a dark cloud so you follow your body’s instincts and reach for the metal clasp on his belt.

nimble fingers make their way down the front of gojo’s dress pants and he hisses at the quick pumps of his perfectly hard cock before you’re dragging up your skirts and guiding him towards your entrance. “baby, wait—“

you push his pants down enough to let his erection spring free, pulsing with need and standing at full mast against the cotton blouse covering his tummy. “i need you.” you sniff, dropping your panties to your ankles. “please.”

the thing about sex with satoru is that it never feels like just sex. he tenderly hikes the meat of your thigh over his slender hips, lets his dribbly, sticky cockhead twitch forward and ease past the salaciously slick barriers of your empty hole, and presses your bodies so close together that you think you might forget how to breathe. satoru makes love to you each and every time — and it’s terrible.

like eating too much sugar or indulging in a bad smoking habit. you’re not supposed to be in love with him and the way he fucks up into you, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis even with all of the fabric in the way. “don’t cry for him, f-fuck,” the both of you look down, your pupils dilating at the sight of your pussy swallowing his lengthy shaft whole — catching on the ridges of each blue vein spiralling around him. “cry for me, princess. i’m the one that’s ruining you.”

with his forehead pressed to yours, silver hair matted down by the line of perspiration against it — satoru braces a hand against the tree above your head and sets stream to his passionate thrusts, fluid like water under a bridge. it’s not fair, how wrong this is and how good it feels to have gojo lick over the parts of you he would bite down on if you were his. your pulse point, your neck, the spot just under your ear that’s way too sensitive for your own good. it should be suguru fucking you like this, your fiancé.

yet, there’s no room for self-loathing and despair between the rough tree and satoru gojo above you. nothing aside for the thick curtain of lust that protects you from prying eyes in the rose garden, floral scents twisting with the raw, aphrodisiac-like smell of sex and sweat while he pounds away at your swollen pussy, grinding his cock wetly against the sweet spots dotted along your ribbed walls.

“i should put a baby in you,” he says suddenly, just barely audible over the wet pap, pap, pap of your sexes working together. embarrassment burns bright under the surface of your cheeks because you’re that wet and it’s that loud, the remainders of your previous orgasm making it easier for satoru’s cock to glide in and out of you. “leave you with a little gift. a present — reminder of our time together, yeah?” he knows that he’s not making any sense, leaving his confession behind sex and sultry words. he would never admit to how much he loves you, he’s already ruined you enough. he’s already taken more than enough from you too. “i’ll get to the crown either fuckin’ way.”

satoru talks with his dick and you fucking like it, squeezing the damn daylights out of him. he can barely pull back with you locked down on like that, his seedy tip snug between your ruined folds — clinging into him by viscous ropes of your last orgasm and freshly formed globs of his white hot precum. “you like that, don’t you princess?” he coos down to you condescendingly, picking up the pace of his hips as he rams into you mercilessly. the tree shakes from the force, sprinkling pretty and innocent petals over you both. “you wanna make me a daddy? my queen? give me a little prince or princess.”

“fuck yes, satoru!” nodding your head with wanton, you press yourself into his neck and squeeze him close by the ass cheeks so the only place your lover can go is deeper. you want to be able to feel him in your guts, hot in your womb like an iron rod — anything to forget the trickle of betrayal filling you up like a glass of wine. “i want it, i want it…i want—“

you cut yourself of with an abrasive sob, as you moan your agreements. i want you. you feel the words on the tip of your tongue, drowned out by the slippery sounds of sex and creaking tree trunk. you’ve never wanted anyone as much as you’ve wanted satoru gojo.

but he’s the wrong person, in the wrong place, at the wrong time.

“i know you do, i know,” you can feel gojo move to slobber over your chest, pacifying his whistle tone whimpers with your nipples bouncing in his mouth. he looks up at you with vacant cerulean eyes that shimmer like the skies above, the crude mix of your arousals slinging at the point at which your bodies join. “tell me how much you love daddy’s cock, princess.”

he goads because he craves your attention. satoru can feel you slipping from between his fingers, the guilt that rolls off of you in waves as he languidly rams into your cunt. he’s asking a lot of someone who’s too stimulated, too fucked out to speak — your tongue barely staying in your mouth.

“sato—!”

“c’mon… answer me, fuck, there we go.”

that’s when he hikes you up in his arms, lifting you a little to feverishly thrust up into you — dragging you closer to another high. your nails dig deep into his taut ass, nudging his dick against your g-spot. suguru would never be this rough with you, would never want to fuck you so good that the pleasure hurts.

shaking your head, your eyes glisten but the denial doesn’t stop small streams of arousal from squirting out and webbing against gojo’s soft pubes. “i-i can’t! i don’t—“ satoru bites down on your nipple, hard, cutting through your train of blurry thought. “i love…h-him!”

you love your fiancé, but you both know that’s a lie.

“yeah, sure you do. that’s why your pussy’s huggin’ my cock so tight. you don’t wanna let me go, baby.” even while he’s a mess for you, your rival still finds it in him to be such an egotistical prick. you can’t even tell him that he’s wrong, because you never ever want to be without satoru, without this immensely overwhelming feeling of ecstasy fluttering through your entire body. it’s all too much, he’s too much, stretching you wide and filling you with the love (and cum) you should be getting from suguru.

thunder cracks above your head, lightning flashes through the trees as if the higher power up above is bearing witness — growing distraught at your sins. it’s not long before the heavens open up on you both and your sweaty, sex slicked bodies are doused in rain. but it doesn’t stop you, doesn’t stop satoru from dragging down your bottom lip to lovingly spit into your mouth.

he kisses you as if it’s not enough, rocking his hips into you so he can bully your insides and mark them with his pre. “bet he’s lookin’ for you right now, hm? his precious wife to be…drenched in my cum ‘n drenched in the rain.” satoru heaves, letting the patter of the rain drown out the sound of his tightening balls slapping against your ass. “bet he wishes he could fuck you like i do.”

you can’t tell if it’s the tears of guilt and longing or the rain that blurs your vision. “h-he doesn’t get to!” you cry like a dirty porn-star, hardly becoming of a soon to be queen. “o-only you!”

“only me, hm? i’m flattered.” he seems elated, hiding his flushed face and happy smile in the junction between your neck and shoulder. his wet hair tickles your skin. “too bad he doesn’t know his princess comes used and abused between her pretty legs, huh?”

the rain is cold against your skin, seeping through your clothes, ruining your makeup — but the way satoru licks up your hot streaky tears and the droplets of water against your skin as if to sooth you… the way he does it fills you with warmth.

your limbs become heavy from your water-logged clothes and exhaustion, your whole body slumped against satoru’s strength but you still manage to rake your nails down his back as if you can’t be any closer. gojo doesn’t let your hips run from his either. his mind races, stuck on the idea of asking you to run away with him because he can’t just let you go back to geto. not again.

he can’t let you marry someone you’re not in love with.

it would be selfish of him to ask you to stay, even when you wrap your legs around him and have him plug up your tiny little hole with sticky white. he sees it in your eyes how much you care for him, even through the rain. he’s ruining you, from the inside out, knocking the crown from your head and he hates it.

“daddy loves this pussy,” he wishes for the moment to last forever, but you’re already so close — crying from every hole, suffocating his throbbing cock. neither of you can hold back. “he loves you. i love you.”

the confession nearly tears your world in two — but it’s all you need to hear before everything comes crashing down on you. “i-i love you!” you tell him, wailing the words loud and proud as you release on him for a second time, gushing obscene amounts against gojo’s tummy smooshed up on your clit. “sato—! satoru! cum with me, cum inside me!” scratching down his back and screwing your eyes shut, you tilt your head up to capture his lips in a passionate kiss.

the taste of salt on your cupid’s bow throws gojo over the edge too — his cockhead pours viscous white directly into your womb. “fuuuck, you’re so good princess…” and even though you know you should tell him to pull out, you don’t want him too. you want his baby, want his cum, want him always. even if that’s greedy of you.“fuckin’ take it…take all of me. all of that cum’s for you.” he slurs, beyond brainless.

lewd clapping noises echo between your bodies like the thunder up above as satoru fucks you through the rest of your highs, nose nudging your cheeks tenderly to soothe your tears. moaning, and crying against one another’s swollen lip. when his slow grinds come to a stop and your breathing recovers, the white haired lord gently sets you back in the ground — tenderly helping you to fix your drenched clothes back into place.

your thighs are completely bruised and his back is completely torn up. the last marks you’ll ever leave with each other.

“so about—“

“we… we can’t do this anymore, satoru.” you say almost immediately, shaky as if you’re in the verge of panic.

for the first time since you started doing this, sneaking off with one another, gojo notices the glint on your ring finger. and you feel the very same weight of that ring.

he shrugs you off, pulling up his pants and smirking. “that’s what you said last time—

“no satoru, i mean it now. we can’t.” it’s like you’ve come to your senses, realised the gravity of it all and what’s at stake. thirty days to get married, thirty days to become queen. “i’m going to become queen, your queen, in a matter of weeks and to do that i need to be married to him. i can’t mess this up. we have to stop.”

“but you don’t even want him,” he growls like a petulant child, roaring above the rain that cascades down on you both. “you want me. i want you. who gives a fuck about anything else?”

“duty gives a fuck! i have to marry him!”

throwing his hands up in defeat, satoru steps towards you, loud and intimidating, and you step back towards the tree. “you can’t even say his fucking name.”

“his name is suguru geto and i will marry him because you forced me to.” you spit, going toe to toe with him — chest heaving but tight from your heart break. “if you and your stupid higher ups had just stayed out my way. maybe there could have been a chance for us. but they didn’t and here we are and duty freaking calls, gojo.”

you storm off shortly after, be before he can see you cry again (for real this time). from his place hidden in the royal gardens, gojo watches sullenly as you approach your grandmother and fiancé — the elder queen disappointed in your current state and suguru clearly worried that the rain might make you catch a cold.

the perfect alibi to cover up the fact that you’d just fucked satoru gojo.

but the entire time, you never look back.

you don’t even look at gojo — and that’s how he knows you meant it. you always look back, always look for him in the crowd.

the knowledge hits him like a strike of lightning. he’s royally fucked up — you’re marrying for the crown, all because of him. and there’s no room for loving when you’ve got the weight of the nation on your shoulders.

#୨୧ KINKTOBER 23’#gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo x you #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x reader #jjk smut #satoru gojo x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x y/n #gojo thirst #jjk thirsts #✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #angelshubnetwork

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fallingintoyourlilaceyes · 7 months

Note

heyyy, if you take requests pleaseeee write a Aemond×reader fic, but reader is the daughter of Daemon and Rhaenyra, she is a young woman with Rhaenyras beauty and Daemons behaviour, she was an ally to Aemond when they were children unlike her half-brothers, but after the night he lost his eye they got seprate thanks to going and living with her family in the dragon stone ( i dunno if i am writing this right english ain't my first language) and after some years, they meet each again and the point is she haven't been sending any letters to him and stuff. i know it's long but i would appreciate you writing anything like this😭❤ and pleaseee if you do accept, make it dark Aemond.

I´m so sorry it took me so long to finish this bestie, but I hope you are still interested in it and will like what I wrote<3 Especially with it being spooky season I love writing/reading all the dark fics I can get my hands on!

I will not let you go again

pairing: Dark!Aemond Targaryen x Daemyra´s daugther!Reader

synopsis: “I love you, my sweet wife.” He murmurs into your ear afterwards.

There once was a time where these words would have made you happy beyond believe, but that was a long time ago. And he wasn´t the only person that had changed for the worse.

warnings: dark themes, mentions of non-consensual sexual acts, forced pregnancy, forced marriage, afab reader

word count: 0.9k

His one seeing eye burns through you during the entire dinner. The truth is you have felt his eyes on you from the second you had arrived at the Red Keep with your family. And while at first it was trying to find out who you were and where he knew you from, now at dinner, it glowed hot with either anger or something more carnal, you aren´t entirely sure. As if the tensions between your families hadn´t been high enough already. Every time of the little times your mother and father take you and your half-siblings back to the capital you are reminded once more as to why your mother had took you away to Dragonstone all those years ago. The sparks of dislike that flew between your half brothers and your uncle flew were enough to set all of King´s Landing on fire, but the hate between your mother and her former best friend had the potential to destroy all of Westeros. It comes as no wonder when the meal escalates in a borderline brawl. Jacaerys has always been bad at controlling his temper and your once beloved uncle Aemond gladly took advantage of that. You would like to say you were not surprised by who the once sensitive, bullied boy turned into, but it didn´t come as much of a shock. Before you had been taken away from your former home you had considered your uncle a friend. That was off the table now. Yet even as you saw this change in him, saw the strength and cold in his singular seeing eye, you would have never trusted him to go this far.

You walk to your chambers after your mother had told you so, in a slow pace. Careful eyes and ears paying attention to the hallways around you. However Aemond still manages to surprise you. His large, rough hand clamps over your mouth to silence you, the other holding you against his body so you don´t even have a chance to struggle against him. Once he has you in his chambers and you are able to whip your head around you truly see him for the first time. Not only has he grown from the sensitive, bullied boy, not only did he have a cold, strong aura surround him, he seemed downright obsessive. In that moment you can see it in his eye… your doom. He walks towards you without saying a word. His movements similar to that of a lion. Then Aemond finally speaks.

“I believed us to be friends. I considered you the only person able to understand me…” He whispers.

“We were, uncle. I was, I do. We could be again.” You take a step back for every step he takes towards you.

“Yes? And how do you propose we are going to do that?” he growls. “You could not even send me a single letter.”

“I tried to. You have to believe me, dear uncle, but my mother wouldn´t let me…” A gasp escapes your lungs when you feel your back hits the cold brick wall.

“I do not believe you. There have been many chances, but it is all alright now. I will not let you go again, now that I have you. You will be mine. Forever.” Aemond´s breath is hot on your ear. As if it wants to burn you.

“I do not understand…” You shake your head at what he is saying.

“Do not worry, sweet niece. You will soon enough.” He cups your cheeks in his hands and kisses you passionately.

The rough kiss is just the beginning of a night that would haunt you in your sleep for the unforeseeable future. Aemond carries you to the bed and makes sure to breed you thoroughly. Making sure that his seed would take, while making sure you don´t get away from him. And he needs to, because you refuse to give up the fight. He knows that if you end up with child your mother would most likely try to make you wed the child´s father and as much as his mother hates yours, how high are the chances she refuses when he shows himself to be willing to. He knows that you know.

And what feels even worse is, that the seven or fate or whatever the one responsible is called, seem to be on his side.

Without any access to moon tea and a guarantee that no one would learn of what had occurred that cursed night, your pregnancy starts to show a few moons later. Your parents are beside themselves and immediately ship you back to the capital. Signaling the start of a long and rather tedious discussion between your families. At the end of which waits a sept and a marriage bond that is about as wanted as the whole pregnancy. Yet you are in no place to speak up. You don´t get the chance to. You should have made better choices if you did not want this, are your mothers only words on the matter towards you. All the while there is the smuggest of smiles securely on Aemond´s as well as Aegon´s faces. You wished you could wipe it off their faces with your fists.

But you don´t do that. You swallow every bad feeling, aside of a few tears during your vows, until you feel entirely empty and cold.

Once you are pronounced man and wife Aemond kisses you so gently, it´s almost impossible to feel his lips on yours and yet it still makes you feel sick.

“I love you, my sweet wife.” He murmurs into your ear afterwards.

There once was a time where these words would have made you happy beyond believe, but that was a long time ago. And he wasn´t the only person that had changed for the worse.

“I love you as well, my dragon.” You reply. The words devoid of any emotion.

#prince aemond #prince aemond targaryen #prince aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x you #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #dark!aemond x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #hotd x reader #house of the dragon fic

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surrogate-fawn · 6 months

Note

Im a fan of #7.

Nesting (Werewolf AU)

Prompt: "The baby feels so low" [Also inspired by @hush-writes-preg's "Spooky Season Day #3" prompt. He can consider this an early birthday gift as well!]

Characters: Fawn, Newt/Asher - Pre-Polly Relationship ((Newt is owned by @mittysins, and Asher is owned by @killer-orca-cosplay.))

Context: This takes place in a modern world where werewolves are common amidst human society. Fawn is a packless Beta who is about to give birth to her ex-mate's pup. Newt, an Omega, and Asher, an Alpha, are a mated pair who took Fawn into their home -- despite the fact they're expecting a pup of their own in a few months. The three have formed a close friendship, though Fawn still feels like an outsider. After all, she was human only a year ago.

Disclaimer: This fic contains lore for my, Mitty's, and Orca's werewolf AU -- be forewarned there will be worldbuilding mixed in with the kink stuff. If story-heavy kink is your kind of thing -- like it is for us three -- enjoy!

TW: A/B/O dynamics, but within the context of a werewolf society; mentions of past abuse, werewolf-related birth troubles.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Smoky whisps of incense scented the room with lavender. The shades were drawn over the windows to block the fading sun. Golden fairy lights twinkled in the gossamer curtains woven through the support beams of the nesting tent, the only dots of light in the dark room.

The nylon pop-up tent was specially designed for those who were nesting. It clung to the baseboard and covered the entire bed in a snug, arched shelter. It could be zipped or unzipped in sections to create windows and doors as needed, or it could be shut tight for total privacy. The interior of the tent was stuffed full of jumbo-sized Squishmallow plushies, three oversized duvet covers, and one very pregnant werewolf.

"How you doing, Mama?" the mop-haired Alpha sitting bedside asked.

Fawn's pointed ear flicked in the direction of his voice in acknowledgement before she opened her eyes. She lay curled around a giant fox pillow, the soft material supporting her belly as she lay dozing in the tent. She had opened a section of the tent by the headboard so she could leave the nest if she wanted, but at the moment she didn't feel safe anywhere else.

"I've been better," she said, her voice lagging with fatigue.

A dewy layer of sweat clung to her whole body. Her clothing was shed to the bedroom floor, save for a black tank top and pair of boyshorts. The air around her was temperate, but her body burned with a mild fever. Her muscles felt heavy and useless, tired from months of carrying her pregnancy whilst fighting the tremors of rejection sickness. The worst of it had passed over time; but here she was, still feeling the effects of breaking her pair bond almost ten months later.

Oh, and being in labor for the last nine hours was not helping the situation.

The soft click of the door handle caught their attention. The pair of cryptids lifted their heads to look as it opened, the hallway light reflecting green in the mirrors of their eyes.

Newt's familiar scent -- much stronger than his mate's -- overpowered the lavender as he entered the room. Fawn's sinuses tingled with the spicy-sweet aroma of his smell, comparable to sassafras, that indicated his pregnancy as much as the grapefruit-sized swell of his lower belly. Fawn still struggled to describe the scents that were new to her.

The Omega approached her nest and held out the glass of tap water he'd been sent to fetch. Fawn craned her neck and lapped from it, her mouth too parched to obey her command. Her tongue was longer than it had once been, able to bring water to her throat as easily as any straw. She didn't pause to wrap her lips around the edge of the glass until her thirst was mostly quenched.

"Jeez, don't drown," Newt chuckled as Fawn took the drink from his hand.

Asher, the Alpha, got up from his seat and offered it to his mate with a nod of his head.

Fawn gulped down the last of the water and came up panting for air. "Don't tell me what to do," she retorted with a tired, playful grin.

"Don't tell her what to do, babe," Asher said, unable to disguise the smirk on his face as he set the empty glass on the bedside table.

The three shared a brief, quiet laugh.

Fawn's eyelids drifted closed as the room settled back into silence. She shimmied herself deeper into her pile of softness, falling easily into a twilight sleep; at least, for a few more minutes.

A huff of air left Fawn's nose a split second before her brow creased in discomfort. "Ash, start it," she said, curling tighter around her pillow.

"Yes, ma'am." Asher fumbled to unlock his phone and started the timer on his stopwatch app. "Started."

Fawn filled her lungs with air with one long breath and released it as a drawn-out exhale. The contraction coiled itself around her hips and squeezed, growing tighter by the second. The pain grew like a stinging vine around her belly, her ribs, her back, even wrapping around her upper thighs.

With a low groan, Fawn rolled herself onto her back. Her legs fell open at a wider angle than normal -- a sign her hips were loosening in preparation for her large pup to come through. She continued her ritual of slow, deliberate breathing as the contraction continued to climb to its dreaded peak.

Newt leaned into the opening in the tent, enough for him to run a gentle hand over the clammy skin of Fawn's arm. He didn't say anything, but his touch brought her a sense of ease. Even knowing that Asher was in the room, even if she couldn't see him, made her feel better. They'd only known each other a month, but she couldn't imagine surviving labor without them.

Fawn flashed her fangs in a snarl as the contraction reached its apex, the part she dreaded each time. "Ugh!" she growled through her teeth, her head pressed back into the pillow.

Newt's eyes widened when Fawn hooked her hands beneath her knees, drawing her legs up on either side of her belly. "Are you pushing already?"

"She's what?!" Asher gasped in alarm, his face appearing over his mate's shoulder.

"No!" Fawn growled, hardly able to breathe enough to speak. "My legs are about to fuckin' dislocate!"

She could feel the pup pressing its way out, prying open the flesh of her cervix as her womb squeezed it down. The pressure sent stabbing waves of agony between her legs. Her birth canal opened a little more with each millimeter the pup dropped, and now it was putting unbearable pressure on the ball-socket joints of her pelvis.

Fawn grunted in relief as the contraction ebbed. She released her legs, draping them wide apart over her plushies. Thankfully, Newt and Asher's guest bed was queen-sized and allowed her plenty of space to spread out.

"It's done," she announced, so Asher could stop the timer.

"Ooh, getting close," Asher said. "That one was thirty-eight seconds."

Even that short burst of work sent drops of sweat rolling down Fawn's sides. She pulled her tank top over the curve of her belly and tucked the fabric under her swollen breasts. She caressed the sore underside of her bump in long, soothing circles. The skin around her womb was pulled smooth as glass from the weight of the pup inside. She could feel where its surface was gouged by deep, purple stretch marks. Her pup wriggled impatiently beneath her hands, as if able to sense her touch through the thinness of the skin.

"Call me crazy," she said, "but I'm hoping this baby takes its time. It might rip me apart if it tries to break the speed record."

Asher checked the recorded times in his phone. "You'll be fine, it doesn't look like they're in a hurry," he said. "Just stay relaxed and the pup will keep working its way down."

Fawn gave a thumbs-up. "Copy that, Sarge."

"So, guys, are we taking bets?" Newt asked, resting his upper torso inside the tent.

Fawn tilted her head to peer up at him from inside the canyon of her pillow plushie. "On what?"

"Boy or girl," Newt grinned. He propped his chin up on his hand and beamed down at the redheaded wolf woman. "Should we take bets?"

"You boys can if you want," Fawn said.

"Just you versus me, babe," Asher chuckled from somewhere else in the room. "Fawn already knows, that would be cheating."

"No, I don't," Fawn said, quiet and matter-of-fact. She turned her eyes to the little golden lights twinkling over her head. "I didn't know if a doctor would make me contact my mate, so I never went to one."

At the mention of him, the mating scar at the nape of Fawn's neck became hot. She grimaced, able to feel each small wound his teeth had left when he'd inflicted her with the curse of the wolves. It wasn't as strong of a reaction anymore; the pain had at one point been overwhelming.

When she'd taken that first step out of the apartment with the intention to never come back, the mark had burned so intensely she thought she could smell her flesh searing. She was lucky Todd hadn't been home, because he'd no doubt felt the same sensation on the back of his neck -- where he had forced her to mark him as her mate as well. Had he been home, Fawn wouldn't have made it out of the building before he'd realized what she was doing.

"Besides," Fawn added, "I have no idea if I should go to a doctor or a vet now." Her freckled face paled, and she looked back up at Newt. "Shit, is that offensive?"

Newt laughed and leaned in to rub his cheek against her forehead. "Nah."

Fawn smiled as he brushed against her, leaving a bit of his spicy-sweet scent on her skin. She was still adjusting to perceiving the world through scent as much as sight and touch, but she grew more comfortable with it each time the pair scented her. Scent was transforming into language the more she utilized it. Maybe she wasn't sure how to communicate with it, yet; but there was something about it she was starting to understand.

"We'll show you the ropes once you're over the rejection sickness," Asher said, leaning against the nightstand so he could peer into the nest. "So . . . this guy didn't explain any of our lifestyle to you?"

Fawn shook her head. "Not anything us hum-," she paused, pressing her lips into a thin line. "Not anything humans don't already know. Transformation and full moon stuff, basically. He had me sell my silver jewelry before he'd even kiss me. I didn't know werewolves were that sensitive to it."

The boys shared a concerned look.

"Um," Asher cleared his throat, "we aren't. Silver allergies are rare as hell. A few poor bastards had a fatal reaction hundreds of years ago, and humans assumed it was a rule for all of us."

"Good old stereotyping," Newt said.

The lines in Fawn's brow deepened. "That piece of dogshit," she muttered under her breath. "I sold my grandma's pendant for him!"

Goddammit! Why hadn't she thought twice about Todd suddenly needing to "borrow" that money?! Her mating scar throbbed, seeping heat like an open wound where their pair bond had once been. A fresh sweat dampened her brow.

Newt brushed a few stray curls from Fawn's eyes and tucked them behind the point of her ear. "Fuck him. He's a dick."

"Yeah, fuck him," Asher agreed with a frown. His ear twitched as his scowl deepened, knocking his glasses askew. "Alphas are supposed to protect our mates, not take advantage of them."

There was a brief pause. Asher took off his glasses, cleaned them on his shirt, and added: "For what it's worth, Fawn . . . I'm sorry on his behalf."

"Me, too," Newt nodded. "Not as an Alpha, but as a wolf."

Fawn sighed and draped an arm over her eyes. "Thank you for that, boys. It helps . . . at least a little."

She felt like the world's biggest idiot.

When they'd met, she'd been seduced by Todd's hyper-masculine physique and charmed by his overly protective "doting". How special she'd felt, having an Alpha werewolf want her -- an average human woman -- as his mate. In hindsight, being an average human woman was exactly what made him want her. Easy prey.

How quickly she'd regretted her decision to let Todd put her in a mating press. After she'd endured the weeks it took for her anatomy to shift into that of his kind, Todd had convinced her they needed to breed as soon as possible. He wanted a large pack, as many pups as she could give him. It didn't take her long to realize they were the only reason he'd claimed her. Days after leaving him, she'd detected the strange smell of sassafras on her skin -- though she wouldn't know what that meant for two months.

The rejection sickness had masked any symptoms of a pregnancy. The effects were like that of withdrawal: fevers high enough to cause delirium, tremors, nausea, and full-body aches. She'd spent endless days and nights confined to the bed of a sleazy motel room. What carried her through was the knowledge that Todd was feeling just as shitty as she was. Yet, in her darkest moments, Fawn considered going back to him just to make it stop.

Then, her world changed when a fellow wolf woman at the drugstore offered congratulations based on her scent. This prompted her to buy a pregnancy test, and the thought of going back never crossed her mind again.

"Fellas?" Fawn asked, still blindfolding herself with her forearm. "Is a large pack, like . . . a status symbol for y'all or something?"

Asher shrugged. "Not as much as it used to be," he said. "It used to be a big deal in the past, like before we had the treaty with humans. That was because our packs needed the numbers for defense. But now? Not as much."

"Except maybe for those freakishly traditional families," Newt chimed in.

"Mmm," Fawn hummed in acknowledgement. She placed her other hand on the upper swell of her belly and gave it a thoughtful rub. "Well, this baby is mine. I'm not giving birth for the sake of some insecure asshole. This is my baby."

"Damn right it is," Newt grinned, his blue eyes glittering in the low light.

After a few seconds of silence, Fawn's limp-hanging hand curled into a fist. "Mmm, Ash . . . " Her voice trailed off into a chesty groan.

Newt looked over at his mate. "Ash, start it."

Asher pulled out his phone with a nod. "Starting."

Newt massaged Fawn's shoulder as she once again pulled back her legs. The pressure in her hips was immense, and the contraction was heaving the baby down with unholy force. Fawn pulled harder on her knees until she felt her pelvis widen, the bones drifting apart like tectonic plates.

"Breathe, Fawn," Newt gently reminded. "You're holding it."

Fawn hissed out her breath like a deflating tire. "God, it's coming down," she groaned. She shut her eyes and whined as the pup pressed harder against her cervix.

"Change position," Asher offered, bending down to see inside the nest. "Let gravity help you out."

Fawn released a high-pitched whimper. "My hips . . . my hips hurt."

"Here, hold on." Newt reached around Fawn and pulled out another of her oversized Squishmallows from the pile. He left his chair and climbed onto the bed, crawling through the opening of the tent with the plushie in-hand. "Sit up, love."

Fawn reluctantly let her legs fall. Her bones were lead. With Newt's help, she got to her knees and straddled herself atop the large pillow plushie so her hips could remain open.

"There, that's better!" Asher said, sitting on the edge of the mattress. His phone screen reflected in his lenses, revealing the contraction had lasted twenty seconds already.

Fawn bent forward onto all-fours, rhythmically dipping her hips into the pillow as the pain climbed higher than it had before. The Omega at her side dug the heel of his hand into her lower back, allowing Fawn to rock back against the counter-pressure. Her deep breathing wavered, each inhale growing shallower until the wolf woman was full-on panting.

"Calm down, you're doing fine," Newt lulled, ghosting his claws over her spine. "Deep breaths, like you were doing."

Sweat appeared in shining beads on Fawn's reddened face, dampening the frizzy curls around her temples. "I can't," she gasped. All four limbs trembled, fatigued muscles giving up the last of their strength. "I can't . . . I need to lie down."

Fawn sank chest-first into the fox plushie, arms unable to support her weight. Her tongue dipped in and out of her mouth as she failed to control of her breathing. Her fingers sank into the duvet, claws tearing holes in the fabric.

The end of the tent unzipped, creating an arch-shaped door that Asher climbed in through. While Newt continued to knead Fawn's back, Asher laid himself beside her.

"Hey, Mama, look at me," he crooned, his face appearing in the corner of her vision. When her hazel eyes met his, he said: "You are owning this! There's no need to get freaked out. You're too tough for labor to beat. Take a deep breath for us, alright?"

Fawn wet her lips and maintained eye contact with the Alpha while she drew in a big breath.

"Good!" Asher smiled, patting her shoulder. "Now let it out and make the next one even deeper. Show that pain who's boss!"

She obeyed, but mid-inhale she choked on air. With a canid yowl, Fawn pressed herself against the Alpha's body. Her hips ground against the pillow, as if it would cushion the force of her pelvis being forced apart.

"Ugh, gravity's helping too much!" Fawn moaned into Asher's shirt. "This pup is about to fall outta me!"

"That's a good thing!" Asher encouraged, draping his arm over her and motioning for his mate to lie down beside them. "You're making progress. The pup will be here before you know it!"

Fawn's hips finally settled as the contraction eased off, but she still felt unable to move. Her pelvis sat wide open, and the hefty weight of the pup was sinking deep inside it -- even without the contraction.

“Augh, fuck,” she moaned, the sound rumbling in her chest. “Fuck . . . the baby feels low. It feels so fucking low!"

"Ash?" Newt asked as he rearranged the pillows to better support the three of them. "Are you still timing?"

Asher caressed Fawn's thigh as she shifted to support her upper body against the mountain of Squishmallows Newt had piled up. Newt reclined on his side beside her, flashing her a bright smile -- his fangs always hung over his lower lip when he smiled.

"No, I think we're just feeling it out now," Asher said. He'd left his phone charging on the nightstand, just in case they needed it. "I think we're 'reaching a checkpoint' as it were."

Newt rolled his eyes. "Gamers."

Fawn snuggled into the pillow mountain, trying in vain to get comfortable. It wasn't as dramatic as what they showed on television, but Fawn knew exactly what the hot rush of fluid was as it soaked the pillow between her legs.

"Umm, hey . . ." She nudged the pillow aside, revealing ribbons of cloudy water running down her inner thighs. "I think it's time to lose the shorts."

Asher pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "And checkpoint reached!"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For five hours, no one left that tent. The room grew darker as the evening gave way to the early morning hours of pre-dawn. The boys stayed at either side of the laboring wolf woman, holding her steady in positions that allowed her pup to ease down with gravity.

Between contractions, the three werewolves lay side-by-side in tranquil silence. The sweat on Fawn's brow would dry, her feverish body would cool, but the warmth of two other bodies prevented the chills from returning. That quiet peace would be broken when Fawn vocalized during a new contraction, signaling the boys to sit her up and widen her stance.

Fawn was growing restless, wanting to switch positions several times during every contraction: squatting against the headboard, kneeling against one guy or the other, or falling into a half-squat in a pile of her plush pillows. The longer the night wore on, the more fidgety the laboring mother became.

At around four in the morning, as the trio rested together beneath the fairy lights, Fawn suddenly spoke:

"Is the cradle ready?"

"Hmm?" Asher sat up and readjusted his glasses.

"Is the cradle ready?" Fawn repeated. There was a glint of urgency in her eyes, although her tone was soft and even.

The fold-out mesh bassinet was visible from inside the nest, placed against the opposite wall. The pup's first outfit was already laid out atop the blanket lining the mattress -- a cotton quilt with embroidered rubber duckies that Newt had donated from the stash he was buying for his own pup.

After a quick glance, Asher responded: "Yep, it's ready and waiting."

"Can you grab some extra blankets or something?" Fawn pleaded. She gradually drew her legs up until her heels touched the underside of her thighs. "Just anything that's soft."

Newt sat himself up and gave his mate a knowing look. "Babe? You think this is that 'final nesting' the baby books talked about?"

Asher's eyes widened. "Oh, crap. It might be."

"What?" Fawn asked. She suddenly realized she couldn't remember what either of the boys had just said -- she wasn't fully aware of what was going on around her. It was so, so hard to focus on anything other than the pounding pressure that had come to rest in the curve of her tailbone.

The mated pair gave each other a nod.

"Ash and I have been reading books about pups like crazy this month," Newt explained in a lighthearted tone. "'Final nesting' is just what your brain does right before the pup is ready to come out."

Asher grabbed the corner of the topmost duvet and rolled it towards them until it became a padded cushion. He carefully slid it beneath Fawn and said: "Yep, it's an instinct. Got to make sure the pup has a safe place to land, you know."

Now it was Fawn's turn to go wide-eyed. "Wait . . . wait, is it happening?" she gasped, her head shooting up off the pillows.

"Maybe," Newt said. "You'll know if it is." He placed a pillow over his torso to protect his belly and scooted behind Fawn to support her into a squat.

"And if it isn't, then we'll just wait some more," Asher concluded. "Don't try to bear down if you don't need to."

Fawn nodded, gulping down the dryness in her throat. She had no idea what to expect with the next contraction. If the monstrous pressure she was feeling hadn't triggered her body to push by then . . . oh, God above, what was about to happen to her?

"I don't . . . don't know if I'm ready for this," she muttered.

Newt leaned in and rubbed his cheek against the side of her neck. "You're as ready as you'll ever be," he said. He intertwined his clawed fingers with her own.

Fawn didn't feel the next contraction as pain, only as a familiar tightness wrapping around her womb. All other sensation was snuffed out . . . massacred . . . left bleeding in the streets! . . . by the wicked downward thrust of her pup moving through her effaced cervix. There was nothing holding that baby in her womb any longer, and it was not waiting another minute to leave.

"Oh, my God!" she screamed -- out of fear more so than pain. Her hips jerked back, trying to escape the demonic pressure burning inside.

Newt squeezed her hands -- his claws never marking her skin. "You feel it?"

"Yes!" Fawn cried, her body shuddering under the hellish urge to push.

"Go with it," Asher encouraged, placing his hand on her knee. "Let's meet your pup."

Fawn held her breath and gave a shallow, hesitant first push. She wasn't sure if she was using the correct muscles, but it felt . . . how could she describe it? . . . it felt like she was doing something. A few seconds of strain later, she let up with a sharp yelp. Yes, she'd been doing it right. That slight nudge had sent the pup rushing forward.

"It's moving . . ." was all she had time to say before her body demanded she continue her efforts -- and double them!

Those few millimeters of progress kicked her urge to push into overdrive. Fawn braced her weight against Newt, put chin to chest, and bore down with every ounce of force she could. The crown of the head pressed deeper against her innermost walls with a fiery, thorny tug. The sensation of her baby moving through her after so many passive hours of labor was startling -- yet beyond rewarding.

Had her eyes been open to see, Fawn would have observed Asher's tender smile as he watched primal focus harden her features.

"Just like that, Mama," Asher praised, again stroking her thigh. "Don't hold back, give it your all!"

Sweat trailed down her flushed skin. Unable to hold the push any longer, Fawn emptied her lungs with a harsh grunt.

"It's already hurting me," she growled through closed fangs. Her voice strained as, for just a few horrible seconds, she resisted the urge to push. "Goddamn, this is gonna suck!"

Newt laid his chin on Fawn's shoulder as she sank into another deep push. "Whatever you feel, don't fight it," he offered evenly. "Your body knows what it's doing, Fawn. Listen to what it's telling you to do."

Fawn's ears pressed back against her head as her hips dipped lower to the duvet. She felt a small trickle of fluid drip from her labia, but the flow stopped as soon as she stopped pushing. A groan escaped the back of her throat as the contraction eased off and she was able to relax.

"That was great," Newt praised, unlacing their fingers and letting Fawn have her hands back. "You got the hang of it right off the bat."

Fawn sighed and balled the duvet beneath them in her claws. Her chest rose and fell quickly, and her pulse hammered in her neck. Any sense of physical comfort was gone now, even between contractions. She knew there would be no peace for her until this pup was out and in her arms . . . but God only knew when that would happen. God only knew if that would happen! The pup was barely inside her birth canal and Fawn was already terrified that it was going to get stuck.

"What if . . . what if I can't get it out?" she panted. Her lower back was screaming, so she shifted her hips forward. It didn't help. "What do we do if I can't get it out?!"

"Hey, hey, don't think like that," Newt helped Fawn recline a bit further against him. He steadied her in his arms, his hands gently massaging the curves where her belly met her ribcage. "There's no doubt in our minds that you can do this!"

"And I'm down here if you need a little extra help," Asher said. He carefully took Fawn's leg and draped it over his lap, helping to open her hips now that she was in a more reclined position. "We won't let anything happen to you or your pup, Fawn. That's a promise."

"You're safe here," Newt said in a low, soothing tone. He continued to apply soft pressure to her sides and back, kneading over her sore body as if smoothing out a delicate fabric.

Fawn never doubted for a second that she was in loving hands. She dreaded to think where she would be right now if the pair hadn't opened their home to her. Without their kindness, chances were that she'd be delivering her baby in a motel bathroom or on top of a cot in a homeless shelter. These two had given her the ultimate gift: a warm, safe place to give birth. She owed her pup's life to them.

"I know," Fawn said, snuggling down further into the nest. "I don't want to be anywhere else right now."

Newt bent down and pressed a kiss to Fawn's hairline. "Keep listening to your body. Don't rush what it's trying to do."

Fawn nodded, puffing out a breath as she felt the next contraction roll up from her back to her belly. "Okay . . . let's go."

She took in a slow lungful of air, waited for the contraction to build in strength, and pushed.

Her loosened joints spread easily for the pup's skull as it squeezed its way down her passage. It became an endless pattern: Fawn would push, the head would squeeze down, and her pelvic bones would spread over its shape as it passed beneath them. She could feel the rhythm of the changes.

Push. Squeeze. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread.

Rest.

Push. Squeeze. Spread. Spread. Spre-OW!

OW! OW! Oh, fuck! Now it was so too big! Her hips were filled to the maximum, her canal stretched wide around a huge pair of shoulders as they slipped from her womb. She could feel her labia bulging from between her legs -- and oh, God, they ached! There was nothing but a layer of her skin holding the pup in, and it felt like a bubble of gum about to burst!

But she couldn't stop pushing. Not now, not when everything was raw and stretched and open and hurting so goddamn bad! Fawn curled her toes into the mattress and wailed as she threw herself harder into pushing. Her voice grew louder as she felt the inflamed skin between her legs starting to open.

"Good job, Mama! Here it comes!" Asher cried, his voice raised to be heard over Fawn's roar of effort.

Asher had his eyes glued to the pale, wet sac pressing out of Fawn each time her body strained. He'd read in their books that it was common for werewolf pups to be born with their membranes wrapped around them. That was fine, he just had to be prepared to remove it.

A tiny spurt of fluid leaked out from around the sac as the head began to stretch the skin of the perineum. The pup's size seemed to be keeping most of its sac unruptured, the fluid too pressurized to leave the birth canal. Asher furrowed his brow but said nothing.

Of course, Newt took notice of his mate's unease. He swallowed the unease in his chest, and scented Fawn's hair with his cheek again in the hopes it would distract her.

"Ash sees the head," he crooned. "Keep going, you're pushing like a pro!"

With renewed vigor, Fawn gave into her body's needs. Asher waited until a few centimeters of the solid white membrane stretched open Fawn's lips, then he placed his index finger against the bulging sac to gauge how much fluid was inside. He felt the semi-solid squish of the pup's head just beneath the film, but his finger pad felt the swish of water when he pressed down. That wasn't a very good sign, but Asher still felt confident that he could handle it.

"I'm going to help you out a little, okay?" Asher told Fawn, cupping his hand over the crowning pup. "Focus on pushing, and I'll help you open up. I'll go slow."

Newt once again sensed Asher's unease and made it his mission to protect Fawn from sensing it, too. "Pup's almost out, Fawn," he said as he gave her shoulders a brief hug. "It'll be out quicker with Ash helping you. Just take a deep breath and let yourself stretch."

"I'm trying," Fawn whimpered. "I'm trying."

As Fawn bore down against the pup, Asher ran his fingers against the sides of her lips. He nudged her skin open bit by bit around the sac, watching as it stretched from a small oval to a wide circle over the course of several minutes. Asher cringed as he saw the skin of her labia discolor from a raw red to an almost beet purple with the width of the head.

Fawn, meanwhile, had fallen completely taciturn. Aside from wolfish growls and whimpers, she made no efforts to express her pain verbally. Her focus had shifted solely to bearing through the ordeal, working with her body to bring it to a swift end.

"Keep going, we're almost there!" Asher cheered. He had his hands positioned at the apex of her inner thighs, supporting the tight skin as Fawn pushed the head to its widest point.

Fawn shuddered and let her head fall back on Newt's chest. Her mind was a mess of black static as the pup's shoulders ground against her pubic bone. She arched her spine as the pup ceased to move for one heart-stopping moment. Then, in a sudden lurch, the sac-covered head popped free into Asher's waiting hands.

"Awesome! Awesome, Fawn!" Newt cheered, peering over her shoulder as much as he could. He could see the white membrane resting in his mate's palm. "Babe, you got it?"

Asher nodded. "I've got it, don't worry."

Without drawing attention to it, Asher took the claw of his thumb and carefully -- oh-so-carefully -- punctured the membrane at the base of where he felt the pup's neck should be. A quiet sploosh filled the nesting tent as amniotic fluid rushed over Asher's hands. He hooked his claw inside the tear and slowly peeled the sac over the pup's head.

There wasn't much hair on the pup's head -- unusual, though not uncommon -- but that wasn't what Asher was looking for. He craned his neck at a painful angle until he could catch a glimpse of the pup's face. When he saw it, he paled. The features were predictably swollen, but the puffy lips were hanging open and dripping a thick yellowish mucus. Asher thanked the stars above that he and his partner had read up about whelping -- for he was able to recognize the tell-tale symptom of waterlogged lungs.

The mates locked eyes with each other and nothing else needed to be said or done. They both understood.

"This is it, love," Newt said, leaning in to help Fawn hold her legs apart. "This next contraction is going to be the one."

Fawn's jaw gaped like a suffocating fish, but finally her voice obeyed her command: "Is my baby okay?"

Oh, hell. She must've smelled the pheromones of their stress. Newt had been hoping she wouldn't understood what the scent of fear was, yet.

Newt smiled at her and brushed her sweat-plastered hair away from her eyes. "They're fine, they just need some extra help."

"When you push, I'll give them a little tug," Asher said. "It's going to hurt, but it'll be over before you know it."

Fawn squeezed her eyes shut. "Can't hurt any worse than this," she mumbled. "Just do it."

The boys were expecting the horrific scream Fawn released when Asher began guiding out the first shoulder, but it still made their sensitive ears ring.

"You're so strong, Fawn!" Newt said into her ear. He felt her legs trying to close against the pain, and he had to pause to pull them back apart. "I know it hurts, but you're handling it so well! We're so proud of you!"

Asher kept his focus locked on delivering the pup as fast and as safe as possible. One hand supported the pup's body while the other pulled down on the emerging shoulder.

"Come on, little guy," Asher muttered under his breath. "Come on, you can do it."

With an audible pop of Fawn's hip joints -- and another yowl from the wolf woman herself -- the pup's first shoulder slipped free. Asher wasted zero time in hooking his thumb under the tiny arm and continuing his steady, gentle tug.

A rather disgusting squelch accompanied the pup as it slid onto the duvet. The remains of the membrane bunched around its feet as Asher scooped it into his hands. The body was grey and limp, and all three heartbeats stalled.

"What's wrong?!" Fawn cried. "What's wrong with it?!" She reached for her baby on instinct, but Newt held her back.

"It's okay!" he said, adjusting himself to block her veiw of Asher and the baby. "It's okay, I swear! Asher's taking care of it."

Newt stroked her sweaty face with the back of his hand, doing anything he could think of to soothe her. It didn't stop the tears from flooding the exhausted mother's eyes.

Behind his mate's back, Asher brought the pup's face to his lips. His mouth easily covered the nose and mouth of the newborn, and he gently sucked the sour-tasting fluid out of its airway. Asher spit the gunk into his sleeve and repeated the action, rubbing his thumb against the baby's chest as he did.

It was a process that lasted less than twenty seconds, but to all three werewolves it felt like eternity. But eternity ended when the pup sucked in a deep, squeaking breath. The sound of its first cry was shrill, but to the trio it sounded like singing.

Asher couldn't help but start crying as the little body he'd resurrected wiggled to life in his hands. "Here he is!" he said, voice wavering with joyful tears.

Newt sat back immediately, allowing Fawn to see the baby alive and well in Asher's arms.

"Here's our boy!" Asher announced, laying the crying baby over his mother's heart.

Through the haze of her tears, Fawn looked over every detail of her little boy. She saw the layer of damp fuzz covering his skin, the points on his pink, folded-over ears, and the coating of protective skin over his miniscule claws. She thanked whatever power was out there for that last detail, because such tiny needles would've been horrible to feel coming out.

"Sweetheart," she told the baby, wrapping her arms around him, "don't make a habit outta scaring me like that."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Is he already nursing again?" Newt asked as he placed the glass of water on the nightstand.

"He eats like a horse," Fawn chuckled, adjusting the nursing pillow under her baby. Jacob was the name she had settled on.

The sun was coming up now, filling her bedroom with a soft white light. Asher was on the floor, disassembling the nesting tent. It would be taken out again in a few months for Newt to use, but the Alpha was determined to Tetris the pieces correctly into their box.

Jacob was an aggressive nurser. Three hours old and this was his third time demanding his mother's milk. Newt and Asher insisted such an appetite was normal for a larger werewolf pup, but Fawn wasn't too thrilled to learn she was going to get even less sleep than she anticipated with a new baby.

Fawn quickly drained the glass of water. She wasn't sure if she would ever feel not-thirsty again. "So, Newt," she said, "I didn't scare you into wanting a C-section, did I?"

"Nah, not at all." Newt laid down on the bed beside Fawn, propping himself against the Squishmallow pile. "If you could get him out, I'm pretty sure I'll be okay."

Newt pet the thin strands of hair on Jacob's head. The newborn swiped a clumsy, mitten-covered fist over his head with a teeny-tiny growl. All three adults stopped and stared.

"Was that him?!" Asher asked from the floor.

"Yeah . . ." Newt said, withdrawing his hand. "He's very protective of his food."

Asher almost fell over laughing. "That's Alpha behavior if I've ever seen it!"

"How do you guys even determine that stuff?" Fawn asked. "Is it a sex thing?"

"Eh, a bit," Newt shrugged, "but it's also a personality thing." He tickled the folded tip of Jacob's soft ear, and got the same response as before.

"Ow!" Fawn jerked as her son bit down on her breast. "Stop annoying him, or I'm biting you, too!"

"Sorry," Newt chuckled.

"I can't thank you boys enough for this," Fawn said. "This werewolf shit is all sorts of weird for me, and . . . now I know for certain that Jacob wouldn't have been alright if you weren't with me."

"That's what packs do," Asher said, re-folding a segment of nylon tarp. "We look out for each other."

"Do we even . . . " Fawn stopped herself mid-sentence and looked away.

Newt grinned and touched his forehead to Fawn's temple. "I don't know. What do you think?"

Fawn grinned in return and rubbed her cheek against his hair, leaving her scent on his skin.

#fawn drabbles #mittysins #killer-orca-cosplay #Fawn/Newt/Asher #fpreg labor and birth #labor kink #birth kink #borrowed ocs #fpreg

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wardenparker · 8 months

Text

The Viper's Bride - ch 16

Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand x OC Co-written with @absurdthirst

The second Prince of Dorne has lived under the illusion that he would not be forced to wed for his entire life. He has enough lovers and illegitimate children to make him a legend across Westeros, and the love of his soulmate Ellaria Sand to content him. But a contract between his brother and a lord from the north will catapult him into a match that may prove to be as complicated as it is intriguing. Especially when he learns that you already have a soulmate of your own.

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 13.1k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this series: terrible parents, age gap 10+ years, arranged marriage, classicism, cursing, food and alcohol, internalized homophobia. Reader is described as having hair long enough to braid. This is a MMFFF polycule, folx. Get on board or don't click to keep reading. Pregnancy!* It's time orgy, friends! MMMFFFF group sex. Oral sex (m and f receiving), hand job, fingering, anal play, anal sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, pregnant sex, rough sex, multiple partners. dirty talk, voyeurism, substance use, sexual experience enhanced by substance use. Canon typical violence, poison, graphic depictions of violence, mentions of sexual assault (Elia's), eye gore, murder, character death. Summary: The night before Oberyn fights in the Trial by Combat holds special meaning for your group, and for Raeden in particular. And the fight itself? Is worse than you could ever imagine. Notes: Well, my loves. This is it 🧡 The final chapter of Oberyn's soulmate extravaganza. Next week will be the epilogue and then we'll dive into spooky season head first with Max Phillips' soulmate story the week after that!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11 ~ Ch 12 ~ Ch 13 ~ Ch 14 ~ Ch 15

It is almost surreal to watch your father and brother step away together. The tension that had filled the room seems to dissipate all at once, and you fall down again in your seat beside Raeden with a sigh. “That was…unexpected.”

“Completely astounding.” Oberyn muses thoughtfully, still reclined in his chair and shaking his head. “Fate is playing in your life, Star. The Gods have truly taken an interest.”

“Perhaps.” Looking around you at the table, it feels hard to deny. Otherwise why would those same gods have blessed you with so much love and companionship? “Perhaps I am simply very lucky. Who can say?”

“You will be very lucky tonight.” Raeden predicts with a salacious grin, his fingers still stroking his wife’s arm, although he is grazing the curve of her breast.

“I believe that will be you, my love.” Your prediction carries equal weight, considering Oberyn’s dark eyes turned to Raeden the moment your father and Salin had left your chambers. “My husband looks as though he might pounce.”

“I must admit that I am eager for the rest of our night to begin.” Draining the rest of his wine out of his cup, he passes it to Ellaria to refill as he stands. Striding over to the other man and caressing his jaw with one finger as he looks down at him. “Take off your clothes.” He orders huskily.

There could not be a more obvious signal to the whole party that the night has officially begun, and Raeden’s calmly curved grin of anticipation tucks itself into the corner of his mouth as he reaches for the ties of the robe over his shirt and trousers. “As my prince commands,” he intones, knowing from many nights of seeing you and Ellaria use that same line to entice him, that Oberyn enjoys the acknowledgment of his power during sex.

His eyes shift to Margaery: “Tonight, you will watch your husband take my cock.” He informs her. “The best pleasure he will have will be if he cums inside another. You or any of the other lovely ladies or Cal can be under him if you wish to be.”

"My husband can cum in whomever he chooses." Margaery hums, having found very quickly that she enjoys the shared pleasure of multiple partners. "As long as I have a beautiful woman's thighs on either side of my head, I do not mind if it is me or someone else."

“You should watch, lover.” Ellaria coos as she smirks slightly. “Let me lick your cunt while you watch, you will not regret it.”

"I would be a very stupid woman to give up that kind of offer." Margaery grins, leaning in to brush a kiss across Ellaria's lips.

Ellaria cups her lover's face while you look on, kissing her passionately. “Cal, Leyth?” Oberyn looks over at the couple who have been serving faithfully. “Would you like to join us in our pleasure tonight?”

"Please." Leyth is already nodding halfway through the question, clutching Cal's hand in eager anticipation. "We...have missed being asked to join you. Very much."

“We have not wanted you to feel as if you have to join us.” Oberyn knows the couple is aware of the changing dynamic and the time needed to adapt.

"The freedom to choose is not lost on us," Leyth assures him, always grateful that that choice has been afforded to them and that their choices are actually respected. "So let us say that tonight we eagerly choose to accept your invitation."

“Fuck.” Raeden pauses before he shucks his breeches and laughs. “Is this to be a proper orgy, in the Red Keep?”

"Why should we not?" You have stood from the table as well, and share in Raeden's amusement. "Cersei already assumes it is what we do every night. We might as well make her correct just once."

“Then I hope that all the lords and ladies around us complain about the noises we make.” He decides with a grin, feeling completely free for the first time and reveling in it.

"We will make sure of it." Ellaria promises, cradling Margaery at her side and nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear.

Leyth turns and gives her lover a soft kiss on his lips before she moves towards you. “Princess…” she murmurs softly, having wondered what you kiss like or if you would want her to touch you.

“Come here…” Beckoning her closer, you offer her an encouraging smile and readily meet Leyth’s lips for a kiss.

She’s relieved, her own admiration and respect for you growing into a crush that she has been unable to express. Sliding her hands up and cupping the back of your head with greedy hands.

It is surprising but not unwelcome, the enthusiasm that Leyth has for the kiss drawing you in more and more to explore what is being offered to you. Leyth is stunning — you have always thought so, even since the first day you set foot in the brothel — and you are not about to turn up the chance to know her better tonight when everyone will be indulging in whomever they please.

Ellaria hums in pleasure as she sees that everyone is very well occupied. Smirking at her soulmate’s wife, she starts to pull off her dress. “We should get comfortable.”

“I have never been more comfortable in my life,” Margaery promises her, following the cue and beginning to undress Ellaria in turn. Her Dornish dress is much simpler and easier to remove, making Margaery remember the first time — not so long ago — that you had pouted about the complexity of northern dresses. It is a welcome feeling, to connect the two experiences, and the younger woman hums happily at how easy it is to slip her hand inside Ellaria’s dress and palm the welcome weight of her breast with one hand.

“We will enjoy ourselves immensely.” Ellaria moans breathlessly when the other woman pinches her nipple. With sexual freedom, Margaery Tyrell, now Sunstone, has quickly developed the skills that most whores only dream of when pleasuring another woman. “If I lick every cunt and fuck every cock, it will be a good night.”

“Perhaps we should make that our new motto,” Margaery suggested, giggling immensely even as her other hand is working diligently to slip Ellaria’s dress away from her skin. “For nights such as this, I cannot think of anything better.”

Raeden stands naked in front of Oberyn, his cock already hard and jutting out proudly, making both Oberyn and Cal groan as they look on. “How do you want me?” He asks, slightly breathless as he shivers in anticipation. It has been so long since he has felt a man’s touch, and this man, both of these men, are beautiful and he wants to embrace the freedom he has been given by your marriage to the man who is going to fuck him.

“However the prince wants us, he will have us both.” Cal can barely keep himself from touching, but he has been privy to how long Oberyn has waited to have Raeden in his bed. He can very easily wait his turn so the prince can have what he wants.

“Lay down on the bed.” Oberyn orders both men. “Cal, strip down as well.” He grunts, satisfied that he will be able to have everything he wants tonight. “Show me what it looks like to have the two of you kiss.”

It is an achingly easy set of instructions to follow, and if Cal were wearing something other than the robes that the prince had given him befitting his station, he might have simply torn them off. As it is he struggles to get them off as quickly as possible and follows Lord Sunstone onto the bed to all but fall into the larger man’s arms. He has wondered endlessly what the new lord will be like to have his hands on and it takes him no time at all before he is moaning against Raeden’s lips.

Cal is lithe, yet there is strength in his touch and embrace. Raeden doesn’t even hesitate, one large hand sliding down his chest and over his abs to brush against the other man’s cock before wrapping his hand around it and giving him a gentle squeeze.

It is not unusual for this suite of rooms to be filled with the sounds of pleasure. In fact, each and every night there are people fucking in more of these beds than not. The difference is that tonight you are all in one room. Raeden is fisting Cal's cock on the bed with Oberyn kneeling over them with dark, predatory eyes as they kiss. Ellaria has Margaery spread out over the largest arm chair before the fire, carefully and methodically chasing her own touch down the younger woman's body with her tongue to taste every inch of her. And on the other side of the fireplace, Leyth has laid you down on the chaise to let you watch the proceedings as she eagerly learns what touches make you sigh and moan.

His eyes feast on the sight and his own fingers quickly pull at the ties and strings of his robes. Wishing to be as bare as his lovers. “His cock is wonderful.” He praises as he watches the dark hand glide up and down the lighter toned cock. “Now, I wish to taste yours.”

Raeden does not need to be told twice, rolling to his back with his hand still stroking Cal's length so that he does not have to give up any contact but still exposes every inch of himself to Oberyn's desires. "I am yours," he promises, and the truth of it rattles him more than he expected.

“Not yet.” Oberyn chuckles as he kneels on the bed, running his hands up the muscular calves of your soulmate. “But you will be.”

It is the kind of declaration that shoots to something visceral inside him, and Raeden's cock twitches unmistakably in response. "Then take me," he poses, his words laced with a seductive challenge that he knows Oberyn will not be able to resist. "Make me yours."

There’s a rough little growl the back of the Prince’s throat, smirking as he lunges forward and wraps his hand around the thick length of your lover’s cock to roll down the foreskin and prove to the new lord that despite his lofty status, he is not unskilled in the art of sucking a cock.

As determined as he had been to continue stroking Cal's length, Raeden's hand stutters immediately and he lets out a groan so deep that it seems to rattle the windows. His fingers dig into Oberyn's short hair, encouraging his movements without directing or pushing him, and Raeden's head falls back for just a moment as he shudders with the intensity of the prince's attentions.

It’s about pleasure, but it’s also about preparation. Oberyn knows it’s been years since Raeden has touched or been touched by another man. The last time was when he was a younger man. He is not used to taking a cock and will need to be stretched out. Taking his fingers down to the hole he wishes to possess, he smears his spit around it in a gentle massage.

The gasp and grunt that releases from somewhere deep in Raeden's body vibrates through his body and his fingers tighten in Oberyn's hair desperately. It has been far, far too long since he had this sort of experience and it is only now - having it offered to him on proverbial silver platter - that he realizes how deeply he has been missing it. Spreading his legs and reminding himself to relax, Raeden falls back onto the pillows which his next moan.

Cal decides that Raeden's too distracted for kissing, but his lips move down his chiseled jaw. Kissing along the smooth skin and down to flat, hard nipples so he can flick his tongue over them and help work the other man up. He knows he wants to be under this man while the prince fucks him, his own cock twitching at the thought.

"Gods above," Raeden chokes out, his head already swimming. There is something so singular about experiencing pleasure from someone of your own sex. A person who knows the intricacies of what touches and pressure bring pleasure because he himself has felt the pleasure that it brings. It makes Oberyn's tongue agile and sure, and every flickering touch from Cal is filled with confidence.

Oberyn chuckles and pulls off the cock with a satisfied sound. Lazily licking down his soft, full balls to take one into his mouth, still steadily rubbing, though he is adding more pressure. Not quite breaching the other man, but close.

It has Raeden squirming, trying to move toward the pressure he wants so badly without missing out on any of the touches he is already receiving – begging for more without saying a word.

Oberyn’s eyes find Margaery’s then yours in a slow perusal of the room. “Watch.” He orders, pulling his fingers away momentarily to wet them even more before slowly starting to push the first finger inside the man’s ring of muscles.

There is a collective holding of breath when Raeden moans, with every set of eyes watching as his own close in bliss. "Fuuuck..." It is low and growling and delicious and Raeden is laid out like a feast on the bed for Oberyn and Cal to devour.

The tight heat has Oberyn eager to sink into him, slowly pushing his finger deeper until it is sunk to his knuckle and then carefully searching for that wonderful little spot that makes every man keen when he is entered. The one that can make him cum without anything wrapped around his cock. “Why don’t you prepare Cal to take your cock like I am readying you?” Oberyn suggests as he smirks. “I think the man is salivating to be impaled on your cock.”

"Lover." His attention had been so singularly focused on Raeden that Oberyn has not noticed Ellaria slipping temporarily from the space between Margaery's thighs to bring him a bottle. "You will all be happier to have this," she suggests, setting the small, corked bottle of oil on the bed beside her soulmates.

“Thank you.” The oil will greatly aid the pleasure and he takes it with a small smile and a wink. “Thank you, sun.” He coos softly.

"I want to hear all three of you scream," she confides, diving into kissing Oberyn with her usual, dedicated, passion where she does not pull back again until she has relearned every contour of his mouth. "But only with pleasure."

“Tonight we will make the halls of the keep ring out in pleasure.” He chuckles before he unstops the bottle.

It is not a prediction that anyone doubts, but as the men turn back to each other to focus on pulling as many sounds as possible from each other in these early stages of pleasure, you stop Ellaria on her way back to Margaery. "Join us?" You almost beg her, having made room on the large chaise for more bodies. There is nothing you want more right now than your own tangle of limbs - all four women sharing space and sharing each other.

Smiling indulgently, Ellaria curls her finger towards Margaery before she leans in to press her lips to yours. “Shall we see how we can tangle our bodies together in pleasure, lover?”

Margeary comes to your sides like a moth to flame, practically moaning as she watches you and Ellaria sink into a deep kiss. "It is only fair," she decides, leaning down to kiss Leyth, as well. The curvaceous redhead had not escaped her notice for even a moment.

It is funny how the group has been separated, although not surprising. Leyth and Cal have discussed at length the dynamic, murmuring the dark from their own small, yet comfortable bed off the chambers. Now, tonight, is a fulfillment of those desires that have been repressed and it should be a night to recall fondly.

"My prince." Cal looks up from the nipple he has been lavishing attention on and his fingers, run down to tease Raeden's cock with a slow pump up and down his length. "At the brothel, we used to take this...herb, it kept our cocks hard after we had finished." He explains. "Perhaps tonight would be a good time to use it? To make sure everyone gets to exhaust themselves?"

In the middle of the conversation, very literally, Raeden’s hips buck subtly at the idea of such an increasing, wondering if the prince even needs such an aid. But then — there are seven of you. And that is an enormous amount of Fucking no matter who you are. “I—I would partake,” he agrees, eyes fixated on Cal’s hand.

He can't help himself, it's too tempting with the pearl of liquid that is pooling on the dark tip of his beautiful cock. Cal ducks his head and wraps his lips around the first inch of Raeden's cock while Oberyn's lubricated fingers push back inside him. Looking down at the prince, he wonders if he will agree because his own cock throbs at feeling both men inside him tonight.

“Does it help women?” Margaery asks with curiosity, thinking of all the ways this night might go. She has never had trouble becoming aroused for her partners before, but the idea of more is beckoning her tonight.

“It does.” The answer comes from Leyth. “It is why the women in the brothels are always so wet.” She tells you. It might be the one good thing Littlefinger did for his whores. Even if it was only so there was less probability of being hurt when fucking an unattractive client.

“Then perhaps we could all partake?” You look to your husband with curiosity. “Anything that enhances our pleasure tonight is surely welcome.”

“Would it hurt the babe?” That is the only reservation that Oberyn would have as he looks between the two servants.

“No.” Leyth shakes her head immediately. “Some of the girls…the ones who could bear children…they took the herb nearly every day but the babes were never affected.” She would never do anything to put your or the child in harm’s way, and dearly hopes that you and Oberyn know that.

Smiling slightly, Oberyn nods his head and looks at you with lust fueled eyes. “Yes, Star.” He agrees. “Anyone who wishes to take it, should.”

Cal moves gracefully from the bed to retrieve a simple metal box from the room he shared with Leyth. The powdered herb is familiar to them but not unwelcome, which was why they had kept it with them after leaving the brothel. The thought of one night in the future being like this was tempting. “Put a pinch of the powder under your tongue and let your spit wash it away,” he tells all of you, providing an example by demonstrating before he passes the little metal box around.

Leyth also demonstrates when the box reaches the ladies, moaning slightly at the familiar taste. “We will have a very good night.”

The powder is minty and dissolves quickly, leaving all of you looking a little more mischievous afterward. With debauchery ensured, you all tangled in each other’s arms immediately. The four women in the chaise are spread over every inch of the overlarge piece of furniture, and even with Leyth and Ellaria firmly between yours and Margaery’s thighs, you find your way to grope and lavish each other with kisses.

Oberyn groans at the taste of the herb and pulls Cal in for a kiss before turning his attention back to Raeden. “Now. I am going to ready you and I think Cal and I both will suck your cock.

It is not something either of the other men are going to object to, and Raeden falls back into the pillows with a groan. The sight of Oberyn and Cal twined together in a kiss would be enough to have him rock hard under almost any circumstance – but now they are bent over him so that his cock is receiving every lick of attention and it has set his entire body on fire.

Again, his fingers start to push back into Raeden’s body as he sucks on the man’s cock like it was the sweetest of treats. His tongue tangling with Cal’s as they try to wring cries of pleasure from him.

He is in ecstasy and there is no mistaking it. Raeden writhes and bucks under Oberyn and Cal's attentions, grasping at the sheets or their shoulders or anything he can get his hands on and you cannot tear your eyes away. "Look," you instruct Margaery, nudging her jaw with your nose and sucking a mark into the pale skin of her neck when her eyes move to the bed. "My husband is going to fuck yours, just like I fuck you."

"It is not quite the same, lover." She hums, her greedy eyes fixed on the way that her husband squirms and whines in need. "But just like they enjoy the sight of us wrapped up in one another, I will savor this view."

Of course it isn't exactly the same, but it is close enough to make you moan just at the sight of them -- which Leyth heightens with a stroke of her masterful tongue and chases with two fingers sliding inside your dripping pussy the way Oberyn's fingers are slipping deep inside Raeden. It is all like an incredible dream, and you truly hope that you will be able to sample every single pleasure possible tonight.

“You will look magnificent on my cock.” Oberyn groans, pulling off his leaking cock to purr pure filth to him. “Imagine our lovers walking in at any time to find you bent over, my cock buried in your ass and my hand wrapped around your cock as you moan my name.” He smirks. “Or on your knees, my cock in your mouth and Cal’s in your ass as we spit roast you, your leaking cock neglected until you cum from our attention.”

The entire room moans in unison at the images presented. There is not a single one person in this room who would not immediately climb into the bed and join in if they saw it. “If any of us walked into that, we would swallow every drop of cum and beg for more,” you predict, knowing that it is true for you at the very least.

“If he is bouncing on my cock, I expect you to ride his.” Oberyn chuckles, curling his fingers deep and pressing against his spot that immediately has Raeden keening.

He had forgotten. Or else thought that he was remembering the sensation with exaggeration. But the way pleasure courses through him with the press of Oberyn’s fingers on that specific, seemingly magical spot inside of him makes Raeden sure that this sensation is better than what he had felt years ago. Perhaps it is down to the skill of his partner but it is utterly remarkable. His broken cry to the gods is met with a moan from his wife when Ellaria sticks on her clit just so, and at once all of you seem to commit that much more to the debaucherous goal of the night.

"The Sunstones are having the time of their lives tonight." Oberyn quips, very pleased with himself as he finds that spot and curls his fingers against it again. If this herb works as well as Cal claims, he feels like Raeden will cum and cum and cum. He wants to see if his theory is correct.

“And we will make sure you do too,” Margaery promises, breathless, with one hand buried in Ellaria’s thick hair and the other squeezing the weight of your tit in her palm. Raeden squirms, panting his agreement and just trying to get as much of Oberyn’s fingers as possible inside him when he knows for certain that it is not enough. “More,” he begs, the word cracked with another moan even as his own hand is dedicated to making Cal ready in the very same way.

“You will.” He has no doubt of that. The night is too full of promise and he drinks in the moans of the group. “I will fuck every one of you tonight, including you, Lady Sunstone.”

“You too will be marked by her,” Raeden manages to tease even at the expense of another moan. He wears the marks from his wife’s fingernails like a badge of honor, and so do you. After tonight, all of you will.

“Vicious little tiger.” Oberyn chuckles, adding a third finger into her husband as he talks to Margaery.

He had asked for more, and he groans at getting it. His cock leaks precum, twitching and aching with need, and his back arches off the bed in eager anticipation. “Gods—yes—fuuuck—”

"How thrilling that I will possess both you and your wife tonight." He coos, smirking at the way Raeden's head tilts back. "Just as I have your soulmates." It's not meant to taunt him, just show him how he belongs here.

“As I have possessed yours.” Raeden grunts, groaning at the stretch of having another finger added to his tight hole. “Ours.”

Oberyn groans, his cock twitching in response and he hums. "Yessss, ours." He agrees. "Now you are going to spill into Cal's mouth. Give him a taste of what you are going to pump into his ass in just a few minutes."

Taking orders as a soldier and taking orders in bed are two different circumstances, but Raeden surprises himself with how little it bothers him to have those orders given. Instead, it only seems to spur him on tonight, and Cal too. Cal who has Raeden's cock so far down his throat that the man on his back is surprised he has not outright choked yet.

Ellaria hums as she looks up from between Margaery’s thighs. “He is close, lover.” She confides. “And sounds so sweet, but he tastes even sweeter on your tongue.”

Cal's own cock is beaded with precum as he swallows around Raeden's length, desperate to find out just how sweet that taste really is. Oberyn has three fingers buried deep, curling them expertly while he other hand kneads the flesh of Raeden's thighs and caresses his heavy balls, knowing that they - like his own and Cal's - will be emptied many times tonight. Raeden's breathing comes in ragged pants, moans becoming whines and keening curses the closer he gets to his first peak of the night. Climbing and climbing, his back lifts off the bed entirely when Oberyn and Cal's names tear from his lips for the first time and that first spurt of hot cum is followed by countless more.

Oberyn throbs, his own cock pulsing at the sight of Raeden cumming. Nearly about to burst himself from how erotic it is. Groaning as he continues to pump his fingers while the other man fills Cal’s mouth to where cum is sliding down his chin.

Cal's own moan is almost as loud as Raeden's, the other man scrambling to swallow as much as he possibly can while still losing a few strands of sticky cum to the column of his neck. For the first climax of the night, it is the perfect way to begin and has him nearly bursting in his own right.

Oberyn pulls his fingers out at Raeden and he hums with a grin on his face. “That is beautiful.”

"The first of many beautiful sights tonight." You had been watching too, always unable to tear your eyes away from the sight of Raeden's pleasure.

“Now one of our ladies needs to cum.” Oberyn says as he watches Ellaria dive back into Margarey’s cunt. “Will it be my star or my flower?” He asks curiously.

The so-called competition of the question is taken quite seriously by Ellaria and Leyth, it seems, and both women redouble their efforts on Margaery and your pleasure. As talented as Ellaria is, and as eager for this night as Margery has been, it is decidedly the newest member of the group's chance to come apart next – although you feel you might be directly at her heels with Leyth's clever tongue drawing you closer and closer to the edge.

Ellaria’s tongue curls around Margaery’s clit, sucking it into her mouth as a hand slides up to squeeze her breast. Her dark eyes fixed on her face and she’s humming to vibrate her bundle of nerves.

Margaery’s nails dig into Ellaria’s shoulder without apology, biting into the skin as her body tensed and her mouth falls open on a vocal scream. Her eyes nearly cross from the pressure and her cunt bears down on Ellaria’s king fingers tightly, drawing them in deeply before flooding them with slick release that runs all the way down and drips to Ellaria’s wrist.

Raeden moans, both from his own release and the loss of Oberyn's fingers while Cal pulls off his cock and watching his wife cum. He knows how talented that mouth is and he is sure that tonight, every one of you will collapse into a deep sleep for the few hours you get.

“How do you want us?” Cal asks Oberyn, knowing that however the prince wishes to have his newest lover, he will find a way to be under Raeden and take the force of them together with as much pride as pleasure.

His brow arches as he looks at Raeden. Contemplating the positions and how easy it will be for the other two men. “On your knees.” He decides, lifting to his own knees and wrapping his hand around his cock. “Hand me the oil.”

Call practically flattens himself to the bed immediately, hips rolled back to entice Raeden but also because he can’t help grinding his own cock into the mattress right now. Raeden takes the moment to sit up, lips crashing against Oberyn’s for a deep and intense tangling of tongues before he pulls away again to gasp for air and takes his position over Cal with his own ass in the air.

“Fuck.” Raeden groans when he hears the slick sounds of Oberyn piling up his cock and the bottle is pressed against his arm. “Ready yourself to plunge into Cal.” Oberyn strokes his ass possessively.

Four of you are watching from the chaise as Oberyn starts to slide inside Raeden, and Raeden in turn begins to break open Cal. The three men are as coordinated and careful as they can be in this moment but they aren’t the only ones moaning. It is a sight to behold and you are instantly panting with increased desire — chest heaving and threatening to have you moaning with every shallow breath.

“Ohhhhhhhhh.” Raeden’s eyes close, mouth open on a moan as the prince rocks into him steadily. Not forceful or impatient, it is just the right tempo to have him take the thickness of the man and desire more as his own cock sinks into the tight, welcoming hole of Cal’s body. The servant whimpers his name, making him twitch as he pushes back against him, eager to feel the lord’s cock firmly buried after so long without this kind of pleasure.

“If you feel half as good as you look, my loves, you must all be in ecstasy.” Even Leyth has paused to watch, kneeling between your legs, and she smiles up at you momentarily when you speak before curling her fingers determinedly inside you to hear the gasp it will pull from your chest. “You will cum so easily watching them, I expect,” she purrs. “I know you like to watch, princess. So keep your eyes on our men while I make you scream.”

“You know the Princess.” Margaery pulls Ellaria up for a kiss and to turn her over so she can touch and kiss while watching her husband as the filling to a delicious treat. “Her cunt gets so wet when she watches her lovers.”

"Can you blame me?" It is difficult to keep your eyes open as Leyth's remarkably clever tongue has your eyes nearly rolling back in your head as she works you closer and closer to the edge.

“Not at all.” She hums as she slides her fingers down and starts to rub Ellaria’s clit while her tongue shoots out to circle her breast.

Watching the three men together is vastly unlike watching them with anyone else. That tendency toward gentleness that Raeden has with partners who are not as physically strong as he is has vanished. He is not in control here but willingly giving all of that up to Oberyn. His groans rumble out from the depths of him as he submits completely to one man while still soothing his hands over Cal’s back whenever he needs to steady himself.

The choked cry catches in his throat when the next thrust comes rougher than the ones before. Signaling that the pace will pick up and there’s a sense of freedom to be had from the way Cal mewls under him.

"Gods." The moan from you on the chaise is more of a keen, and your fingers thread through Leyth's hair even as your hips grind down to meet her lips and tongue eagerly. "They will be the death of me but I will die a happy woman."

Oberyn’s eyes are fixed on where he is joined with Raeden until you whimper that statement. Chuckling as he looks over to where you are very eager splayed open for the lovely servant, he hums. “Not tonight, star.” He chides. “Perhaps we will let you expire when we have wrung every scream out of your throat.”

"Not a minute before," Margaery agrees, leaning over to flick her tongue across one of your nipples in a move that is surprisingly affectionate, before returning her full focus to Ellaria.

“Perfect.” The caress to Raeden’s hip is surprisingly gentle even as his hips snap forward. “You have chosen a perfect wife, Rae.”

"Is she n–not?" The last word is turned to a grunt with the forceful swing of Oberyn's hips, and Raeden's own slam into Cal with equal determination. The feeling of it is exquisite.

The chorus of moans pleases Oberyn, the feeling, the moment exactly what he had wished for. Tonight is about living, experiencing life to the fullest and what is better than a tight ass a round his cock while one of his soulmates has her cunt licked while the other is finger fucked? Surely the halls are filled with the sounds of pleasure coming from this room.

Leyth pitches you off the cliff of pleasure just moments later, humming into your dripping cunt as her fingers curl against that perfect spot inside you. The only thing stopping your thighs from squeezing Leyth's ears shut is her strategically-placed arm, holding you spread out for her so that you cannot do anything but quake and cry out as she skillfully shatters you into a million blissed out pieces.

Margaery and Ellaria watch. Her fingers curled deep into the paramours cunt, Margaery’s head twists around as she moans softly at the sight of your body shaking and heaving with pleasure.

“Fucking gorgeous.” Raeden’s head had been turned to you as well, and the way he groans when you cum is only half to do with Cal’s body bearing down on his cock so tightly. He nearly growls at the feeling, scratching his blunted nails down the other man’s spine. “Cal thinks so, too.”

“Yes.” The other man whines. “All of you, so -“ he moans when Raeden’s hips slap against his ass again, cock spurting a dribble of pre-cum onto the bed below him as he throbs. “So sexy. wanted to touch all of you.” He babbles. “W–wanted to.”

“Next time I hope you will not hesitate,” Ellaria purrs, watching the way his cock pulses with hungry fixation. “You need a cunt, Cal.” She declares with mischief in her voice. “Who do you want beneath you?”

“Anyone.” He moans, eyes rolling back into his head as he imagines filling one of the gorgeous ladies spread out and teasing him with the wet views of their cunts. He has never wanted to sink into a group more, even when he was having sex all the time. Even Leyth has admitted that the Prince’s lovers and friends are all people she would fuck willingly every day if asked. Neither one of them having an reservations about that now they have had months with just the two of them together and no demands on their bodies. “Please. I-I am close.”

“It should be you, lover,” your hand caresses Ellaria’s cheek only because you are not close enough to kiss her. “I know you have missed Cal’s cock.”

“You do not want to experience his cock?” She asks curiously. She had thought that you were becoming close to the servants and would want to be involved.

“Oh I do.” You can promise her that without hesitation. “But you have not cum yet. If you would rather cum for Margaery, I will gladly let these men weigh me into the mattress.”

“We will be in this position many more times.” She tells you breezily, tamping down her own fears. If Oberyn is lost tomorrow, she will not have you regret missing out on one experience with him. “Take your place under them and feel the power of all three.”

Leyth does not miss a beat, transferring her attention to Ellaria and Margaery after helping you off the chaise. The five steps you need to get to the bed are quick, and you slide across half the mattress to cup Cal’s jaw and bring his eyes to yours. “Hold still for just a moment and then you will have a slick cunt to cum in.”

His neck stretches slightly, eyes dark and lust blown. “Kiss me, Princess?” He chokes out.

That is a request you are glad to bend to, and you meet his lips with equal desire as you slide yourself under the clutch of slick bodies for which Cal is the anchor.

“Do not collapse on her.” Oberyn has no issue with you being under the group, but he will not have you take all their weight when his child is nestled inside your womb.

“Never.” They are all very aware of your condition and happy to have the new babe in the way. Making sure you and that babe are safe is the very top priority. Even so, Cal groans when you slip into place below him and wrap your hand around his cock to guide him into your velvet heat.

“Princess.” Breaking you open is an exquisite feeling. Looking down and seeing you beneath him as you take inch after inch of his cock. His own body being pushed forward by the much slower thrusts of the men behind him. “So— you are so tight.” He groans.

“She is ma—magnificent.” Raeden groans, so close to his own end that he can barely think. Every sense has been taken over by Oberyn and Cal.

“Yes she is.” Oberyn agrees, smirking slightly when he feels the way that Raeden is pushing back desperately. “I think my lord Sunstone wishes to spill his load again.” He teases, his fingers gripping the man’s hips fierce and he snaps his hips forward.

“Not everyone has your stamina, lover.” Ellaria is close now, too, with Leyth and Margaery both dedicated to pleasing her, and she throws her head back on the chaise when Margaery grazes her teeth along her swollen clit. “Cal will burst any moment,” she predicts with a moan.

“Fuck.” Raeden grits his teeth and feels his own body respond to the words and the way that Cal’s body is gripping him like a vice.

“Cum for us, love.” From where you are, you can look him in the eye with no effort in between Cal’s passionate kisses. “Cum in Cal and make him fill me, too.”

Your words make the world explode for Raeden. Gasping out a choked combination of Cal and Oberyn’s names, he gives into the pleasure that has been denied to him for years. The cock in his ass striking against pure Heaven, his own throbs and starts to fill the man below him with hot ropes of his seed.

Cal’s hips stutter mere moments later, slamming into yours with as much force as he can muster and painting your cunt with his own sticky cum. Both men are panting, glassy eyed with lust and still hard thanks to the powder that Cal has supplied.

“Cum, my prince.” Raeden begs desperately, enjoying the way Oberyn still rocks into him roughly. “I need to feel it.”

Oberyn’s answering grunt comes with a gleam in his eyes, and he knows you are all watching him with held breath. You all need to witness this as much as Raeden needs to feel it, knowing what it means to him. His jaw is clenched, giving him away, and you practically moan when you notice it. “He is close,” you promise your own paramour. “Squeeze his cock even once more and he will not be able to hold out.”

Oberyn hisses when Raeden immediately follows your suggestion and bears down on his cock. “Vixen.” He chokes out, snapping his hips forward one last time and grinding deep, closing his eyes as the orgasm consumes his attention.

There is no heat in the chastisement, just in Oberyn’s eyes, and you marvel at the way his beautiful body tenses completely and he groans Raeden’s name a the most holy prayer. They have both waited so long for this that it makes being a part of it all the more meaningful. Raeden shouts at the first feeling of Oberyn filling him — calls out to the gods in their heavens and then growls Oberyn’s name so fiercely that anyone would think that he was coming apart all over again. His fingers dig into Cal’s hips as Oberyn rides out his pleasure and Raeden unconsciously holds his breath. The moment seems to invigorate and nearly collapse him simultaneously but Cal is already angling the men to one side on the bed. When they did slump over and need five minutes of rest, they will fall beside you, not on you.

“This is the beginning of a glorious night.” Margarey hums, moving off the chaise so she can pet and kiss both you and her husband. Another affectionate peck for Cal and then last but not least, Oberyn. Showering everyone with attention as thanks for such a wonderful scene.

The pile of bodies on the bed grows one more time as Ellaria and Leyth move to join you, and the easy touches between all of you grow to more kisses before too long. There will be no rest tonight until everyone is entirely satiated — and that will not happen quickly.

“We must clean up before we touch you.” Oberyn murmurs against your lips. You had crawled out from under Cal and was dividing kisses between Raeden and Oberyn as they had stated to kiss fiercely.

“Am I so very pure?” To his mind you are, and you know that. Revel in it, even. He treats you like the most precious creature in the world now that you are carrying his child.

Oberyn snorts, nibbling on your pulse even as his still hard cock twitches inside Raeden. He has not pulled out of his body yet, could perhaps stay buried if he did not want to touch as man as he could tonight. “Very.” He teases. “The woman who begged me to marry her could not even fathom the woman carrying my child.”

“I think I would not even recognize that woman if I laid eyes on her again.” You could beg for more kisses, but that is about it.

“She is much more confidant about taking what she wants.” Ellaria coos, pulling away from Leyth and Cal for a moment. Her hand is already around the other man’s cock and pumping it as he moans against his partner’s breast.

“I learned that it is not a sin to take what is freely given.” And that, for you, has been so immensely freeing.

“Everyone here gives freely or they are not in this bed.” Margaery had been immensely comforted by the fact that both Leyth and Cal wished to be here.

“That is true.” Raeden purrs at his wife, plunging himself across several bodies to demand a kiss and pluck at her breast. “And you have taken to it very well, wife.”

Her moan is loud and symbolic of the night itself. Everyone pleasured and enjoying themselves.

“I believe it is your turn to be fucked by a prince, Lady Sunstone.” She is now the only one who has not had Oberyn’s cock and one who very much wants it, and you grin before leaning over to nip at the sensitive skin of her neck. “She is like me, husband,” you warn Oberyn, knowing it will actually delight him. “Slap her ass, pull her hair, and fuck her hard. You will be rewarded with the scratch of her nails and wailing moans of your name.”

Oberyn smirks as he rolls over, moving quickly to the water basin to wash and to get a cloth for Raeden and Cal. “We will see, Princess. I will paint her ass with my seed and see if it makes her any lovelier than she already is.”

“She is most beautiful when she is exhausted from cumming,” you attest, winking at Margaery before you lay back in the pillows and trace your fingers up and down the length of your slit. Cal’s cum mixed with your own and the feeling is wonderfully decadent. “That leaves us, my love,” you hum at Raeden as he quickly cleans himself. “Unless you plan to share Margaery with Oberyn? Then I will gladly finger fuck my own pussy at the sight.”

“Very fitting.” Raeden watches shamelessly, looking back and forth between you touching yourself and Oberyn cleaning his hard cock before he comes back to the bed. He aches, pleasantly so in a way that has been sorely missed, and he can feel the prince’s cum start to drip out of him. “He fucks my wife while I fuck his.”

“Then come here.” Reaching for him immediately, the smile on your face turns from amused to beaming and you tug him toward the bed again by his fingertips. “Take me however you want me. I promise my screams will reach the gods.”

“The night will be one that the gods are envious of.” Oberyn predicts with a smirk. “Old and new.”

******

The morning light wakes you first, as the pile of bodies on the bed in your chambers has wrapped itself up in a comfortable ball with seemingly only you facing the window. Or, at least, Oberyn has his face buried in your back with Raeden curled around him. Leyth is facing you in the center of the bed, with Margaery in Cal's arms on her other side, and Ellaria has one arm stretched out across all of their bodies as though she was reaching for you in her sleep. The night had left all of you as exhausted as you were satisfied and you had all fallen into dreams with your last partners and no hesitations whatsoever with your intimacy.

This morning, however, you would banish the brightness of the sun if it was in your power. Blot out its power and let night last forever. This morning, Oberyn will stand up and fight for his sister's honorable memory and Lord Tyrion's innocence. He will fight for his life. And the worry that that churns in you has you turning over in his arms to watch just a few more minutes of his peaceful sleep.

He wakes the moment you move, although he doesn’t give that away. Keeping still as you sigh heavily and his body stays relaxed as you shift and turn to face him. He can sense the sun, the light brighter than the flame of waxy candles that he had finally passed out to. Sometime, perhaps an hour before dawn. Even though he should be exhausted still, he’s invigorated, feeling as if he could fight a hundred Gregor Cleganes.

“The morning has come, my love.” As bare as a whisper, your fingertips do not even graze his skin but ghost over it as you watch Oberyn’s relaxed face. “Your morning. Your time in the light of the gods to bring Elia’s murderer to justice. The poets will sing about this morning with reverence.” Your voice shakes a little, tears threatening to burst through, but you swallow them with determination. “I promised you that I would be strong today, my love, and I will. You said for our people, but it is for you.” The tears you promised not to shed are close to the surface and you swallow again, thickly. “To fall in love with you was unthinkable, husband. It was never an option in my mind. But you—gods help me, you smiled at me and looked into my eyes and I knew somehow that my heart had room enough for two.” Your fingertips graze his beard gently and you almost choke, holding the sob in so you will not disturb anyone else in bed. “I believe you could conquer all Seven Kingdoms if you set your mind to it, my love. But—if you do not—if this morning goes awry—” Voice dropping impossibly lower, your open eyes are set firmly on his closed ones. On the set of his eyelashes and the tone of his skin in the rising sun. “Then the Mountain’s blood shall run from my dagger instead. I swear it on my own life.”

It is humbling to hear that vow set down from your sweet lips. Vengeance is not in your nature, revenge not steeped in your blood. That you would love him so fiercely to make that promise is like a soothing balm to the raw edges of the morning. He would never wish you to have to do that. He wants you to live your life peacefully, exactly how you wished. Neither does he want you to mourn him. Your first child, growing them, nurturing them in your body, should not be spent wallowing in misery.

“I love you, husband.” If he were awake you would seal the promise with a kiss, but as it is you study his features in repose. Memorizing his face one more time. “My soulmate.”

“I love you, wife.” His voice is scratchy, husky with sleep and he keeps it low to not disturb the others. Wanting this moment with you before any intrusions. He will have another moment like this with Ellaria as well, needing it. Just in case. “My soulmate.”

Under any other circumstance you might be upset with yourself for having woken him. But there is too much at stake today to lie to yourself that you are not glad to hear his voice. Instead you reach up again and let your hands rest on the line of his jaw. “Good morning, beloved.”

“No lovelier sight to greet the day.” Oberyn smiles as he looks over your still sleep softened features. “How are you feeling this morning?”

“A most pleasant ache,” you admit with a sly grin. There is not one single member of this unusual family that will not be sore today. “Did you sleep well?”

“For the few hours that I have slept, I feel as though I could move mountains.” He hums, smirking at his pun.

“My husband feels very clever this morning.” The pun practically has you rolling your eyes but you lean forward to kiss his lips instead.

“I always feel clever, but for you I will admit that I am going to be happy when this is over.” He accept the kiss and gives you another.

“As will we all.” As confident as you all may be in Oberyn’s abilities, he will not be the only person in that ring today. He is not the only factor at hand. And that alone is terrifying.

“We will be back in this room, making ready to leave this city in just a few hours.” Oberyn reminds you. “Every noble of Dorne who has come will be there as well.”

“It cannot come soon enough.” Pressing one more kiss to his lips, you summon a smile and remind yourself that sewing doubt in him helps no one. You are his wife. His soulmate. His support. And you can clutch Ellaria’s hand in mutual fear when the time comes.

“Would you like to join Ellaria and I in the bath?” He had thought to spend that time with his other soulmate, but he knows you might want to stay close while you can. “She will be helping me dress.”

“She deserves time with you this morning.” Ellaria has known him much longer and loved him much more ferociously, and it would be cruel of you to intrude on her moment with Oberyn. “I will wash and dress with Raeden and Margaery, and we will all present as a unified party to the capital.”

He touches the necklace that the three of you had worn. Raeden’s necklace was equally beautiful and It had made him incredibly possessive when he had seen all of you wearing it. It only made the night even sweeter when you had disappeared together and then reappeared wearing them. “Dorne is stronger with the three of you beside us.” He tells you honestly. For so long, it has been him and Ellaria. Lovers have come and gone but the two of them are no longer just the two of them. He has subtly started thinking of your group as his, just as he is yours.

“Dorne will be stronger when we all return home together.” Having made your promise when he was sleeping, you will not allow yourself to entertain any other possibility aloud this morning. It will do no good, especially not for him.

“Of course it will.” Oberyn smirks, “we will set Dorne on it ear and it will be better for it.”

“The only thing I have ever done that would shock Dorne is make a husband of its prince.” Still though, you smile. Knowing how unbelievable that news will be to many of the people. “And I am honored that you love me as I love you.”

“I do love you.” Oberyn whispers seriously. “Until the end of time and my bones turn to dust.”

“May that be an extraordinarily long time from now,” you murmur, fingers delicately tracing the lines of his face.

“It will be.” The vow is make as he traces your own face gently and the others begin to stir. “When I am too old to sire a child.”

“That will never happen,” Raeden chuckles, his voice hoarse and cracked as he stretches at Oberyn’s back. “You will be making new babies the same age as your great-grandchildren.”

“Especially if I get more of whatever Cal fed us last night.” Oberyn jokes as the man’s eyes open. “My legacy will overrun the Seven Kingdoms.”

“There are three women in this bed who would be glad to bear you more children.” It would be four if Leyth could have children, but there is no use harping on the impossible. “And you, too, Lord Sunstone.”

“It is my hope that one of you is already carrying my child.” He can’t help but look smug at the prospect as he leans in and kisses Oberyn’s shoulder. “So our children can run the gardens together and grow up as close as siblings.”

“That is a wonderful dream,” Margaery murmurs sleepily, already smiling. “When we reach home I will see a Maester right away.”

"It is time." Oberyn grunts softly, hating to pull away from the warm bodies in the bed, but he needs to prepare for his trial by combat battle with the man who had murdered his sister.

******

When the party from Dorne arrives in the stadium with matching emblems, Dornish dress in House Martell's colors, and looks of fierce pride on all of your faces, it is the sound of bells that welcomes and warns you all at once. The leather trim on all of your cloaks and gowns matches Oberyn's armour. The oils rubbed into your skin even smell of Dornish herbs. You, Ellaria, and Margaery are all even wearing your hair in traditionally Dornish styles. There is no question whom you represent, and Oberyn walks proudly out in front with you on one arm and Ellaria on the other as Raeden and Margaery follow close behind. Today is about honor, and no matter what happens, you will all hold your heads high.

Oberyn smirks as Tywin, Cersei and their dower looking entourage arrive. The head of the Lannisters looks as if he’s sucked down a cup of sour wine. Or had walked in on his children fucking. “Look at him.” Oberyn hums as he strides to the tent that has been erected with his weapons already in place on a table. “He looks like he had taken a disappointing cock in his ass.”

You and Ellaria snicker softly at the image Oberyn paints, and walk with him directly to the table. There are chairs in place but you all know that you will be too nervous to sit, making you all the more grateful for the pitcher of wine that has been placed out. This is Cal and Leyth's doing, for there is a small pitcher of fruit juice beside it for you, and you step forward to pour Oberyn a goblet of wine knowing that Cal will have made sure it is Dornish.

“Make sure not to touch the spear, my love.” Oberyn cautions. “It has fangs.” The poison has been applied, although there is another powder he will rub on it before the fight begins.

There is some cheering from spectating peasants who have no idea the enormity of the importance this morning bears for Oberyn. but the ripple of a gasp rips through the crowd when the legendary warrior prince drinks his wine in one gulp and turns to Ellaria to bestow a passionate kiss before giving the same to you.

“I think they might hate you more than me.” Margaery hums as she looks towards the seats where her former family sits. Her father’s face is mottled red and he might snap the arms of the chair he is gripping it so tightly. Tywin’s glare matches Cersei’s and she’s felt the weight of their anger.

"My husband's sense of humor is rubbing off on me," you mumble just loud enough for all of your party to hear. "I could suggest that the prince and Lady Sunstone share a kiss as well."

“That might make my father keel over.” She giggles quietly and hums pleasantly at the thought. “Although I will kiss him as soon as you and Ellaria does after his victory.”

“I should like to see his reaction to that,” Raeden chuckles and leans down to kiss his bride, drawing an even more animated reaction from the crowd.

"It would be one that all of the Seven Kingdoms should see." Oberyn chuckles himself, his eyes sliding towards the Lannisters and he smirks.

The bells cease their tolling only moments before Tyrion Lannister appears with guards flanking him on either side. "Looks like very light armour," he observes when he is hurried under the same tent as the Dornish party to stand beside his champion. Clearly, Tyrion is concerned.

Oberyn breaks away from his kiss with Ellaria, annoyed by the criticism. "I like to move around."

The youngest Lannister is obviously unamused with his answer because he continues to grumble at him. "You could at least wear a helmet." Oberyn picks up the goblet that you have refilled and starts to drink. "You shouldn't drink before a fight." Tyrion huffs.

Motioning towards the man in chains, Obery quips, "You learn this during your years in the fighting pits?" He looks down at the cup. "I always drink before a fight."

"It could get you killed." Tyrion reminds him flatly, looking around at the party surrounding him. At the support he has. It would be useless to admit that he envies the man for being so adored, and instead he grumbles again. "It could get me killed."

Oberyn sets down his cup and looks at the little man with certainty. "Today is not the day I die." He assures him, aware that the poison will guarantee his victory against the Mountain. Ellaria hums happily, sliding her hand over his leathers and looking towards you with a smirk. She knows both of you find his confidence sexy and right now, all of you need to believe that statement.

"Have faith in your Champion, Lord Tyrion," you remind him, as the crowd begins to roar again. It is louder this time, more excited than merely intrigued, and you turn to watch Gregor Clegane himself - the Mountain - walking into the arena. So that is why they call him a Mountain, you think to yourself with instant terror. And you know Ellaria is just as scared when she grips your hand tightly. "You're going to fight that?" She asks Oberyn with wide eyes.

Oberyn swaggers over to the edge of the table and leans against it, looking over at where the Mountain has made his appearance. "I'm going to kill that." Ellaria's eyes are fixed on him. "He's the biggest man I've ever seen." Her grip tightens, nearly crushing your fingers as her own worry spills over the edge of her calm facade. Oberyn will do as he pleases, he has for years and she has never truly worried, but that? That is a foe that he might not be able to beat.

Bending over the wash basin, Oberyn cleans his hands of the wine. "Size does not matter when you are flat on your back."

"Thank the gods." You and Tyrion manage to murmur at the same time.

A horn sounds its simple fanfare, calling the combatants and the audience to order. Grand Maester Pycelle has appeared on the edge of the ring and though he is surely doing his best to be heard throughout the stadium, his aged voice is not powerful. "In the sight of gods and men, we gather to ascertain the guilt or innocence of this..." he stumbles, not quite knowing what descriptor to use until he settles on the usual one. "Man...Tyrion Lannister. May the Mother grant them mercy. May the Father give them such justice as they deserve. May the Warrior guide the hand of our champion–" He is cut off when Tywin grows impatient and motions for the horn to blow again, ultimately bowing lamely and shuffling off to the stands once more.

Oberyn turns, pulling Ellaria into his arms and kissing her passionately, before she steps back and you take her place. Every feeling, every touch and mark on your body that belongs to him is poured into the much too short kiss. His heart starting to pound in anticipation.

Ellaria has one of Oberyn's hands in hers and you have the other as the sound of Gregor Clegane's immense sword leaving its sheath can be heard across the ring. "Don't leave us alone in this world." She entreats Oberyn with a note of desperation that is so unlike her but so like this situation. Realistically, would either of you be truly alone? Of course not. You would have each other, if nothing else. But formally? Legally? You could be denied everything without him there to provide for you – and that is what terrifies her. That everyone in this tent is under his protection and his alone until the time you set foot on Dornish sand.

"Never." He can promise her that. Without hesitation or contemplation. He would never leave any of you alone if he could help it.

As soon as Ellaria lets go of his hand, you pull Oberyn into your arms and place the hand of his that you had been holding on the curve of your stomach. The nature of the gesture is unmistakable, and as the announcement of your pregnancy had not yet been made, a gasp ripples through the crowd. But that is precisely what you were hoping for. While the people of King's Landing are murmuring in shock, they do not notice you slipping the sheath of an extra dagger under the folds of your husband's leather armour. "For Elia," you whisper to him, giving the sheathed dagger a quick tug to make sure that it is secure before you kiss him once more. "And for your family. Be swift, my love."

There is a quick wink towards Raeden and the squire that has been a part of Oberyn's travels and will attend him during the fight, tosses him the spear. The lightweight, yet sturdy wood feels perfectly balanced in his hands and he wastes no time twirling it around in his hand. Showing off is part of his very nature and part of his strategy. He wants the crowd to cheer for him. It's obvious they do when he spins around for the final time and grins up at the covered tents where Twyin and his whore daughter try to look unimpressed.

From where you stand under your tent at the edge of the ring, you and Ellaria are already on edge as you watch Oberyn showboat and the look of disinterested murderousness in the Mountain's eyes deepens. The crowd cheering pushes your heart up into your throat because you know that it bolsters him – he feeds off the energy of those around him in almost every circumstance. This one is no different.

Turning to face the man who had murdered his beloved sister, the grin on his face is satisfied, eager to address the man who would confess his crimes to the crowd. "Have they told you who I am?" He demands, wanting to know if he remembers his sister, or if the years and his numerous crimes for the Lannisters have dimmed his memory. The Mountain seems unimpressed. "Some dead man." He tells him right before he lunges with a swing of his broadsword.

The first few strikes sound terribly, the clash of metal and strong wood echoing through the space like taunts. Every strike seems to pierce your heart rather than deter Oberyn's confidence, and if that is how it must be then you will gladly absorb every blow.

"I am the brother of Elia Martell." He announces, keeping his voice loud but not shouting into the stands because he's addressing the man in front of him. "Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking, shit-pile of a city?" He asks, squaring his body in front of the giant of a man. "For you." Instantly, he crouches and attacks, swinging his spear and nearly catching Clegane under his heavy helmet.

Oberyn swings his staff elegantly. Of course the weapon was molded for him but he has also molded himself to the weapon – and Clegane's lumbering and grunts only serve to make him look inelegant compared to the smaller, much nimbler form of the Red Viper. Even though you gasp when the Mountain lunges, you cannot tear your eyes away. Oberyn slides backward, deftly avoiding the attack as he continues to taunt his foe.

"I'm going to hear you confess before you die." This time Oberyn isn't facing the beast in front of him, instead his words go up into the crowd with a ripping of confusion from the spectators. Tywin's jaw is so tight that it could shatter if he clenches his teeth together. Turning back to Gregor Clegane, he makes his accusations. "You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children." There is hatred in his eyes and swings his spear up. "Say it now and we can make this quick."

Your hand tightens around Ellaria's as you watch the growling Mountain lunge at Oberyn and the clanging of their weapons rings through the stadium. Feeling their presence at your back, you cannot tear your eyes away from the ring to look to them, but you know Raeden and Margaery are just behind you. Oberyn was right - of course he was - it is his speed and his dexterity that keeps him ahead of Clegane.

When he hits the Mountain across his back with the spear, he knocks the man's helmet off. Revealing his disgusting face to the crowd. "Say it. You raped her." Oberyn spits out, deflecting another attack from the other warrior. "You murdered her." He can still sling his accusations as he spins around, although the Mountain is just shouting as he lunges for Oberyn again. Again, his spear is used to push the sword's momentum down to the ground and he looks into the eyes of his sister's killer. "You killed her children."

The accusation is repeated with every swing, every lunge, and every blow. Oberyn is a blur in the ring as the lumbering Mountain tries to keep up, but the Red Viper of Dorne is too quick for his reflexes and heavier armor. Once he manages to knock Oberyn toward the ground but the prince only springs up to his feet again seconds later – the sharp intake of breath under your tent is loud enough for other to hear but still none of you can take your eyes off of the fight.

His rage manifests as amusement, a smile on his face, although it doesn't reach his eyes. The fight has gone beyond playful and taunting. The years of fury have built up and the Mountain knocks the spear out of his hand, knocking him to the ground.

The crowd may cheer as Oberyn flips out of the way, his training making him lithe and athletic while you and Ellaria swallow shaky gasps and clutch each other's hands impossibly harder. Tyrion may hyperventilate at any moment, watching his champion be so performative, but he says nothing. He knows that you and everyone else under this tent are terrified for the life of the Prince of Dorne, not for the life of the Imp of Casterly Rock.

The next spear is tossed to Oberyn and his attacks turn more vicious. Even as he's sent down to his knees, he is bouncing back. This time after a flurry of attacks and deflecting, the giant grabs Oberyn and tosses him across the combat area.

By this time you count three wounds that the poisoned blade has made in the Mountain's flesh, but you know nothing of poisons. How long will it take to begin killing him? How will it kill him? Will it weaken him immensely, or simply slow him down? Was there even enough poison to do Oberyn any good in the moment? You flinch when he is thrown to the ground but Ellaria holds to your fast, urging you not to look away. The two of you have promised to survive this fight side by side and that is not a promise either of you can break.

Stomping away from the Mountain as he tries to regain his footing, Oberyn's fervor spirals. "You raped her!" He shouts, "You murdered her!" He watches as the other man attacks again, spinning around and this time, he digs the hook of the spear into the back of the Mountain's heel. Ripping open flesh and making him scream in agony. Panting as Clegane drops to his knees. Gripping his spear, he screams again. "You killed her children!" Running forward, Oberyn leaps up and drives the spear into the Mountain's chest, making blood spurt from his chest.

There is a moment where people almost smile. Tyrion and Jamie Lannister both look like they are about to, mostly out of shock, and Ellaria almost laughs in relief. You and Margaery make identical sobbing sounds that are halfway like laughs, and even Raeden blows out a long breath. Clegane is flat on his back, and you could swear that you see him twitch while Oberyn circles him with growling anger.

To add insult to injury, Oberyn leaves the spear in the man's chest. "Wait. Are you dying?" He asks. "No. No. No." He growls as he paces. "You can't die yet. You haven't confessed." He reaches over and yanks the spear out of his chest, assured that poison has worked through the man's body. He will die in agony and yet it will still not be good enough. "Say it." He resumes marching around him as he groans on the ground. "Say her name. Elia Martell." As his blood boils, his mind spins in a murderous rage. "You raped her. You killed her children." The spectators are quiet as his voice rings out of the seats. "Elia Martell." He points at Tywin Lanniser sitting on his cushioned chair. "Who gave you the order?" He looks back at the Mountain and then back at Tywin. "Who gave you the order?! Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her!" Around and around, Oberyn circles the fallen man, his voice climbing higher ever time he speaks. "You killed her children." Nothing matters but this. Nothing. Not Tyrion. He had never really cared about the little man's guilt or innocence. He cares about his revenge.

Oberyn circles the giant, roaring his accusations and demanding that Clegane confess. Once - just once - he manages to look up to the tent where all of you are watching, and the unmistakable pride in Ellaria's expression and the firm determination in yours makes him smile with grim satisfaction. But he inches just a hair too close to the dying man in the middle of the ring. Clegane's hand comes out and snatches at Oberyn's ankle, sending the legendary Viper to ground once more. Tyrion panics, eyes widening; and you and Ellaria gasp out loud. The Mountain is moving and Oberyn is on his back.

Please, Gods...please do not take him like this...

There is a split second where the future flashes in front of his eyes. One that he would not be present for. His lover becoming jaded and bitter, obsessing over revenge for his death and oddly enough, he does not want that. His Sand Snakes being killed by the bastard Lions in a vain attempt to find justice for their father before they are ready. Raeden being run through in a battle to get you and his heir out of the city. It's not above Tywin Lanniser and he knows that the man had seen the way you had brought his hand to your stomach. Then you, his lovely wife. Carrying his child. The horrible idea of you suffering the same fate as his sister. Perhaps even at the hands of the same man.

His hands flail for a moment as the weight of the man presses him down into the stone. "Elia Martell." He growls, hands reaching for Oberyn's head and the Prince's eyes squeeze shut as the gloved thumbs cover them and start to press. Oberyn screams, the sound pure agony as he touches the dagger you had tucked into his waist and he knows that confession would be the best he would ever get. Not before the man seriously damages his eyes or kills him. His pride, his arrogance had landed him on his back, the poison not killing him fast enough. "E-Elia." He gasps out, wrapping his fingers around the hilt and pulling it out, shoving it up through the bottom of the Mountain's chin and into his head as hard as he can. "Elia Martell." Oberyn chokes out. "Of Dorne." Gregor Clegane's eyes widen and he gurgles, blood spewing out of his mouth onto the prince's face. "This is for her."

The collection gasp of shock from the assembled audience cannot compete with the way you and Ellaria scream. The fierce shrieks coming deep inside both of you when all you can see of Oberyn is that the man you both love - your soulmate - is flat on his back beneath the Mountain's murderous bulk. Raeden has to push Margaery backward into Cal's grip so he can wrap one arm around you and Ellaria, barely managing to stop you from storming the ring yourselves to finish the Mountain with your bare hands. He knows you would manage it somehow. That together there could be nothing from stopping you and Ellaria if you got your hands on Gregor Clegane.

You struggle against Raeden in tandem, screaming Oberyn's name, until you see a flash of metal against the late morning sun and another flood of blood. It is impossible to tell whose blood it is at first, until a look of relief washes briefly over Jamie Lannister's face.

"Oberyn!" Prying Raeden's hand open, you sprint for the center of the ring as the Mountain's lifeless body is shoved aside to reveal a triumphant Prince of Dorne has, indeed, survived.

He has survived.

Avenged his sister.

Won the day.

And you pull him into your arms just a moment before Ellaria reaches his other side so that both of you can help him to his feet.

"The gods have made their will known." Tywin Lannister's voice shakes with anger and disbelief, but the results are indisputable. "Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name...you have been found innocent of the murder of King Joffrey." He sounds as if he could throw something, but you barely hear the declaration. Oberyn is standing on his own two feet with his arms around you and Ellaria, and that is all that matters.

Panting and breathless, Oberyn absorbs the roar of the crowd, but is doesn't mean anything to him. Neither does the effusive gratitude of a near sobbing Tyrion as the guards unlock his chains, setting him free. All that matters is that he is still breathing and you and Ellaria are in his arms. He surges forward, pressing his lips to Ellaria's and then yours in front of the crowd as Raeden and Margaery stand to the side. His need for justice has been quenched. While the Mountain did not implicate Tywin, he can live with the fact that her murderer has breathed his last breath and all of King's Landing now knows.

"Let us leave this fucking place." He decides breathlessly, grinning at you and jostling Ellaria closer to him. "Never to return. Dorne calls us home."

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @katheriner1999 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie

My Masterlist!

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pandorasfavorite · 10 months

Text

Masterlist

Hurt/comfort Fluff

Orange = Newest Release

Smut Masterlist

Not over : he gets hurt and you have to choice between comforting him and fighting her.

Your mistake (part two) : Dominik messed up your carrer plan, do you forgive him?

Full turn. (part two): Dominik and you smoke for the first time together 🍃.

Our forever : you go into labor and Dominik mildly freaks out

Overstimulated: your overstimulated by everything that is going on. Dominik can help.

Our hobby: you can’t work out anymore, Dominik will do it for you “Always?” “Forever” : matching tattoos

Oceans Apart: Dominik chooses the judgment day

Your number one: you get jealous over Dominik being at ringside with Rhea Crowded: Hiding in his shirt while the press surrounds you both

Our Hobby: pregnant!reader watching Dom work out Keep my cool: you get in a fight with Rhea for flirting with your man

The beauty of pregnancy: Dominik is attentive while your in labor 🩷

Daddy-Daughter day : Dominik spends time with the baby while you are running errands

In the middle: Laying in bed with Dominik thinking about your past and nagging each other

Crafting: Helping Dominik with his muscle tees and making him try them on

Punching bag: taking a hit for Dom

Picky Eater: Dominik is undeniably a picker eater.. what happens when you make him dinner and he doesn't like it?

Product of Embarrassment: You and Dominik argue over something that shouldn't have mattered.

A childlike Halloween: Dominik is a good dad and husband during the spooky season.

Football Season: different football teams fluff

Maneater: She's simply a badass, can Dominik win her over? Or is she just toying around?

Spontaneous: being pregnant with his baby and spontaneously getting married 🩷

I Can't Keep Control: A short sad drabble and Dominik being a great boyfriend.

Man-Child: Dominik is arrogant and cocky, you do something about it

Stuffy: Dominiks takes the kids to the doctors

Thought That I'd Feel Better: depression takes a toll, will he notice?

Resuscitate: Smoking with childhood best friend Dominik Mysterio...and he has a blabber mouth, to say the least.

Not Mad: Dominik is jealous after a guy flirting with you, but he's "not mad"

101: Dominik is a baby when he is sick

The Silent Love: you were dedicated to being silent, but Dominik got to hear your voice for the first time.

Step Into the Darkness: Dominik (a stranger) saves you from a creepy man in the dark of the night...then the stranger becomes something more.

Petty Antics: ignoring Dominik all night when you’re jealous

Helpful Hands: Dominik comforts his pregnant wife while she’s hormonal.

His Little Girl: Dominik's daughter is watching his match...she doesn't like it much

The Shield - The Mistake: Dominik faced an injury to win, she's a part of the Shield and gets in trouble for it.

#dominik mysterio #dominik mysterio fluff #dominik mysterio x reader #dominik mysterio fanfiction #dom dom #dominik mysterio x you #dominik my bbg #dominik mysterio smut

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hush-writes-preg · 7 months

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Spooky request to have a big werewolf partner that has a knot Ive been craving, amd begging to finally take so he can breed me with as many pups as he can. It certainly does the trick and almost nine months later I'm swelled out with six squirming werewolf puppies but still begging to get raided by my werewolf who finds my state too arousing to resist, as he tries to put another litter in me

You've never been able to say no to your mate. You have a big werewolf partner who has a knot you've been craving, and you've been begging for him to finally give it to you so he can breed you with as many pups as he can. The knot certainly does the trick, and almost nine months later, you're massively swollen with six squirming werewolf puppies but still begging to get fucked senseless by your werewolf.

Your mate isn't about to pass up the chance to fuck you while you're carrying his pups, and he's happy to corner you in his den and use your body for his pleasure.

The only problem is that there's no way he's going to be satisfied with one or two rounds.

No, your mate knows what's good for you.

Firelight flickers over the sweat-slick skin of your bloated form while he holds your thighs spread and thrusts roughly between them. God, the feel of him is enough to send your eyes rolling back in your head. He's so thick, and you can feel the dense bulge of his knot already threatening to force its way into your hole.

His dick's going to be pumping his seed into your body all night long, all while his litter squirms within your massive, swollen belly.

And when morning comes, the cycle will start over again.

#hush answers #hush writes preg #spooky season pregnancy #monster fucking #monster fucker #monster breeding #monster pregnancy #werewolf pregnancy #werewolf fucker #nonhuman pregnancy #ftm pregnancy #mtf pregnancy #nb pregnancy #male pregnancy #mpreg #tmpreg #trans pregnancy #queer pregnancy #tpreg

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tired-biscuit · 1 year

Text

Bite

𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Kiba/fem!reader

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 18+ mdni, modern AU // werewolf!kiba, monsterfucking, size kink, biting kink, breeding, unprotected sex, slight a/b/o themes [mf has a knot], pregnancy talk, mentions of blood. established relationship, they are very cute.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 10.5k

𝗺𝗮𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁

𝗵𝗮𝗽𝗽𝘆 𝗵𝗮𝗹𝗹𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗲𝗻, 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗲𝘀. 𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲'𝘀 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗺𝗼𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴!!

𝗞𝗜𝗕𝗔 decides to share his secret with you on Halloween.

He doesn’t know why he wants to tell you on October 31st, exactly. Perhaps it is that the matter at hand is rather fitting for the spooky season, or maybe because the last two functioning brain cells inside his head are telling him that you’ll be able to cope with it better this way – his peculiar way of thinking is something that nobody but him seems to make sense of.

So, it takes Kiba four years and three months to make the final decision. It may seem like a long time to some, but to him the years pass by swiftly. He spends them all by learning about how your mind functions and by gathering his wits. By hiding every full moon and ghosting you completely with zero explanation. By persuading himself that that same mind he is so very fond of picking apart and piecing back together, will be the one that will accept him for who – what – he is.

And as spring turns to summer and autumn falls victim to the icy clutches of winter, Kiba stalls. Year after year, your relationship grows like a sturdy vine taking over the walls of an abandoned building with the change of the seasons. The cycle repeats itself for the second, third, fourth time around, and Kiba still keeps changing his mind.

He almost tells you sooner than planned, but then he worries. Grows agitated because of said worrying. Stalls even more. Almost gives up, and thus nearly abandons you as a result at some point as well.

You don’t know anything about that, of course.

But no matter what he picks and chooses, something makes him stay put. Kiba can’t quite explain the reasoning as to why. It might be that he’s immensely loyal. Or the fact that he’s in love. Maybe you’re his person. Perhaps it’s in his blood. He doesn’t know what it is, but he lingers because of it. Wraps his arms around you and falls even deeper. So deep, in fact, that he can’t possibly find his way back to the surface and moral reasoning anymore.

And because of it, he feels scared when the day he has to tell you his secret finally comes. Absolutely petrified. But he trusts you now, he’s positive about that. Nearly half a decade of being so close has done its job.

And he hopes, nearly prays to a god he’s long since lost belief in, that after all of this is over, you’ll still trust him, too.

—

Much to Kiba’s misfortune, that doesn’t happen.

You don’t trust him anymore.

“Oh, my… You we-were actually being serious for once, huh?” The words are spoken barely above a whisper by someone who you think is you, despite that you swear you’re on the brink of screaming your lungs out.

Everything is quiet chaos. Standing in the middle of your bedroom, it’s a struggle to breathe properly; you can’t even get an exhale out, much less a shout. The moment your boyfriend’s supposed prank turns out to be a truth so gruesome that it makes your jaw drop, you’re feeling like your legs are giving in. To say you were on the verge of fainting would be an understatement.

You feel like you’re going to die.

It all happens exactly how he’s told you it would, but that doesn’t help. Staring at the thing that used to be your boyfriend just mere moments before the pale moonlight had seeped past the curtains, you still find yourself frozen into place from the shock and terror that begin to course your veins in fast, pulsating waves.

The movie you were watching together on your laptop is still playing. Background music and dialogue fills the tense air between you and is the only sound present besides his deep breathing and the ferocious pounding of your heart; which you swear you can feel climbing up your throat now.

The movie is playing – time certainly hasn’t stopped. But you wish it did.

He’s just so big, after all. Huge in every aspect, he’s nothing like himself and you’re barely keeping pieces of your sanity sticking together because of the intimidating stature he possesses now. He’s broad, the slopes of his shoulders are potent and the curve of his biceps is so defined that you’d have trouble wrapping both hands around just one. There’s no way your fingers would touch whilst hugging it – you’re positive.

And goodness, he is heavy. So fucking heavy, in fact, that the mattress sinks below him, and the wooden framing of the bed gives a prolonged creak of protest because of the triggering weight when he picks himself up.

Watching them stretch and relax repeatedly, you suppose you’re used to seeing the strong limbs and the rippling muscle, even if it currently hides underneath thick, coarse fur. And it may be just a hint of familiarity soothing you now, but panic still flashes through your very soul when he stumbles on his hind legs as soon as his feet land on your carpeted flooring.

Standing at his full height, your boyfriend – or rather the thing that used to be your boyfriend – appears even taller now. Its enormous stature makes dread trickle down the back of your sweaty neck, because god-fucking-damn it; the top of its head is nearly touching the fucking ceiling.

But it's still Kiba, or that’s at least what you keep telling yourself. This creature is still your lover, even if his clothes are torn and his entire body is sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the furniture of your bedroom that just appears toyish when compared to him.

And now, his arms flail around in the same manner his tail does. Wagging from side to side, it’s a brief moment of alarm as he attempts to catch his balance like a toddler learning to walk for the first time. But he’s not a child; he isn’t even human. Every clumsy footstep he takes on the carpet is like a dull thud of thunder because of how hefty he is. It seems that even he, himself, isn't quite used to his new body just yet. And it’s almost cute in a way.

Almost.

Still, cute or not, the entire situation makes your breath hitch and forces you to take a cautious step back when he turns towards you at long last and just looks at you.

Staring right back at him, you’re not sure if you like having his attention on you all of a sudden. So you stand more firmly, lift your hands into a shield of sorts – as if that could fucking stop this monster of a wolfman if he ever did make the decision to tear you to shreds and swallow you whole – and just breathe.

You just can’t help it. Stepping back and causing more distance feels like a survival instinct, because he is just that – a monster. You don’t do it on purpose, it seems, but the reason for it is because of the more uncanny features he possesses. And those features frighten you right to the bone, whether you want them to or not.

The tail is on top of that list of reasons, of course. But it’s also the eerie height. How he stands and walks like a human, but isn’t one. The triangle-shaped ears atop his head and the set of honed claws on each broad, paw-like hand. The chestnut fur. How his eyes are now yellow instead of a golden brown.

Speaking of his eyes: they glow in the silvery moonlight. The pupils inside dilate sideways whenever a shadow crosses them, and both are so sharp that they’d do a better job at piercing through you than the point of the sharpest blade ever could.

The thought makes your skin pull taut and your heartbeat thump inside your mouth this time around. You can feel it rattling behind your teeth, which you’re clenching so hard that your entire jaw is beginning to hurt. Even the saliva that has gathered on top of your tongue is hard to swallow from how thick it’s become laced with fear now.

Your entire body is shouting at you to run away.

But you can’t run. You’ve sprouted roots into the ground by giving him the promise of staying no matter what happens, and you simply can’t break it; can’t run. You’re here to stay, because perhaps you’re even more loyal than he is.

So it’s just you.

And the werewolf.

The big bad werewolf.

“H-Hey,” you croak out feebly after what seems like ages, upper lip trembling in pure fear. He’s still staring at you; unmoving. Just breathing in and out, in and out, in and out. Other than the rise and fall of his shoulders, he’s so still that it’s making you feel on edge. “You–...” Your brow furrows as you try again, “You in there, Kiba?”

The sound of his name being spoken into the air makes him perk up. And it’s feeble relief that washes over you now as you finally release a shuddering breath. Like a sign that your boyfriend remembers at least some part of his human psyche, you watch as one of his ears twitches before he tilts his head to the side like your neighbour’s German Shepherd tends to do whenever it snows outside for the first time.

It’s curiosity in its finest form, but despite him recognizing his name, you’re still worried. Especially because that curiosity makes him come closer. Makes his attention shift solely onto you ever so slowly; the only living, breathing thing left inside this house besides him.

You certainly hope it’ll stay that way by the end of the night. With both of you still breathing.

Because footstep after footstep, Kiba’s balance goes from inept to completely fine by the time he backs you up against the wall and just keeps staring at you.

The yellow in his irises makes his eyes sublime. Shadows dance inside them as he approaches, turning them dark then light again. The size difference between you is so profound that he has to stoop down just to reach eye level with you. Practically looming over you, you feel like you’re about to start crying any second.

His pupils dilate immediately after eye contact is established and your own turn foggy from the tears that are beginning to gather at your waterline, threatening to spill. Black consumes the yellow; swallows it whole. Until you can nearly see yourself in the reflection of the void.

And even if he’s told you what to expect when he’s like this, even if you’ve nodded and laughed at the warnings he’s tried to get across because you couldn’t have possibly taken them seriously: as soon as you come face to face with this supernatural being, you’re simply terror-struck.

And you don’t trust this being. Don’t trust it at all.

But every moment is used for his benefit. He’s starting to learn about your mannerisms. You’re standing still as a statue, fear lacing your scent so profoundly that he feels the need to dip in and hide his face into the crook of your neck just so he can smell it better.

So seconds pass: one, two, three. He breathes in your scent so that he can memorize it. Rests a paw on the curve of your hip as gently as he’s able, even though you can still feel its immense weight and the way the claws dig into your skin right through your t-shirt despite the mellow effort. He can’t retract them, but they’re still so sharp that you have no doubt he could tear right through the thin cotton in mere seconds if he wanted to, along with everything else underneath.

Your stomach twists because of it. If he scratches or cuts you by accident and smells your blood as a result, you have no clue what’ll happen. He’s never told you about that possibility.

And perhaps it’s just a gut feeling, but something tells you he had good reason for it.

Eyes blown wide, shoulders shaking with the fast-paced, never-ending series of inhales and exhales that you can’t seem to slow down for the life of you, you’re letting out a quivering whimper that makes your entire face twist in reluctant disturbance. He’s just too close, too unnatural. Too demanding to know you better, and thus too pushy.

So you try to push him away to cause more distance between your bodies because you can’t focus, can’t breathe. But holy fuck, every hair on your body prickles and stands up to attention when instead of having him take a step back, you just hear him growl in response.

He doesn’t like that; the snarl and the flash of big, sharp teeth tells you all you need to know as his upper lip curls and reveals the gleaming white underneath. Doesn’t appreciate you shoving him away like he’s unwanted and scary, when all he wants to do is to be close to you and just breathe you in. Just that, he isn’t even thinking about hurting you.

But you don’t know that. Can’t understand him either.

Listening to the growl as it slowly dies down, it’s a quiet sort of sound that comes from the depths of his chest and rumbles in the back of his throat. Like the noise a dog makes before it’s about to go absolutely nuts at any given second, except that it’s deeper, more threatening; a warning to come from a provoked beast much larger than your poor self. The series of vibrations it sends through you makes your teeth rattle inside your skull and your skin pull even tighter over your bones from how deeply it fazes you.

And when you whimper out of fear again, the tears spilling over your hot cheeks, it makes him freeze. You’re scared – scared of him – so he pulls back, looks at your sweat-riddled face, as well as the fright it exhibits, and looses a freaking sigh now. As if he’s upset by your reaction, perhaps even disappointed, the low grumble to follow right afterwards only adds to the discontent he feels for you.

And you; you’re staring up at him, sniffling and trying to blink away the blur in your eyes now whilst your entire body is literally shaking.

He’s the one that’s displeased? After scaring the literal shit out of you and making you cry, he is the one that gets to grumble about it like some senile, old grandpa whenever his grandkids get caught doing something naughty? You can’t believe the nerve of this man. Wolf. Wolfman? Werewolf.

It seems that Kiba remains a crabby douche no matter what form he’s in. And it is him; your grouchy boyfriend is actually still somewhere in there – looking at you worryingly through pupils that remind you of a cat’s, and owning a body so powerful that it could turn your entire house to rubble if it went on a rampage.

“I-I’m sorry,” you choke out at the thought, carefully reaching out to place your hand on his chest again, but this time to appease him instead of shoving him away and provoking him again. “I just–... I wasn’t expecting this, ‘kay? Try and understand how I feel about this.”

Just breathe. Breathe, breathe, breathe – in and out. He’s less scary already.

He perks up at your words again, his paw covering your hand entirely when he presses it more closely to his heart so that you can feel the rhythm of his pulse better. The knuckles are nearly human, as well as the digits that bend and curl over your own now; just covered in fur and equipped with those menacing claws you’re still continuously flicking a wary eye towards every few seconds.

Fingers tangling into rough chestnut fur, his heartbeat is so strong and other-wordly that it makes you sick in a way. It beats faster than any human heart – rhythm quick and potent enough that it kisses the pads of your fingers every time it hits.

It’s like the damn muscle is jumping and bouncing off the sides of his ribcage as he grumbles once more in answer, this time more in agitation than anything else. He can’t even speak proper English with you, or any other human language whatsoever, and yet you’re starting to understand him perfectly just from the faces he’s making and the noises of irritation coming from the back of his throat every once in a while.

“What,” you whisper, feeling dizzy from the heat his body gives off, “what is it?” It’s as if his very blood has come to a boil, is starting to sizzle like oil on a frying pan underneath all of that muscle and skin. He’s practically burning up, warming your entire bedroom by merely existing. It’s making your vision spin before your very eyes.

So he clutches your hand harder when you look like you’re about to faint; pushes it even closer to his heart. And when you look more stable, like the touch grounds you in a way, he circles his free paw around his face – that uncanny, strange face – and presses it to your own chest. To your own heart.

“What?” His hand, if you could call it that, is so big that it covers the entirety of your ribcage. Thumb to pinky; he’s touching you from one end to the other. You have trouble breathing at the realization of his immense size. “Is there so-something wrong with my heart?”

He shakes his head in answer. Repeats the action of circling his face, but then he stops and pauses for a moment. Contemplates. Pointing to his twitching ear this time around, he does it a few times before pressing the paw to your heart again.

Puzzled, you blink at him, attempting to understand what he’s miming to you as he starts pointing to his ear again. “Are you… Are you saying that you can hear my heart?”

He nods feverishly now, tapping his digits against the middle of your chest a couple of times in the exact same rhythm your heart beats inside your ears, paying heed that he doesn’t strike you with his claws by accident.

“It’s fast, yeah,” you mumble hesitantly. “Nothing like yours, though.”

And now, much to your surprise, he whines in reply; sounding like a little puppy when it yawns with that squeal-ish sort of sound. As if he’s not happy at all with your statement.

Your brow quirks because of it. “You don’t like that it’s fast?”

Kiba shakes his head again.

“Why?”

You frown when he just points to his face again and drops his eyes to the floor. He taps you over your heart only once this time; gently. Like he’s afraid he might break you in two if he uses any more force, the click of his claws only gives you more proof that he could.

And it’s sort of soothing – him caring enough to be this cautious. It calms you, coaxing you to warily place your hand upon his own and say, “I’m not scared of you anymore, Kiba.”

You mean it. Even if your body is still stiff as a board; you mean it.

But all he does is grumble again. Incoherent, rumbling sounds that make you chuckle almost as his tail drops limp between his legs. Your lips are twitching as you speak again, “I’m serious, my heart is beating so fast only ‘cause I love you so much, and ‘cause I’m worried about you. I mean, baby, you have a tail, for Christ’s sake. Come to think of it… Does it hurt when it grows out?”

What a lucky girl you are, your statement makes him growl for a third time as his paw drops from your chest and rests on the curve of your hip instead. If he weren’t so big and unpredictable, you’d bash his head in for being so fussy. “Stop making that noise, y-you’ve gotta cut me some slack! At least I didn’t run away and called the cops! Or, ya know… Animal control, since you’re… Well… Yeah.”

The look he gives you now just spells that sarcastic ‘Funny.’ even though he really is more animal than human. He’s nearly slouching, curving his broad back just to remain face to face with you, and when you’re about to open your mouth to retaliate, because being witty is just how you’ve decided to cope and be comfortable around him, nothing but a squeak pushes past your lips instead.

Because now, Kiba lifts you up – so swiftly and effortlessly that you’re amazed in a way, even if it’s nothing surprising if you take his sheer size into consideration. Paws wrapping around your hips, you can feel his claws dig into the plush fabric of your pyjama shorts, but never tearing, as he tosses you over his shoulder and just keeps you there.

Like you’re some damsel in distress, hell like he’s Bowser and you’re Princess Peach; he carries you across the room as if you’re light as a feather.

You squeak out this high-pitched sort of noise when he throws you onto the bed. Squirming around, you try to back up against the headboard, but he grabs you by the ankle and just pulls you closer as he falls onto the mattress himself.

Nearly cringing at the second creek of protest the wooden framing gives to his weight, your own objections are stifled as his arms wrap around you like armor and he attempts to make himself seem smaller – badly. One paw-like hand rests on your middle now, giving you a single push until you’re firmly pressed against his chest. You can feel his heartbeat thumping right against your spine now. It nearly makes the discs rattle from how strong it is.

And even his tail is wrapping around your hip in almost a protective manner now; warming you up with the heat of his body and the thickness of his fur. You’re sweating after mere seconds, the coat of salt thickening the glaze that’s already there as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck and just starts breathing in your scent again.

It’s like he’s addicted to the way you smell. Even with the initial tension gone, every grunt that reverberates down your spine is still chill-inducing despite the heat.

Laying next to him in the dark, the rational part of your consciousness screams at you to run and never look back. How you should feel scared; caged in from the way he wraps himself around you and holds you in place. But you don’t. Goddammit, you just don’t. You’ve known him for too long, and he’s just too sweet, even if he looks equally as bitter.

However, when you attempt to turn around to look at him again, he just growls once more. The same as the first time, it’s a warning, but it doesn’t scare you like it did the first time.

Your voice is calm because of it now, “You don’t want me to see you anymore?”

Paw leaving your middle for the briefest moment, you exhale a sigh at how cool his lack of touch feels now as he points at the laptop that’s still laying open on your bed. His body temperature is so high that it makes you burn all over when he touches the sliver of bare skin on your belly.

You swallow the thick saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth again. “The movie, right… Watching movies until you change back, or I fall asleep. Just like you’ve said.”

Fuck, when he pats your stomach in approval and grunts, it just makes you sweat even more. You shouldn’t be thinking about this sort of thing, now should you? About how it’d feel if he were to stroke the naked skin, not just linger on it… If he were to lick it, too. His tongue is probably rougher than normal. It’d hurt, wouldn’t it? Or would it feel good? Oh, and how would it feel if he were to trace your skin with those claws just enough to make you antsy?

As the thoughts ensue, your toes are curling from embarrassment, expectation, arousal – you, yourself, don’t even know from what. This entire thing is so confusing. Are you seriously attracted to a fucking werewolf, or is the heat that’s pooling between your legs only there because this is something new and exciting, and it’s your boyfriend that’s the beast?

The curiosity of humans truly is a wonder. It’s like you truly want to fuck everything that comes your way.

But it seems that Kiba knows what you’re feeling even if you don’t, or perhaps he can smell the change of hormones that lace your blood now. Because as soon as your dainty fingers lightly begin to trace his own thicker ones, seemingly all coy and innocent, he starts to stroke your naked skin in return, too. Gentle swipes that nevertheless make your breath hitch in the back of your throat, he’s sighing at the way your thighs squeeze together in response to his touches.

You’re slowly becoming drenched; he can smell the dopamine on you. The amount is big enough to make his thoughts fuzzy and his dick hard. God, he wants to suck the hormones right out of you.

So he lets his fingers travel higher. Lifts the hem of the shirt you’re wearing with one sharp claw and reaches just the underside of your breast as he strokes even more tenderly. Same movements, different pace and intensity, because he needs to be careful if he wishes to keep you intact and whole.

Minutes pass. He’s stupid, so he’s somehow ended up with both of your tits in his hands; squeezing the fat and flicking the cute nubs ever so gently. Making you squirm. Listening to your quick, little breaths. You’re so needy that it’s amusing in a way.

However, he grunts the moment you roll your hips against his own. Your smell turns him insatiable – you just smell so fucking good, it’s not fair – so he bucks his hips forward and ruts into you once, twice, but then stops immediately when you mewl something delightfully submissive in response and arch your back to feel him even better over your flimsy shorts.

Shit. That sounded so good that it made his ears perk up.

But he’s so big when he’s like this and you’re so small. The ridge of his semi-hard cock that presses against your clothed cunt is already so massive that there is no way your tiny human body would be able to take him in – it is quite literally impossible, no matter how badly you want it to happen. Too enormous for your sweet little pussy, he’d ruin you completely with just one pump if he was to become completely turned on. And you don’t even have a clue about the knot.

Holy fuck, the knot – how could he forget. His heart is racing now at the thought of you taking it willingly, it’s insane how fast it is as he releases you and points towards the laptop again with somewhat shaky digits.

It’s better to stop early. He’s not sure how much sanity he has to spare, the fact that you’re accepting him for who he is; that you are getting fucking aroused by what he thought of as an ugly secret until now is making drool ooze down his sharp teeth. Is making him yearn to push your face into the pillow so that he can just take you doggy style, because it’s, well… Fitting.

He wants to do it painfully slow and rough. Like an animal, the instinct to breed you until you’re his little mate is so acute that it hurts him. Christ, you’ve mentioned wanting kids, now that you’re both in your mid-twenties. Have begun talking more and more about moving in together and starting a family.

And Kiba wants it, too, he truly does. He wants kids, marriage. The chance of coming back to a warm home every single day, and spending the rest of those days with you, now that you know what he is. He’s never been happier because of the fact that you still want him just as badly as he wants you, but how the fuck is he supposed to give you all of that and grant you all of your wishes when he’s a monster?

During the course of your relationship, he’d been nothing but excuses as a result, even if he didn’t want to be. Stalling whenever you had suggested sharing a household. Completely disappearing roughly once a month whenever there was a full moon, even though – much to his luck – you’ve never managed to make the connection. Telling you, ‘Yes, I want kids.’ even though he’d started pulling out the moment you had told him that you got off your birth control.

Seeing the disappointment cross your face each time was hard. He wants kids, fuck, he wants them so bad – it’s in his blood to give you as many as you’ll be willing to have with him, for fuck’s sake. But all of this is complicated. Him feeling scared to give you babies because they’d almost surely be different from the ones you gush over whenever your friends swing by is completely justified.

But now, after you’ve seen him for what he is and have clearly accepted him, just imagining you still wanting kids with him makes his fucking tail want to wag. The way you'd whine and then beg him to cum inside you as your tiny pussy sucks him in, in, in. How you'd spread your legs and let him grab you by the hips until they'd be littered with scratches. How you'd squeal when he'd bite you to keep you still for long enough to make you pregnant with his offspring.

There’d be more than one in this form; he’s sure of it. Sadly, he’s just too big to fit. Perhaps, if you’re willing, you could try when he’s back to normal again.

“But Kiba, I–” Your lips clamp shut the moment he points to the screen again, this time sternly, and exhales this deep, fed-up breath through his nose that tickles your neck and just makes you buzz all over.

He’s even drawn his hips away from you whilst thinking of slamming them in instead. No more rutting – you’re not fucking a monster no matter how bad his need is and how nicely you’ve accepted him. He wants you alive and whole, after all.

And that means: end of discussion.

—

Even in his werewolf form, your boyfriend is as stubborn as ever.

You finish the movie with a frown etched upon your lips that he promptly seems to ignore for your sake. As soon as the credits roll, he makes you watch another one.

Hours pass; fading away into the night, and you feel him growing lighter. Smaller. More human. Changing or not, Kiba still doesn’t allow you to look at him during it. He’s told you that the transformation can be a bit unpleasant to see when you’re not used to seeing it, so you can’t do anything else but comply with his wishes.

And just when you’re on the verge of sleep, consciousness nearly fluttering away into dreamland, do you at long last feel him move.

Thick fingers digging into your t-shirt, he presses himself against you after hours of nothing. “Babe?” He whispers right into your ear, nudging you with the tip of his nose, “You still awake, baby?”

He can speak again.

“Mhmm.” His body is still so warm that you can’t help but feel it lulling you to slumber. “I’m awake.” It’s a bother to stay that way, but you still force yourself to remain conscious by rubbing your cheek into the pillow tiredly. “Can I look at you now…? Please?”

A smile ghosts over Kiba’s lips at the plea you’ve surely been harboring for hours. He’s still not used to you knowing and liking this part of him. He doubts he’ll ever be. “I’m not fully back to normal just yet,” he says, and you can tell, because there’s still this coarse bite to his voice that makes him sound like his teeth are too big for his mouth. “But I think it’s safe enough to look… If you want.”

You don’t ask him if he’s absolutely sure, nor if he’s all right with it. Far too impatient to look at your boyfriend again, you’re swiftly flipping onto your other side to finally lay your eyes on him not even a second after the words of insecurity finish leaving his lips.

His appearance makes your heart start to pound all over again. Not out of fear, though. No, this time it’s thrill – the good kind.

He’s mid-stage, just like he’s said he’d be. Not human just yet, although not full-werewolf anymore either: he’s a being of something supernatural and in-between that you don’t know how to name for the life of you.

He’s still big – bigger than usual – though nearly not as before. The fur is gone, but his hair is still overwhelmingly thick; partially hiding the pointy ears that remain sitting and twitching ever so slightly atop his head. His facial features are back to normal, even if his eyes aren’t. Still yellow, they glow in the dark with those slits for pupils that dilate sideways whenever they make eye contact with you. You can feel the tail as it curls around your hip once more, and can see the fangs when he parts his rosy lips to release a shuddering, anxious breath.

He looks like a hybrid. That’s the word!

“How long?” It’s the first thing that comes out of your mouth as you reach up to touch him. He’s completely naked underneath the thin duvet, you can see the pile of torn up clothes on the floor. It’s a good thing he’s brought an overnight bag with him.

“Huh?” Goddammit, he’s so insecure that he flinches when your fingers make contact with his warm, golden skin.

Your gaze turns soft as you trace his cheekbone and utter, “How long have you been like this?”

“Uh,” he mumbles, brow furrowing despite that he tilts his head so that he can lean into your touch better, “ever since I can remember. I was born with the gene.”

“Just you?”

“It… It runs in the family.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip. Chewing on the tender flesh, your voice is hushed, “And why haven’t you told me?”

He hates admitting his vulnerability to anyone – even you – but he has to if he wants this relationship to work and for the bond to strengthen. So he sighs, voice equally as quiet as he says, “I was scared you’d be disappointed.”

He pauses for a bit now, letting the beat of silence pass. Avoiding eye contact whilst those peculiar yellow eyes flick across your entire room, he seems almost jittery in a way, despite that you’re the harmless human in this situation. God, he hates feeling insecure like this.

You can’t stay still, silent. It’s eating you alive, so you cut into the quiet, “What is it?”

“It’s…” Kiba inhales deeply, shaking his head with a groan that just provokes you further. You’re on the brink of jumping him and shaking him by the shoulders until he spits it out. Luckily for the both of you, you don’t have to do it because now he at long last looks you in the eye and says, “It’s hereditary.”

This time, your roles are reversed and the silence is far longer than the previous beat. A lot longer.

“Say something, sweetheart,” he mumbles, voice strained from nervosity.

“I see.” It’s all you give him and Kiba isn’t sure what the tone means. Either he’s dumb as fuck or he’s just incapable of reading it, it doesn’t matter how sensitive the ears atop his head are – he is still not getting it.

So he asks, “You know what that means?”

Instead of answering, you ask a question of your own, “Is that the reason why you turned all weird when I got off the pill?”

He just nods before his chin dips down, lips pressed into a firm line and shoulders slumped. Oh, boy. Watching how guilty he looks, you almost feel the gears turning inside your head as all the puzzle pieces click and begin to paint the bigger picture you would have never solved on your own otherwise.

And here you were; worrying like some idiot that he was refusing to settle only because he didn’t take you seriously enough.

The entire thing seems so utterly stupid, now that you think about it.

“Is it, like,” your voice breaks before you swallow the saliva that’s gathered inside your mouth. “Is it definite? If we were to have–...”

His expression softens at the worry to glint inside your eyes. “There’s a chance.”

“A chance?”

“Yeah.” He sighs again. “It’s not, like, fully definite or anything like that... I mean, Hana isn’t like this, and we’re brother and sister. But there’s still a pretty big chance, ‘cause I’d be the dad and my genes are… Well, they’re more dominant, I guess.”

“They’re more likely to prevail?” you ask, quirking a brow as you place your hand on his warm chest. His heartbeat isn’t back to normal, per se, it just isn’t nearly as fast as it was before. “I think I’ve read that in an article somewhere before. Or a book I was reading… I can’t remember.”

“I don’t like that word; prevail,” he mumbles, the bridge of his nose scrunching in distaste. You can even see his ears flatten until they’re flushed against his head. “Our kiddos would have as much of you in ‘em as much as they’d have me.”

“Yeah, but if they’re like… This,” you trace his chest gently and jerk your chin upwards to make a point, “they’d have more of you in them than they’d have me, right?”

“They could still have your smile. Or your height. Hell, even your eye colour, which is so pretty by the way.” Kiba says, the corners of his lips twitching when you smile at the smooth compliment. “The yellow would only show when they’d turn once a month; and that's to say if they’d turn. I mean, yeah, it’d play a huge part in their lives, being like this, and it would be hard at times… But that side isn’t everything that'd define them, ya know? They’d still be people. Human.”

You’re surprised how mature he is about this – speaking about it as if he’s practiced it in front of the mirror a dozen times before, albeit still sounding just as genuine. Normally, you’d expect him to be unreasonable whilst attempting to shove his head through the wall, but that’s not the case this time around. And thinking about said case; he’s right.

Even if he turns into something unnatural every full moon, he’s still Kiba, no matter the form. He’s still your boyfriend who likes to poke fun at you every chance he gets, who likes to scream with joy at the TV whenever his favourite team scores a point, who always picks chocolate ice cream over vanilla, who’s terrible at making the fitted bed sheet actually fit over the mattress – all of that. Those quirks make him human, and he is just that. He’s a person, just like you.

Though, he’s just proved to you that he’d be a wonderful dad, too.

“I don’t see it as a bad thing, baby,” you say, blushing at the thought whilst cupping his face delicately. “I still love you, even if you look like you’ve just graduated from Monster High.” It’s no wonder he was so good at being a jock, both through high school and college. Always so agile and fast by instinct.

He snorts, rolling his eyes. “Hilarious.”

You giggle at your own jab. Sigh in content at the kiss he presses to your cheek a moment later. “I still wanna try, you know.”

He stills, warm mouth lingering right next to your temple. “Like… Right now?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is nothing but a whisper as your fingers tangle into his hair and trace the back of one pointy ear. Like a cat, you’re simply too curious to hold back. You can see them both flatten against his head in an instant as he stiffens above you and groans.

“Sensitive?”

“Yeah.” He pauses to draw in a shaky breath. “Very.”

Well, fuck.

You’re growing hot again, almost feverish at how responsive he is to mere strokes. “Should I not touch them?”

“You can. I’ve just never–... Nnh.” He turns into putty that you hold in your hands the moment you scratch his scalp and trace the shape of both triangles after hearing his approval. They’re surprisingly delicate underneath the pads of your fingers; almost silken to the touch and twitching every time you land contact. “Never had anyone touch ‘em before. It’s different than anything else I’ve ever felt.”

His brain might just burst if you actually take his knot.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’ll be gentle.”

He’s toying with your shirt, claw tugging at the hem whilst attempting to focus. “You seriously wanna try for a baby now?” Turned on so easily and still yearning because of the teasing you gave him before, he can’t think straight.

“Yes,” your answer is confident. Honest. “As long as it’s safe for the both of us, I don’t care if our baby ends up being like you. I’ll still love it, just like I love you.”

God, he could cry at this point. “It’s safe, just a little different... Might hurt a bit ‘cause I’m still pretty big, but I’d never put you in harm's way, you know that, baby.”

Your heart is racing. “How much would it hurt?”

“We��d–...” Goodness, he’s so flustered. “We’d be stuck for a while after we’d be done, like for half an hour… Maybe an hour. It can get a bit uncomfortable.”

“Why?”

He blinks. “Why would it be uncomfortable?”

“No, like why would we get stuck?”

“Oh.” Heat sears Kiba’s face at your question. He’s looking down at you with a furrowed brow and nearly a frown now. You just look so perfect, hair all messy over the pillow and skin dewy, and here he is about to explain the most humiliating thing ever.

“I, uh… God, this is so embarrassing, but I have a knot, okay? It’s meant for, mm… Basically, it makes me unable to pull out, because it literally hurts us both if I try. And uh–...” He’s nearly scowling now, the poor man. “It just gives us a better chance at having a kid, okay? That’s all you need to know.”

“Wow.” Your eyes grow wide at the crude explanation he’s given like he’s some damn caveman. Pure wooden clubs and unga bunga language, like the definition of Fred Flintstone. “So it’s just like in those fanfics I’ve read as a teen?”

“C’mon, baby, I don’t read that shit.” The pointed look he gives you with those sharp pupils tells you everything you need to know. Nearly makes you laugh. “And you shouldn’t have either, ‘cause listen to the crap you’re spouting while we’re talking about our goddamn future… I mean, seriously.”

“Hah!” The chuckle slips out. “I’m so sorry, Ki. I’ll be good, I promise.”

He rolls his eyes in faux-annoyance. “Aha.”

“C’mon, I wanna try!” The smile that’s forcing itself on your lips is so big. “I want to have a kid, and move in together; all of that… So, do you wanna do it for real this time?”

Something is fluttering inside his chest and stomach at your proposal. Something that makes him light-headed as he looks you dead in the eye and says, “Well, it depends… Are you gonna take my knot?”

Oh, he’s serious now. All intense, his eyes are burning like a forge.

“Yeah,” you whisper, the air suddenly solemn. He doesn’t want you to joke about this. “I will.”

“Yeah?” he whispers back. “Even if it hurts a little? You’ll still take it?”

You wonder what ‘a little’ means to him. No matter. “Mhmm.”

Studying your features for any hint of deceit, he’s breathing hard just thinking about it. “Okay.”

As are you. “Okay.”

Moments pass, and the silence is intimate. However, you start to laugh again the moment his tail starts to wag. He’s just so goddamn red, so adorable. “You excited?”

“Yeah, m’sorry,” he mumbles bashfully. “It has a mind of its own sometimes. Especially when I’m happy.”

“You’re happy ‘cause I’ll take your knot?”

“Overjoyed.”

“That’s cute. Like you’re a good boy, or somethin’.” Heat is crawling up your neck as you look at him underneath your lashes and mumble, “So… How do you want me?”

Fuck, that flusters him even further. Especially because the communication is good and you start touching his ears again. Good boy, good boy, good boy – he really is a good boy. “I, uh… Just lemme…”

But instead of finishing his sentence, Kiba just manhandles you into position. He’s as gentle as he can be, perhaps even respectful, though you still feel heat overtake your body the moment he flips you onto your stomach with complete ease and hovers above you by pinning both arms on either side of you.

He’s still so big; strong. His body covers your own, warmth and that musky scent fogging your senses completely. That alone is enough to make you shove your face into the pillow and push your ass up as high into the air as it’ll go. Like a proper little mate.

You smell so sweet with dopamine that it makes his voice sound rough from how dry it makes his throat as he watches you squirm into position, “I–... I gotta undress you first.”

“Just tear it off.” Your eyes are glazed over when you turn your head to the side to look at him. “It’ll be faster that way.”

The drool he forces down is thick. “You want it that bad?”

“I need it, love. Need all of you.” Even the werewolf side.

“Shit… O-Okay.” Goddammit, you’ve even got his voice to quiver as he does what you ask of him. The collar of your top chokes you for a brief moment as he tugs on the back of it, fingers so eager whilst the cotton starts biting into your neck, but then he releases you the moment the noise of shredding fabric fills the room.

Kiba trails his eyes over your exposed back now. At the way goosebumps cover the smooth skin the moment he traces your spine with the tip of one claw. He can see the sides of your tits as they press against the mattress; all plush-like. It just makes his mouth water all the more. “What about the shorts?”

“Same as the shirt,” you mumble, lifting and wiggling your hips again.

His pupils are overtaking his entire irises. “Underwear, too?”

“Mhmm.”

His tail is wagging again, you can hear the dull thump, thump, thump against the mattress. “Tell me what I ever did to deserve you… For real.”

You could tease him. But this moment is tender, intimate, so you decide against it and just say, “Shush.”

You’re naked in mere seconds after that; he’s slicing through the fabric like it’s butter. And that excites you, especially as he inhales so, so deep and says, “Fuck, baby… What’re you doin’ to me?”

“Nothin’...?” you trail off playfully, smiling into the pillow as you feel your toes curl. His voice is just so coarse; so fueled with passion. You’re dripping just because of the dazed tone alone.

“You smell so fuckin’ good, that’s what you’re doing,” he mumbles, kissing your bare shoulder blade as he tops you. “It’s driving me insane.”

Your eyelids flutter shut at the kisses he keeps peppering all over. “Is your sense of smell better than usual?”

“Yeah.” The tip of his nose presses against your spine, making you giggle when the ends of his hair brush your skin. “I can smell how turned on you are. All that dopamine, fuck… I’m so lucky.”

You chuckle now, “I’m surprised you even know what dopamine is.”

“Tsch. Full of fuckin’ surprises today, aren’t I?” He’s got a smile of his own gracing his features, all charm and pointy fangs. “You need foreplay? I’ve put on lube just now.”

“No,” you utter. “I think I’ll be fine.”

“It’ll still hurt… Even with the lube.” Another kiss to your shoulder, his hips are already meeting yours so that he can align himself with your dripping cunt despite the warning. He’s so impatient to get inside you, after all. “I’m, mm… I’m bigger than usual.”

He says it like it’s a bad thing.

But you’re already buzzing with anticipation; heart racing and fingers gripping the pillow as you feel his cockhead prod at your sopping hole. He’s leaking pre-cum, throbbing and pushing against you and spreading gooey lube everywhere. Waiting for you to say the magic words. “I-I can take it.” I think.

“Good enough for me.”

And it’s true: you can take it. Although just barely.

Every inch that he sinks into you now gives you a stretch that is almost unbearable to endure. His cock is big; fat – it makes you cry. Girthy and thick, you can feel the vein on its underside throbbing inside you as he keeps pushing, pushing, pushing. Slowly and cautiously, his ears are pressing flat against his head again and his tail goes limp from how hard he’s concentrating to make you comfortable and to not go fucking berserk.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck… Baby,” he whines. Your pussy is literally drooling. Sucking him in, despite that he’s overtaking your capacity so very fast. “You feel s’good, baby. We-... We’ve still got a bit left but we’re almost there.”

Almost? It feels like he’s in your throat already. Like he’s fucking impaled you on his dick, you’re already salivating onto your pillow, with your eyes crossed and your brain numb. You’re breathing hard; panting underneath him. Sweat oozes out of every pore on your body from the effort you’re both putting into making this work. You’re still so small underneath him, so fragile that it makes him nervous. Doesn’t make him stop, of course, but the nerves are enough to make him chew on his lip.

“Goddammit,” you whisper, screwing your eyes shut. His size is gruelling – it’s literally rearranging your insides. “Y-You’re so big, Ki.”

“I’m sorry.” Genuine.

“Too big, baby.” Your breath jumps and stammers as he bottoms out and groans at the wet smack! The mewl you let out right after makes his ears twitch.

“Ah, I’m so sorry.”

He’s apologetic, sweetly kissing your shoulder and the side of your sweaty neck from how bad he feels for making you hurt. But he can still smell the absurd amounts of dopamine coursing your blood. Can smell the merest hints of oxytocin as well. You’re into this as much as he is.

Your bodies are pressing against one another to become one; your back is arching and his hips are dipping in just to be as close as is humanly possible. Limbs entwine, mouths open and close in needy gasps. Even your skin is tightening and hardening as he starts to throb inside your fucking womb.

“I took you in,” you mumble dazedly. “Took you in… All the way.”

“You’re such a good lil’ mate, baby,” he whispers in reply. “Gonna breed you so good as a reward, okay?”

You’re looking at each other the moment your head whips to the side. The eye contact is so intense that it makes your pussy clench around his goddamn monster cock. “Y-Yeah?”

“Mhmm, yeah.” He sucks in a sharp breath at the sensation; hissing through his teeth, making you glance at the sharp incisors. “Gonna give you so many pups... I can’t wait to hold ‘em. Our babies.”

His words warm your soul, not just your heart. You’re a hot mess; all sloppy from the drool and tears he’s making you spill, but it feels so good. Your boyfriend fills you up in a way nobody else ever could, because they’re just people and he’s a species of his own.

A species that stretches your velvet walls to make room for even more cock. That makes you spurt milky slick and gush all over that same dick as it starts to thrust in and out of your warmth, forcing you to moan out the sickest of profanities.

Fuck, you can feel every drag of his girth. Can feel him in your gut whenever he sinks back in, in, in.

Time turns non-existent as he screws you, and not once does he exit you completely. He’s relentless at staying inside you for eons at a time, yes, even when his pace picks up and turns so harsh that you feel like he’ll snap you into two. Even as you start to literally sob into the pillow, and he repeatedly keeps kissing your cervix with that fat cockhead of his in answer. Even when your moans turn into sounds only a fucked-out slut could produce.

He’s fucking you like an animal, even if it’s slow and passionate instead of violent and rough.

“Gonna–...” Your voice is so high-pitched that it makes his ears slant, “Soon, gonna cum real soon…!”

“Yeah, I can smell it,” he grunts, panting quick and hard. “You’re all oxytocin, baby. C’mon, gush.”

“Tryin’-!” Jaw slack, your mouth hangs open as he hits the sweetspot and makes you squeal mid-sentence instead.

“That’s it, pretty. Spill.” He just can’t stop, the way you clamp down on him is too good for words. “Fuck yourself on my dick, c’mon… Just. Like. That.”

You have no clue how he does it, but he somehow manages to make you cum twice in a row. Reaching one peak before heading right towards the other; everything feels so sensitive and tender, raw. You’re on the verge of fainting, or on the cusp of crying – you, yourself, don’t even know which one it is at this point.

And in the midst of all of that, his claws dig into your hips. His teeth find home in your neck and taste blood. Fangs dipped in crimson, he goes absolutely berserk as he brands you. His hand is covering the entire side of your face as he forces you to look at him. To really look at him.

“You’re mine,” he says, voice so deep that it turns you breathless. “All mine. No other man will ever be able to have you, d’you get that?”

You’re nodding fervently, looking like a doll; like a stupid fucking bimbo. “Y-Yeah, I-I got it.”

And he’s absolutely feral; possessive. All messy and wild, his dark hair is sticking to his forehead from all the sweat. He’s staring at you so deeply that your soul is branded with the same yellow as his eyes are before he slams his mouth against your own and kisses you like he’ll never get another chance to do so again.

You can taste the iron on his tongue; cut your own on one of his fangs, and make him all the more hot and bothered as red spills all over his mouth cavity.

He’ll break you like this. The smell and taste of your blood are to blame, no wonder he didn’t say anything.

Your eyes are closed as you kiss, and so are his. You’re both attempting to focus better on the intensifying sensations whilst your tongues twirl around each other and the strings of saliva break and connect. Every time your lips brush, it sparks electricity in your core. He’s literally twitching inside you; all warm and big. And ready. So ready.

“You’re gonna take my knot and make me a daddy, right?” His whisper sends a chill through you as he grabs you and pulls you even closer. Your body is covered in markings of his teeth and claws; you’re going to ache all over in the morning. But it’s worth it when he licks the shell of your ear and hushes, “Gonna keep being a good lil’ mate for me, yeah?”

So this is how he gets when he wants to breed you for real. You can’t believe he’s had the self-control to pull out every single time you’ve had sex for nearly seven months, when he fucks like this. “Yeah,” you answer breathlessly. “Go-Gonna be a good mate, Kiba…! Gonna take your knot.”

Shit, hearing his name during sex is his weak spot. It makes him want to fuck you into the goddamn mattress until there’s nothing left of you to fuck – as if he isn’t doing that already. “Say it again.”

“Gonna take your knot, Ki-... I-I promise!” You’re struggling to breathe properly, holy fuck. “Gonna be a good mate…!”

“Gotta turn you around… Lemme see ‘em heart eyes.” He’s so close. It needs to happen now; his dick is starting to throb and you need to settle into a position that’s more comfortable before it’s too late.

Still, you whine when he pulls out, and you swear that you can feel him getting stuck between your walls for just the briefest moment before that lewd, squelching noise of his dick parting with your pussy sounds out. And then he’s manhandling you into position again; forcing you into something more decent and vanilla with such ease that you’d think he’s mulled this scenario over in his head a million times before.

And then you’re sobbing his name out when he fills you back up in one ruthless swing again and coaxes the third orgasm out of you. As he just stretches you to the brink of pain again and makes you take it with clenched teeth and teary eyes.

“Fuck, fi-fill me up…! Fill me up, please, please, please…”

Your belly is bulging with his dick, and you’re all oxytocin – delicious, mouth-watering oxytocin – as you begin gushing; leaking warm juices of pleasure until your head is lolling back into the pillow and you’re nearly incoherent.

He’s licking the sweat from your neck, biting on your skin and kissing you sloppily as he just keeps rutting, fucking, screwing. Your pussy is sucking him in no matter how much he bullies it. It’s as if it can’t get enough of him and that big dick of his. Just keeps on demanding that wet, rough pat, pat, pat!

He can nearly feel its fucking heartbeat on his dick.

“Fu-Fuck, baby… God-fucking-damn.” Kiba is stuttering – fucking stuttering as your fingers find his ears and begin to stroke whilst tugging on his hair. As lightning surges through his veins and he sinks into place and just spills everything he’s got the moment you cry out his name. As he gets stuck inside you and the knot is forced into place.

The fucking knot. He can feel you clenching around it; walls fluttering like the goddamn butterflies in his stomach as he paints them white with his warm seed. It’s better than anything he’s imagined. He’s fucked you so many times before, but taking you while he’s in this form is not just a delight, but a dream come true. He’s the luckiest man to ever walk the face of the earth. Utterly blessed.

Not even a droplet of cum is leaking out of you; you’re fused together that tightly.

It takes you both long moments to compose yourselves. You spend the passing minutes just bathing in the sticky afterglow and listening to each other’s hearts. You’ve never felt closer to each other. As if your very souls have mended and become one, the feeling is inexplicable.

“Oh, my,” you mumble through shallow breaths at some point, scrubbing both hands over your face. You’re simply exhausted, he’s hit you like a tidal wave. Has taken away the ground beneath your feet, leading you to a higher place. You just can’t seem to bring yourself back, no matter how hard you try. Especially because he’s still inside you. And because of the fact that he’s going to stay like that for a long while. “That was–... A lot.”

“I know,” he says, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His ear flutters the moment your sharp exhale brushes it when you chuckle. “Fuck, I’m sorry; I was so rough… I tried not to be, but some part of me just–...” He pauses, looking up at you underneath thick lashes. “I’m sorry, baby, okay? I’ll answer any questions you have now, since we, well… Have the time, hah.”

“It’s okay, we’ll do that in the morning when I can think straight again.” You’re pleasantly surprised at how tender and protective he is over you already. Nearly purring above you whilst drinking up your approval and inhaling your scent, he reminds you more of a kitty than a wolf. “I do have one question, though.”

“Shoot.”

“Is all of this,” you gesture all over him, “the reason why you like doggy so much?”

The stare he gives you in answer is so deadpan that it’s hard not to laugh.

“Whaaat?” Caressing his face, you squish both of his cheeks until his lips purse. “What’re you so grumpy for, huh? T’was just a question…”

He’s fighting back a smile of his own as he says, “I wanna break up.”

“Hah!” You snort, the sound derisive. “Turning me into a single mother already?”

A beat of silence passes between you again as he presses his chin to your chest.

“I really hope it’ll stick.” The competitive glint that appears in his eyes when he looks up at you just screams Kiba now. “I wanna give you a mini-me first try.”

“Oh?” You smile, all naughty-like whilst wiggling your brows. “Whatever happened to the kid inheriting my half of the gene pool as well?”

“Well, if it’s a boy, he can have my good looks and your bad taste in music,” he mumbles, chuckling. “And if it’s a girl, she can be a badass like me, and have your shitty cooking skills.”

“Idiot, shitty cooking skills aren’t even hereditary! And it’s not like you’re Gordon Ramsay, or anything…” You’re laughing now, flicking his ear as punishment. “If we weren’t stuck together, I would have beaten your ass by now.”

“You can try it in about,” he says, checking the alarm clock on your nightstand, “an hour, or so. And just so you know, I’ll fold you. Pregnant or not.”

“Yeah?” The smirk that ghosts over your lips is so pretty that it makes his heart jump. “You gonna bite me all over again?”

“You bet.” He’s kissing you right on the mouth as he whispers, “But only ‘cause I love you so much.”

“You know… It’s a good thing you’re a furry and not something nasty, like a zombie or someth– Ouch!” You flinch when he sinks his teeth into your shoulder as punishment, “Okay, okay; I’m sorry for calling you a furry! I won’t do it anymore, promise!”

Kiba is all eye rolls and exasperated sighs at your endless jabs.

“Call me that shit again, and I’ll bite your nose off.”

#kiba #kiba inuzuka #kiba x reader #kiba x you #kiba x y/n #kiba smut #naruto smut #kinktober

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absurdthirst · 2 years

Text

The Filing Room Fling {Marcus Pike x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 13.2k

Warnings: Sex pollen, non-conish territory, unprotected sex, rough sex, multiple rounds, poor little pussy trauma, angst, hard feelings, pregnancy, mentions of nausea, video recorded sex, oral sex (female receiving), child birth

Comments: Hit by something on his way back to the office, Marcus Pike is overwhelmed by the intense need to just act on his want of you. To the point where he finds you in the large filing room and overwhelms you with the best sex of your fucking life. Then he acts like it never happened.

A/N: Halloweenish in the sense that the climax happens on Halloween. And there's something about sex pollen and Marcus Pike that we love around the spooky season.

Co-written by @storiesofthefandomlovers

|| MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says 'creator chooses not to use warnings'. You also agree that you're the right age to be consuming anything here.

The filing room is large, quiet. The perfect place to just hide when you don’t want to deal with some of the team, deal with some of the inevitable office drama that sometimes pops up. Especially when you are the legal clerk for a team of FBI agents that most seem to think that makes you their secretary. You’re not, and Marcus Pike makes that clear to everyone on his team, but when the boss is away - you know, the team will dump all their work on you. Sighing, you look through the cabinet that you have open, cross referencing file numbers with the list that is on your legal pad. You need to get these files out and dig through them for the case that they are working on. Get them ready for Marcus to go through when he gets back to his desk tonight.

Marcus is making his way to work, having parked down the block since they are doing work on the parking garage in the Hoover building and he huffs when he walks past some young kids. Kids…they are probably in their early twenties. Shit, he is getting old. He grips his briefcase when one of the kids rushes towards him and he is ready for an attack but he splutters as some confetti explodes in his face. He coughs, waving his hand and the kids laugh, rushing off.

“Assholes.” He shouts, waving his briefcase just like his dad used to do. He wipes his face and continues on his journey when the kids don’t pay any attention. Within a few steps, he’s boiling hot. “Shit.” He mutters, frowning as he tugs on his tie, loosening it before he grabs his ID and enters the building, quickly making his way to his floor.

When he’s in his office, he shrugs off his jacket, taking his tie off entirely after he sets his briefcase down and he is wiping his sweaty brow. “What the hell was in that stuff?” He mumbles to himself. He notices the note you left, detailing your location in the filing room and he decides to find you, to ask if you know what’s wrong, but with each step to the filing room he takes, his cock seems to swell with need. He tries to adjust himself but he is panting with need by the time he lets himself into the filing room, desperately searching for you.

The door to the filing room clangs open, echoing throughout the larger warehouse sized room. “Hello?” You call out, looking up from the file you were making sure was the correct one. “Johnson? Is that you?” One of the team loved playing practical jokes and even though it was only right after Labor Day, he was already starting to talk about Halloween. You wouldn’t put it past him to try to scare the shit out of you. Footsteps seem to rush towards your direction, but no one answers you. “Hello?”

Marcus hisses, placing his hand on the cabinet as he struggles to walk, his cock throbbing and he pants as sweat drips down his cheek. He follows your voice and the noise of paper and cabinet drawers opening and closing. He finally finds your aisle and stumbles down it, seeing you there and he almost crawls to you, his entire body aching for you.

“Oh shit! Marcus you scared the shit out of me.” Jumping when you see movement out of the corner of your eyes, your entire body sags in relief when you spot the man who was the head of the Art Crimes Division. It had taken him a month to convince you to just call him ‘Marcus’ instead of ‘Agent Pike’ and you like the familiarity. You frown when he doesn’t answer, pushing the cabinet closed and taking a step towards him. “Marcus, are you okay?”

When Marcus sees you, he stumbles forward and just grabs you. Driven by need and all logical thought gone. He drags you into his body and presses his lips to yours, groaning in relief at the way your body curves against his, making him sigh as the fire burning inside of him recedes a fraction.

Marcus’s tongue slides into your mouth as he pushes you against the wall of filing cabinets, his tongue is insistent and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass. He grinds against you, his cock throbbing and he could cum just from this. He manages to hiss out, “let me fuck you” before he is spinning you around, reaching for the zipper of your dress to tug it down, his teeth biting into the nape of your neck.

“Oh fuck.” You choke out in surprise, hands slapping against the metal filing cabinet while he drags the zipper down. You can’t believe this is happening like something straight out of your dreams. His cock is grinding against your ass, making you moan when he twitches. “Fuck Marcus, yes.” You agree breathlessly, not caring that anyone could possibly come into the file room, it was a labyrinth.

Your breathless consent makes him groan and he runs his fingers down your spine before he pushes the dress off of your shoulders, exposing your bra. He reaches for the hem of the dress, tugging it up and his fingers slide between your thighs and he finds your clit, even in the haze of his lust he wants you ready for him.

You don’t know what’s gotten into him, but the question dies on your lips when he presses his fingers against your clit. Whimpering, you feel his hot breath against your skin, groaning as your hips push back and your ass grinds against his cock. “Fuck baby.” You bite your lip when he pushes the panties to the side and his fingers slide between your folds.

Marcus groans when he finds you wet, not dripping, but definitely turned on. His cock is aching and the heat inside of him burns higher and he works your clit while biting down on your neck, wanting to bury the flurry of words making their way up his throat. He wants to tell you how often he’s dreamed of this but the need burns stronger than flouncy words of dedication and desire.

He’s rougher than you ever imagined. Biting down on your skin and making you whine while the fingers that you’ve imagined touch you. You had always assumed Marcus would be sweet, gentle. There’s nothing gentle about this and you find yourself desperate for more. His other hand has a bruising grip on your hip and you reach for it, bringing it up to your breast and you moan when he immediately squeezes harshly.

Your cries are music to his heart and torture to his body, his cock aching to be released. He struggles to continue working his clit, needing to just sink into you but he doesn’t. He has a modicum of control and he squeezes your breast, groaning your name when he feels you getting wetter.

“Marc- oh fuck Marcus.” Your head presses against his shoulder, eyes closed while your hips roll with his hand. Panting while you work closer and closer to cumming for him. He pinches your nipple, growling against your ear and your entire body lights up. Giving a soft cry, your cunt flutters, soaking itself in pleasure while your stomach heaves.

Marcus groans, sliding his fingers back until he can feel how wet you are for him. His fingers then grip your panties, ripping the lace and he tosses it to the floor before he spins you around. "Fuck baby. Need you. Need to be inside you." He moans, pushing you up against the filing cabinets and his hands fumble as he unbuckles his belt, groaning in relief when he manages to pull his hard cock out.

Gasping at the way he is manhandling you, you’re dripping with need as you lift your leg up on his hip. Nearly as frantic as he is as you tug on his shirt, pulling it up so your hands can touch his heated skin. Marcus groans, shuffling forward and plunging into so hard it makes you squeal as he fills you.

His hands grab the back of your thighs, lifting you up and pressing you into the cabinets. His fingers digging into your flesh as he wastes no time in rocking into you. "Fuck baby. You're so tight." He groans, pressing his lips to yours.

You have to be dreaming. It’s the only reason you can think that he’s rough and dominant. Making your moan as you wrap your arms around his shoulders for stability while he starts to hammer into you. “Oh fuck, shit.” You pant out, his lips crushed against yours. It’s perfect and everything you need from a dirty fucking.

Marcus is like a man possessed, pushing into you with grunts and groans, unable to stop himself as the fire burns within him, this incessant need for you. His fingers dig into your ass as his cock pushes deep with each thrust. “Fuck baby. You’re so - so tight. Always thought you would be. So good.” He rambles, lost in a haze.

Whining, your cunt clenches around his cock, loving how fucking filthy Marcus is. He’s fucking you deep and hard, the force of it pushing up against the filing cabinets and if it weren’t for them being so sturdy, they might fall over. Instead the clanging of metal is loud, covering up your moans every time he hits deep. “Yes, f-f-fuck.” You stammer out, kissing along his jaw.

Marcus groans when you kiss along his jaw, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his tongue into your mouth. His fingers keep you lifted as his hips slam against your ass, seeking an orgasm from you before he cums, praying it extinguishes the burn inside of him.

You whine, loving how forceful he’s being. Your tongue tangles with his so all of your sounds are being poured into him. Your fingers slide through his hair, tugging and you’re rewarded with a bitten bottom lip and a sharper thrusts so you pull harder.

Your whines spur him on and he’s desperate to make you cum. His hand snaking between you to find your clit and he rubs harsh circles in an effort to make you cum. “Cum for me.” He begs, “please baby.”

All you can do is cling to him, your legs wrapped around his waist while he hammers into you. His thumb presses against your clit and you shatter, giving a hoarse scream that breaks and goes silent while you tremble around his pulsing cock.

Your cunt gripping him like a vice has him letting go, his cock pulsing as he cums, pushing deep as he moans your name. “Fuck baby. Yes. Yes.” He grunts, rocking himself through his orgasm as he paints your walls with his hot seed. The fire seems to burn brighter and he continues rocking into you, desperate to feel cool and painless.

You whimper when you feel the hot flood of his cum fill you up, wrung out from your own orgasm. Marcus groans, rocking into you still and you don’t feel him slowing down. “Fuck.” Your eyes wide and you turn your head to look at him, surprised he was the type of man to stay hard. You had assumed like most men, he was a ‘one and done’ kind of guy.

He can’t stop, continuing to thrust into you with a hiss and he groans your name, unable to stop as he seeks another orgasm from your body. His face buried in your chest, biting down on your nipple through your bra and he pants against your flesh, continuing to try and quell the fire raging inside of him

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, baby.” Your head leans back, thumping against the cabinet and you let him continue to rock frantically into you. Loving how needy he is and how sharp those teeth are on your breasts. “Feels so good, so fucking deep inside me.”

“This pussy - God, baby. Imagined it far too many times. I always - always wanted you.” He admits, lost to the haze of the drug and he groans your name when your walls flutter around his cock. His thighs are starting to hurt so he pulls out of you, forcing himself to do so and whines at the loss. Keeping you in his arms, he sets you down on your feet and turns you so you are facing the cabinet. He ducks down and pushes back inside of you without missing a beat.

You shudder, rocking up onto the balls of your feet as he moves. His little confession has your walls fluttering, hands holding onto the cabinet like your life depends on it. “Fuck Marc-“ you don’t know why he’s decided that today is the day, but he’s better than any lover you’ve ever had and you aren’t going to question it right now. “Take- take what you need.” You gasp out, feeling his cum sliding out and down your thighs with every stab of his hips.

Marcus pants, thrusting up into you and he grips your hips as he works himself deeper and faster, sweat beading on his forehead and dripping as he groans and moans. “Fuck. You’re - you’re so good to me baby. So damn good.” He hisses when you grip him again and his hands slide up to squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples through the lace.

“Shiiiit.” You whimper, eyes rolling back and you lean your head back against his shoulder. His cock is still shredding up into you and making you squeal every time he punches deep. “G-gonna c-cum.” You warn him, another couple of rough thrusts happen before you fall apart again. “Marcus!”

Your orgasm makes him cum, groaning as he leans in to bite down on your neck to smother the roar that bubbles up while his cock pulses inside of you, filling you up once again. “So- so fucking good baby. So good.” He groans, kissing the place he bit and the fire lessens.

He still doesn’t stop moving, making you keen at how he’s like a fucking machine. “Oh god, oh god!” You reach back and grab the back of his neck, feeling how tense his body is as he works in and out of you. “Fuck!” Your cries echo in the filing room but you don’t care, too busy being fucked to death by your boss.

His jaw is clenched, his entire body rigid as he works his cock in and out of you at a relentless pace, needing you to cum one last time. Sweat drips down his neck and he kisses the nape of yours, wanting to taste you. “Cum.” He pleads, choked up and lost in the haze of his own impending orgasm.

“I can’t. I can’t.” You shake your head, practically babbling as he continues to overstimulate you. It’s too much, the pleasure nearly overwhelming and you feel like he's ripping you apart piece by piece. You whine when he reaches around you, ruthlessly rubbing your clit, determining that you're going to cum again. “M-M-Marc-u-u-us.”

Marcus growls, “you can. You fucking can.” He rubs your clit harder, needing you to fall apart for him. “Cum for me. Now. Cum for me baby.” He hisses, thrusting into you with the same frenzied pace.

You wail, loudly and almost pained as you follow his order. Your cunt spasming and clenching like a vice around his cock. Your body jerks while you come apart again, sagging against the cabinet when your knees buckle.

Marcus hisses again when you push deep into him, making him growl your name, and he buries his cock deep inside of you. Painting your walls for the third time and he is just lost in the pleasure, finally able to relax and the burn extinguishes. “Fuck.” He grunts, kissing the back of your neck.

It’s all you can do to stay upright. Marcus holding onto you as you bite your lip when you feel him slow down and still inside you. You ache, your core throbbing from the most intense fuck of your life and you can’t even manage to get a word out as you pant.

Marcus closes his eyes, just breathing you in as he enjoys the bliss coursing through his veins, the drug seemingly worked out of his system. “Thank you.” He murmurs, kissing your neck before he pulls out of you, his cum plopping onto the government standard carpet and he’s so boneless to give a fuck.

You hum, shuffling as you try to lower your skirt down over your hips. Your panties are ruined and you are waiting for Marcus to say something, but it’s like he’s drunk. You don’t blame him, you’re exhausted too.

Marcus stumbles back, reaching down with shaking hands to tuck himself away. He is exhausted but satiated, the burn ebbing away with each passing moment. “So good.” He mumbles to him, buckling his belt before he starts to walk away, making his way down the aisle you were in without even a glance back at you.

When you turn around, Marcus is gone. Staring in disbelief until you hear the door open and close. “Oh my god.” You whisper, unable to believe that he just fucked you and walked away. Your legs shake as you put yourself back together, wincing when you close your legs and you know that you can’t stay at work. You leave everything where it’s at as you practically limp to your desk to get your purse. Marcus’s office door is closed and if you were so sore, you would March in there and demand to know what that was. Right now, that throbbing is starting to hurt so you just want to go home and put an ice pack on your pussy.

****

Marcus groans when he wakes up, his head throbbing and he instantly regrets sleeping on the sofa in his office. “Fuck.” He hisses, rubbing his eyes and his head pounds while he tries to remember why he slept in the office. He eventually decides it must’ve been working too late on paperwork yesterday. It’s weird, he doesn’t remember anything about the day before but he figures it was just a long day. With a sigh, he sits up and decides to freshen up using the toiletry bag he keeps in his drawer for times like this. After freshening up, he figures he will grab a coffee as everyone is filing into work and when he passes your office, you’re not there. Unusual. You are normally one of the first people in the office. He shakes his head, figuring you must be sick, and makes his way to the break room.

You whimper, leaning back in the bed and pressing another soft, icy cold gel pack to your vagina. You had called and left a voicemail, telling your boss you wouldn’t be in. There’s no way you can sit at your fucking desk. Not like this. Your lips are swollen, tender from what happened yesterday. You had tears in your eyes while you were bathing last night, cleaning up the fucking gallon of cum he had left inside you. Honestly, you don’t know how he did that, but you need to talk to him when he calls you back.

Marcus frowns when he grabs lunch and doesn’t see you in the office. He contemplates calling you but knows you wouldn’t want to be disturbed if you are sick. He heads back to his office, sitting down at his desk with yet another coffee, anything to stave off the headache that won’t seem to go away. “Fuck.” He groans, tempted to go home himself and just sleep the day away.

He didn’t call you all day. When the clock started creeping past five, you wondered if he would just come over after work. The conversation you needed to have should be in person after all. Your Uber delivery of cream to help the inflammation has done wonders and you can actually put on pants. Really loose ones, but it was better than you had been when you woke up.

Marcus heads home, ready to lay on the sofa with a beer and relax. He doesn’t know what the hell happened yesterday but he doesn’t remember a thing. He walks past your office, wondering what happened but he figures you will be in tomorrow. With that, he goes home to relax.

****

It’s disappointing. You’re disappointed in Marcus - probably since the first time you met him. It’s been complete radio silence, but you decide that you’re going to be the bigger person, just assume that he didn’t know how to approach things yesterday and would talk to you at the office. It wasn’t ideal, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t fucked you at the office either. Maybe he felt like he was intruding if he contacted you yesterday. Sighing, you readjust your purse on your shoulder as you wait for the elevator.

Marcus looks up when there’s a knock on his door and he smiles when you walk in after he calls out “enter.” The look on your face makes him frown and he looks at you. “Is everything okay?” He asks, setting his pen down and he looks at you, wondering what is wrong.

You stare at him for a moment, wondering if he is joking but he calls your name again. “What’s wrong?” The look of confusion looks completely genuine and you are just floored. He wants to pretend that the day before yesterday never happened. “Apparently nothing.” You huff before you roll your shoulders back and plaster on a professional look. “Is there anything you need from me today?” You ask, wondering if he’s just trying to see how you want to play this.

Marcus’s frown deepens and he wonders what the hell he has done wrong. He shakes his head, “uh, no?” He picks up his pen, “do you need anything from me?” He counters, noticing how mad you are at him and wondering why that’s the case.

You swallow back a derisive sound and shake your head. “I can’t think of a thing, Agent Pike.” The use of his title is needed right now. “I will finish pulling those files I never got to.” Your stomach feels like a roller coaster as you turn around and walk out of his door. Feeling used is probably the most appropriate one to settle on as you make yourself a cup of coffee and hesitantly go back to the scene of the crime.

Marcus watches you go, confused by the interaction, and he tries to figure out what the hell happened. He wonders why you are so upset with him. Did he forget to assign you a case? Is a coworker upsetting you? He knows you will come to him when you are ready to tell him so he turns back to his work, deciding to carry on.

Nothing has changed. Your cheeks burn when you see the file you had been holding scattered on the floor and the stains on the carpets where Marcus’s cum had landed. He hadn’t come back and cleaned up. Evidence that you hadn’t imagined it is right here and you bend down to pick up the file, to not think about it. If Marcus wants to pretend it didn’t happen, you would pretend it didn’t happen.

****

Marcus continues on over the next few weeks, thanking you when you bring him the files and he’s so confused when you blank him, unsure of what could have possibly happened to make you ignore him. “Is she in today?” He asks Carson, wanting to see you about the case but it’s been weeks since you’ve been ignoring him and you’ve been out sick.

Carson throws a look towards your closed office door and nods. “She is, but she doesn’t look very well.” He admits, worried about the circles under your eyes and the way you’ve been getting sick lately. All he’s seen you eat is ginger ale and crackers. “She won’t tell me what’s been going on.”

You’ve been tired all the time, tired and sick. Unable to tolerate much, the pack of crackers and the small can of ginger ale sit next to your elbow. You had just meant to rest for a moment, close your eyes after another wave of nausea washed over you, but you’re dead asleep, arms folded up in your desk and your head laying on them.

When Marcus walks in, he sees you passed out and his eyes widen. “Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He asks, concerned for your well-being and he reaches out to touch your arm as you remain still on the desk.

Gasping, you shoot up with your eyes wide, startled awake. “What- uh, oh-“ you fluster when you see Marcus in front of you, a concerned look on his face. “Yeah- uh, sorry. I guess I fell asleep.” You fidget, straightening up in your chair and reaching for your ginger ale to take a sip of it. “Did you need something?”

Marcus is even more concerned when he finds you asleep at your desk and he steps back and closes the door behind you. “Sweetheart. What is going on? Can you talk to me?” He almost begs. Before you froze him out, he had considered you good friends and coworkers. Now, he could be a virtual stranger.

You stare at him for a moment, contemplating telling him but then you remember that he had acted like the filing room had never happened. You shake your head, giving a small shrug of your shoulders. “Nothing you should concern yourself with, I’ve been dealing with some health issues.” You take another sip of your ginger ale. “Did you need something?”

Marcus frowns, shaking his head, and he figures you will tell him when you are ready. He sighs, “no. Do you need anything?” He asks, watching you and he wonders if you are keeping something from him. He wants to help, needs to help. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?”

“Can’t think of a thing.” You hum, turning back to the file you had been going through before you had fallen asleep. It’s petty to ignore him and you know it, but he had started it after he had gotten what he wanted and never thought to have a conversation with you about it after. You can feel his eyes on you but you ignore them, reaching for a cracker to munch on while you read.

Marcus sighs, knowing you aren’t interested in telling him what’s wrong and he nods, backing out of your office to make his way back to his own office, despondent and unsure of what to do to make your working relationship okay.

****

You don’t want to be here, but the team had complained that you didn’t hang out after work like you used to. You feel obligated to come to the annual Halloween party. Grimacing to yourself, you wonder if anyone will get your costume, very last minute and ironic if you say so yourself. Sighing, you watch the doors open and you step into the same office space you spent your work day, now decorated for Halloween.

The last thing Marcus wants to do is go to this stupid office Halloween party but he knows he has to make an effort with his team, keeping a good relationship with the people in department. He adjusts his costume - some basic basketball outfit he wears when he plays with his friends on the weekend, the ball under his arm - and he strides into the office, the music blaring and drinking already flowing.

“Hey! You made it!” Carson grins, his fake fangs on display and he holds up a freshly opened beer. “Want one?” He offers, making you quickly shake your head.

“No, I - I’m not drinking much lately.” You explain. “I’ve been cutting back.”

Marcus approaches the group and frowns when you don’t even greet him like everyone else does. “Hey.” He says, deciding to be the bigger man and he takes the open beer Carson went to give you. “You sure you don’t want a drink? I can get you something else.” Marcus offers.

“No.” You chuckle slightly and motion to your outfit. “What kind of mother would I be if I drank?” You joke. You had decided that you would show up as a mom. It’s fitting and a little ironic, even though everyone would think that the ‘baby on board’ shirt was a joke.

Marcus’s eyebrows raise at your costume choice. “Why- what made you pick that outfit?” He asks, genuinely curious. Carson walks off, leaving you and Marcus alone and he turns to look at you. “It’s - it suits you.”

You snort. “It better suit me.” You huff before you tap the shirt. “I picked it because I’m going to be a mom soon.” You take a deep breath. “Just like….. you’re going to be a dad.” It hadn’t been how you were planning on telling him, but he needed to know. You’re nearly nine weeks pregnant after all and you figure that since he’s not talked about that day, you would do it.

Marcus’s first reaction is to laugh. Figuring you are just playing into the costume and pranking him. His laugh makes you frown and he stops laughing. “You’re joking, right?” He asks, his smile slowly falling.

“Jesus Christ, Agent Pike.” Your tone is clipped and you shake your head in disappointment. “You’re taking that entire joke of ‘what happens in the filing room stays in the filing room’ too far.” There had been a joke that the filing room was where people went to cry or scream, and that no one should talk about it. Of course there were comments made about sex in there, but everyone was joking for the most part. “Excuse me.” He’s not going to see you cry, so you quickly turn around to leave. Coming here was obviously a mistake. Telling him was an even bigger one.

When you walk away, his mind whirls as he tries to understand what you mean by the filing room. His head hurts as the pain pricks behind his ears and he rushes to follow you through the crowd. When he finds you opening your office, he follows you, walking in behind you. “Please. I need - I need you to explain.” He pleads, almost desperate to know what the hell happens. He’d definitely remember if he had sex with you to get you pregnant.

You give a harsh chuckle and shake your head. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You are done with his bullshit. “You didn’t realize basic biology? Having unprotected sex, fucking me within an inch of my life, and cumming inside me three different times will result in an unplanned pregnancy, Agent Pike. No matter if you pretended it didn’t happen the next day or not.”

Marcus’s jaw drops, “I- I don’t - what the fuck? I don’t remember. I wouldn’t - Jesus Christ. I - I swear to you, I swear to God, that I do not remember being inside of you. I swear…that is definitely something I would remember and I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry sweetheart. I don’t - what - when did this happen?”

You roll your eyes, not believing him for a second and that’s sad. Before this happened, you would have said Marcus Pike was an amazing, stand up guy. Now….. “Two months ago, you walked into the filing room. And you were all over me, kissing me, begging me to let you fuck me. And after…you just walked away.” You snort. “I had to call out the next day because I couldn’t fucking walk and you just act like you didn’t fuck me for nearly two hours straight against a filing cabinet.”

Marcus bursts out laughing, unable to stop himself. “You really are joking. Is there - shit - is there a hidden camera anywhere? I know you are fucking with me. You gotta be. Come on sweetheart. Where is the camera? Where are the guys? You gotta be fucking around with me.” He chuckles, knowing he could never fuck for two hours straight.

Your jaw clenched and you barely keep yourself from reaching out and slapping him. The entire thing was one big fucking joke and you are at the center of it. “Yep.” You hiss sarcastically. “I’m fucking with you.” The idea of being in your office now is completely unappealing, making you point towards the door. “Now that you’re done gaslighting me, get the fuck out of my office. It’s after hours and I don’t have to deal with you, sir.”

Marcus knows you’re being serious, the look in your eyes is something he’s seen in people he’s interviewed. “Okay sweetheart. I- let me - there’s cameras in the filing room. Only department heads have access. Let me - let’s go to my office and see.” He orders, reaching for your hand but you pull it away. He nods in understanding and guides you through the party to his office, logging into his computer to access the camera system.

You huff to yourself, telling yourself that you should have just gone home. Not allow him the opportunity to ‘find evidence’ that you are telling the truth. Part of you wants to ask him why he’s doing this. Why is he putting you through this when he knows what happened? Part of you is mortified at the idea of there being cameras in the filing room. What happened is on tape. Instead you sit down in a chair and look down at your folded hands in your lap. You don’t want to look at him.

Marcus asks for the day and time and you give it to him, letting him pull up the footage and his eyes widen when he finds the camera that shows him stumbling into the filing room, another camera showing him grabbing you and kissing you, pushing you up against the filing cabinet and fucking you. “Shit.” He hisses, feeling awful for touching you like that. “I didn’t - did I ask if I could-?” He feels sick, thinking he’s violated you.

You frown, wondering if he’s not faking this for the first time. “Marcus - you know you asked and I said yes.” You insist, pointing at the monitor. The two of you are very enthusiastically fucking by this point on the screen. “Does it look like I’m resisting?”

“I don’t - I swear to you. I don’t remember it. I - fuck. When I was walking into work, I got hit in the face with some confetti and that’s all I remember that day. I couldn’t figure out what had happened for the rest of the day. It seems - I don’t remember this. I swear to you. I would never- I would have spoken to you about it. I wouldn’t have just walked off and never talked about it again and now you’re - you’re pregnant.” He chokes, heart swelling despite the guilt threatening to drown him.

Biting your lip, you look at the devastation that is written on his face. He’s not lying. Your heart thumps in your chest and you take a deep breath. “It’s- it’s why I’ve been so distant.” You admit quietly. “I was upset that you just seemed to blow me off and then I found out I was pregnant a few weeks ago. Right before you found me asleep in my office.”

Marcus wishes he could go back in time but he can’t. He feels so guilty, unable to comprehend it really. He wants to pull you close but he knows you could just ignore him, tell him you never want to see him again. He wouldn’t blame you. “I’m so sorry sweetheart. I didn’t - shit - I didn’t know. I understand now. It’s all my fault.”

“You really don’t remember?” You have to ask, have to know for certain. If he doesn’t remember, then it would be horrible for you to continue on. And why would he go check the cameras if he had remembered?

He shakes his head. “No. I promise you baby. I don’t remember. I don’t - if I had remembered, I would’ve been there. I wouldn’t have walked off. I wouldn’t have left you because I- I’ve - I’ve always had a crush on you.” He confesses. It’s true. You’re what he’s been waiting for and he won’t let you go, he won’t walk away. Especially since you are pregnant.

“Oh my god.” You cover your mouth as your entire world shifts slightly. “Does that mean I took advantage of you?” You whisper, horrified at the idea. If he was drugged, he had no clue what he was doing, where you were fully aware of what was happening - you could consent. “Oh my god.” You feel like you could throw up, again.

Marcus shakes his head, “absolutely not. Baby, I - I have always wanted you. I took advantage of you. I did. I shouldn’t have - especially, shouldn’t have just walked off after. Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He looks back at the video footage. Feeling distraught and incredibly guilty.

It makes you feel a little better, but you are still shaken. You had thought he was being an asshole. Not that he had no memory of what happened. “That’s why you didn’t call me.” You whisper. “I expected you to call, or come over when I didn’t go to work the next day.”

“I wish I could remember. I would’ve been there for you this entire time. I’m so sorry.” He reaches for you before lowering his hand, knowing he shouldn’t touch you. You don’t want him, especially not now. He has a responsibility to you but you likely don’t want him near you.

You see him reach out and then drop his hand. Remorse and guilt in his eyes and you feel bad for all the names you’ve called him in your head over the past two months. Especially when you found out you were pregnant. “I- it’s okay.” You murmur, reaching for his hand. “I’m sorry that I- I didn’t know you didn’t remember. I should have said something sooner. Rather than icing you out.”

Marcus shakes his head, “you haven’t done anything wrong. It’s - those fucking kids. I just - what do you want? I want to contribute to the baby if…if you are planning on keeping it?” He tilts his head, knowing you didn’t discuss it despite telling him your costume is a mom.

You bite your lip. “I was planning on it. I thought about terminating, but-“ you shake your head. “I’ve always wanted kids and a family but can never find a man who doesn’t play games or cheat.” You roll your eyes at your shitty luck with men. “So I just decided that this is my chance.”

Marcus nods, “if you want me to be a father, to be there, I will. If you want, I will step back and contribute monetarily. I- I want to be the father. I want…I want us to - to try and be together.” He tells you, giving you options about what capacity you want him to be in yours and the baby’s life.

You breathe out an exasperated and ironic sigh. “I’ve wanted to hear that from you for so long and now that I have- I don’t know if it’s best.” You whimper. “I don’t want you to be with me because of a child that happened when you don’t even remember sleeping with me.” You point at the screen, Marcus still hammering into you. “Don’t feel guilty and think you have to do the right thing.”

Marcus shakes his head, “not at all. I don’t feel guilty. I do - I think I’m halfway in love with you already and I know you don’t want me to do this because I’m obligated but I want to go slow. Maybe I can take you out for dinner and we go from there? I want to be in this baby’s life.” He looks back at the screen, “Jesus. I really went for it. Didn’t I?”

You can’t help but snicker slightly, your eyes on the screen as you see your mouth open in another scream. Obvious another orgasm. “I had to ice down my pussy.” You admit with a small chuckle. “Whatever made you do that is some strong shit.”

“Seriously? I- oh shit. I’m so sorry.” He cringes and you chuckle, “it’s okay. Trust me, it was worth it.” Marcus sighs, “I don’t know what it was. I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“Do you, uh, want to get out of here?” You ask, knowing that you need to talk about a lot of things. A conversation best suited for outside the office. “We could- I have the ultrasound at home. If you want to see it?”

Marcus nods, “yes. I’d like that. Can we - can we go now? I’m - the party will continue without us and I just want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk here. Let’s go sweetheart.” He says, standing up and he logs out of the camera, offering you a soft smile.

Nodding, you remember the state of your apartment and fluster. “Uh, so you’ll have to forgive my house.” You admit as you fish your keys out of your pocket. “I’ve been so sick, I haven’t really felt like picking up much.” You don’t want him to get the idea you’re a complete slob, but most of the nights you are sick or worn out so things just get pushed aside. “Tonight’s the first night I’ve actually felt like getting off my couch and I really didn’t want to come.”

“Don’t even worry about it, baby. I totally understand. I want to help. Maybe…is it okay if I pick some things up for you? You can sit on the couch and order me around for a change.” He teases, taking your hand once you are in the parking garage. “You want me to follow you?

Or you wanna drive with me?”

You giggle quietly and hate how much you want him to drive you back. “Do you mind?” You ask softly. You can always get an Uber to work on Monday. “I really don’t feel like driving.”

“Not at all. Come on, let me drive you home.” He tells you, guiding you to his car. He opens the passenger door and lets you in, rounding the car after closing the door to get into the driver’s side. He smiles and takes your hand again after starting the engine and backing out of his assigned spot.

You’re nervous, you can’t help it. Even though he said you didn’t take advantage you feel like you did. You’re pregnant and you honestly don’t know if he ever wanted to be a father. “Do you- I mean, I didn’t ask but are you okay with me being pregnant? It’s a big deal and I feel like it should be your decision too.”

Marcus laughs, nervous and breathless. “I, uh, I have wanted to be a father ever since my first marriage. My ex wife…she didn’t want kids in the end so we broke it off. I’ve always wanted kids so this…it’s my dream come true. And for you to be the mother? I couldn’t ask for more.” He promises, “I am happy. I’m excited.” He promises, squeezing your hand.

You smile, even if you think he might be trying to paint a rosy gloss over the situation. “Okay.” You squeeze his hand back slightly and decide to talk. “So, I understand if you want a DNA test but that - it was the first time I’ve had sex in a long time. So you don’t have to worry about getting anything.” It wasn’t like you had been thinking about safety or STDs when you were getting your brains fucked out.

Marcus nods, “I want a DNA test but not because I need to prove that it’s my baby. I just want us to be on the same page and I think we would always have that “what if?” question between us. I want to do this right. From the get go. I’m clean too. It’s been a while since - well, since Teresa.” He admits with flushed cheeks.

“You made up for it, that’s for sure.” You snort, unable to help the way you clench around nothing and get a little wet thinking about how he had fucked you. Looking over and stealing a glance at his slide profile, you admire the sharpness of his jaw and the curve of his nose. “And before you can ask, yes - you made me, uh, cum. Several times. You were insistent on it.”

Marcus blushes, pleased and glad to hear he pleasured you despite the way he took you. “Good. I'm glad. I didn’t - I didn’t want to just take. I’m glad I made it good for you.” He squeezes your hand and turns onto your street, remembering where you live but you’ll have to tell him the house.

Pointing out the quaint building that had been turned into apartments. Your space is still free and Marcus pulls into the spot and shuts off the engine. “I- yeah, again, I’m sorry.” You huff in embarrassment as you open your door. Your clothes are laying all around and there are some empty soda bottles. It’s not dirty, but you try to keep it neat and the mess has been bothering you but you’ve been too tired to do anything about it.

Marcus shakes his head and follows you into your home, “don’t even worry about it. Sit down and let me clean up. You want tea or a soda?” He asks, stepping into your kitchen. He wants to help, he wants to be there for you and ensure you are happy and healthy.

“I don’t-“ Marcus turns around and looks at you, his expression telling you that he was going to get you something to drink. “Tea.” You murmur. “I try to only drink ginger ale when my stomach is upset.” You pick up your extra bra from where it was flung on the back of a chair and fluster slightly.

Marcus nods, laughing softly when you try to hide your bra. “Sit down. Find something to watch, and then I will clean up before we watch tv. I want you to relax and we can talk while the show plays.” He steps into the kitchen to start preparing your tea.

“Oh my fucking god.” There’s a pair of your panties right at the edge of the couch where you had been desperate to be comfortable last night and they were irritating you. You huff to yourself and reach down to scoop them up. You shove them in your purse along with your bra before you turn on the tv and try to follow his orders. Nervous and reaching for the sonogram picture that is on the coffee table. He will want to see that.

Marcus quickly prepares the tea, coming out of the kitchen to set it down on your coffee table. He sees the scan and swallows, “is that- is that the baby?” He asks, looking up at you as he shifts to kneel down beside you.

Nodding, you hand him the sonogram and watch as his eyes soften and get very misty. It’s amazing how he cradles the picture like it is fragile. “Too early to learn if it’s a boy or girl.”

He caresses the scan, “I don’t care what it is. It’s mine. It’s ours. We made that. I just - I never imagined I’d get the chance…I was never - my ex didn’t - she didn’t want them with me.” He swallows and reaches for your hand. “I’m sorry for what happened but I’m not sorry for this.”

You smile at the happiness that is spreading on his face. “I’m not sorry for what happened.” You admit quietly. “I hated that you seemingly ghosted me, but I understand why now. I wish you remembered it, but no regrets.”

“No regrets.” Marcus echoes, setting the scan down and he will ask you for a copy. “Come on baby, relax and let me clean up. Find a movie. I’ll get this place clean as soon as possible.” He winks, standing up and he gathers the bottles in his arms, putting them in the trash.

It’s nice being taken care of, if you’re honest with yourself. You’ve felt guilty about the mess, even though it’s not much - it bothered you. The fact that he is willing to come and pick up things you should have been able to do yourself is almost luxurious. It’s the Marcus you fantasized about. Not doing your bidding, but being considerate, thoughtful. You hun and watch him move, noticing how relaxed he looks in his basketball shorts and a t-shirt. Almost as if it’s just a lazy night at your shared house.

He moves fast, cleaning and putting everything in the dishwasher before turning it on. He is soon seated beside you on the sofa, turning to look at you. “Did you find a movie you want to watch, sweetheart?” He asks, reaching for your hand to bring it to his lips, wanting to assure you that he’s here.”

“Since it’s Halloween…we have to go with the classics.” You smirk, nodding towards the screen where the original Halloween is queued to play. “You don’t mind do you? Figured since you left the party for me, you should have some scariness.”

Marcus shakes his head, “not at all. Let’s do it. I’ll get some snacks.” He stands up and makes his way into the kitchen, looking to see what you have. “Have you been grocery shopping lately?” He asks, frowning when he doesn’t see a lot of options.

“Oh.” You join him in the kitchen with an embarrassed look on your face. “I’ve, uh, I’ve been really sick with the pregnancy so far. I’ve been living off mostly crackers and some soup sometimes.” You admit quietly. “Sorry, I don’t really have much.”

Your confession has his heart breaking. “It’s still early. I can order some groceries. What snacks do you want? What have you been craving?” He asks, reaching for his phone so he can order some snacks. He wants to take care of you. He won’t let you go without anymore. He’s here now and he’s determined to make sure you are safe and healthy.

It’s been so long since you’ve craved anything, but your stomach seems to be acting alright. Maybe it was partly due to the stress of Marcus not knowing. “Some cookies?” You ask hesitantly. “You don’t have to do that. I can order something.” You don’t want him to feel like he has to take care of you.

“I want to take care of you. Cookies. What else? Tell me baby. I want to look after you. Look after the baby. I need to - please just let me do this.” He begs, feeling like he had to do something after you’ve been going through this alone for so long.

Your heart melts and you nod. “Maybe some brownies? And some Mandarin Oranges? Oh, what about some french onion dip?” The more you think about food, the better everything is starting to sound. It’s like all of a sudden you are thinking about things you haven’t eaten in forever. “Potstickers. And cheese.”

Marcus chuckles, quickly adding those things to the list. “Got it. Got it. Yep.” He responds until you are finished and he checks out, selecting the quickest delivery. “Will be here within an hour.” He tells you, kissing your hand again and walks you back out to the sofa. “Press play sweetheart. Let’s relax.”

You’ve spent weeks on this couch, miserable. Moaning and sometimes hanging your head over a trash can while you try to keep the crackers and soup down. Wondering if you just weren’t made for motherhood after you found out why you were so sick. You don’t think Marcus knowing about it is a cure, but you curl into his side and you can’t help but feel more relaxed than you have in nearly two months. You hum, pressing play and tossing the remote next to the two of you before you wind your arm around his stomach and press your head to his shoulder.

Marcus kisses your hair, letting you relax against him until he is shifting away from you to get the groceries when they arrive. He feels at home with you, relaxed and enjoying his time with you. He brings the bags in, starting to unpack it after ordering you to stay put.

It feels so weird to have someone else doing things for you. It’s been a long time since you’ve been in a relationship and even then, you didn’t have him putting up groceries. It’s nice. You pause the movie and grin when he brings out one of your trays loaded down with snacks. “That’s a lot of stuff.” You laugh. “Did I ask for all that?”

Marcus chuckles, “yes you did.” He brings you over the cookies and finishes up putting the groceries away. He sits down with two bottles of water and kisses your forehead again. “You’re pregnant. You get whatever you want, whenever you want.” He promises, nudging his nose against yours before he kisses your cheek.

“Oh I do, do I?” You grin at how ridiculous that sounds and your cheeks head up slightly as you turn to find him still looking at you. “I get what I want, when I want it?” You ask, smiling widely. You want to kiss him again, without any drugs in his system. It would be nice if he remembered it.

Marcus smiles back, glad to see you happy, and he cups your cheek, hoping he’s reading this right, and he prays you don’t slap him. He leans closer, slowly, and he presses his lips to yours, soft and hesitant, afraid you’ll reject him.

This kiss is sweet, hesitant. You sigh softly, eyes sliding closed and you lean into it. Your own hand coming up along his arm and shoulder to hold onto the back of his neck. Moaning softly in protest when he goes to pull away and you tug him closer again.

Marcus doesn’t want to rush anything but his hands slide along your back, pulling you into his lap until you are straddling him. He kisses you slow and deep, not in any rush for this to move to anything else, he’s happy just to kiss despite his cock hardening in his shorts. You are irresistible and to think you are carrying his baby…it’s a lot for him to handle.

You feel him harden under you, thrilled that there is evidence of him wanting you beyond that night. You pull away after several long kisses. “That day- you told me you had always imagined touching me. What it would be like.” You brush his hair back and give him a small shrug. “Was that real or was it the drug talking?”

Marcus shakes his head, “no. I’ve always wanted you. I’ve always thought you were beautiful.” He caresses your back and kisses your jaw. “We don’t - I don’t expect anything from you tonight. Or anytime soon. Or ever.” He adds, not wanting you to be pressured. He’s not here for sex. He’s here for you. For the baby. “If you give me a minute I can-” He shifts beneath you, not wanting you to be uncomfortable.

You smirk, reaching down and cupping him through the basketball shorts he’s wearing and making him groan. “No wonder you made me ache.” You purr, squeezing him gently. “Apparently the drugs didn’t make your cock bigger, Marcus Pike just has a big dick.”

He blushes, a deep red, at your comment and he chuckles nervously. “You think?” He asks, quiet and unsure as he wants to make sure you aren’t messing with him. Your fingers continue to squeeze him and he groans again, twitching beneath your palm.

Nodding, you slip your hand beneath the waistband of his shorts and underwear. Feeling the hot skin, taunt and stretched over his length. “Yeah I do.” You whisper breathlessly. “Never have to put a gel pack on my vagina after getting fucked before. Just you.”

He feels guilty for leaving you to do that. “Promise I won’t do that again. Next time…if there is a next time, we will go slow. Let me make you cum on my tongue before I am inside of you. Won’t be rough. I want to make you feel good.”

Pressing your thumb to the tip of his cock, you love the way he twitches in your hand. He’s sweet for that, but you don’t want him to be upset. Smearing the bead of precum around the sensitive head of his cock, you disagree. “I think it was because it was two straight hours of fucking, you came three times. And made me cum even more.” You hum, slowly starting to stroke him. His breathing hitches slightly and his fingers dig into your waist. “I don’t mind rough. I like it. But I do want to see what slow looks like with you. Or normal sex.”

He blushes a little more, his cock twitching in your hand and he keeps his eyes on you. “Baby. I- I want you.” He confesses, his fingers caressing your hips as you work his cock. His hands sliding up to cup your breasts through your shirt. “Two hours?” He can’t believe he lasted that long.

“Two hours.” Nodding, you confirm the fact that whatever he had been exposed to had given him the stamina of a God and you learned that you can’t fuck immortals. “I want you too, baby daddy.” You can’t help but tease just slightly, always enjoying being playful in the bedroom and now that the air has been cleared between you and you are feeling slightly human, you want to have fun with him.

“Jesus.” He chuckles nervously, “I- I haven’t - never. Wow. That won’t happen again.” He confesses jokingly. “Can I?” He asks, reaching for the hem of your shirt and you nod, letting go of his cock so he can pull your shirt over your head. He tosses it aside and groans at the sight of your tits, leaning down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking softly in case you are sensitive.

“Oh fuck!” Gasping, your fingers dig into his shoulders. You’re sensitive, but not in the painful kind of way. More like the moment he starts sucking, you immediately want more. It’s not dominant and yet it’s perfect. “Oh fuck, Marcus.” You can’t believe this is happening, not expecting the night to go this way. Even still, you aren’t complaining. “Bedroom.” You beg, wanting to have sex there instead of your couch.

Marcus pulls away from you, kissing your jaw, and he shifts you off of his lap. He doesn’t want to carry you in case he drops you, too concerned about the baby, and he takes your hand so you can guide him to your bedroom. “Take me to your room sweetheart, let me touch you.” He wants to go down on you tonight.

You hum, grinning at him as you tug him up off the couch. “This way, baby.” You twist your arm around and start to lead him down the hall to the bedroom, past the guest room that would soon become a nursery. Your bed is unmade, but you don’t care right now, not when you know the two of you are tangling up together in the sheets.

He doesn’t even notice the bed, too busy focusing on you, especially when you are carrying his child. He lays you down on the bed, kneeling in front of you on the bed and he hooks his fingers in your shorts. “Can I?” He asks, wanting you to give him permission.

Marcus is excited, his cock leaking against his basketball shorts as he tosses your shorts and panties over his shoulder after pulling them off. He groans when you automatically spread your thighs, making him hiss when he sees your cunt, and he can’t stop himself from surging forward to slide his tongue through your folds.

Crying out, your eyes close and your fingers sink into his hair. He’s enthusiastic, you can’t deny that. Groaning as you whimper, sighing out at the feeling of his tongue against your clit.

He shifts onto his stomach, curling his fingers around your thighs and he nuzzles his nose through your curls, loving the hair there before he flicks his tongue over your clit again, moaning your name as he sucks it into his mouth.

As intense as that first and only time together was, you prefer this. His tongue is firm, wet. The pressure is amazing as he suckles on your clit and toys with it in the wonderful heat of his mouth. Your thighs try to close, but they can’t, those broad shoulders you had clung to while he was fucking you now keeping you spread wide. You love that he’s taking his time, learning you. “Oh fuck, Marcus.”

He is in no rush, licking into you and savoring you with a firm tongue, his fingers digging into your flesh. “Fuck baby. You taste good.” He says as he pulls back, smacking his lips, and he pushes his tongue deep inside of you with another deep groan. He fucking loves how you taste, how you feel. Tangy and soft.

Subtly grinding your hips down, you beg for more. Obsessed with the way that he seems to be in tune to what you like. Marcus Pike can not only fuck like a God but eat pussy like one too. Your fingers tighten in his hair. “So good, fuck, Marc- your tongue.”

He smirks against your pussy, so glad you are enjoying yourself. He lets go of one thigh, shifting to position his fingers at your entrance, pushing one then two fingers into your cunt, his lips still sucking on your clit expertly while he listens to your moans and figures out what you like.

Whining, you feel him pump his fingers inside you. Curling them up and searching while he continues to lick and suck at you. Waiting until you cry out the loudest and then concentrating on that spot. Making you breathless as he works you closer to cumming. “Oh fuck, more, please baby, make me cum.”

Marcus is determined to make you cum, pushing his fingers deep, curling them and he flicks his tongue over your clit, desperate to make you cry his name. “Cum for me baby.” He orders, burying his face back into your cunt, his fingers still inside of you.

It only takes a few more eager passes of his tongue before you are flying. Your cry of his name is loud enough the neighbors will complain but all you can care about is the way your body shakes as you come apart for him. Thighs pressing against his ears while stars burst behind your eyes.

Marcus almost suffocates in your thighs but he doesn’t give a shit. The way you cry out his name makes him nearly cum himself but he fucking loves it. Working you through it, he laps at your clit until you push his head away and he sighs, kissing your thighs before he rests his chin on your thigh, looking up at you in awe. The mother of his child. God, it’s perfect.

Chest heaving you try to catch your breath, that delicious tingle of pleasure humming through your body. You let go of his hair gently. “Take off your pants baby. I want you inside me.” You beg, wanting to feel him inside you again, hopefully without having to lay in bed with a sore pussy all day tomorrow. Marcus will more than likely be extra careful with you because of the baby.

Marcus nods, shifting off of the bed to push his shorts down, his hard cock bouncing as he kicks them away and he pulls his shirt off. “Gonna take care of you.” He promises, shifting to kneel between your legs and he caresses your thighs as he reaches down to grip his cock, positioning it at your entrance and slowly, so slowly pushing into you with his eyes fixed on yours.

The first time he had pushed inside you had been frantic, hurried. This time was nearly torturous with how slow he sinks into you. Inch by inch you feel your walls stretch to accommodate him. Pulling the low, lengthy moan out of you while he fills you up. Your hands on his shoulders try to pull him closer but he is steady, mouth dropping open when your muscles contract but he doesn’t move any faster. “Maaaarcuuuuus.” You whimper, groaning in relief when he is buried to the hilt.

Your whimper has his cock twitching and he hisses when you grip his cock in your walls, so wet and velvety and tight. It’s heaven. “Shit.” He hisses, leaning in to kiss your chin and along your jaw as he gives you a moment to adjust before he rocks his hips, wanting to be slow and unhurried.

You were right to think that his pace would be slow. The muscles in his arms flex and twitch as he holds himself over you, slowly working his cock in and out, giving you the best view in the world as he looks down at you. Your hands roam over his back, sides, down to grip his ass and you urge him to come closer. “You won’t hurt the baby.” You promise.

He is worried about that but knows you wouldn’t risk it so he pushes deeper, his hips flush against yours on every thrust, his lips pressed against your chest and neck. “God, you feel so good. How the hell did I forget about this?” He scoffs breathlessly.

Moaning quietly, you turn your head to kiss his jaw. “I don’t know.” You lick along the hollow of his throat and bite down on his chin. “I didn’t. Even when I was mad, I still touched myself thinking about how you fucked me. How deep you got and how hard you went.”

Marcus rocks into you, caressing your cheek as he shifts his weight onto one arm before he slides his hand down to squeeze your breast. “I- fuck- I don’t think I’m capable of that again.” He chuckles breathlessly. “You are - you’re so good. Gonna be so gorgeous full of my baby.” He groans, kissing along your neck.

You giggle quietly, “I’m already full of your baby.” You remind him. “You made sure that you filled me up properly.” You lift your legs higher on his thighs and lock them together around his waist. “Good- good thing you like me. Since a baby is a very permanent connection.”

He chuckles breathlessly, “good. I want permanent. Always have.” He admits, reaching back to grip your thigh. “I meant - I meant seeing you round, with a bump.” His hand comes up to caress your lower stomach.

You hum and give him a small grin. “Does someone have a thing for pregnant women?” You coo playfully. “Or just a woman who is pregnant with your baby.”

“Just the woman who is pregnant with my baby.” He quips with a smirk, playfully leaning closer to nip your jaw. “I am pretty glad it’s you. I’ve always wanted you. Always thought you were the most beautiful woman inside the office.”

You sigh happily at the comment. “I always had a thing for my boss.” You confess with a smile. “He’s handsome, kind, and thoughtful. And I always imagined he would be a fantastic boyfriend.” You moan when he hits the right spot inside you and you clench around him.

Marcus blushes, loving the way you clench around him. “You want that? Me to be your boyfriend? I want that. I want you.” He kisses your jaw. “I want you to be mine.” He confesses, “I - it would be too easy to fall for you.”

You can help but give a laugh as he rocks into you, reaching up to his jaw and cradling it, guiding it back to your mouth for another kiss. “Yes, father of my baby, I want you to be my boyfriend.” You whisper. “It would be too easy to fall for you.” You repeat back to him with a giggle. “We did things out of order.”

Marcus snorts, “who said anything has to be in order?” You nod and he kisses you, shifting his weight so he can push deeper inside of you. “Boyfriend.” He declares, “you’re mine and I’m yours.” He promises, kissing you again.

Your breath catches and all you can do is hold on, eyes closing while your mouth is pressed to his. Breathing your moans into his mouth with every thrust and your walls start to flutter even though the pace isn’t nearly as frantic as it was that first time. “Gonna cum,” you warn breathlessly. “Oh fuck, baby!” You squeal when he snaps his hips forward, walls clenching down around him and a rush of your cum soaks his cock.

The way your walls grip him has him clenching his jaw and he’s so close himself but he needs you to cum one more time. He pulls out of you, making you whine, and shifts to lay down next to you. “Ride me sweetheart. Want you to cum one more time.” He orders, giving himself a moment and when you straddle him, he reaches up to squeeze your tits.

You moan when you sink back down on him, feeling him deep inside your walls and grinding your hips. “Fuck baby.” Your hands are propped on his chest and you give an experimental squeeze from this position. “You seem to always want me to cum multiple times.”

“Jesus.” Marcus hisses when you squeeze him within your walls. “Just - just being a good boyfriend. Plus I like to watch you cum.” He admits, thrusting up into you when he grabs your hips to help you grind on his cock.

The coarse hair at the base of his cock grinds against your clit and makes you gasp out loudly, hips jerking in his grip. “Oh fuck.” You bite your lip and lean down so you can press your lips to his. “Want to feel you cum again.” You whimper, shuddering at the angle and so very close to cumming again now that you are getting stimulation against your clit.

Your whimpers have him grabbing your ass, keeping you still so he can thrust up into you. “Cum for me baby. One more time then I’ll fuck you.” He promises, panting as your juices just soak his balls, telling him how close you are. “Please baby. Cum.” He pleads, desperate for you to cum so he can.

Gasping out his name, you fall headlong into your orgasm. Body stiffening on top of him, you can’t do anything but shake through your pleasure as you collapse down on his chest.

Marcus can’t hold back anymore, thrusting deep despite how tight you’re gripping him and he pushes deep inside of you a few thrusts later. A strangled groan escapes his lips as he cums, painting your walls with his hot seed and he hisses your name as he rides his orgasm.

You whine at the feeling of his cum inside you again. Turning your head from his shoulder so you can kiss him softly. “God baby.” You murmur. “So good, fuck that feels so good.” You reach up and brush his hair back and smile at him softly.

Marcus closes his eyes, just enjoying how good it feels to have you around him, surrounding him, and he sends a thanks to God for you being in his life, for you carrying his child. “I want you to move in with me.” He murmurs, stroking your back as you stay on top of him.

You’re shocked, but then again, you’re not. Not with you carrying his baby. It’s just the type of thing Marcus would insist on. “Depends on if your place is nicer than mine.” You tease, leaning in and kissing his lips again. “If mine’s better, you can move in with me.”

“Wherever you want. Mine or yours. I’ll move in with you, or you can move in with me. I just want to be with you. I want to create a home together. Or we can find somewhere else. Together.” He tells you, caressing your cheek. “I just want to spend every night with you.”

You grin down at him. “It’s going to be fun watching you eat your words when I’m hugely pregnant and moody and you’re going to the store at 2 AM to get ice cream.” You tease, honestly impressed with his willingness to jump in headfirst.

Marcus chuckles, “I promise you, I won’t ever be annoyed. I’ll probably eat ice cream with you. I just - this is all I’ve ever wanted. A family. You’ve given that to me and I can never thank you enough. I am all in, baby. All in.” He promises, kissing you again.

****

“I’ve changed my mind!” You shout, your grip on the railing of the bed like iron and you know your other hand is crushing Marcus’s but you can’t care right now. All you can do is grit your teeth together on a scream as another harsh contraction rolls through your body like a freight train. “I don’t want to have the baby today. I don’t want to have the baby at all!”

Marcus winces as you squeeze his hand. “Baby. Baby. Listen to me.” Marcus wipes your forehead with his free hand. “You’ve got this. You can do it. You’re so strong. So fucking incredible. I love you. I love you so much. You can do this.” He promises, kissing your sweaty forehead but he doesn’t give a damn. You are so strong and he knows you can do this.

“No I can’t.” You whine, flopping back against the bed after the pain has passed, panting. You had woken him up at 2 AM like you had threatened so many months ago, but it was because your water had broken. Telling him that you needed to go to the hospital. Hours later, the sun is up and the doctor is telling you that it’s time to deliver your baby. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry Marcus. I promised you a baby, but I’m not doing this.” It’s dramatic but you can’t help it right now.

“You can do this. Baby. You got this. Just gotta breathe and push and I have the best push present for you.” He promises, kissing your forehead. “Come on, sweetheart. You got this. It’s time to meet our baby. You’re gonna be such a good mama.” He looks at you, knowing you have no choice but he wants to support you.

“I love you.” You whimper, grateful when he grabs the ice chips and slips one into your mouth. He’s been a perfect partner, supporting you since he found out on Halloween that you were pregnant. “Fuck!” You hiss, feeling the next contraction starting.

“Come on honey.” He eggs you on and he hisses through his teeth when you squeeze his hand even harder. You squeal, almost sobbing as you bear down, and Marcus exhales when your grip loosens but his heart thumps when the doctor tells you the head is out. Marcus leans over, inhaling deeply and the nurse guides your hand to touch the head. “There’s your baby. Keep pushing and they will be out soon.” She promises you.

“Oh my god.” You whisper, tears starting to stream as the next urge to push hits you. Marcus still holds your hand, his other one pushing one of your legs back like the doctor instructed and he’s watching you push the baby out of your body. Gritting your teeth, you bear down with all your might, screaming as the baby slips from your body and into the doctor’s waiting hands.

Marcus chokes on a sob when the baby begins to cry, the doctor cleaning the baby up before he announces, “you have a girl.”

You and Marcus had agreed to keep the sex a surprise and Marcus sobs, “we have a girl. A baby girl.” He leans down to kiss your forehead before the nurse brings the baby over to you.

“Daddy. You want to cut the cord?” The doctor asks and Marcus nods, following instructions and tears streaming down his cheeks until he returns to your side to get a good look at his daughter.

“She’s so beautiful.” You sob, looking at her in wonder as she cries and squirms in your arms, obviously annoyed with being evicted from her cozy little home in your womb. You check her fingers and toes and coo over every little part of her. “She’s perfect.” You whisper, looking up at Marcus. “We have a perfect little girl.”

Marcus kisses your hair, tears still falling and he reaches out to caress the baby’s head, in awe of the life you created together because of that drug. “Marry me.” He requests, unable to keep from asking you a moment longer. He has loved you since the day you moved into his place. He will love you until the day he dies. He knows this as fact so for you to not be his wife seems absurd.

Eyes widening in shock, you gasp. “Marcus-“ the baby settles against your chest and coos softly, making you look down at her. “Baby, I-“ his tearful eyes look at you with such love and adoration you know he’s thought this out. “Yes.” You whisper, reaching up and covering his hand with yours. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”

He grins, “I have the ring with me.” He shifts to his overnight bag, grabbing the velvet box and he fumbles with shaking hands to take the ring out, reaching for your hand to slide it onto your finger. “I love you.” He declares, kissing you softly while the baby latches onto your nipple after the nurses clap their congratulations.

You can’t help but cry, tears sliding down your cheeks as you kiss him again and again. “I love you, I love you so much.” You break the kiss off and look down at your daughter as she makes frantic noises as she starts to try to suckle. “I love our daughter, that she’s ours.” You murmur softly.

“You and her…you’re my world. I’d do anything for you both. Our family. I never - I never thought I’d get to have this but - thank you. Thank you baby.” He murmurs, caressing his daughters back and he swallows the lump in his throat. That one incident in the street has led to Marcus having everything he’s ever wanted.

Eight months ago, he wanted to slap those kids for making him forget he fucked you, but now…he wants to hug them because, although you had an unconventional start, Marcus knows you’re gonna have an amazing life together. From coworkers to lovers to husband and wife. Marcus couldn’t have asked for a better partner.

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