after shower

I'm never moving on from him, I fear. 🐺

Here's to what should have been 😓

for @silxani.

you’re not sure exactly what it is. emotionally, you’re far from being ready for an heir, you can’t imagine bringing a child into this world and you know—with certainty—that right now you can’t give them the attention they would deserve. and yet, every time you walk alongside HAK, you imagine a new life with him. it’s for fun, you justify, picturing you two as parents - him as a father. how your little one might inherit his hair or his strong head. you think about how he’d teach them like he taught you, how he’d pick them up like he can do to you so easily. your eyes drift to him while you ponder this fake reality, looking up at this towering figure and asking the dangerous question of: why not? letting your insides lead your logic around naively. if it feels this good, it can’t possibly be wrong. the process of baby-making certainly appeals - and it’s not like neither of you have brought up your stances on children before… still, it’s complicated. you press your lips together, biting down on them from the inside as you watch him lumber next to you, when he curiously—and rightfully—eyes you from the side, your gaze snaps back to your front, a familiar heat blooming on your cheeks at the idea of being caught just fantasizing about it.

you really don’t mean to, but cooped up in this little tent it’s not long before all that’s left to do to pass the time is tangle in one another’s embrace. you let him push your clothes apart, hastily dishevel his own, all in the name of the desperation to put his skin to yours. “come here, why’re you being shy?” he questions impatiently, and forgoes your right to answer by swallowing up whatever half-assed response you had. his open mouth returning to your own as his tongue halts yours and feels big in between your teeth. you have a mind to tell him to not talk to so loud, the dragons are camped right next to this one and they already know the… intimate nature of your relationship with hak - something that arguably goes beyond even the emotional or physical connection normal people seem to have, venturing further into vicious codependency more than anything. anything too audible, and you know someone nosy will try to listen in for further confirmation of your affairs. he can tell you’re distracted, and to keep your attention on him, his hand clamps down on your hip to yank you farther down the mat. propped up on his elbow, he hovers over you, enveloping you completely, reminding you of how little power you hold in this situation when you can fit the length of your body inside the span of his, even your feet toe just below his knee.

“if you want me to stop - just say so.” he repents, in case his show of strength manhandled you instead of enrapturing you. unfortunately, his way of speaking often comes off as exasperated instead of comforting. you don’t know what to do, but he can feel your neck rearing, and your hands begin to push at his chest being this overwhelmed. organically, your body is retreating, and he takes the rejection. he breaks the contact, “okay, seriously, what is it?” that frustration peeks out again, not at the lack of consent but at your hesitance to show a backbone. it’s a common reoccurrence. the paleness of his skin is blotched with a crimson stain of want, his blue robes falling off his shoulder to display the chiseled lines of his chest - he’s completely indecent, and even in the dull light it’s plain to see the outline of his interest draped in his clothes. your throat is closing up, swallowing dryly as your cold hands juxtapose the hot skin of his muscle.

“i’m… i’m scared.” you speak without thinking. a pregnant pause sits heavy in the air as you watch him process this. he sits back on his elbow, brows furrowed, lips parted, and fingers laced together. his tongue toys with his inner cheek as you set yourself up to be a little more level with him.

there’s a lot to take in with a statement like that, and he’s restraining himself so as to not jump to disastrous conclusions. “scared? scared of what?” he asks, very carefully. he can feel you retreat into yourself. “princess.” you peer at him.

“i think i want…” you begin, but looking at him like this… it’s too much. “i want to keep going.” you don’t give him time to deny you, surprising him by practically pouncing on him, rolling him to his back while you straddle and take his mouth. you’re avoiding the real problem, and he makes a startled noise until it dissolves into a moan you draw out from your tongue swirling around his. his suspended hands didn’t know where to go before, but they find their home on your back and the curve of your ass. what’s left of his robe on him is bunched up into your hands, pressing him hard into your mouth. you can’t get the thought of it out of your head—baby, baby, baby, hak’s baby, hak’s, hak’s, hak’s. you don’t even realize your scrubbing yourself down on his abdomen at the fantasy. you can’t tell him you want this, but you can pretend for a little while that this is what you’re both doing. you can privately pretend that tonight you and hak are trying for a baby. mistakenly, in your haste, you go for his neck, kissing down the thick column to feel his rough n salty skin between your teeth.

“woah, woah, hey. i’m not—ngh—going anywhere.” he tries to tell you, but he can’t say no to the way your tongue feels against his pulse point. once more, he tries to calm your sudden descent by palming your upper arms but you won’t have it.

“hak.” you whine, desperate for any kind of relief from the craze you’ve been in, rocking on his abs, begging with your body. “please.”

he’ll feel like shit for it in the morning, but he can’t say no to you at all. being on top doesn’t last long, cupping the back of your head to protect you when he spins you back around, landscaping your body with his as he swiftly maneuvers you. in a flash, he hikes your skirt up, snaps your legs up, and fishes himself out of his pants - he’s not waiting anymore. and yet, he finds your gaze, “don’t make me do this, princess.” it’s a playful statement that gives you one more out. your expression of determination when you nod your head is all he needs before he lines himself up, holding your eyes the entire time his tip searches for the give. he knows it’s a bad idea after what you said, he knows, but when you ask him for it, he feels shame for withholding it.

his head sinks in, and you gasp. even that’s thick enough to stretch you with a sting. you squeeze your eyes shut, clutching onto what little clothes are left cascading off his herculean form, you’re readying yourself for the pain of more, but it doesn’t come. he doesn’t even rock shallowly like you usual. curiously, you peel open your lids one by one to question it. he’s staring at you, he’s in but he’s studying you with a different glint in his gaze. it’s searching, it’s patient, it’s kind. you flutter your lashes. “do you want me?”

what an inquiry. “mhm.” you respond.

you can feel yourself closing up; he can, too. his hover above your hips rears, and then pushes in again, just the tip. it takes you a second to realize he’s feeling vulnerable right now, the great thunder beast of the kouka kingdom has been the victim of your mental distraction, and now faces the fear of being used instead of desired. your hand tenderly strokes down his hair, for you have been thinking about him the whole time and he’s right in front of you.

“yes, yes. i’m sorry.” you clarify, although you’re not sure you’re convincing him. you fear you won’t be off the hook until you tell him exactly what you’ve been pondering as of late. that’s simply not possible right now… at least, not in the way you’ve been expecting it to. “can we, maybe, try something else?” your hands settle to clasp at the back of his neck while he massages the rim of your hole with his head. his gaze narrows at you. “i wanna…” you hesitate. “i wanna pretend with you.” his brows give it all away, pinching together and arching inquisitively—even apprehensively. “like, um,” you regulate by glancing at the canopy of the tent, trying to find the words. “when people try to have kids, i want to do that.”

“you want to try for a baby right now?” he does that hak thing where he comes to the crude conclusion you hate saying out loud, and speaks it so flippantly you want to yell and hit him. you can hardly scold him right now, pressing your lips together.

“no.”

“then what is it?” his impatience towards your ability to beat around the bush shines through, yet his faithful rutting into your heat is speeding up.

“i just wanna fantasize about it, okay?” you snap defensively, and out of habit to taming your inner brat, his free hand traps both of your wrists above your head.

“you really have terrible timing, princess.” your insides are soaking, naturally anticipating his venture as he sinks deeper and deeper in. “an heir is a serious topic, shouldn’t be talking about this when i’m inside of you.” he’s admonishing you in his own way too, but his tone conveys his sense of playfulness on the matter. your passionate reactions are getting him frisky.

“i don’t want an heir, i just wanna pretend we’re normal people with—ah—normal lives.”

“you want a husband? you wanna be the little woman, padding around with bare feet? pregnant and in the kitchen? that doesn’t sound like you, princess.”

“not all of it…just thought it would be… fun.”

he’s hitting the kind of depths that make it hard to think now, squeezing his fat cock into your hole, forcibly expanding the confined space as he goads you to keep talking about what’s making you hot n bothered. “to want my baby?”

“hak-k!”

“well, that’s it, isn’t it? you want me to fuck a baby into you?” he palms your knee, massive fingers spanning past it as he forces it to bend up to your ear. “we’ve talked about it before, it’s not a new thing.”

“why can’t we fantasize about it - i’m not ready to do it yet.”

halfway in and he still feels too big, crying out every time his tip kisses your cervix. he’s always been too big for you, the kind of length that can’t bottom out in your cunt no matter how hard you try. “oh, i don’t believe that. you’re ready, look at you.” he taunts. “bet you spent all day thinking about it, thinking about us, thinking about giving me a kid. you wanna make me a dad?”

your hands fly to cover your hot face, hiding from how quickly he’s honed in on his weakness. “why’s it so bad to think about?”

“s’not. it’s not at all, princess. you think i don’t imagine filling you up like that? you think i don’t wanna pretend we’re ‘normal people,’” the phrase you coined, “makin’ a family?” his pace picks up and he abandons your wrists to trace down your little body, callused hand leaving goosebumps in its wake until it can thumb at your clit. “is getting knocked up what does it for you? or do you just like the process?”

“hak, be quiet.”

“you wanted to talk about this.”

“yes, but i don’t want everyone to—ah!—hear.”

“let ‘em. not everyday the crown princess of a kingdom wants to have a lowly general’s kid—“

“don’t talk like that!”

“it’s true, isn’t it?”

“i don’t care about all that, i just want to have your baby - your baby! i want it, hak, i want it so bad. if anyone should get it, it should be me. i want you in me like that… i want that piece of you…” you trail off in your outburst, embarrassment creeping up when you realize what you’re saying. hak’s always had a smart mouth, one that usually teases you to tears because you’re so easy to rile up. it appears that you’ve tied his tongue this time, because he’s staring down at you with wide eyes. halfway seated inside of you, as far as you can have him right now, n he’s still absentmindedly circling your clit. he wasn’t expecting this.

the emotional intimacy of the confession only serves to spur him on, revving back up into a steady pace, evolving into slamming into you - as much as you can take. it’s a new fervor, one that shoves choked sounds of strained pleasure out of your mouth. it hurts but in a good way, your core begging for mercy while your brain is turning off from the overwhelming sensation.

“oh, i’ll fucking give you one right now.” a vindictive threat spills from his grit teeth as he pins you between the mat on the ground and his hips, ramming into your narrow sex as if he’ll be able to fit fully inside by sheer willpower alone. you don’t get any other words from him, no promises, no praise, just determination and husky grunts that push out from his nose. endless endurance keeps you exactly at the edge, loyally hits just the right spot over and over again, until you can’t speak on on your own behalf. you’re a doll.

you’re a doll, at least until you feel the familiar stuttering of his impending release. the alerts in your brain compelling you to bring your wobbly legs up to lock around his abdomen.

“what are—what are you doing?” he chokes out.