#altered this one just a little bit but I feel like it's better now so. repost. sorry!!

[rosieofcorona]

[e1dritchjackal0pe]

𝔗𝔬 𝔗𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔢

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Isolated and weary of your solitary marriage with the prince, you gather enough courage to approach him one night with the declaration that the both of you try to become better acquainted. When you had proposed the idea, you never could have imagined how it would forever alter the dynamic of your union.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: 18+ content. Minor's scram. AFAB descriptions, some female implying terms used such as "wife." Fingering, Oral (F!Receiving), naked female and clothed male, some hints of sub Aemond, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink. Not proofread. Probably very poorly translated High Valyrian, blame the internet, not me. Aemond being a little shit, but also a little soft, just to balance it out. Aemond speaking in High Valyrian because it does unspeakable things to me.

𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢𝔰: 24.8k words. Another unnecessarily long fic because I have no self-control. Reader is a Baratheon. This was honestly just an excuse to write about dragon riding with Aemond. A little bit of Vhagar appreciation because she receives far too much hate.

Life has not been easy as of late. With the threat of war ever-present, looming over the entirety of Westeros like a great storm cloud, thick and heavy with the promise of shrieking winds and a downpour violent enough to rip the foundations of the Seven Kingdoms from the earth and sweep them away in tides of blood. This war could be the end of it all. With dragonflame so readily at the disposal of both opposing sides, there is the possibility of no victors in this battle. All could very well wind up as a victim. Charred corpses to litter the burned lands, scorched black and red from fire and blood like forgotten toys carelessly left discarded and damaged by the children (or the gods) that played with them. 

It is becoming increasingly difficult to nudge it all - the paranoia and worry - back to the distant recesses of your mind. But it clings to you like a stubborn sickness. Making a home in the pit of your stomach like some vile, nauseating thing. It has you hopelessly adrift with no source of salvation to cling to. Especially now that you are in a place that brings you no comfort. Confined within the cold, labyrinthian walls of a castle that you do not truly know beyond the whispers of its name and the faint, watery memory of once dining in the Great Hall as a child while people jovially chattered and feasted on banquet. 

It's all so lost. Being forced to show a polite expression and nod and entertain lords and ladys that hold no true familiarity or warmth to you. Strangers with faces that would smile and stare as though they have known you for years. It is all so restricting. Binding and tight and clinging to your person like the new garments that you have been gifted with upon your arrival to the Red Keep; forced and expected to sport the customary garb and accessories of the Targaryen culture and trends. All wrapped up and pinned up in fine jewelry and embroidered fabrics like a prized broodmare. 

But perhaps then, even "prize mare" is giving yourself far too much praise. Prized pawn is far more fitting of a term. Just some plain, ordinary piece meant to be moved about the board at the whims of the player. Plucked to jump from square to checkered square with little care. You are a simple instrument on a much bigger board; the scope of which, you know is entirely beyond you and your imaginations. 

It makes it all so difficult to not be cross. To push down the anger that prickles at your flesh like hot coals and burns within the chasm of your ribcage. You feel cheated somewhat. Used and played with despite having prepared for this possibility since the moment you had been delivered from the safety of your mother's womb and into the chill of the world. It should be no shock that you have found no comfort. Not in your daily duties and the nugatory responsibilities and diversions you must fill your time with; all of the needlework, entertaining and book reading. It is tedious. Dull. Weak distractions against your harsh reality. That here, so far from home, you are well and truly at your lonesome. Wed to a man who wants little to do with you beyond your expected obligations.  Though you might truly have only yourself to blame for that. Your husband had worn his intentions on his sleeve when he had arrived Storm's End that one tempestuous evening, bearing his true colors to your father and your sisters when he had traded for the Baratheon House's allegiance and loyalty in the exchange for accepting your hand in marriage. He propositioned such terms swiftly. Shockingly so. Sheading little thought to the requirement - it was as easy as breathing for him. All while you stood alongside your sisters, being mindful to keep your spine rigid and head held high while your future was bartered away so easily; swallowing down the unease that stirred in your gut. 

And even with your reservations on the matter, and the buried urge to rush forward and object, you could not help but to study him from your place beside your siblings. You had heard stories of the Targaryen family your entire life. And although you had seen them once before as a young girl, the memories had done little properly illustrate the nearly ethereal grace with which he carried himself with. The first word that had crossed your mind when you first watched him prowl into your family's ancestorial home was simply just:

Stunning. 

For most men you would have used handsome, or dashing. And perhaps those words could be used for the likes of Prince Aemond Targaryen, but there's something about them that does not quite do him the proper justice. He was imposing as soon as he entered the space. Footsteps softly echoing along the stone floors as he approached your father's throne with nothing but pure confidence in his stride. As though you were the guests and not he. And like a moth drawn to a steady open flame your vision had immediately been caught and fastened onto him as though you were placed under spell. 

A simple, harmless fascination, you like to tell yourself. After all, it is not so strange to be captivated by a man who is said to be closer to a god than man; one who rides on the back of a great dragon. And when you first saw him, even with all your uncertainty of his arrival, it was impossible to look away. To try and not to study the countenance of a man you have heard so much about. Tracing the pronounced ridge of his aquiline nose, the keen cut of his jaw, the curved shape of his lips that were set with a slight purse. His features were decidedly sharp, but it suited him well with the assured way he held himself. The scar that marred the left side of his face could do nothing to damage his beauty. A beauty that is so inherently Valyrian. Attributes that mark someone who has blood of the dragon rushing through their veins, smoldering their hair into shades of smoke. And his hair was no different. Spilling down his back like rivulets of pale, silver silk. 

But it was his eye that had caught your attention the most. Even with only one to look, it peered at the world with a focus that was nearly unnerving. Locking onto your father in striking shades of either blue or violet - you could not tell at the time from the distance that had spaced between you. 

And in the moment that you had stood and evaluated him with a sense of wonder and dread, his eye had never flickered over to you. He had hardly spared you a glance. Holding his focus entirely on the Lord before him with the hints of a satisfied smirk nudging at the curled edges of his mouth, even while he held himself so composedly. Like he was truly pleased with the trajectory of the evening. The lack of his attentions on you should have been more than enough to clue you in on the trajectory of your life with the prince. Moreso than the ominous tempest that raged outside the stone walls. Downpours and thunder are no strangers to Storm's End, often ravaging the world beneath with flurries of rain and winds strong enough to lift waves to thrash the against the surface. But that day you had decided that the storm that had blotted out the golden hue of the sun was not simply just a common occurrence, but instead a bad omen. One brought on with the arrival of the prince, set as a warning - a blight on the future of your matrimony that heeded nothing but misery. And you had been right in some regards. 

You knew for certain that as soon as Aemond Targaryen had stepped away from you to stalk after his young nephew with the insistent ravings, flashing a blade with nothing but a crazed scorn in his voice, that you would find no solace within the cradle of your marriage to the prince. And the death of the Velaryon child and his dragon that swiftly followed that night only solidified that assumption. You are married to a mad man. 

One ruled by duty and strategy, but a mad man, nonetheless. 

Even with that in mind you could not help but to long for a connection with the prince. No matter how minuscule or spurious it might be. Your associations with the second born son have been spars at best. Done purely out of obligation at best. Each time you had ever been within each other's presence it had been out of a means to project the image of husband and wife that was expected by the masses and the court. The wedding, the feast you had partaken in, the consummation of your marriage. It was all done with an air of detachment from the prince. He was never rude, or untoward with you, but there was silent boundary that he had sliced between you with his absence and apparent lack of interest in your union. The nights that he would bed you were few and far in between. Done out of the necessity of producing an heir rather than a means to show affection. You could feel it in the clinical way that he touched you. Gentle, firm and somewhat rigid when he would guide you to bend over the foot of the bed with the palm of his hands, lifting up your skirts swiftly as though he is always eager to be done with it and somewhere else. 

You are not a foolish young girl anymore who would listen to your late mother's romantic stories and tales of besotted, star-crossed lovers with a rapt, captivated attention. You now know the nature of marriages. Especially those of highborn society. The expectations of them. They are often done out of the means to strengthen political alliances, not done out of a declaration of love. 

Still, it would be nice to at least know the man that you are set to spend the remainder of your life until the Stranger finally takes you from this mortal realm. The desire for it burned at you, ate at you with teeth that ripped and gnawed at your heart piece by vicious piece until you felt hollow. Not even Queen Alicent, despite her best, though often rare efforts to bring you ease has managed to pull you from the depths of your melancholy.

You wanted more. You were weary of belonging to a stranger. A man who made no attempts for as much simple conversation with you but spent every waking moment strategizing for bloodshed and the success of his house. You knew that if you meant to alter the course of your union with the prince that it is you who must go to him. And the thought of that terrified you greatly. 

You had heard the tales of those who dared to claim dragons that had no desire to be asserted. Those fools' endings were all same. Snapped up between the sharp maws of the great beasts to be swallowed in a gruesome lump of bloodied meat and crushed bone or engulfed in raging flames of bright, molten gold. You had absolutely no desire to become one of those fools. And despite knowing your husband so little, you were able to gather enough, that despite his cunning, he was also undeniably impulsive. Lead by the ferocity and the heat of the dragon blood that coursed throughout his body and burned within his soul like the fire they spit from their throats. If you went to him in the endeavor of drawing him into a connection that he truly did not seek, the only thing you might gain in turn is his ire. 

And so, you had resisted the urge for as long as you could. Settling for the brief interactions you shared during the supper's spent with the family, or the moments when he would meet you within your chambers to do his duty has husband and prince in the hopes of planting his seed and creating his successor. But it all quickly caught up with you. It was not enough, living on the meager crumbs that these encounters provided. Quickly you had decided that you would rather hypothetically get scorched alive by the scorn of your husband than continue to spend your days as a living dead woman, drifting about the cold corridors like a ghost wondering about the life that could have been, had you simply just confronted him. 

It was nearing the night, just little before the hour of the bat, that you found yourself standing outside the doors of his chambers, with soft lilac hues of the twilight slipping through the windows that lined the corridor and painted the floors in dusty shades of lavender. It was purely unbecoming of a young woman to be out so late without an escort, even if she was intending to meet with her husband. It had made the anxiety quivering in your chest even stronger. Fluttering like some wild, frightened creature while your mind swarmed with paranoia and hesitation. Your thoughts had seemed determined to persuade you from your intentions, begging that you turned heel and returned to your quarters before you were noticed. 

Perhaps he was already abed. Deep in slumber and at peace in his rest. Or perhaps he was not even in his chambers at all. Busy with matters beyond yourself. 

It was all almost enough to tear your feet from their place on the floor, but your body seemed eager to betray you, and before you could even notice the movement of your own hand, it was lifted and the sound of your knuckles rapping against the cool wood of the door had rung out within the confines of the hallway. Sharp, loud, and almost violent in your ears. Echoing out like nails being struck into the face of a coffin. 

You nearly flinched, mouth running dry at the realization of what you had just done, and with it the urge to flee had never been so great. Trembling up your spine like a cold breath. You had hoped that he would not answer. That he truly was asleep or vacant from his apartments, but like a twisted jest, the universe had answered your desires, and the sound of his voice slipped from beyond the door. Muffled by the obstruction, but no less commanding. Unable to ignore the call, you had drawn in a deep breath. Steeling yourself and the relentless patter of your heart before you drew the door open and slipped past the threshold with the drag of your skirts whispering ominously as you went. 

The air had seemed to shift when you had entered, and the shadows that clung to the corners and ceiling of the room felt as though it was prepared to swallow you whole, had it not been bayed away by the low flickering the candles that burned about the space like plumes of delicate amber. Your eyes had flitted about the quarters like a startled doe's, desperate to learn the structure of the area as though you might have to flee. Your vision had skipped over the various tomes and documents scattered about the tables; the random objects placed about in meager means of decoration. But you could appreciate them at least, for giving you a small glimpse into the mind of the man you have been bound to. Much like the chessboard left perched atop a tabletop, like a clue to his intelligence and keenness for scheming, and the quills and ink vials and parchment spread along his writing desk. 

But you were only able to distract yourself for so long before your attention had been tugged along as though by an invisible string to focus on the man sitting across the space from where you stood, one of the aforementioned documents held within one of his hands while he watched you steadily. His expression was mostly neutral. But even with how easily he was usually able to school his features, you could see the hint of surprise bleeding into his gaze. The subtle raise of his brow and the confused purse of his lips. You could practically see the question ready at the tip of his tongue, and you loathed the awkwardness that permeated the air. Stifling and prickling like a rash along your skin. 

"Wife," he finally greeted. Though you could still hear the dull bewilderment in the softness of his tone. 

It took you a moment to collect yourself, feebly trying to shake the uncertainty that still clung to you and when you had finally willed yourself to speak, you could only think the gods that your voice did not quiver, even though it was but a few words. "Lord husband," you returned the acknowledgement, nodding your chin slightly in substitute of a curtsy.  You watched closely as he gently placed the document in his hand down flat on the desk, tracing his face and the shadows the spilt across his features from the dim candlelight and the remaining, dull remnants of sunlight that managed to slip in through the windows; the reflection of the fire and sun glinting within the captivating shade of his eye. 

"To what do I owe the honor?" He inquired. 

It had been enough to snap you out of the daze that had clouded over you, jerking you from it so suddenly that you had nearly gasped with the realization that you had been staring. Embarrassment burned at your cheeks, hot and uncomfortable. You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders in an effort to at least appear confident, but you swore that you had caught the edge of Prince Aemond's mouth twitching up in the semblance of a smile, letting you know that you had not succeeded in your aim. 

"I wished to speak to you." You had answered, clasping your fingers together in front of yourself, and you were now unable to ignore how clammy they had become. 

"So late in the evening?" Came his quick reply, the brow above his good eye perking ever so slightly. And if you did not know any better you would let yourself entertain the idea that it nearly sounded playful, had his face not been so woefully lacking joy. 

"Yes," you said just as fast. You had to ignore the weight of your tongue in your mouth. It suddenly felt too thick. Too clumsy. 

He only hummed in response to your answer. The sound was low and inquisitive, thrumming through the air like warm velvet. And though he had not spoken a word back to you, the singular eye that had he pinned you with bore into you with enough focus to drive you to speak. Forcing the words from your still lungs like a grip that did not exist. Wringing your breath from your body with only the weight of his gaze. "I would like . . . " Your voice died out as quickly as it had risen, snagging within your chest like it had been caught on something. It did not help that your nerves were alight. That your heart was beating wildly, like a skittish animal. But it was mostly just irritating. It had made you feel stupid, the way that your body refused to yield to your own commands. Far too caught within the spell of a primal sort of caution and reluctance to relent to something as easy as talking. 

"You would like to. . ?" Prince Aemond articulated the question slowly, letting it hang between the both of you, as though you were a child. Annoyance had spread throughout your flesh like a wildfire, and for one idiotic moment you contemplated snapping at him. But fortunately, your self-preservation still clung strong and forced you to be mindful of your tongue. 

"This may sound odd," you began, swallowing around the spit that had welled up within your mouth. "But I would like to get to know you better, my prince."  

It sounded completely stupid as soon as you heard it from your own ears, and a part of you had longed to wince but you remained surprisingly unflinching. But Aemond it seemed, had been taken by complete surprise. Even though the slip in his composure was quick and subtle, you caught it. The mild slump of his shoulders, the straightening of his posture, the soft pinch between his brows. All of these minute tells that told you so much, though they were gone just as quickly as they had shown. Melted away and replaced by a composure that must have taken him years to perfect. 

But no matter how small his shock had been, the sight of such a naked, human emotion flickering across his face was enough to break the barrage that sealed your voice. The words seemed to flow from you more freely then in a rush of thoughts and feelings; desperate to finally speak your mind and make peace with yourself, and most importantly him. 

"I hold no delusions over this marriage. I know that our union was a strategic one, brought on by the possibility of a looming war, and the foundations of it are clear." Your sight had flickered back up to his own once more, and the hold of his stare once again threatened to leave you breathless. "I realize that we are not truly lovers, however, I do not think that must mean we are to be strangers also. I wish to know you, husband. I do not expect your affections, or love, but I desire at least the possibility of your attentions. An understanding of each other. And perhaps, if it is willed, a sense of companionship. A comradery." 

He remained horrendously silent from his place across from you. Watching you with a keen eye while the hand that still rested along the desks surface fidgeted, the point of his mid-finger ceaselessly gliding along the back of his thumb. It had made you nervous, the way he watched you. Akin to a predator lurking in the shadows, awaiting its moment to strike for its prey's vulnerable throat. You must have stumbled. Foolishly, like the greedy men in all of those ancient folktales. You slipped within the dark and it was then you knew that the dragon was stirring; throat welling up with fire to burn you down for being so presumptuous. 

"So you are here, in the beginnings of the night, interrupting me in the midst of my duties, because you are lonely?" 

That all that you needed to know that you had truly wandered too close. Assumed and hoped too greatly. Blindly walking into the dragonpit to be burned alight like kindling for a fire. And even with irritation gnawing at you and begging that you speak out in your own defense, you had known that you must tread lightly, even while the prince scorned you like you were a naive girl child chasing after some witless fantasy. He wished to humiliate you it seemed, and even while he was entirely successful in his aim, you would not give him the satisfaction of showing it. But you knew that you had to be tactful. An unchecked rise of your emotions would only serve to go against you. 

"Yes, my prince," you had agreed without wavering. And much like your own, his gaze had shifted. The sardonic edge that it had held changed into something darker. More directed than even before. Studious almost. But no matter how much gravity it had held, it was no longer enough to withhold you from speaking. You kept your voice as light as possible, but the firmness, the fervor behind it was more than apparent, drifting out to fill the silence of his quarters. And with each sentence, you let the courage that you had not allowed before to guide you a step closer to the prince. "Yes, I long to know the man that I am to be tied to until death. Yes, I long to know the father of my future children. Yes, I long to know my husband." And with that you allowed yourself to halt after your final step. Then you were so close to his writing desk that if you had leaned over you could have easily reached out and touched him. But you remained fixed in your place, hands still clasped and shoulders high. "Regardless, if my husband will become a lover or simply an ally." 

He remained silent in his observations. Regarding you closely as though he expected you to suddenly give way underneath his stare and dash out of the room. But you did not. Not even when the chill of apprehension trembled along the expanse of your back, sneaking underneath the fabric of your garments like a cold draft. He shifted back in his seat, muscles coiling underneath the dark leathers of his doublet and for a moment you had considered the idea that he might lunge. That he would strike forward like the instincts of his blood no doubt urged him to do. At the very least, you had suspected cold words. A detached response that would order you to return back to your apartments and to leave him undisturbed of your person until he saw fit. 

"Very well then . . . Wife." His head tilted just the slightest when he addressed you, and the glint of his eye reflecting the light of the many candles seemed to bore into you; notching the words he spoke that much deeper and nourishing the surprise of his agreement. "I will make more of an effort to appease your loneliness, should it bring you ease." 

It was because of that decision - because of that night, that your relationship with the prince had been altered. No longer did he suit to sit along your side at social gatherings, tightlipped and rigid, but now he made somewhat of a strive. Much more than before. Though still quiet, he took more attempts to include you in the conversations that he would bother to indulge in. Typically, unremarkable topics that he would try to join you in on, like snide comment on the lords and ladies or an observation of your gowns. Prince Aemond, you easily concluded, had no idea how to speak to the fairer sex. A characteristic that you might have let yourself see as charming if he were not always so subtly contemptuous and withdrawn. Even with all of the improvements with his communications, his presence itself was still scarce. Constantly torn away by the impending threat of calamity and battle. 

And no matter how much you knew that his absence was entirely necessary for the good of the kingdom, especially after the Battle of Rook's Rest and the unexpected injuries that have left the King bedridden and near death, the prince was sparser than ever, with him assuming the role of Prince Regent in his brother's stead. But like a poison, that bitter, selfish part of you could not help but to be displeased by the near constant lack of his company.  

Today however . . . Today you might actually be regretting his attempts at companionship. 

"You still have not told me the nature of our outing, my prince!" You call to him, trudging after him like a shadow with your skirts bundled and clutched within your palms as you desperately attempt to keep up with his much longer stride uphill. The muscles of your calves have already begun to burn and ache with your body already growing weary of the incline, and the weight of your dress does little to aid you in your climb along the earth, still damp from last night's rain. Realistically, there are only a few paces between you and he, but in your mind, it feels as though there are stretches of land separating you. 

He only offers you the barest look, hardly even glancing over his shoulder at you as his long legs continue to carry him upward. "For someone who is so desperate for my time, I did not expect to hear any complaints," he answers, full of snark even though his tone remains just as steady and soft as always. 

Heat prickles at your cheeks. Though now, with your exertion, it is difficult to ascertain if it is simply from your efforts to trek after him or purely from annoyance. A retort rests heavy on your tongue, but you are unsure if you should bother spending your breath on it. It is tempting. But perhaps later. "It is no complaint; I am simply wondering just where it is that you are taking me. If you wished to go for a walk, perhaps the castle grounds would have sufficed . . . or at the very least, a mention of it would have given me time to at least prepare for more a suitable attire." 

He spares you another glance, managing to look down his nose at you from over his shoulder as he continues his ascent until he reaches the leveled crest of the knoll. Leaving you to chase after him while the damp soil, and soaked grass and wildflowers threaten to slip your traction out from underneath your feet with every step. You have never had the urge to strike the prince before, but here and now, you think that you could if he were only close enough. This time he opts to remain silent. Returning his attentions on what lies ahead of him, and it has a flicker of concern breathing to life inside of you. The paranoid, unfounded thought that he means to kill you tries to sprout. It would explain why he had lured you so far away from the safety of the castle walls, and why he had chosen to leave both of your mounts downhill and unattended to graze. How pathetic it would be, to be slain in the middle of the wood, like a dumb girl lured away by a fae in an old folktale. 

And if the treasonous whispers that dart about the castle are true, that he had been the one to strike down the king above the battlefield of Rook's Rest, then surely, he would have no qualms about killing the likes of you. 

Still, while irritation and caution thrums underneath your flesh, you cannot but help to stare at the expanse of his back as you near the top of the hill, taking in the sight of the confidence in his posture as he all but struts along the earth. The sunlight dances along the pale shade of his hair, bringing to life the faint hint of cream and soft gold that hides within the silver. He is gorgeous out here like this. Relaxed within the peace and confines of nature, while the little birds nestled inside the protection of neighboring trees chatter and trill. For a rare moment like this, touched by sunlight and the air, perfumed with the musk of a storm passed and the fragrance of flowers, it is easy to pretend that he is still not a complete stranger. That the impossible gap that seems to divide you both has grown closer, and he does not look to you as an obligation but as a comfort. 

Another fool's reverie perhaps. But a sweet one that you cannot help but entertain while you raise your muddied skirts to strengthen your stride and widen your steps in the hopes to gain on him. But then blessedly his pace finally begins to slow, giving you the means to finally draw in your straining breaths and lessen the expanse between you, making sure to near him from his right, so's not to walk in his blind spot. He tilts his body just the slightest, angling it so that he is able to give you his focus as you draw near, and you have to try your hardest not to gasp and gulp for air in front of him. You need to give him no more reasons to tease and prod at you. 

The glint of his eye, a color that you have now discovered to be a delicate, yet vibrant shade trapped between a soft blue and a muted purple draws you into his stare as you approach. It seems to hold you captive, grabbing your attention as you come to walk alongside him, no longer huffing and panting, and the ache in your legs begins to subside. 

"You have asked to become familiar with me," he speaks suddenly. Not a question at all, but a statement, and the mention of it has your brows raising just the slightest as you manage a nod. "All I ask of you is that you do not scream or allow yourself to panic." 

The sound of those words alone has ice prickling along your skin and settling within the pit of your chest. And the sensation of your apprehension melding with your bewilderment does little to aid you in properly asking him what he could have possibly meant by such a cryptic statement. The inquiry hangs heavy in your mouth like metal, and your jaw seems to open on its own in the means to ask him to clarify. But then, as though it had been timed, a guttural bellow rings out across the placid atmosphere. Humming so heavily that you feel the weight of it vibrate underneath your feet as though the earth were speaking, shaking a small flock of tiny birds from their perches within forest, forcing them to scatter and flee into the clear sky above. 

The abrupt noise of it has you all but tearing your vision from Prince Aemond's unbothered, observational expression to whatever lies ahead of you. And your eyes nearly bulge from their sockets at the sight of the behemoth that lies only several yards away. How you had managed to miss the sight of such a monumental creature is entirely beyond you. The only excuse you could possibly make is that the beast has flattened itself along the floor of the clearing, leathery wings lazily stretched open, head resting in the miniscule cover of the knee-high wildflowers and grasses that scatter along the hilltop in what might be some sort of attempt of basking itself underneath the suns glow. 

It is a beast that you easily recognize despite never truly having been within its presence. The sheer mass of the creature, and the rich green shade of its skin easily gives it away as the great Vhagar. You have heard of her name from countless stories. Those passed on down from generation to generation to speak of the ferocity and brutality of the battle hardened she-dragon, of how the size of her alone could blot out the sun from her flight. You have even caught glimpses of her in the air before. Often from within the confines of the castle while she soars high above and far from reach. None of those rare moments or stories had done any justice in depicting the true scale of her. 

And while you stand, gawking like a slack jawed idiot at the sight of her, you can only manage but to wonder the dumb, fleeting thought of how the Crown could ever possibly manage to supply enough sheep for her appetite. And then any semblance of awe or shock is twisted into a pure sense of dread and a primal fear. Your mind blanks as you try to form some sort of reason for you being here. Why Prince Aemond could possibly desire for you to meet his dragon, but you are left with naught. Something primordial and blazing sears throughout your veins with urge to run, but you find yourself frozen stock still instead while your lungs struggle to move and catch breath. You feel as though you have passed away on the spot and left your body behind to, trapped within this singular moment. 

It is not until the dragon begins to lift its head up inquisitively that you manage to regain any control of yourself at all. The sight of her lids peeling open to reveal blazing amber eyes are enough to force your lost voice back into the base of your throat. 

"Wha - why have you brought me here, Aemond?"  

The look he gives you is entirely unsympathetic. If anything, it seems to be amused. The corners of his lips threaten to perk in the shadow of an arrogant smile. If your heart did not feel as though it were seconds away from overexerting itself and giving out entirely, you are sure that this time, you would have struck him. You would love to hear the impact of your hand meeting the shape of his cheek and snuffing out the pompous way that he is holding himself, but he steps away from you before you can even think to act, fearlessly striding in the direction of the colossal dragon. 

"You long to know a dragonrider, lady wife," he answers with the cool timbre of his voice trailing after him and to you. "Flight with one with be the best way to make that connection." 

You are certain that your heart has well and truly stopped with that statement. That it turned still and unrooted itself from the cavern in your chest to plummet down below into your gut. And for a moment you wish that you have misheard him. Despite your internal panic, your brain manages to scramble and put the meaning of his words together quite quickly. The urge to refuse or ask him to clarify illudes you. You are far too bewildered. Too trapped within the seize of your own chaotic emotions to properly articulate yourself and your reservations. There's an anger stirring in you as well. Brewing and twisting with everything else, spurred on from the haughty glance he had given you before making his approach towards the beast he is bonded with. 

You try and fail to connect his reasoning. The logic entirely beyond you, but when you look upon his face it becomes quite clear. No matter how brief your eye contact had been, you saw the dare that had been dancing in his eye quite clearly. He was challenging you. He is expecting you to turn on your heel and run from the trial that he has set before you. And that has lit a sense of competition in yourself unlike any that you have ever felt before. 

He is no longer paying you any attention to see you coming to a sudden grip in resolve. Instead, he has drawn his observations to his dragon, who has lifted her head just enough in a proper greeting to accept the way that he runs a hand along the slop of her enormous muzzle, just above those massive, gnarled fangs that poke like her lips like daggers. The span of his fingers seems so small posted along the swell of her snout, like little more than a speck. And yet he stands before her so confidently. Free from the faintest edge of discomfort or fear. Instead, you hear him murmuring soft words to her. Speaking quietly as though she were a babe in need of praise or encouragement and not a battle worn goliath that has lain waste to armies and dragons alike.

The sound of his ancestor's tongue is beautiful as always. In your short time together, you have heard little of the language from the prince, but when you do manage to catch the glimmers of it from him you make sure to listen keenly. It flows past his lips like a rich silk; all but rumbling and sweeping around words that you do not know but find captivating regardless. It makes you wish that you did understand them. 

It is astonishing that no matter how small the prince appears now in comparison to her vast scale, he still holds himself so proudly. His shoulders are set straight, and head tilted high: the posture of royalty. All while he composes himself alongside a monster that could easily open her drooping maw and swallow him whole. 

But of course, she does not. A low grumble trembles forth from the wide set of her chest, reverberating throughout the air in a sound that could nearly be likened to the purr of a contented feline. It is shocking to see the famed - the feared Vhagar in such a light. And to similarly see the prince in such a manner as well. Both of them are calm. Peaceful on this tranquil, balmy evening. Untouched by their shared excitement for battle and bloodshed. 

It's akin to watching a pair of ruthless gods' slumber. 

And it seems to be that, more so than the sense of rivalry that has been kindled, that inspires you to move forward. No matter how uncertain you truly feel. Despite your reservations the odd sweetness of the situation still has you drawing close. All while a frigid kind of fear pools in your stomach. So, you try to focus on the little bits of life around you. The cheerful singing being carried by the birds of the forest, the soothing whisper of the air shifting the leaves, the saccharine scent of the colorful flowers that sway in the grass. It is all so soothing, so delicate. But still, it does little to appease the anxiety coursing throughout you as you grow closer to the beast. 

With each step forward, she seems to rise bigger; the growing proximity between you both only making her true mass even more apparent, as you are confronted with the mind-boggling truth of her scale. There is no safety of the castle walls to save you, the collection of the trees that surround you in a half circle would not serve to shield you should Vhagar decide that your presence is an irritant. Her potent fire would consume the forest and you with it with a single breath. Here and now, you know that you rely entirely on the word of Prince Aemond to keep her violent urges at bay. 

And that both comforts and terrifies you. 

You make your lungs draw in a shaky breath that does little to calm you as you step closer to the she-dragon. But you are certain that there is not a single thing on this earth that could truly bring you serenity as you bear witness to her. Never in your life have you ever stood before a being that has ever made you feel so miniscule. Not even the sight of the stars in the cradle of the night sky, in all of their multitudes and vastness as come close to the trepidation or awe that she has roused in you. You are small. Insignificant in terms of her looming stature. Pitiful in the decades that she has lived and the feats that she has achieved. You know now why the dragons are said to be old gods. You can hardly process that you are now right in front of one. Watching the rise and fall of her ribs as she pulls in massive breaths. The subtle shake of her wilting neck that shifts as she angles her head in your direction to study you with eyes that almost seem to burn with the fire contained within her. 

Her nostrils twitch as you come to stop alongside Prince Aemond; near enough that your shoulders nearly brush, but a part of you craves the dim amount of comfort that he provides. She is trying to smell you no doubt. Trying to take in your scent as means to familiarize herself with the stranger who travels with her rider. 

"You may touch her," Aemond offers. Or orders perhaps. 

It catches you completely off guard, like most things this evening. Regardless of the gentleness of his tone, it is difficult to tell if it is a suggestion or a command. Having what little knowledge you have of the prince in mind it was most likely the latter. Or it is another challenge of his. 

The sharp blue of his eye pierces through you once again like he is waiting for you to cower. But now, the prince's concerns and expectations are second at best when it comes to the interest of Vhagar. The brief flicker of your gaze on her confirms that she is still quite placid in mood. Her eyelids low with the remnants of the slumber that she had been goaded from. But that still does little to calm you. Dragons are unpredictable creatures. Gaining a trust of her this easily would be ignorance. 

"Does she wish me to?" You ask, and you see that twinge of what might be amusement grace Prince Aemond's features once again. 

"She will hardly pay you any mind." That is his assurance. A useless one. Your unease is strong. But your desire to please your husband, to beat this little challenge that he has set for you, and to form some sort of relationship with the prince - no matter how fragile - is stronger. With all the courage you can muster you begin to lift your hand. Slowly and steady in your movements as not to cause the beast any annoyance. You would not want to suggest to her that you feel entitled to touch her. Dragons can be opinionated things after all. 

A low noise rolls from her throat at the sight of your hand raised just above her muzzle, just where Aemond had lain his own earlier. It gives you pause. Old, primeval instincts rising inside of you bid you motionless. To wait and see what her move will be next. If she will calm or open her armored jaws to snap you between them. 

"Lykirī." 

It is Aemond's voice that speaks out. Low yet firm in its inflection as his tongue purrs out the elegant High Valyrian word in a silky drawl. You know not what he said, but it was enough to appease whatever offence you might have committed. She blinks slowly in response and the growl dies down into a soft silence. Still, you now find it difficult to lower your hand. Sensing your hesitance, or perhaps weary of it, Prince Aemond's own is suddenly engulfing the back of it, nearly threading his fingers with yours as he guides your palm downward. The weight of his flesh along yours comes as surprise. You have felt your husband's hands on you before. In much more intimate places, but it is the care with which he directs you with that almost seems foreign. New and delicate.

Currently he wears his gloves, usually seen on his hands whenever he intends to take flight, and you hate how a piece of you longs to feel them bare. To touch the callouses along his palm, made from wielding the grip of swords in combat and clasping the horns of Vhagar's saddle. It is a juxtaposition to the much softer skin of your own. But you do not find the texture of them offensive in the slightest. You could almost relish the sensation of it had they not been covered by soft hide instead. 

He leans his body much closer to yours. So much closer that the light brush of his breath glides over the side of your face and the length of your throat. The scent of him wafts from his body in the musk of leather, the spice of dragon smoke and the crisp fragrance of wind. It makes you wonder if he had flown long before he had come to the castle to retrieve you. It is all so distracting. The press of him along your arm, the mesmeric sound of his voice whispering soothing words in his ancestor's language. 

But reality comes back to you quickly in the weight of the dragon's flesh settling flat underneath your palm; rough and thick. You have heard before that dragons run hot. Heated up by the fire roaring within their chests. Those words have not prepared you for the warmth that radiates from her and the strength of it. Of the coarseness of her flesh. How sturdy it is. Much like the leathers used in creating amour. Though you suppose that the purpose of her skin is the same. 

Her massive nostrils flicker again and her eyes squint as she watches you. Studies you really. As though she is weighing and measuring you of your worth. Which is not a farfetched idea. It is the dragon, after all, who chooses its rider. She must be deciding if you are worthy of standing in her presence. 

The elation that floods you at the feeling of her beneath your hand comes like the scattering of butterflies. A smile threatens to break across your face at the small success. A rush of joy from still being alive after touching one of the most violent war dragons the earth has ever seen. 

"Are you prepared to ride?" 

Aemond's question rips you from your elation like a sudden storm smudging out the bright warmth of the sunlight. The smile that could have been dies out with the happiness that had filled you. It is water doused over embers. And with it the urge to snap at him is back in full force. No, you wished to answer, you are not prepared to ride, because you were not told that you would be expected to until only moments before. But you keep that complaint to yourself. Locked within tightly as not to offend the prince and the dragon whose massive mouth rests directly underneath your open palm. Still, many questions gush up and stir a torrent up within your mind. 

"How am I expected to do such a thing, my prince?" 

The look that crosses his face appears tired. It makes you wonder if you have somehow asked something foolish, but you come up empty on what that could have possibly been. It is a perfectly expected question. A dragon will only choose a single rider at a time. And only those who are blessed with Valyrian blood could have the potential honor of sharing such a bond. An ancient line that you have no direct lineage to. But the stare that the prince is holding you with now is one of exasperation, yet also sardonic. 

"You will sit on the saddle; I thought that much was apparent." His lips have pursed slightly, making his expression a blend of smug and annoyed. He is toying with you once again. It also makes his boundaries quite apparent. There is to be no possibility of a bond between the two of you unless you push when he shoves. If you let your offence get the better of you now while he clearly raises his challenge, then your relationship with him will be reduced to nothing more than his child bearer. A vessel for his future heirs. You shall not yield. Not even while your heart races like that of a rabbit who has been tricked into a corner by the snarling fangs of a hunter. 

You are soft but firm when you remove your hand from its place tucked between Vhagar's flesh and Aemond's palm. Your determination rests easily on your face as you turn to observe the netting of ropes that are draped down the side of her great neck as a means to climb astride her. Never has something seemed so daunting before. Not the day that you were bid to leave the familiarity of your life in Storm's End, nor the moment that you had given yourself over to Prince Aemond in matrimony. They all seem so little now as you allow your hand to grip one of the lines of worn rope. 

"Lykirī, Vhagar." 

A nervous sweat dampens your fingers as you squeeze your grip along the course lines, the frayed edges digging into your soft flesh. The sound of your husband placating the beast rings in your ears like a warning though she has not stirred from her position against the forest floor, even while another rumbling hum echos from her chest. It trembles throughout your arm from being so close to her, rattling up your bones. For a moment you contemplate removing yourself from the makeshift ladder, but the firm, urging glare that Aemond shoots you from his place beside you and the embers of your determination spur you to continue forward. 

"I will be behind you," you hear him promise as you haphazardly lift your skirts to enable yourself to place a foot upon one of the rungs. It is now you who hardly offers him a returned glance as you focus on raising yourself along the ropes. You expect for Vhagar to disturb upon the weight of you heaving yourself along her neck, but she does not. She remains blessedly stationary as you urge your body to move upward to scale the high length of her neck, for your mind to remain quiet and centered through your internal panic. The way that the ladder wobbles unsteadily as you work to lift yourself does little to quell the way that your stomach flips with the growing effects of nausea. 

You could swear that many moons have passed by the time that you have made it to the top of the ladder, where the ropes meet the smooth leather that creates the structure of the massive saddle. The seat of it is far greater than any other you have ever seen; those having been suited for horses and not the great backs of dragons. But even considering the long forward slop of what must be the equivalent of the rise and pommel and how the cantle stretches slightly backward to support the rider's spine during an upward flight, it is more than apparent that the seat is designed for only a single person. Every bit of grace room is only available for the positioning that must be required in flight. The design of it allowing for the rider to lean forward comfortably in the seat or relax backward, if necessary, but offering little more than that. 

If you were both truly meant to ride together it would be an awkward fit. Surely not one safe for something as perilous as flying. 

The urge to question this little goal of his rises up high. But instead of voicing your concerns you opt to follow through with his desires. If the two of you do truly not prove to fit on the seat and it turns into an ill sighted blunder on his part, then at least you will be able to silently bask in the pleasure of seeing his arrogance dim at the realization of it. 

You reach for some of the leather straps that lie between the junction of the rope ladder and the saddle, using your grip to hoist yourself upward again, slipping a foot into one of the rungs to push yourself within the range of saddle's lowest set of horns. Your fingers can only reach the base of the grip from your current height, but it is enough to enable you to hoist yourself towards the cradle of the saddle, though your muscles burn with the labor. Some torturous thought wonders what would happen should you slip and fall from such a height, and you struggle to block it out entirely as you continue your clumsy ascent. Using the hold that the flat of your feet have within the straps to keep yourself secure as you work on exchanging your hold from the lowest grip and onto one the horns belonging to the higher set to haul your body upward, swinging your right leg out to lurch across the seat. 

It strains your arms as you angle yourself, and the length of your skirts threaten to snag on the curve of your knee when your all but throw your body onto the saddle. But by the grace of the gods, you make it. Your chest slightly heaves from your lost breath, and your muddied skirts have pulled and rucked up above your knees in the most unbecoming manner from the stretch of your thighs around the width of the seat. But you hardly have the ability to pay it any mind while your nerves still cause your limbs to quiver, and your body burns with an excess of energy. 

While you collect your breath, clasping onto the horns of the saddle with both hands tightly enough for the edges of the leather bound around them to bite your palms, the sound of the wind's current whispering in your ear tugs you from your anxieties. 

It is then that you finally realize just where you sit. Comfortably astride the largest dragon, looking down on the world from the ridge of her back. You could see above the trees from this point, the stretches of the wood that gave and showed the lush rolling hills that expanded far beyond your sight. It was all so small and yet so vast this high up, once again making you realize the scope of your existence. You can spy glimpses of King's Landing up in the distance. The glimmer of the rooftops and the spires of the Red Keep, almost lightened in a shade of bronze from the cast of the evenings golden light. The sea beyond it glittering in a reflection of the sun, like a flat mound of shifting coins. 

The sudden weight of a hand clasping the grip along the free space just above your own snaps you from your awe. You hardly have time register it as the prince effortlessly swings himself into the saddle, notching a place for himself between your hips and the support of the cantle. His presence forces you to scoot further up along the swell of seat, much higher up than you are meant to be, but the press of his body flat against your own gives you little choice. The angle of it practically has your rump perched against his hips. And when his other arm reaches around your other side to grip the opposite horn of the saddle, you find that you have been completely enclosed in his body. His chest is pinned snug along your back, and you can feel the point of his chin nudge along your shoulder as he looks past you. 

There is something horribly intimate about it all. Something that you did not even think to consider when you agreed to this. But now that you can fully feel the warmth of him seeping through the layers of your garments to slip through your skin, you could not find any other word to call it. If your mind was not already so preoccupied with your anxieties, it would have easily latched onto the fact that your skirts are still indecently rucked around your thighs, improperly showing off the fabric of your stockings. It could have made you fidget or heat up with embarrassment had you the mind to, but you are far too preoccupied with what is to come. With the weight of your husband so near you. So high up here, with the wind stronger than it had been down along the ground, his scent seems to pool around you. It fills your lungs with musk and spice, and your body longs to draw it in like a glutton, but you do not allow yourself to. You manage yourself to maintain the steady inhales that you have been taking thus far. 

"Remain calm," he reminds you. 

As if on cue Vhagar begins to shift. Her giant head lifts from the meadows floor with a low grunt, as though the action alone costs her a great deal of energy, causing the weathered, battle worn flesh along her neck to wobble loosely along her throat. A bout of nervousness prickles in your gut as the motion jostles you forward. On reflex, your grip rightens around the horns, latching onto the pitiful bit of comfort they prove. Anxiety spreads along your fingertips and toes as she digs the wrists of her great wings into the earth to push herself onto her feet. A simple action, but for you it invokes nothing but unease. Her movements continue to nudge you about, all but prodding you backward to the press of Aemond's chest, and now you are actually thankful for how he is seated behind you. Offering a sense of support that you might have fainted without. 

You can feel the subtle shift of her muscles even through the saddle, and it wobbles just the slightest from the quiver caused by her old flesh. It has your unease spiking. And you think that you yourself could fly, fueled by nothing but your own apprehensions. 

There is a noticeable shift in how she holds herself once she balances on her legs. And incline in her spine lifts as she raises her head high, removing her weight from her wings to unfurl them. You can hear the leathery sound of the thin skin unraveling, spreading out wide enough like sails of a colossal ship preparing to leave port. 

You know what is coming, but you naught of how to weather it. All you can do is stare ahead, looking past the expanse of her neck and to the sky above that you will soon be soaring through. He must be able to sense your anxiety. Or perhaps he felt the tension of it in your back, in the rigid set of your shoulders, because he manages to press himself even closer against you. Like he means to cradle you to him. He releases a single hand from its grip long enough to place it along your waist to steady you. Your mind instantly latches onto the sudden pressure and warmth of it. Your body longing to lean into the weight of his palm but you keep yourself motionless as he leans himself close until you feel the brush of his words along your neck when he speaks. 

"Be still, wife." His voice rumbles out all placid and velvet. The sound of it so close to your ear that it has a tremble skipping down your spine. You can only hope that the thick of your combined attire hid it from him, but his hand flexes against your waist; fingertips pressing inward, and you know that he noticed it. But he fortunately makes no open marks of it. "With me as your guide you will be safe. When she begins her ascent, lean forward into it. It will help to keep you balanced." 

And as quickly as it had appeared, his hand is gone from its position on your waist to return its grip on the horn. You crave to have it back on you again. To have the support of it on you once more, even with the phantom sensations of it still live on your skin, though you do not bother to dwell on your foolish desires. You can only focus on the instructions that he had set. The direction of it serving to ground you, even as the saddle underneath shifts just the slightest as her wings expand. Now entirely unfurled. 

The anticipation of it weighed heavy. Murmuring across the air like something electrical as though you were in the midst of a storm and lightning looms ahead. But apart from a few scattered clouds, it was all but clear skies. Vhagar was prepared to soar. Her muscles were coiled, stretched and tense, and were it not for your being astride, you are certain that Aemond would have commanded her to take off much sooner. If that truly is the case, you are thankful. 

His ribs swell slightly along your back, and the command slices through the air, simultaneously exacting and clement: 

"Sōvēs!" 

Wind claps underneath the great stretch of her wings as she lifts them only to bring them down in a powerful downstroke. It snaps her from the ground in a quick lunge, and the sudden rush of being airborne causes your stomach to turn. You scramble to come to terms with the abrupt weightlessness of your body. It is like all of the breath has been snatched from the depths of your chest as Vhagar brandishes her wings in great, long stokes that sound akin to tremendous waves crashing against the surf; sharp and frightening like a whip slicing towards its target. 

A horrid thought enters your mind, whispering vile things, such as what would happen should you fall off. How you surely would not survive a plummet from such a height. It has your hands tightening around the grips of the saddle. Squeezing so harshly that your tender palms sting. But you almost welcome the burn of it. It is a good distraction from the nausea, from the disorientation that comes from rushing far from the earth so quickly. Now she truly begins her climb upward, and you just barely remind yourself of Aemond's previous command; tipping yourself forward to press yourself along the swell of the saddle as she rises. 

Much as he promised, the change in your posture does help to keep your seat firm as she works to bat her wings to scale her flight. Aemond dips down low after you, resting himself over your body to follow his own instructions. Even while Vhagar approaches her ascent at a slant, the incline is still enough to put strain on your arms as your own weight attempts to pull your backward. You can already feel the strain of it in your limbs, searing along your muscles and setting an ache deep near your bones. 

Never had you ever truly put in mind the physical prowess and endurance a dragonrider must have to properly seat their mount until now. It almost makes you feel idiotic that you would not have truly expected the demands that such a thing would imply. Already the wind claws at your face, slicing at your cheeks like it means to maim you, stinging at your eyes enough to prompt tears to pour. It is difficult to draw in a proper breath as the air passes too quickly for your lungs to properly catch, making you fear that you might suffocate. It feels as though your chest could combust. From the debilitated ability to properly breathe or from the confused sense of excitement, you are not entirely sure. 

Your being has been split down the middle. Caught in a strange limbo of an icy terror and a bubbling kind of joy as she continues her ascension, carrying you both high until the forests below become less defined and meld into blotches of rich greens. You cannot tell if the laugh the begs to erupt from you is one of elation or hysterics, but it froths inside of you with a warmth that rivals the heat that radiates from the brilliant sun above. Your lips part in the semblance of a breathless laugh as your eyes dart to take in your surroundings. The earth is so distant now. Reduced to a flat stretch of emerald and hunter, and the gentle rolling slops of hills and valleys that, in some points giveaway to farmlands. You can spot organized rows of green that must be rich vineyards, and there are many quaint little houses and homely settlements that sparsely dot about the scape. 

Being so high up within the heavens makes the rest of the world seem so small. Reduced down to dots and shadows and shades of color. It reminds you vaguely, of the ancient war table that sits within the council chambers of Storm's End; the stubborn, enduring anatomy of Westeros etched into the face of it, mapping out all of its splendor in its factions and landmarks. 

Out of your peripherals you notice Vhagar's wings tilt, moving to level her body out of its angled position, settling so that she is able to coast on the winds. It near instantly releases the strain on your arms, allowing the sting to ebb from your clenched muscles as you will yourself to try and relax, and the harsh cusp at which the biting wind had struck you with finally loses its violent edge. Still quite strong but no longer clawing along the shape of your cheeks and your unprotected eyes like it means to rip at them. 

It is Aemond who straightens himself first, removing his weight from your back to properly sit astride, completely comfortable in his place along his dragon and untouched by a semblance of worry. Even though you cannot see him from his place behind you, you are still able to sense the composure that he holds himself with. He is entirely within his element. At home here on dragonback. The arm that had grasped the grip on the left of you releases, moving past the line of your vision to where he probably allows it to casually hang at his side, now supporting his clasp on the saddle with only a single, sturdy hold. 

It takes you much longer to will yourself back into an upright position; finding solace in the weight of the saddle pressed to your stomach. But is a crutch that you do not wish to exhaust, and so you right yourself until you can once again feel the expanse of Aemond's chest, snug against your own in an unintentional semblance of an embrace. That stubborn little part of you loathes how the other half preens at the sensation of it. Yearning to bask in affections that are not truly there like some lovestruck girl child that elects to ignore the obvious indifferences displayed by the object of her infatuation. It irritates you to no end. Filling you with a conflict that you do not wish to bear but are unable to ignore. Aemond does not love you, that much is clear. The nature of your union, the quiet apathy that he has shown you thus far have been unobtrusive but very telling in this. Even now, as he makes an effort to test the nature of your will and your desire to truly get to know him, hauling you upon the back of his dragon, it seems to hold closer bearings to that of a trial than a well-meaning rendezvous. 

The look that he had given you when he asked if you were primed to take flight was playful, almost in a malicious manner. Like he was expecting and counting on you to decline and flee. It makes you ponder if you have actually managed to surprise the prince by accepting his proposal and clambering astride the beast's saddle. If your decision to stay and meet his little challenge head on has pleased him at all. 

"Geptot, Vhagar!" Aemond commands, shouting to be heard over the roaring winds. Obediently, the great dragon adjusts the massive span of her wings, muscles rippling to rearrange herself on the support of the currents to redirect her glide in the direction of King's Landing and the vast glittering waters of Blackwater Bay that extends beyond. It is still such a shock to see such a tremendous creature acquiesce its will to the instruction of a man. A man that may sustain the blood of the gods, but still a man, nonetheless. 

She could consume the both of you a single snap of her jagged mouth. Your bodies would be a pitiful bite for her jaws. And yet she allows you to take up space along her back. To become a vessel to suspend you along the heavens to soar between the sparse clouds that hang within the azure cradle of the heavens like tufts of a lamb's fleece. Vhagar is a violent beast you know. You have heard the stories of her wars and blood-soaked accolades, the battlefields that she has left soot covered and smoking, littered with the remains of soldiers. She is a violent creature to be sure. Honed and defined by violence, and yet it is here, carted among the tepid winds, that you decide that she is a glorious behemoth. One whose years have been stained with the life's blood of millions, but it does little to tarnish the position she has taken in your eyes. Not necessarily one held by affections, but mostly a sense of respect and awe. 

You are not diluted enough to think that Vhagar holds any sort of esteem for you. Had you not been accompanied by her rider; you would have been lit aflame from so much as approaching her, but that simple truth does little to dissuade you from attempting to show her your appreciations though uncertainty and apprehension still takes root in your gut. Your hand has a slight tremor when you manage to peel your fingers from their tight grip around the horn. A symptom of the energy and searing heat that pumps through your veins at your body's instinctual fears rather than a conscious bewilderment, but you do not let it stop you from leaning forward as much as your reservations will allow to place a soft, unsure pat along her back. Though the size of the saddle is so great that you still only manage to stroke its leathers rather than the rough expanse of her flesh.

You know that there is no possibility that she managed to feel your touch through the thick of the preserved hide of the saddle. And even if the buffer had not been there, your hand probably would have felt like little more than the landing of a fly; bothersome and barely perceivable. But it still does work for you somewhat, to help in seeing her more as more than simply a vengeful, aggressive beast. 

It shocks you, when you allow yourself to gaze downward towards the horizon to see how quickly you are approaching the edge of the city. It has you daring to tilt your head downward to see past her wings to gaze upon the sprawling cluster of the buildings and structures that create the capital; the clay tiles of the many roofs burning in shades like honey and ginger. The rich hues only amplified by the golden tint of the evening sun. Smoke pours from the some of the stacks, puffing from the hearths, the people down below working to prepare tonight's dinners. The streets thread throughout the ancient settlement like tan lines of thread, intertwining and connecting to unify the entirety of the city, bustling with people who, from your high vantage point, look hardly more than little moving dots; completely unbothered by Vhagar's flight above. 

It's breathtaking. Literally, of course, with the winds that continuously rush against you, but also in the sense of how stunning the view of it is. Had you, in some other life, been blessed with the honor of a dragon, you fear that you would never come back down to earth. As the fear in your stomach begins to thaw and ebb, giving way to nothing but a bright awe, you realize that you could spend an eternity within the sky at peace. This may be freedom incarnate. Untied from the earthly responsibilities and troubles that ail you down below. Here, it is simply the wind beneath Vhagar's vast wings. The same winds that tug at your hair as though it means to unravel it from its dressings. A laugh, a true laugh bubbles up from your chest, rising with the brilliant, beaming warmth of joy, and the smile that tugs at your lips this time is irresistible. 

You doubt that the purpose of Prince Aemond spiriting you away on this outing had any intentions of truly extending an olive branch. Not one in the expectations of actually solidifying a bond between the both of you at least. This was meant to be a game of sorts; you are still entirely convinced. But even with that in mind, you are unable to feel anything other than gratitude. For so long you have been confined to the unfamiliar walls of the Red Keep. Forcing smiles upon your face to maintain the proper ladylike appearances for your social standing. Exchanging forged laughs with the men and women of the court, batting your eyes like a dazed fool as you suffocate within the entrapments of your own longings for home. Strangely, it is here, where the harsh breezes threaten to stifle to the flow of air into your lungs that you feel at your lightest since you have been at the Red Keep. He knows naught of what he has given you, and even if he did, you surmise that he probably would not care regardless. 

Despite the possibility of Prince Aemond's reasonings, it does not stop you from turning your head, rotating your shoulders as best as you can to enable the motion as you make to look at him. It knocks you somewhat off-guard to see that he is already watching you. You had also not anticipated the proximity between your faces, with hardly more than a hair's breadth left between your noses which are so close they could touch. If you only twitch forward the press of your mouth could easily brush along the plush of his lips. The urge of it comes with the realization that the prince has never kissed you. Not even whilst you both fulfil the duties of your marriage in the midst of the night. It has all been disconnected. Done with the same automated detachment that one does with their chores. It should serve as a cold dousing of reality. It should make the rise of your emotions die down into a tame hush, but it does not. 

Your chest heaves involuntarily at the weight of his stare - of how near he is. Your thoughts are tempted to unravel. To get the better of you and indulge in the smoky, lewd corners of your mind that you have not allowed yourself to entertain, like a sinner giving into their temptations. 

The intensity that always seems to lurk within his attention is ignited ten-fold by the way that the sunlight glimmers within his eye, twinging the flecks of soft violets and rich blues with glints of golden light; it bathes his face in the same hue, making it seem as though the pale complexion of his skin has been kissed and painted by the sun itself; set alight by the dragon's blood that surges through his veins like liquid fire. The tresses of his hair billowing in streaks of a pallid silver that rivals the moons glow. 

He is beautiful. You are forced to mark it once again. How captivating the prince is. Disarmingly so, much like the stare that he continues to pin you in place with. The weight of it seems to reach into you, brushing along the boundaries of your spirit and binding it with its grasp. You are unable to discern the reasonings of his intensity, of what his thoughts might be. If they lean in your favor, or if you somehow may have unwittingly foundered into his bad graces. Just how you may have possibly stumbled is beyond you, but his tempers and his motives continue to be elusive. Still, the desire to speak honestly still hangs heavy. If anything, his attention only amplifies the need. 

"Thank you." It leaves your lips delicately. Or as softly as one can project while soaring through the skies without their voice being lost to the wind, and you can only hope that he was still able to detect the depths of your sincerity and appreciation. But you are certain that he hears you. You see the recognition of it flicker in his eye. Something else passes through it as well. It is an emotion that is beyond your scope of understanding. One that you have yet to witness upon the typically neutral or sardonic expressions he tends to display.  

His eye flickers downward. As though it is tracing the shape of your lips, attracted by the sound of your voice when you had spoken your gratitude. For a moment, you think that you must have imagined it. But the steady focus of his gaze is unignorable. He is truly trailing the contours of your mouth with his stare like he means to study them. Transfixed with a similar brand of concentration that he displays when he pours himself over his duties. But there is a fervor behind it that you have yet to personally witness; smoldering in his stare so strongly that it nearly pulls you into a trance. A molten heat flows down your spine, settling inside the pit of your gut with a warmth that startles you. The magnitude of the sensation is a shock, pulling a ragged gasp from your chest and like a puppet follows after the tug of its strings, your head snaps back to face the horizon to break whatever strange influence fallen over you both.

Your vision blindly locks on what lies ahead, desperately searching for something to distract yourself from the hazed chaos that clouds your mind. Though it is hard to focus with the near fevered way your skin has begun to warm, your chest rising and falling rapidly underneath the hold of your garments. The eye contact that you had shared was broken, but the effects of it still linger on you. It envelops you tightly, tingling over your skin, whispering along your flesh like fingertips. It has bout of nervousness fluttering inside of you like a cluster of frenzied butterflies, and it melts when it meets the foreign rush of heat that muddles you, twisting into something excited and burning. 

It has you adrift in a torrent. Completely at the mercy of your own emotions and desires - the severity of which, you had been utterly ignorant to. You scan the rippling face of the waters below, and the sight of it has your mind sluggishly realizing that Vhagar has flown you all past the boundaries of the city and the edges of the land to coast above the glittering, shifting face of Blackwater Bay. It is a sight that would have encapsulated the entirety of your observation before. You would have delighted in the way that the cerulean waters underneath the dragon's wings reflect the suns light like diamonds laid out along a rich silk, but it has become increasingly difficult to do so as you have become increasingly hyperaware of the prince. The press of him at your back, the enticing warmth of him latching onto your skin and spreading so potently that you think it may have sunk bone deep. 

Still, you hardly have the ability to prepare yourself for the sensation of Prince Aemond melding himself closely against you until the faintest stretch of space between you has been completely eliminated. His hips nudge tightly along yours, all but nestling your rear even deeper into the cradle of them in a manner that is entirely crude.

A confused question rests heavily in your mouth, but it is all but snuffed out when he tucks his head against your own, hooking his chin over your left shoulder as the hand that he had previously dropped from the horn of his saddle once again raises to take its position back above your own, as though it had never left. It makes your heart beat wildly like the wings of a startled bird, and the enlivened rhythm only quickens when his scent envelopes you with his proximity. It swaddles you in that mouthwatering combination of leather and smoke. The earthy musk and robust spice seem to find a home in your lungs. 

"Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys?" 

The sudden velveteen sound of his voice over the whistle of the wind inspires your body to still. As though drawn under a trance every facet of your being seems to become inert. Quiet in its endeavor to listen to the words that spilled from him. You assume that he must be speaking to Vhagar. Entrusting another command onto her in his ancestors' tongue, but the beast makes no movements to suggest that she has heard him. The tone in which he spoke with was low, but purposeful. As though he were sharing a secret, conversational in its cadence. 

You are almost reluctant to draw the conclusion that he may be talking to you instead. For some reason, the idea of such a thing seems so ludicrous, despite having spoken to him before. In brief moments when your paths cross within the castle or when society demands it for appearances. He had exchanged words with you on the ground previously, just before Vhagar had taken flight, yet it all feels so impossible. Strange from the odd rapport that seeps into the atmosphere around you. The gusts that rush past you in dashing currents are unable to destroy the inviting aura that has dropped around you both. Yet is all still so jarring. Abrupt in a way that is strange and new. And the aspect that he is using High Valyrian has left you especially lost. Hanging onto words that you could not comprehend as though they were the answer to a salvation that you did not know you needed.  

"Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke?" His head tips much lower now. So dangerously close that his lips sweep along the edge of your ear when he murmurs to you. 

"I do not understand." You confess, daring to slant your face towards his. Such a minute movement but it has the point of his nose nudging at your temple, drawing him all that much closer. He hums in the back of his throat. A quiet sound as though he is considering your utterance. It is humiliating how it makes your entire being thrum with something that is suspiciously close to delight. 

"Pāsan ziry gaomas." 

Your brows pinch close in a confused furrow as he continues to use his second tongue. It is almost as though he is teasing you. Like he is prodding at a weakness that you did not realize you had; an animal nipping and digging at a wound to watch its prey jerk in its grasp. He is teasing you. The small clues there all connect and tie together a little too finely when the understanding creeps in on you. 

He knows, your consciousness decides quickly. He must have figured out the infatuation you have with his voice. The allure that it has on you when he especially uses it to articulate the rhythm of that old language. Perhaps he had seen it on your face. In your eyes, the way that your breath snags in your throat or how your muscles seen to tense with anticipation at the sound of it. It could make you embarrassed that you have been so obvious in your attraction to it. So much so that he means to taunt you for it so openly. But here and now, with his form so hot along your own and the desire that burns so steadily in your gut, you are unable to find it within yourself to be irritated or sheepish over the fact. 

"Ēza nyke pendagon " - the curve of his lip glides along your ear, and you swear that you can feel the damp warmth of his tongue trace the sensitive skin - "hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao." 

The shiver that skips itself down your spine is completely involuntary. You can only hope that he will assume it to be caused by the chill of the winds, but you know truly that he would be a complete simpleton to think so, and Prince Aemond is anything but. You are sure, without seeing, that his mouth has lifted into the faintest hints of smirk; the impression of it against your ear. Time stutters when his thumb sweeps down along the knuckles of your right hand. It is such a small motion. A gentle, subtle caress. One that would hardly receive one's attention but is so different from any other gesture he has displayed for you that it has something inside of you melting and turning tender. It is damning for you. 

Some kind of plea smolders on the tip of your tongue like molten honey. A plea for what is entirely beyond you. For him to relent and move away to give you air? But even simply the idea of such a thing has you mourning the loss that has not come. This entire situation is nudging at the boundaries of the dynamic you have built with the prince thus far. It is unexpected. Bizarre even. But also, entirely exhilarating in a way that fills your lungs with excitement and looms over your being with a charged type of anticipation. 

And then, just as quickly as he had invigorated the raw suspension between your bodies, he removes himself away from you to hold his posture straight and his thumb slips from your knuckles to return its grip on the saddle horn. You are suspended in air, but the loss of his warmth feels as though the support of the earth has been abruptly tugged from underneath your feet. Humiliation wells up, and anger. It seems like a jest on his part. A cruel trick for what purpose you are not certain. To stroke his own ego. To make you feel like a fool. 

It is bitter in your mouth. The tart of it induced by your bewilderment. It leaves you woefully unmoored as your body craves his even as he still remains behind you, his thighs and hips embracing your own. The whispering of the ocean-salted wind suddenly sounds like a lonely, warbling cry. But even while in the midst of your internal conflicts, the longing has yet to subside; instead pooling in your belly. A gasp pushes from your chest, and you urge yourself to look upon the waters beneath and the horizon ahead. Marking a mark of the clouds that drift about the golden support of the heavens, counting a flock of waterfowl that fly in cluster above the ocean as a means to collect yourself, though it proves to be futile. 

"Let us return home now, wife - the hour grows late." 

You make no means to return a comment or to refute. You remain silent as you both dread and crave the return back to the Red Keep. You have no desire to bear the facade that you have been masquerading in for so long, but being grounded may also help you in gathering the torrent of your emotions. Still, the flight back to Vhagar's chosen plot of earth outside the edge of the forest arrived quicker than you had anticipated, and the dismount from her saddle had nearly been just as awkward as the ascension. Neither of you had exchanged any words as you found your horses still hitched to the branches that they had been left posted at earlier, cropping at the rich grass near the base of the tree with their teeth. 

The bustling of the streets does little to assist the chaotic nature of your thoughts as you guided your mount through the crowds alongside the prince. A part of you was still briefly able to marvel how you had just seen the same avenues from above only moments before; the people who had once appeared as little specs now parted around you to make way for you and the prince. Some daring to pass the two of you fleeting glances as you went about. 

You receive similar looks once within the interior of the 'Keep. The servants and people of the court pass you curious and disapproving peeks at the muddied edges of your skirts as you carried yourself down the winding, grand hallways. Though you pay them little mind. Instead, you direct yourself to try not to focus on the dull, rhythmic tap of Prince Aemond's footsteps from their place beside you as he trails you like a stubborn shadow. He had proposed that he escort you to your quarters, as is expected of a husband. 

There is a new sort of uncertainty that has been wedged between the two of you. Though it is so very different from the quandary that had been there before. This type has no longer tinged with apprehensions or resistance, but instead it is almost alive. The want that festers inside of you is so strong that it is nearly tangible; a creature with claws that means to creep and snatch and a hunger that demands to be feed. You are not entirely lost. You are informed of the body's desires and the symptoms that often accompany it. But it is rarely something that you have ever experienced yourself apart from the few rare nights that you had built up the courage to explore yourself within the privacy of your own apartments. And never have you ever felt it so fiercely, searing and thrumming throughout your flesh. 

The buzz of your previous flight does little to damp the fervor of it. If anything, it douses a potent fuel upon the embers, daring to set the smoldering cinders aflame. The scent of him is strong at your side. Sharp from the winds and mouthwatering with the crisp, spicy aroma of his natural musk, and it is a temptation that you can only hope that you will be able to resist. Your only solace is that the entrance to your quarters draws near, only a few paces left near the end of the corridor, and you look to the massive looming doors as thirsting man would an oasis. 

"I take it that you enjoyed todays outing, my lady," Aemond says from your side. 

It draws your attention to him like an insect becoming hypnotized by the gentle flickering an unguarded fire. You dare to allow yourself to admire the almost lazy saunter he carries himself with, the composed way that he holds his hands behind the controlled posture of his back. 

"I did. Truly." You answer honestly. Not even the muddled state of your feelings and yearning could keep you from repelling the truth from him. You find yourself twisting softly on the heels of your feet as you both come to stand before the entrance of your apartments, moving to enable yourself to meet his gaze. It suddenly feels too vulnerable. You no longer have the buffer of being shielded from his stare as you stand in a pair at the end of the dimming hall. He watches you keenly. His expression is mild, and it is only his eye that displays a faint hint of curiosity, but it is enough to prompt you in continuing. "I do not wish to burden you with my toils, but finding my place here within the court has been an adjustment. The people here have been kind, yet it is still a somewhat of a challenge to find my footing. " You pause, the air snagging in your throat and you find your fingers winding together in an awkward clasp as you work to navigate yourself and bear the weight of his unflinching observation. "The flight with you and Vhagar, it was a reprieve that I did not expect to be afforded. I know that you have been occupied by the priorities of the kingdom and the burdens of the war; you have little moments available for yourself, I imagine. So I am grateful that you made an effort to extend that time to me." 

It all seems so delicate now. Something vulnerable has wormed through the cracks of your already weakened restraints. And you swear that you see something just as uncertain and raw peek through the detached facade of the prince. Such a pale passing of emotions that had you not been paying so much attention to him; it might have slipped past your observation. It looks odd, but not unbecoming on him. He is typically so relaxed and serene. Unstirred by the influences of his surroundings. It manages to endear and embolden you all at once, and as though they have a mind of their own you find your feet closing the small amount of distance that divides you. The prince's vision is latched onto you as you move near, unwavering and heavy in his watch. 

For once in your uncertain relationship with the prince, it is you who seems to hold the sense of power. As shaky and foreign as it is. But he observes you with the same speculative surprise as a predator that has been taken off guard and is deciding on if its energy should be spent on fighting or evading. You make sure to be gentle in your approach, lest you break the brittle, intimate blanket that has fallen the vacant corridor. You can nearly hear the thump of your own heartbeat inside of your chest, pulsing along the palms of your hands. 

You surprise yourself as you dare to lean forward into his space. The scent of him engulfs you, and the perfume of it is almost dizzying. Clouding over you in a rush of subtle spice, leather and wind. It guides you press your lips upon the high ridge of his cheek. The soft divot of the scar catches underneath your mouth; the gnarled slivers of its subtly raised edges. You make sure to be gentle so's not to possibly aggravate the old, damaged tissue. His skin is warm. Sultry and smooth against your lips. You raise a single hand upward to place your fingertips along the sharp sweep of his jaw as a means to ground yourself. Or perhaps it is just an excuse to touch more of him. You are not entirely certain anymore. 

You can feel his chest swell with a surprised breath, muscles pulling taut underneath the leather of his doublet. You fear that you may have overstepped, and it draws you to break the kiss from his skin, though you find it difficult to pull away. He has made no attempt to tear his face from the light hold of your fingertips. He remains fixed in place. Quiet and motionless. For one horrid moment, you fear that you might have actually been able to disgust him. That you had terribly transgressed and shattered the delicate little relationship that you have only just began to fabricate. 

But when you look to meet his gaze the stare that he is studying you with holds a sort of hunger that you have yet to ever experience, and it is so disorienting to be on the receiving end. It completely eclipses the way that he had watched you with during the flight. You are sure that this is how it feels to be stalked by something dangerous and starved. It mutates with the vulnerability that seeps into his posture, and the combination of it melts into an ardor that is stifling. 

You are not sure how to navigate it. Of what this all could mean for you. For him. It has your blood roaring through your veins. Everything falls into a hush. You are sure that the rest of the castle is still lively with the preparations for supper. Servants are no doubt preoccupied by the nature of their longwinded duties, causing the innerworkings of the Keep to astir as they all go about their own matters. But here, in this quiet corridor, it feels as though you have been tucked away into your own private bubble. Sealed away and safe within its dulcet embrace. 

You can see the want in his eye so clearly. Bright and burning in its quality, but he makes no moves to act upon it. It is so strange to see what appears to be a sort of hesitance in the prince. Someone who is usually so certain of their wants and desires and acts on them unflinchingly. Arrogantly, even. It makes him appear so much more human. For once, in the little amount of time that you have known him, he finally stands close at a base that you could compare yourself. Not a god. But simply a man. A man who experiences reservations and uncertainty just as you do. One made of bone and blood - even if that blood may run hot with dragonfire. He still just a man. One who appears as though he wishes to seek you out. To bask in the comfort of your flesh and consume you where you stand but will not allow himself to. 

You are unsure where this sense of hesitancy could stim from. You have already lain together before in the hopes of producing a child and he had not shied away in any of those occurrences; having taken you with that cold, calculating indifference each time. You have no ability to say what has inspired the felling of that austere approach, but the sudden lack of it rouses a bravery that has long evaded you. Your lips, still hovering closely above his cheek venture to press against his skin once again. Much lower than their previous position along the sharp contours of his face, but now only a few scant breaths from his own lips. 

You pause briefly to surmise his reaction. Gauging the shift in his breathing and the way that he holds himself to see if you may have misread and breached an unsaid boundary, but he makes no move to tear himself from your proximity. But that is not enough. You must hear it from him. 

"Do you wish for me to stop-" 

A surprised yelp is snuffed from your throat when the plush of his mouth claims yours in a kiss that is so passionate that it is nearly ferocious. Your teeth clack together from the rough nature of it. It makes your mind draw a complete blank. All semblance of thought mutes down into a quiet hum as every bit of your being draws down to focus on the entirety of him. So heavy in its attentions that you hardly bear notice when he crowds you against the heavy doors of your chambers. So eager that the back of your skull knocks on the thick, ornate wood. The pain that flares is stinging and sharp, but you can hardly bother to pay it any attention as he presses himself along your body like he may starve without it. 

Once it all finally catches up with you, you find your hands reaching to sweep along him explorative, greedy strokes. Your fingers claw at his doublet, slipping along the buttery leathers in a weak grip before moving to clutch at the nape of his neck to draw him closer to you. It is crazed. Animalistic. A perversion of the sort of chaste affections that a lady should share with her husband, but you can hardly be bothered to care while your body is overcome with relief. It is suddenly as though he has become the air you require to breathe, and you are under the threat of suffocating. 

His hands are just as rapacious as your own. Clutching at your hips, your waist; reaching fingers gripping onto your hair. He is like some feral animal that does not know where to bite first. Desperate for the taste of flesh and blood but unsure of where to start. 

His teeth nip at your lips; tongue swiping, and obediently your jaw softly parts to allow him to lick into your mouth. The moan that leaves you sounds shocking to your own ears but it is impossible to be ashamed when the taste of him seems to set you on fire. You are quickly to reciprocate with equal ardor, but it is clumsy and underskilled on your part. And it dawns on you that this is your first true kiss with your husband, so very far off from the demure, obligated peck that he had given to you on your wedding day. It makes you burn all the hotter. Your eagerness intensifying tenfold as you grip onto him as though he may vanish if you do not. 

An almost wounded sound leaves you when he removes his mouth from your own. Though it is promptly stamped out when he nudges your head to the side with his own to latch the wet heat of his mouth onto the tender flesh of your neck. A contented sigh leaves you and your body seems to lose all of its strength, going lax against the support of the door as your head lulls back to bear your throat to the bite of his teeth and the suction of his tongue. You feel as though you are turning to mush. Going pliant underneath his ministrations; the heat of him has melted you like wax. 

It is the low bubble of chatter that breaks you from the haze that dips over your mind like the beginning effects of alcohol. Your eyes flutter open to gaze over the prince's shoulder, though he has not even so much as slowed the searing kisses along your flesh. Whether that be because he simply does not care or because he has not noticed the sound of carried voices you are not sure, but you cannot keep yourself from trying to peer down the long stretch of the corridor to spy for the origins of the conversation. You see no one but you are certain whoever is speaking is nearby. Their voices carried and projected by the stone no doubt, but they could round the corner at any moment and catch you and the prince in a most unbecoming manner. 

You mourn the very idea of stopping him, but the requirement to keep appearances and your position of the court untainted from untoward gossip prevails. It has you slipping your fingers along the roots that grow from the nape of his neck to tug as gently as you possibly can, urging him to pry his mouth from your flesh but he remains unmoving. Almost stubborn in his exploration of tasting the salt on your skin. 

"Aemond," you call softly. "We must stop; we will be caught." 

That seems to pull him from the fervent spell that had been casted over him. He finally allows himself to be removed from the crook of your neck, righting his posture meet your line of vision with a slight pant in his breath. The passion in his stare has not wavered or diminished at all. If anything, it seems all the fiercer. 

 

"Will you invite me into your chambers?" He inquires against your lips. "Will you have me?" 

The way he stated the question was straight forward. Blunt in what it implied. Unshy in its desire. But there is an unmistakable edge to it that is almost frail. Fragile in its essence. You know now that here the both of you are at a fork in the path. One single decision that may decide the fate of what lies ahead, and the balance of your matrimony. Prince Aemond wears that facade of his. Like no matter what response leaves from you he will be unbothered, but you can see the vulnerability bleeding into his gaze. You hear it in his questions. The hope that you do not turn him away. 

You know then that you will not send him off down the corridor while you tuck yourself away in your chambers alone. Not as elation and peace wraps itself around you and urges you to tug him closer; guiding him towards you as you make to reach behind to grab for the door latch. 

"Yes, I will have you Aemond." You whisper it softly, as though it is something sacred and delicate. 

That is all it takes to earn his mouth back upon you. Just as starved as it had been before. You are not certain which one of manages to pry one of the doors ajar, but as soon as it is open, you find yourself slipping through the entry as you pull him through by his shoulders as you blindly guide each other across the floor of your apartments. You just vaguely register the sound of the door slamming shut behind you both, but you hardly pay it any mind as his hands sweep along your hips with a grip that threatens to smart skin. The heel of your foot nearly trips along the edge of the tapestry rug, and it is Aemond's firm grip that keeps you secure as you attempt to navigate your clumsy journey to the bed. 

Already his fingers slip behind you, eagerly tugging at your skirts like he means to ruck them over your hips, but then he stops himself short and backs away from you so abruptly that for a second you fear that he is having regrets. That he plans to storm out of your quarters and pretend that this has never happened. His eyes trails over you as he steps away, halting himself he is several paces from you to observe your disheveled state. 

"Undress yourself."  

He says it that poised, calm cadence of his, but the order in it is still apparent. For some reason it makes you pause. You have never been completely bare before him. All of the previous times you had been afforded the crutch of your shift, skin always concealed from view. During your bedding ceremony, while the corridor just outside of Prince Aemond's chambers were crowded with the wedding quests, the attendees of the court and the Crowns Sept, all present to make sure the tradition was followed accordingly, you had still clung to the safety that your chemise had provided you. The two of you were hurdling over so many new steps and parameters in your relationship. For some reason, it does not feel obtrusive or jarring. Simply unexpected. Unfamiliar. But exciting still. 

You reach for the silk placket on the front your bodice, carefully unplucking the golden straight pins that your maidens had secured it with just this morning, being mindful to tack them back into the fabric so they do not drop upon the floor and run the risk of jabbing someone underfoot. Your fingers quiver slightly as you begin to unwind the ribbon lacings underneath, tugging them free from their eyes to loosen the grip of your bodice until the rest of the gown slides free of its grip on your body, enabling you are able to slip the sleeves from your arms for the rest of the garment to pool around your feet. 

You still have several layers to go; held within the confines of your kirtle but he is already watching you with an impassion stare akin to starvation. All of the vigor that he had unleashed on you before in the drag on his lips and the nipping of his teeth has been detained and seized onto with a shaky resolve; his weak restraint projected through the near feral look in his eye. It is clear that he wishes to watch you unburden yourself of your clothes. It gives him some kind of pleasure, to observe you exposing more of yourself to him at his whims. And you would like to indulge that lewd desire of his, but you know that the lacings along the back of your kirtle will be difficult to undo on your own. It is rigid in its structure, and combined with how tightly the many levels silk cord that cross up your spine are cinched, it will be a challenge. Often times it is a pain for even the deft fingers of your maids. 

"Would you so kind, lord husband, to assist me?" You do not bother in awaiting his response as you rotate around to present your back to him. The room is silent, save for the quiet rise and fall of the air steadily leaving and returning to your lungs. You do not hear him diminish the space the separates you both. The sound of his boots along the stone floors does not make a single tap or echo for you to gauge his nearness. But then his hands are just on you, settling at the point between your shoulder blades to pluck at the knot of your silk ribbons.   

The warmth of him wafts against you, causing the hairs along the nape of your neck to rise and your skin to pepper with gooseflesh. You crave to lean back into him. To bask in his natural, soothing heat, but you command yourself to remain stationary as he begins to tug at your lacings. Much steadier and slower than you have suspected. It has anticipation building and churning within your gut. Smoldering and settling like hot coals and molten wax beneath your flesh. 

His lips come to sweep along the junction of your neck, feeling as though they are branding you in their exploration. It should be of a concern with how much that thought thrills you. The idea of walking around with the prince's marks clearly presented for the court to see is an indecorous idea - downright craven. And yet it does nothing but make the flames inside roar brighter. 

You feel the moment that he finished in unlacing the kirtle. It slackens considerable on your torso, before he hastily slips the embroidered edge of the neckline from your shoulders; the truth of his avidity managing to peek through such a simple action. And just like that the materials fall from your body, leaving you in nothing but your shift. It shocks you how quickly his hands find a place on your hips. Fingers clasping tightly like he is resisting the urge to tenderize your skin underneath the pressure of his palms. But that twisted little part of you is still present and greedy. It has you pressing the shape of your rear against his pelvis, and you are unable to contain the delighted gasp that leaves you at the hard press of his cock straining underneath his breeches. 

He has not even seen you naked yet and already the evidence of his arousal nudges at you through the thin fabric of your chemise. He groans as you continue to roll your hips against you his. It's a pleased, low noise, that nearly sounds like a purr rumbling from his chest, and it vibrates along your neck as he threatens to sink his teeth just underneath the edge of your jaw. His fingers begin to tug and lift at the skirt of your shift to pile it around your waist. 

You twitch as he exposes you to the tepid draft of the room; nipples hardening beneath the delicate fabric at the chill. Suddenly, one of his hands is placed before you, fingers hovering close to your mouth as though he expects something of you. Your thoughts scramble along. Already pathetically sluggish and scattered from the lust searing at your being.  

"Take them into your mouth and bite, ābrazȳrys," he guides in a firm murmur. 

Obediently, your lip's part, allowing him to guide the tips of his fingers past them. The leathers concealing the nimble length of his digits is smooth along your tongue. Warm and slightly tangy in its flavor on your palate. The weight of them makes your eyes lashes flutter, threatening to slip closed before a distant voice in the recesses of your mind chides you to follow his desire, and eager to please you gently clamp the edges of your teeth down onto the tips of his gloves. He coos in a satisfied manner when he notices the compliant press of your teeth. He tugs his hand free from the casing of its glove, allowing the now empty garments to lie limp in your mouth before he removes it from between your teeth to discard it somewhere along the floor. 

You vaguely watch his hand from your peripherals as it lifts past the scope of your vison, but the low, wet sound in your ears cues you on what he may be doing. He is licking his fingers. Getting them wet. It makes your body thrum with want. The flavor of his gloves is still strong. A temptation that you never would have imagined. He had used your mouth for something that seems so frivolous, and yet it makes you ache. It reminds you of a bit of course chatter that you had heard from one of the ladies of the court.  A horrible gossip who often whispers of the most perverse of topics between lovers. Though you could not help but to have been intrigued when she spoke of pleasing one of her paramours with nothing but her tongue. 

You know what Aemond plans to do with his hands. The anticipation of it bubbles along the atmosphere like water simmers inside a heated pot, threatening to boil over as his fingers slip between your thighs and part your damp heat with little fanfare. Your body seems to sizzle. A delicious buzz licks up your spine as he sweeps a single finger over your cunt to gather the slick that already threatens to smear down the inside of your legs. Collecting it on the pad of his digit to aid him in delivering a slow, torturous circle along your clit. A drawn-out whine rips itself from your chest, and even with his hand buried underneath the fabric of your skirt, working pleasure between your thighs, you cannot help but to think of the possibility of taking him into your own mouth. 

To delight in the weight of his cock filling it up, weighing on your tongue. How it might taste. The expressions he would make. If his eye would express the same vulnerability that he had displayed to you in the hallway, when he asked if you would have him. Would that hint of desperation no longer be masked, but instead boldly shown? Would his face pinch with pleasure, eye clouded with lust as he watched you on your knees before him?

How gorgeous he would look. 

You have to tuck your face into his shoulder as you helplessly rock your hips against the ceaseless strum of his finger, muffling your cry as he suddenly slips one within the entrance of your cunt, forcing it to stretch and give around its width. He brushes it experimentally along your walls, almost like he is prodding or searching for something within you. Distracting you with the press of the heel of his hand on the bud of your nerves, feeding the fires the pit of your belly. He does find what he is in search of with an adept quickness. You feel it as soon as he does. The blind yet tactful pursuit is rewarded when he caresses something devastating buried inside of you. You gasp, breath snagging as you burrow your nose into his neck, choking on his scent while you search for your voice.  

"Aemond, please." It comes out as hardly more than a wanton moan puffed against his skin, and your hips continue to chase after the exquisite heat that he is effortlessly stoking within the cradle of your thighs. "Please, Aemond. I want to taste you. I want you in my mouth." 

You feel the way he hums in consideration more than you hear it. A nonchalant noise, as though you have questioned him about the quality of his day. As though he was not knuckle deep inside of your cunt. "Hmm, such a temptation. Though, if I recall correctly, was it not my wife who ventured into my chambers with revelations of her loneliness? It seems that I have long ignored my husbandly duties. I think it is due time that I rectify that." 

Those words sound so promising. So sweet in its oath. So, it is entirely cruel when he all but rips his finger from the walls of your cunt, leaving you feeling empty and the scorching embers in your gut smoking but unfanned. A question, an insult, or a cry hang on your tongue, but you never get the opportunity to figure out which it is. Aemond grips you by the shoulders and nudges you in the direction of your bedding, giving you little time to orient yourself through the lustful haze that has clouded your mind over. 

"I want you lying down on your back; cunt spread." His instruction rings out sharply. Like a strategized order that would be given in council. "And remove that fucking garment from your body." 

He spat out the sentence as though the cloth is an offence to him. The sight of it alone enough to rouse his ire. So eager to see you bare before him. You have half the mind to try and tease him, but tonight you can hardly be bothered. The weight of the shift is stifling on your dampened skin, and his covetous stare urges you to do his bid. You do not turn to face him as you disrobe. It nudges from your shoulders easily. Dropping free from your body to leave you in nothing more than your silk stockings and garters, and the diamond accessories that dangle from the lobes of your ears. 

You swear that you can feel the line of his vision upon your flesh. Trailing down your spine, tracing the shape of your ribs as they meet the contour of your waist, skirting along the swell of your arse. You do not turn to face him until you place your knees on the cushion of your mattress, plush and filled with down and feathers, offering you enough support to crawl along the stretch of it before turning on your back as he had bidden. The impassioned look in his eye seems to suspend you adrift. It does not make you feel disgustingly ogled or leered at to be so blatantly admired. He studies you as though he is in the presence of something sanctified. Divine. 

You are not sure of how to compose yourself underneath such unabashed devotion. The only thing that seems to give you any sort of stability is the continued ring of his earlier command reverberating in your mind. You cling to it, like someone who is threatened to be swept away in a rough tide. It is almost absentmindedly that your leg's part, offering yourself up to the insatiable stare of your husband in a manner so vulgar. But you cannot deny that there is something titillating about it. How his posture seems to simultaneously go rigid and slack all at once. A restraint in his composure visibly snapping before he stalks across the room towards you like he means to devour you. 

He is upon you before you can hardly blink. Gripping onto the thick of your upper thigh with his gloved, left hand to further pry your legs apart. Stretching them until you can nearly feel the strain of it in the joint of your hip. "Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys." He lifts your opposite up just enough to nose at your knee, ghosting his lips about the breadth of it as his eye locks with your own sight. Something nearly playful dancing in the vivid shade of colors. "Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?"

He continues to sweep his nose along your flesh. Dragging it downward towards your intimacy, where you burn and ache for him the most. You cannot stop yourself from rolling your hips upward, tempted by the warmth of his breath gliding along your skin and the heat of your cunt. It makes you clench around nothing, as though your body is mourning how empty you are without the stretch of his fingers. 

"Aemond, pleas-" 

He hushes you softly. A placating, quiet sound but it cuts through the air with the swift impact of a steady blade. Like an eager soldier you find yourself falling silent. Focused entirely on him as he lay between your thighs with the relaxed composure of a dragon with its prey already secure between it fangs. "Patience," he murmurs. Though he hardly gives you any time exercise such a restraint because his mouth is on you as soon as the word leaves him. The shock and feel of it sears through you, lashing itself across your body akin to charges of lightning crackling across a storm. Nothing could have prepared yourself for such a thing. The wet heat, the suction of his lips, the skilled slip of his tongue. 

Your legs twitch on reflex, threatening to close but the hand that he had clasped around your thigh keeps it secure in place. Still, it does not stop him from glancing up at you from the apex of your legs with an unvoiced reprimand glinting in his eye. A broken cry shudders from your lungs. Sharp breaths nearly hiccupping from you as he licks at your cunt, burrowing the pronounced, attractive swoop of his nose against your clit while his tongue laps at your entrance. You cannot stop yourself as you begin to sway your hips along the press of it. Practically riding his face with the mindless drive of a woman possessed. Your fingers claw along the blankets; nails tearing at the fabric like it might help you weather through the bolts of ecstasy that ravage your body.  

Your head lifts to properly gaze upon him as he continues to drag his tongue over you, groaning softly into your heat as though he were the one experiencing pleasure. You have heard of women satisfying their husbands with the comforts of their mouths but never the opposite. You know now that it is easily something that you could become addicted to. And based on the pleased pinch between his brows and the way that his eye has nearly slipped closed it seems that he has just as much of an appetite for it. 

"Oh, my gods! Aemond- fuck!" 

You can feel the amused chuckle he releases vibrate along your cunt, making the burning coil in your gut wind that much tighter. He parts his lips from you just long enough to speak, slipping a finger within the tight entrance of your heat just as he does so, crooking it against that delicious spot that he had found nestled within you earlier. "Such a filthy mouth you have on you. How unbecoming for someone who holds the title of a princess." He mocks, crudely stroking and curling his finger within the tight warmth of your cunt. You think distantly to scold him. To remind him of who has drawn such untoward responses from you in the first place but then he is guiding a second digit in along the other, making you stretch to accommodate them; causing your mind to blank. "What would they think if they could see you now? Mewling like well-paid whore."  

You are not sure why that awful little comment has warmth drizzling down your spine like drops of warmed honey. You feel yourself flutter around the ceaseless pulse of his fingers, back arching in a means to draw him deeper. He notices as well. Of course he does, ever so observant. It has him humming in that considering way of his. Like he is pleased with his discovery. You expect another witty remark from him but get none. What he chooses to say next is even more damning. 

"I'm going to fuck you with my fingers, and you are going to be a good little wife and peak on my tongue." 

His tone leaves no room for argument - not that you have given him any in this state. Especially not when the sultry drag of his mouth returns to your cunt to join the clever curl of his fingers. The combination of it threatens to make you sob. Your body writhes when he takes your clit into his mouth, sucking at it gently with steady pulses of his tongue. One of your hands blindly reaches to grip his head, threading your finger through the silken tresses of his hair as though it might ground you; keep you from floating away. It is all so overwhelming. Too much and yet too little. And like a starved glutton you find your opposite palm coming to slip along your own torso, sweeping along your feverish skin to explore your breasts. You mindlessly reach to take your nipples between your thumb and fingers, rolling and plucking at it to further stoke the fire in your belly. 

You hear the sound of Aemond's pleased groan, no doubt watching you from his place between your legs as you touch yourself. Already the rapture flooding your veins begins to rise up. Cresting upon you like a wave being tossed within a great tempest. You can practically taste it. Dancing along your tongue like something sweet and hot; burrowing into the cradle of your hips by the euphoric drag of his hand and tongue. 

"Aemond!" You sob. With the intent to warn him or to merely cry you are not sure. Your face pinches as the grip of your pleasure begins to close around you, holding you tight within its vice like it means to wring every ounce of euphoria from you. "Aemond, I'm going to- gods-" 

The glide of his mouth and fingers is almost brutal. Precise and nimble in his intent to hurdle you headfirst into the throes of bliss, and he is certainly achieving that goal. You can feel the muscles within you drawing up tight; fire lashing and curling over you and wearing at your soul. You can hardly speak. Now struggling to get out broken panting breaths and pieces of the prince's name as your release bears down on you. He shows you no mercy in your state, continuing to suckle and lap at your cunt like he means to drink you down. 

It is with a wrecked scream that you reach your peak. The cry that rips from your throat is short and hoarse, and there is no doubt that some unfortunate soul wandering the hall has heard you. Though you are too beyond yourself to care. Sparks bursts inside your flesh, dousing you in a bliss that you have naught ever brought yourself. Like a mindless animal your body continues to ride itself against the press of Aemond's tongue, his nose, his fingers, all of which still work against you to draw out the euphoria that engulfs you. 

It is not until you hiss from the sudden tenderness in your cunt that he wills himself to pull away, giving you a reprieve to lay boneless and spent along the plush of the bed. His breath is raged when he rises from your hips, face smeared with the evidence of your pleasure, his stare is wild. He looks disheveled, hair disordered from when you had gripped it and chest pulling in frantic gulps of breath. He nearly looks just as winded as you. Though you are surely partly to blame with how you had desperately pushed his face into your cunt like some sort of sex-crazed whore. And the patch of leather that conceals his eyes has become slipped from its place. Not enough to display whatever grievous, old wound may rest beneath, but another unintended brush against it may knock it askew completely. 

You do not think when you guide yourself to sit up and lift a hand, thoughtlessly using your thumb to nudge the leather back down to rest securely above his socket. But the realization seems to come to you both unanimously. His own hand coming to grip your offending wrist, keeping it suspended in its place in the air; your fingertips still resting on the structure of the patch. 

 The stare that passes between the both of you is joined by so many varying emotions. Many of them extending from his side: a brief flash of anger, bewilderment, unease. And then, there it is again. That trace of vulnerability that he tries so hard to contain. But it seems to always be there. Lurking underneath the surface like pain disturbing an old wound. And like a shadow, you see that hint of hope again too. It is the only things that keeps you from shifting from him. Of giving him space that you would have otherwise assumed he needs. But now you draw near. Resting on your knees to sit before him. Instead of attempting to withdraw your hand from his clutches, you instead reposition it to cradle the side of his face, maintaining to keep your touch light in case he chooses to remove himself from underneath your hand. 

Few breaths pass, and he makes no moves to do so. He leans closer. It is such a tiny gesture. A barely perceptible movement, but you feel it. The difference in weight against your hand. The glint in his eye pierces into you with a desperation. Like he is expecting you to suddenly come to a realization and flinch away out of fear. Like he is hoping that you do so. 

But you will do no such thing. You shift closer to him, making sure to be careful as not to accidentally prod his eye patch from its place while you clutch his cheek. He observes you closely. As though he is studying you. Searching for a shred of hesitation or disgust so that he may turn you away. The opportunity for him to do that does not come as you lift to seat yourself upon his lap. His chest expands almost shakily as he gazes at you. Eye slightly widened as though he is in a state of awe or disbelief. The sheer unabashed emotion reflecting inside that gorgeous mix of blue and violet could make your heart ache and skip. You long to tell him of how you feel. The breadth of your emotions. Not quite love yet, of course, but it must be the beginnings of it with how tender and passionate it burns, like the birth of a blaze. 

But that may be too much to confess. Perhaps, your actions will have to suffice for now. 

You are certain he gasps when your lips press against his, tongue sweeping along the plush of his mouth like he had done to your earlier, gathering the tart and sweet taste of yourself on your palate. The flavor of your own arousal does not deter you in the slightest. Not the damp of it against your skin as you draw him into a soft exchange of kisses. Much softer than the one that he had inspired in both of your earlier. This somehow seems so much more explorative. Delicate, even with the heat that begins to simmer beneath the surface once more. 

Your fingers once again slip and find purchase in his hair, nails lightly scraping at his scalp as your hips begin to undulate against the bulge that still presses against his breeches. He groans, panting into your mouth while he runs his hands along your nude flesh, reaching down to grip the swell of your arse to aid you in grinding your hips with his. The hard impression of his cock nudging at your cunt through the fabric of his trousers is delicious, even while you are still slightly tender from your previous pleasure, licking a sensitive fire along your skin. Still, it does not stop you as you continue to grind yourself on him, wanton and aching once again. Delight peeks through the drunken haze of your desires as he removes on of his hand from you to slip between your bodies, fingers reaching for the laces of his breeches where he eagerly pulls at tugs at them to draw them loose. 

He groans sharply in relief when he guides himself from the restraint of his trousers. The alleviation must be great, with how long the straining weight of his cock has been tucked behind the material. You hear it in the low hiss that rises from his chest, and it has you humming softly at him, a light reposeful sound as you continue you to exchange a languid, unbroken kiss with him. The both of you unable to tear yourselves from each other, even has the hot length of his cock comes to rest against his stomach, now pinned between the pressure of both of your bodies, burning against your ferverish skin. 

"I need to feel you," he breathes against your lips. "Let me have you." 

You peek your eyes open long enough to consider him, and the longing that burns within the depth of his stare knocks something inside of your soul off guard, shaking the very foundations. Such raw, unprotected emotion. He stares at you as if you are the creator of the heavens, having fashioned the moon and the burning of the stars with only your hands. It makes you unsure of how to stand unwavering, unaffected underneath such a devoted gaze. If only he knew that it is you who wishes to worship him. To pour your affections and adoration onto him like an acolyte offering their deity tokens and praise. 

An understanding seems to pass through the both of you, a wordless communication. He reaches down to grip himself as you post your hands upon his shoulders, your nails burrowing into the leather of the doublet that he has not bothered to shed as a means to braces yourself as you line the head of his cock with the entrance of your heat. There is little fanfare before you begin to lower yourself onto him, splitting yourself on the head of cock as you use your thighs to settle downward. You walls stretch to accommodate his girth, fluttering as he guides you open to find solace in your body. A strained set of words seems to squeeze from his chest, all of them in that beautiful language that you yet to understand. It has a sense of pride flaring. A deep, hedonistic satisfaction welling up to know that you have such a strong, composed man crumbling around the edges from nothing more than the grip of your cunt. 

You place another brief kiss upon his lips, a smile tugging at them when he nearly tries to chase after you, but you distract him by further sinking yourself down around his length until your rump meets his thighs. His mouth drops open in response, eye fluttering at sensation of your walls clenching and flexing around him as though it means to somehow draw him deeper. 

The pressure of him inside of you, carving a space for himself within you almost makes you breathless. It licks itself up your spine like a bolt of lightning, forcing your body to shudder and draw closer to his, subconsciously seeking out the warmth of his skin and mourning when you feel nothing but the dim chill of his leather doublet. 

"Aemond," you beg softly. Your hips seem to have a mind of their own as they begin to lift themself upward to roll back down, working to repeatedly spear yourself on his cock with only desperation and hedonism guiding you. His hands come to grip your waist, spreading his thighs out wider to find a better stance to drive himself up inside of you easier, aided by the slick of your arousal, causing his thrusts to become even more pronounced. The sensation of his girth stretching you out to its shape, veins dragging along your walls has your back curving taut like a bowstring. 

The warmth of his mouth suddenly closes around one of your breasts, tongue lapping at the peak of your nipple as he continues to drive himself inside of you in a devastating rhythm. It has your mind drawing a blank. Going white like a wall of fog as embers and fire sear at the pit of your gut. Your lip's part. Soft gasps panting from your throat as he continues to ravage your body for his pleasure while further tearing you through the depths of yours. It seems to choke through you, forcing you to hiccup and whimper around the insistent pounding of his hips, the weight of his cock dipping inside of you. 

It is disoriented and abrupt when he shoves you onto the flat of your back, knocking what little bit of air was still contained inside of your lungs out and leaving you stunned. You can only lay and take it as your mind scrambles to gain a sense of clarity, while pleasure scalds itself throughout your veins, snuffing your body in a cloud of smoke. His body extends over yours, only supported by his arms posted on either side of your head. His mouth leaves your breast with a subtle nip of his teeth, sparking pleasure with their blunt edges, making you arch your chest to seek out more of it. 

But he ignores the blatant offering, opting to nudge himself up to kneel to better support his weight as he grabs one of your thighs to swing your leg along the perch of his shoulder. It somehow manages to drive him deeper. Effectively punching the air from your chest, the crown of his cock brushing along something inside of you that has your body twisting along the support of the bed. A sob wracks through you and your eyes nearly roll in the back of your skull. You distantly hear yourself whispering his name. Repeating it over and over again with all of the devotion and desperation of a mantra, of a prayer meant for the ears of a god. And here above you now, he certainly looked like one. Pale eye blazing and wild with his lust, hair unkept and freeing from its tie, a sheen of sweat glittering along his pale flesh like flecks of gold and stardust. 

"There she is," he marvels in a coo; pleased and smug in the debauched thing that he has reduced you to. A complete juxtaposition to the longing, vulnerable man that he had been just moments before. "My sweet wife gone dumb and pliant beneath me. Do I satisfy you? Having you like this? Taking my cock so obediently. " You moan in agreement, hips twitching and jerking to further aid him inside of you. Even while it feels like he is deep in your gut, shoving your breath from you with his rhythm, you crave more. "I should keep you like this. Fucked and filled. Would you like that, ābrazȳrys? Stuffed full until it swells your belly with my heir?"

 

It douses you with fire. The comment engulfing you as though you have been guided into the starved clutches of an inferno. The satisfied stare that he pins you with only makes you feel bare and exposed despite the intimate positions that he has had you in already. Like he is piecing you apart and gazing at your soul. Even with the filth that he casually rambles, it does nothing to dampen the tenderness and hunger that seeps into your bones and gnaws at your being. Your body thrums with the delight at being claimed so primally by the prince - by your husband. To walk about the great halls with his babe safely tucked away inside your stomach. The idea of it has you clawing at his back, no doubt leaving marks along the leather, and it is a great regret that it is not his skin that you tear the traces of your nails along. 

"You will truly be so beautiful in such a state. There will be no mistake that you're mine. Mother to my child. My wife." 

The possessiveness that streaked through his words made you arch into him, driving the metal clasps of his doublet into your flesh, causing the skin to sting. You can hardly pay it any mind though. Not while you are hurtling towards your peak. The promise of your release rushing towards you with the intensity a liquid fire. He too is close. You can see it in the furrow between his brows, the pale stutter in his breath which begins to meld into low groans; feel it in the slight falter in his pace. 

"Please, Aemond." You moan, just barely managing to get your tongue to cooperate in forming the plea. His eye locks onto you with the concentration of a hunter, but that softness, his need is beginning to melt it around the edges once again. "I want you to let go. I want to feel you filling me up." 

His hips flounder for a good moment, and it takes him a bit of correcting to regain the fluidity of the brutal stride that he had set, though once he does it is like he had never faltered at all. The almost violent bliss smoldering along your being still engulfs you and nips at you like it means to rip you apart. He swears sharply again. The sound of your wish, both a beg and a command having the most delicious effect on him as he continues to build that euphoria within the base of your stomach, causing the muscles there to clench tight.

"I'm yours. All yours." You assure breathlessly, aiming to appease the proprietorial nature that he has shown you. That is all you can manage before the euphoria finally crests and completely blindsides you within the deluge. You feel outside of yourself as your body writhes, cunt clenching around the deep stretch of his cock as he continues to pound into you, tipping you into something akin to a drunken stupor. It is rapturous. The sheer weight of the pleasure that possesses you and leaves you little more than a vessel that can only lie and try to survive the onslaught. 

Aemond's body shudders over your own, spine curling inward to tuck his face within the crook of your neck as his own peak seizes him. His groan rattles along your throat, followed by a strained fuck as a burst of liquid heat floods inside your stomach, filling you with warmth. His hips jerk shakily, meeting the languid pace of your own as you both work to assist each other in riding out your shared highs. Though it does not take long for either of you to lose your vigor, muscles and bones going lax as you both relent to the weight of your spent bodies. He does not bother in removing himself from the grip of your cunt as he all but collapses on top of you, effectively pinning you to the mattress with his weight. 

You make no effort to move him from you - you find no desire to. The air around you is thick with the scent of sex, still thrumming and alive with the fervor of your shared lust even as it ebbs from your body, replaced with the temptation of sleep. Contentment and exultation pools in your chest, syrupy and thick from the pleasant warmth of his form along yours, and it guides you to glide your fingers through the silken strands of Aemond's hair. He has made no efforts to extract his face from your neck. Perfectly at peace to keep himself tucked against you with his flaccid cock still buried deep, as his breathing levels out into steady puffs against your skin. 

"We cannot sleep, my Prince. The servant girls will be here soon to prepare me for supper." You warn, though he does not stir in the slightest. A hum leaves him. The only confirmation you receive that tells you he has heard you. He almost seems to clutch onto you tighter, as though he longs to burrow into you and meld into one. So desperate for your touch even while he hides so many facets of himself from you. There is no way to truly foresee what the future has in store for you and him. For the welfare of the kingdom. The home of your children. There are many uncertainties. Many stimming from your Aemond himself, the many lethal edges that create his being. But that is fine. You are patient. Tonight has marked a new turning point for you and he, you are certain. You will wait no matter how long you must for him to come to you, and to reveal himself and his truths to you unabashedly. No matter how damaged and bloody and wild those parts of him may be. 

You are certain that you will marvel in the twisted beauty of it regardless. 

"I will get up shortly." He finally replies, tone gentle and rich in your ear. "Let us just lie here for a moment; just you and I." 

Does this truly please you, wife? - Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys? To be here with me? - Naejot sagon kesīr lēda nyke I believe it does - Pāsan ziry gaomas It has me wonder of all the other ways I could please you - Ēza nyke pendagon hen mirre se tolie ways nyke could kostilus ao

So beautiful and sweet like this, my wife - Sīr gevie se dōna raqagon bisa, issa ābrazȳrys Do you taste just as sweet? - Gaomagon ao sylutegon sepār hae dōna?    

[planetaryupscaled]

Our Little Secret

Male Reader x Eunbi

Tags: 4k, creampie, stepmom

The story is not ours; we simply alter the original story to our preferred settings.

“Oh you like that? you naughty boy.”

—

I became a new half-brother three months ago, at the age of twenty-three. Though I know this is completely normal, it still feels strange to be so much older than my sister. Even stranger that my step-mom is not much older than me. A year ago, my dad married a twenty seven year old woman. She had her child three months ago at the age of 28. It still feels strange to see them with a baby. But I'm getting used to it.

As I walked up to the door of their house, I took out my key and unlocked the door letting myself in. Walking in, I set my bag next to the staircase.

“Hello.”

“Hey Tae,” my step-mother, Eunbi, called. “In the living room.”

Walking into the living room I was a little startled as she was breastfeeding Sooyun on the couch.

“I hope you’re not offended by this,” Eunbi said looking up at me with smile. “I was just finishing giving her a snack before putting her down for bed.”

“Oh no, not at all,”

“Good,” she replied with a soft smile. “Going to put her down and let your dad watch her for a while. Though he’s taking a quick nap, had a hard day at work I guess.”

“Figures,” I said with a bit of a knowing look.

“Yep, that’s him. Always the party crasher,” Eunbi said as she walked out of the room.

As Eunbi walked by me, I caught a glimpse of one of her breasts, as she hadn't put that side of her spaghetti strap top back on. She obviously wasn’t wearing a bra and while I had noticed it before, her breasts really had grown quite a bit since her pregnancy. Probably has a lot to do with the milk stored in them now. She used to probably be something like a B cup, I never looked that hard really, she is my step-mother after all.

I was sitting on the couch with a bottle of water by the time she came back into the living room. Walking back in I looked a little more closely. At her breasts and entire body, they really had grown a considerable amount.

Eunbi was very attractive. She had pretty tanned skin and black long hair that flowed down her shoulders. Her eyes were dark brown. She was pretty much back in good shape, loosing most of all that extra pregnancy weight, which just in three months is pretty amazing. Eunbi was about 5’3” I would guess and what she was wearing only helped make her look better. Not that she really needs it.

Since it was the middle of summer, it made sense that she had on the black spaghetti strap top which she had put back into place but still no bra. She was wearing light colored jean shorts that probably went to about mid-thigh, showing off her legs nicely with a pair easy slip-on sandal.

“Would you like anything else to drink?” Eunbi asked as she noticed my bottle of water.

“No, water is just fine,” I replied with a soft smile.

“Oh being healthy tonight huh?” she teased lightly.

“Hey! I am, most of the time,” I shot back playfully.

“Well,” she replied looking at me. “With a physique like that, you must.”

“Water does help,” I replied mid laugh and with a smile. “Thanks.”

Eunbi then walked over and sat next to me on the couch as she turned on the TV, with only about four inches separating our legs. She turned down the volume enough so that we could still hear each other talking.

“So did you have a decent day?” Eunbi asked turning her head to look at me.

“Eh it wasn’t so bad,” I replied with a smile. There was a moment after I replied that we both looked into each other's eyes for a second longer than usual before we both turned our heads to look back at the TV.

“Ahh shoot,” Eunbi sighed as she stretched her legs out in front of her, stretching her muscles. “I forgot Sooyun’s bottle in the kitchen, and I am so full of milk right now. Sooyun didn’t want much earlier.”

She gently held her breasts underneath them on the bottom as she referred to how full they were. It was then that I noticed her nipples were really hard and pushing outward underneath her top. It feels kind of wrong marveling at her breasts like that, but I can’t say I don’t like them either.

“I’ll go get it for you.” As I was about to go get it, she held my hand.

“Oh no, don’t worry about it, I can do it later.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah…” she replied with a smile. As she said that she moved herself right next to me, the sides of our bodies touching and she laid her head down on my shoulder, “I’m sure.”

I wrapped my arm around her, letting my hand rest on her shoulder as I held her gently. Her hair smelled good too, she must have taken a shower a little bit before I got here. A fruity smell, maybe mango or something like that.

“I hope she turns out to be as nice and caring as you,” Eunbi said softly with her head still on my shoulder and looking forward.

“I’m sure she will and thank you for the compliment.”

With that she moved her head and looked up at me with her pretty brown eyes and said, “Of course. You fully deserve it. You’re a wonderful step son.”

I smiled back as she said that, meeting her smile. We held the gaze for a few moments looking into each other's eyes, perhaps a couple seconds too long this time. Breaking the gaze, she laid her head back on my shoulder. Looking down I noticed her nipples were still hard, maybe even harder now.

“This may sound kind of strange but I was wondering,” I started to ask looking down at her. “Do you ever...taste yourself? I’m just curious. I would think mothers would.”

Propping her head up a bit she looked back at me and asked, “You mean my milk?”

“Umm...” I started to reply as I let it sink it what she said. Realizing that what I asked could have meant something else that I didn’t mean to ask at all I quickly said, “Yes, your milk.”

“I have actually, yes... it’s kind of sweet tasting with a bit of a saltiness to it,” she said giggling a little bit as she smiled back at me obviously getting what I was realizing. “Why? Did you wonder what it tasted like?”

“Just curious, really,” I replied somewhat innocently. “Though I guess now that I think about it, yeah I did.”

“Would you like to try some? It is safe for grown people too!” she said playfully.

“Umm, I guess…” I said somewhat hesitantly. Not quite what I had in mind but this seemed o.k. “Do I need a glass or something?” dumb question to ask on my part.

“No need,” she said with a smile looking me in the eyes. “It is best if you try it from the source.”

“Eunbi...” I called out her name. “I’m not sure that’s a great idea... I know we’re not related and all but you are my step mom.”

“Its fine…” she said reassuringly. “One little suck isn’t mean anything and no one will ever know but us.”

With that, she pushed both straps of her top down her arms, over and off of her breasts. Exposing them. Her large tanned skin, luscious looking breasts were gorgeous. Her aureoles were dark pink, large, and swollen, and her nipples were hard and pushed straight out. Her breasts hung down slightly, which she pushed out by pushing her chest forward as she looked at me.

“Wow they’re gorgeous,” I whispered softly under my breath, realizing a moment later she probably heard me.

“Thanks,” she replied with a smile looking at me and gently cupping her breasts at the bottom of them. “Take your pick as to which one you want your sample from. Just be careful, they’re extra sensitive right now.”

I smiled back, looking her in her eyes before slowly lowering my head. I moved my mouth toward the one closest to me—her left one. As my mouth neared her nipple, I slowly stuck out my tongue and gently flicked the tip of her nipple. She drew in a short quick gasp as I did and I knew, even if it was wrong, that she probably wouldn’t mind if I had more than one quick suck.

As my mouth reached her nipple, I grasped it with my lips. Gently flicking it with my tongue inside my mouth, I began to softly suck on her hard nipple. Feeling milk seep out of her nipple and into my mouth I sucked a little bit harder as then her milk squirted into my mouth. It did taste somewhat sweet with a hint of saltiness. It wasn’t too bad as I swallowed it and sucked harder, getting more of her milk into my mouth.

After that larger suck I removed my mouth and ran my tongue from her nipple all the way across her other breast to her other nipple. Grasping that one in my lips just as I had the other, I began sucking on it taking her milk into my mouth. Moving my hand up I very gently pinched her other nipple as I sucked.

“Ohhh,” Eunbi sucked in a sharp gasp. “Oh Tae, I haven’t been touched like this in months. This isn’t right but… don’t stop.”

Hearing her say that only made me suck harder, taking more of her sweet warm milk into my mouth. After I had a little more of her milk, I removed my lips from her nipple and looked up at her smiling. She returned the smile and looked at me with her brown eyes which said that she clearly wanted more.

Moving my head up to be level with hers, I took a chance and leaned in and kissed her gently on her soft lips. She didn’t back away, instead she kissed me back, gently at first but soon we were kissing passionately. She had wrapped her arms around me, pressing her breasts into my chest. I had one arm around her while my other hand was pinching one of her hard nipples.

In the middle of our embrace, she abruptly stopped and pulled away. Looking back at me, “We can’t… This is wrong, what are we thinking? especially not right here and now, your dad, he’s only taking a nap. He could wake at any time.”

“Yeah...” I sighed softly as I leaned in and gave her a quick kiss. “I guess you’re right.”

“No more of that either, except this last one…” she said with a sly smile as she gave me a hard deep kiss before pulling away.

Eunbi then cupped her breasts in her hands, gently kneading them outward squirting her milk out of her nipples at me, particularly my face. I smiled at her as she did it a few times before putting her top correctly back on.

“I’m so glad you liked that,” she said gently wiping the milk off my face. “I don’t know if we can ever continue this, it is wrong, but deep inside, I definitely want to.”

“Am too,” I smiled back at her.

“Good, I am glad we understand each other,” she replied. “I'll go get dinner ready.”

With that she got up off the couch and left the living room. I couldn’t believe what had just happened. Was this some kind of dream? I pinch myself, nope I guess it wasn’t. I really had just sucked milk out of my step-mothers nipples and we had both enjoyed it immensely.

The rest of the evening went by and we had our dinner, and talked about random things before saying our goodnights and heading to bed.

Getting to my room was all the way up the third floor of the house. It was somewhat of a loft because it was the only thing up here. The staircase came directly into the room after opening the door. But you didn't have to go up a ladder, so it wasn't really a loft. Getting into bed I decided to sleep naked like I normally do. It was warm enough and after a little while of dozing, I fell right asleep.

I wasn’t sure if I was going to hear the baby during the night as they were all the way down on the first floor. But sure enough I was able to as at about 2 am when she started crying. After about 30 minutes it seemed to be perfectly quiet again with no outbursts at all.

About 15 minutes later, I heard the door to my room creak open, then close again. Looking up from my bed still in a groggy sleep, I saw Eunbi standing near the door, watching me. She was wearing what looks to be a silk nightgown in a light peach shade color that goes down to her mid-thigh. Her nipples were hard again and pushing against the fabric. I smiled at her as she looked at me.

“I know I said we probably couldn’t do any of this again,” she said quietly. “But my body and mind are just begging to be touched again. I haven’t been touched like you did earlier in a long time.

“Your dad once I got close to term with Sooyun stopped wanting to be with me in this sort of way for the most part. And now after she’s born, it’s been even worse. I need, and want the attention.”

“I don’t know how anyone could pass up someone as gorgeous and sexy as you,” I replied with a smile.

As I said that, she walked over to the edge of my bed, pulled back the covers, and got in next to me, smiling. She placed herself close to mine before she leaned in and kissed me, we kissed passionately as she ran her hand down the side of my body from my shoulder down to my thigh.

“Sleeping naked huh?” she whispered with a mischievous smile. “I like that. I’m only wearing this nightgown, and I’m sure we could change that.”

“Oh?” I commented giving her soft kiss. “Well, why don't we right now?”

Eunbi smiled at me as she sat up in bed and pulled her nightgown over her head, revealing her wonderful breasts as well as her pussy. Looking down, I noticed she had some hair down there before wriggling back under the covers and pushing closer to me.

“Sorry about the hair down there,” she said looking down her body. “I have let it grow lately without doing much to it.”

“Sorry?” I replied with a bit of shock that she was apologizing. “You’re gorgeous how you are. I love it.”

“Really?” She commented excitedly with a smile and a warm kiss. “I’ll keep it then. Just for you. Our little secret.”

Gently running my hand down her soft skin on the outside of her thigh I slowly moved inside and then upward. She instinctively moved her legs apart as I reached her pussy, which was hairy, wet and warm.

“Mmmmm,” Eunbi moaned quietly as my hands ran across the slit of her pussy lips. “I need this so bad.”

“And I want this too bad.” I said.

Eunbi trying to push her pussy down more onto my hand. “You can have all of me that you want, the way you want.”

I gently slipped two fingers into her wet throbbing pussy and began pushing them in and out of her, curling them inside as she moaned quietly in pleasure. Taking my fingers out, I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her body against mine, pressing my hard thick cock into her mound of pussy hair as I kissed her deeply and passionately.

She broke away a little bit and grasped my hard cock in her hand, starting to stroke it up and down with her slender fingers from its base to its head.

“Ohhh Eunbi…” I moaned as she increased her speed while stroking my hard cock. “That feels so good… don’t stop.”

As she continued to stroke my cock, I took one of her breasts in my mouth. Wrapping my lips around one of her hard nipples I began to suck on it letting her milk squirt into my mouth. I continued to suck on it, letting more and more of her sweet milk into my mouth. She stopped stroking me as intensely as she was groaning in pleasure from my sucking and pinching of her other nipple.

“Oh god Tae, yes...take all the milk you want from me,” she moaned in pleasure.

Smiling up at her after she said that, I moved to her other breast licking her big sensitive dark pink swollen aureole before grasping her nipple with my lips. Sucking in I took more large squirts of her milk into my mouth, savoring its sweet taste.

Eunbi had moved her hand back to my hard cock and was slowly stroking it up and down, playing with the head of it and any pre-cum with her thumb.

“Mmmm, oh yes,” I groaned lightly as I took my mouth off of her nipple.

“Oh do you like that Tae?” Eunbi asked playfully. “Glad you do because I can’t go any longer without your big hard thick cock inside me. I’m throbbing for it more than I knew I ever could.”

With that she threw back the covers on the bed and straddled me. Kneeling over me she pressed my cock down on my stomach with her hairy pussy and grinded gently on it. Smiling down at me she began to knead her breasts outward, squirting milk out of them toward my chest and face.

“Do you like that? Oh you naughty boy,” she said with a mischievous smile as her milk squirted out of her hard nipples over me. “I’m a mommy now. Do you want to fuck your step mommy’s pussy? You better, because I want your hard cock so bad.”

I nodded as she moved her hips up, placing the tip of my cock on the slit of her hairy pussy. She gently moved my tip of my cock along her lips, feeling her pussy hair before pushing her hips down, sliding the head of my cock inside her.

“Ohh god…” Eunbi gasped as it entered her and she continued pushing down, taking me all inside. “Oh yes...yes. Fill me up, mommy wants all your cock!”

I pushed up as she slid down my hard thick cock, pushing my entirety into my step-mom’s love hole. Her wet pussy was swishing around my cock as she began to go up and down on me.

Eunbi was bouncing up and down, lifting her hips all the way up so just the head of my cock was inside her before pushing herself right back down to the base of my cock. Her big swollen breasts were jiggling frantically up and down as she rode me. I reached up and began massaging her breasts as she bounced, making her spray her milk.

She bent down so I could take her nipple in my mouth as she continued to push herself up and down on my hard cock. I began sucking on her nipple, enjoying the flow of her milk into my mouth.

“Oh god, yes,” Eunbi moaned as I sucked on her nipple taking her milk. “Suck out mommy’s milk while you fuck me...ohhhh, god yes.”

My cock was pumping in and out of her wet pussy and I continued to suck out her milk from her nipples.

I then slid my hands down the sides of her body to her waist as Eunbi sat upright on top of me again, bouncing up and down on my hard cock. I could feel her pussy walls loosely grasping at my cock as I pushed into her. She was moaning with her head back and hair flowing down her back. Her juices were leaking out of her pussy and down my cock to my balls, making a spot on the bed.

I could feel my cock beginning to thicken inside of her as well as my balls beginning to contract as she continued to ride me. Eunbi could feel it too as she went up and down even fast and harder.

“Oh you’re going to cum soon aren’t you?” Eunbi said breathing heavily looking down at me with a smile. “You better cum deep inside of me. Mommy needs to be full of cum, maybe you get yourself another sibling.” She said with a seductive smile.

We were both moaning as my cock continued to thicken inside her as I went hard and fast in and out her wet cunt. I began to feel her pussy contract in pleasure and I just couldn’t take it anymore.

Thrusting myself up deep inside of her, Eunbi slammed down on my cock and sat there grinding into me as I began to spasm inside of her. My cock was erupting inside of her, spraying my warm sticky cum deep into my step-mom’s pussy. Eunbi continued to grind on me causing her hanging breasts to sway back and forth as my cock still pushed my cum out and deep inside her.

“Oh god...fuck…yes...” Eunbi breathed out sharply as she felt my cum shoot deep inside her wanting pussy. “God that feels good, oh I needed this so bad. Oh Tae, you’ve made mommy feel so… so good!”

Looking up at her smiling, I reached up cupping her breasts and gently pinched her swollen nipples before massaging her breasts. Softly kneading them her nipples began to spray out more milk onto my chest. Eunbi then replaced her hands with mine as she lifted her hips up, removing my wet cock from her wet pussy. Laying down beside me, Eunbi massaged her breasts aiming her spraying milk at my chest and face. Licking my lips I took as much of her sweet milk as I could smiling.

“So love that you like this,” Eunbi said giggling at me with her milk on my face. “I need this from you more than just this once.”

“So I take it, mommy...is doing alright?” I said with a smile, emphasizing the word mommy.

She gave me a huge smile as I said that, leaning in and giving me a big warm kiss. She then pushed her hips toward me as we were lying on our sides, pressing her mound of pubic hair against my semi-limp wet cock. I pushed my hips forward rubbing against her hair as I wrapped my arms around her, kissing her passionately.

“Yes, oh yes,” Eunbi whispered breaking our embrace. “Only thing mommy would want now, is more of your cum in mommy’s already cum filled pussy,” she added with a warm smile.

Giving her a mischievous smile, I rolled her onto her back and got on top of her. Her legs spread apart instinctively as I climbed on top of her. My cock was now hard again; I teased her with it, gently rubbing the tip of it on her hairy pussy lips.

“Oh god… no teasing, just fuck me already, fill me up with that hard cock,” Eunbi breathed as she heaved her hips upwards.

Pushing my hips down, I slid my hard cock into her sopping wet pussy easily. Starting to move my hips up and down, I was pushing my hard thick cock as deep into her as I could go.

Her walls of her pussy were grasping at my cock, hugging it as tight as they could. Our juices had mixed together and were seeping out of her now, trickling out of her pussy down over her ass and to the bed, making a bit of a little puddle.

Thrusting my hard thick cock into here sopping wet hairy pussy, she was matching my motions by thrusting her hips up. God, she felt so good wrapping around my cock. I wish I could do this all day long but I knew that wasn’t going to happen plus I wasn’t going to be able to last that long this time.

Continuing to push my hard cock into her, I cupped one of her breasts in my hand and brought my head down toward it. Running my tongue around the dark swollen aureole I then grasped her hard nipple and sucked. Her milk squirted out, filling my mouth with her sweetness.

“Mmmmm!... Oh god yes,” Eunbi moaned bucking her hips up hard. “Take mommy’s milk in your mouth.... oh yes, like that...and her pussy, oh yes...push your hard cock deep into mommy’s pussy.”

I couldn’t take it much longer, my hard cock was thickening inside her as my balls were beginning to contract while I took one more suck from her nipple, tasting her sweet milk in my mouth over my tongue. She could tell I wasn’t going to last much longer as she pushed her hips up hard and wrapped her legs around my ass pulling me in.

Pressing my cock into her wet hairy loose pussy as deep as it could go, I began to let go. My cock started to convulse inside her tightening pussy walls, spraying my second warm sticky cum deep into her pussy. Bucking her hips into me, Eunbi moaned as my cock pushed out more of my cum into her warm pussy.

As we subsided, we collapsed in each other’s arms laying on our sides. Eunbi was pressing her big soft luscious breasts against my chest as she smiled at me.

“Oh Tae,” she said softly. “You’ve no idea how happy you’ve made me.”

“No?” I replied with a smile.

“You filled my pussy with so much cum, I hadn’t had any for so long and now all this...oh god it feels so good,” she whispered with a big smile as she wiggled her hips against me.

Eunbi then reached her hand between her legs, plunging two of her fingers deep into her pussy coating them in the mixture of our juices. Pulling them out she brought them up to her mouth and slowly sucked the juices off of them, savoring the taste.

Smiling back at me with her gorgeous brown eyes after she sucked off the last of our juices on her two fingers, I pushed my naked body against hers as we slowly drifted off to sleep.

[seresinhangmanjake]

The Harkonnen's Loves

Dad!Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Mom!Atreides!reader

Summary in bullet points:

Your and Feyd’s four-year-old son is sweet like you but has a little love for violence like his father

Feyd gives your son his first blade

Feyd is soft for his family (I just think being in love and having a family would alter this psycho man’s brain chemistry a bit)

Notes: same Feyd x reader from The Harkonnen’s Sweet Thing and The Harkonnen’s Claim. 

Warnings: a half-psycho half-sweet little boy, mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy.

Words: 1500

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist

Your son contains a sweetness. ‘Caladan Sweetness’ you call it, because your home planet was where your sweetness was born into you. Your father, the beauty of your home, the oceans and the fields bloomed you into the soft, sweet thing that your husband loves. And though your son has never seen the world you come from, that sweetness runs through his veins. His smile, his laugh, his power to draw those around him out of their Harkonnen-built shells—that all comes from you. 

But at the same time, he is no less like his father. He adapts rather quickly to his surroundings. He has a natural curiosity for weaponry and blood and how one brings about the other. He does not hate the feel of a heart beating its final beat in his little hand—a feeling his father expressed would be better experienced young, and was done so after the slaughtering of a prisoner in front of the boy's eyes. Feyd had cracked open the prisoner's chest, taken his son by the hand, and guided his fingers into the open wound with the instruction to keep them wrapped around the organ until it no longer moved. You remember his eyes that day—round as saucers and sprinkled with excitement as he looked up at his father who ruffled his hair with a grin on his face. 

He truly is a combination of you both; such beautiful balance has already taken shape in a tiny body. He will be a warrior built and molded by his desire to understand everything his father has to teach him. And yet, he will be gentle where necessary; you hope, one day, with a wife and children of his own. But it’ll be long before that day comes. 

Then again, in some ways, he is growing so fast. For you, it could have been yesterday that you were pushing him out of your womb as your husband held your hand and kissed your forehead. At four years old, you still see him as your baby, but you acknowledge that Harkonnen blood ripens faster than the average child, and he has already begun to show signs of the man your brother prophesized him to be: one of the strongest alive; stronger even than his father. 

That is why you’ve allowed Feyd to pace your son’s training—it’s his area of expertise. It is their bond, and you don’t interfere in those moments, opting to stay just out of sight. 

“You're old enough now to have your own blade,” you hear your husband tell your son from your hidden spot around the corner. 

You can’t hold back your smile at your son's uncontained curiosity as Feyd pulls the knife out from behind his back and presents it to the boy. It balances perfectly on Feyd’s palm as tiny hands reach up. Your son pauses, but when Feyd gives an encouraging nod, he plucks it from his father’s hand. 

It couldn’t be a better fit. Not too long or heavy for his hand, but not too short or light. It’s a good starting blade to prepare him for the weapons that will grow in size as he does. 

“You will be training with me every day from now on,” Feyd tells him.

The boy looks up from the knife to meet his father’s eyes. “So I can get strong like you, Daddy?”

“Stronger than me.”

Your son giggles, a wide grin breaking open his face. “No one's stronger than you!”

Feyd's features soften as he pats his boy's cheek. “You will be.”

“Will I be strong enough to kill Uncle Paul for stealing me and Mommy from you?”

You almost snort as you roll your eyes. Of course, Feyd told him the story. It was only a matter of time before he sat him down and explained the tale of your half-brother killing—or almost killing—Feyd in front of you, then holding you hostage upon finding out Feyd was still alive and demanding you be returned to him. In exchange for you and the baby he discovered you were pregnant with, Feyd swore loyalty to your brother. But your husband will not allow his bloodline to continue for generations under the thumb of Paul Atreides. And that starts with your son. 

Feyd chuckles. “You will be strong enough to destroy your uncle and everything he loves.”

Finally making your presence known, you edge around the corner and lean against the wall. When Feyd sees you, so too does your son, and knowing the boy’s next move, Feyd takes the small blade from the even smaller hand.

“Mommy, I'm going to kill Uncle Paul!” he says joyfully as he rushes over and slams into your legs. “And everything he loves!”

“I heard!” you reply, grinning as you crouch down to his level and take hold of his hands. “But you know what? Little na-Barons who wish to take revenge on their uncles must first get a good night's sleep.”  

“Ok!”

“I'll come check on you in a minute,” you promise him before kissing his cheek and sending him on his way. Your eyes follow him running down the hall until he’s safely behind the door of his bedroom. 

Turning back to your husband and walking to his side, you say, “You told him.”

The tip of the blade pushes into his pointer finger as he lazily twirls the small weapon. “At his age, he should know who his enemies are.”

You slip between his muscled body and the table in the center of the common room where he sets down your son’s knife. With a closed-mouth smile, you hum. “And how did you start that conversation? ‘Uncle Paul made Mommy sad and Daddy mad’?”

“Something like that,” he confirms, leaning into you. His hands brace on the table, one arm at either side of your hips as he seals his lips to yours. 

Feyd’s mouth moves at a slow, hypnotic rhythm but with an intense pressure that’s glazed in possessiveness. You can taste it. That ownership. That authority. He may not always fuck you like you belong to him—sometimes it’s your turn to remind him that he’s yours—but his kisses have never been anything short of claiming. Gentle or rough, slow or frenzied, short or long enough to make you forget what world you’re in, a kiss from your husband ends with the reassurance that he wants you, he loves you, and he won’t ever let you go. 

His hands move to your neck, thumbs pressing into the curve of your jaw to hold your head still and you moan from his cool fingers soothing flushed skin. Your lips part and his tongue licks into your mouth. It plays with yours and then retreats. Teeth sink into your bottom lip, lightly tugging before he pulls back to rest his forehead against yours. 

“How's our other one?” he asks as a knuckle draws a line from your jaw to your neck to your cleavage. His eyes follow as it continues past the neckline of your dress and down your sternum, stopping at your stomach where his fingers splay wide. His eyes flick up to yours.

“Strong…like you,” you say, placing your hand over his. “...and like him.”

Your husband nods, exhaling a light sigh of relief. “Did they tell you?”

You smile. “They think it's a girl,” you answer. 

A few thumps of your heart pass as you await his reaction, but then Feyd smiles with you.

---

@avidreader73 @alwaysadreamingoptimist @lost-in-fiction-like-ur-mom @workof-a-rr-t @midnight-serendipity @minedofmoria @aoi-targaryen

[dark-konohagakure2]

Hi 💞 I love your content. Can I get Shisui using his Kotoamatsukami on his younger sister to brainwash her into loving him and him alone + non-con's her, please?

tw: incest, sibling incest, noncon, blowjobs, brainwashing, Kotoamatsukami, praise, infantilization, love bombing

All characters depicted are 18+

Shisui's little sister is the most precious person in the entire world to him, their parents aren't in the picture so he practically had to raise her on his own from a young age, which has made him very overprotective of her. But she's growing up too fast right before his very eyes, and Shisui does not like that one bit.

While she is an adult, she's still Shisui's baby sister, his precious little girl, and the mere thought of her talking to other men and possibly being harmed or taken advantage of by them is enough to make the Uchiha's blood boil, so after much careful consideration, he decides that he needs to take some preventative measures.

Kotoamatsukami is an ocular jutsu that can only be used once a decade, so Shisui has to be very careful how he uses it, and he can't think of a better use of it than protecting the most precious person in his entire world. He feels somewhat conflicted at first, but his love for his sister wins out over any reservations he might have had.

It's almost laughably easy, he just needs to look her in the eye for a second, and all of a sudden she's all over him, clinging to him and bawling her eyes out, babbling on about how she never wants him to leave her and how she loves Nii Nii more than anything. Shisui will feign surprise and immediately comfort her, his pants growing unbearably tight as he does so.

"Woah there..! Baby, it's okay... Your big bro loves you more than anything else in the world... if you really want that, then you don't ever have to leave my side ever again..."

Shisui can't remember the last time he's been this happy, he missed her calling him Nii Nii and being his little girl so much, and it's been so long since he last got to hold her in his arms. But Shisui is only a man, and he can't control his darker urges for very long, but luckily for him his precious little angel doesn't mind helping her big brother out.

He'll feel a twinge of guilt for taking advantage of her altered state of mind, but any guilt he might be feeling is instantly replaced with pure bliss as he feels her lips clumsily wrap around his cock. Shisui often fisted his cock late at night to thoughts of his sister pleasuring him with her mouth, and now that it's finally happening he's in complete ecstasy.

Shisui isn't rough with her at all, no he'd never do anything to hurt his beloved sister, in fact he'll be incredibly gentle considering that he's technically forcing her, stroking her hair gently and consoling her if she's choking and gagging on his cock too much, and he's more than sure to let her know what a good job she's doing and how good she's making him feel.

He'll end up reaching his peak rather quickly, he can't help it when his most deviant and depraved fantasies are finally coming true, and with the most dear person to him too. Shisui will cum directly down her throat, filling her tummy with his cum while he tells her how incredibly happy she has just made him.

"F-Fuck..! G-Good girl, baby, good girl... You did such a good job, Nii Nii loves you so so much, honey..."

In the end Shisui is incredibly glad that he decided to use his Kotoamatsukami on her, he knows it's a terrible thing to do to his own sister, but she's blissfully unaware and just happy to be with her brother all the time, and he gets to have his baby sister all to himself, so in the end he sees it as a win win.

[loonylupinblack3]

This Isn't Over

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Warnings: toxic!rafe, swearing, physical alteration, hints to domestic violence

Summary: you accidently spend the night at your friends house and Rafe has something to say about it

Word count: 2.2k

A/N: more rafe 🤭🤭 this one has him being a little (😬) toxic so be warned!!

You’d fallen asleep at John B’s house. You knew that because it was barely 8am and your phone was ringing its head off, a sleuth of calls and messages lighting up your screen. You let out a groan, rolling over on the pull out mattress in John B’s living room, untangling yourself from Kiara whose limbs were spread out like an eagle on the bed, and picked up your phone.

Your eyes were bleary as you blinked at the screen, already knowing who was sending you all these messages. Like you’d expected, you saw Rafe’s name all over your phone, missed calls and countless messages lining up your home screen.

You’d made the mistake of telling Rafe of your plans to visit John B and his friends last night. You’d had a good relationship with them a couple months ago but had started to drift apart when you and Rafe started seeing each other. Wanting to remedy that, you’d all planned a bit of a party, just between friends, to catch up.

Rafe hadn’t been happy when he found out. At first he told you not to go, adamantly raving about how crazy John B and his sister were. When you informed him you would be going, because they were your friends and you’d known them way before Rafe started disliking them, he made you promise two things to him. One, that you wouldn’t drink, and two, that he’d be able to see you the next morning.

Looking around with groggy eyes and noting the many empty beer cans, you realised belatedly that you’d broken both your promises.

“Shit,” you mumbled, sitting upright and rubbing your eyes.

JJ gave a groan from the mattress a few steps away. “I will smash whoever’s phone that is if they don’t shut it up right now.”

You gave a sheepish smile even though he couldn’t see you, noticing the other’s restlessness too. “Sorry guys, my bad. Rafe’s just texting me.”

That caught their attention, JJ sitting upright immediately and the others stirring into separate states of awareness. You winced; you should have known better than to mention Rafe, because for all that your boyfriend didn’t like them, your friends disliked him more.

“What’s got him so riled up?” John B asked, a hint of suspicion in his voice.

You cleared your throat, trying to grab your bearings as you looked around for your shoes. “Oh, I was just supposed to meet him this morning and forgot so…”

Pope raised his eyebrows. “So he’s blowing up your phone? And why were you supposed to meet him at-” Pope checked his watch. “-8:07am?”

You hesitated. “Well, I didn’t set a time, it's just he wasn’t expecting me to sleep over so he probably came early to see me and found me missing.”

Sarah gave you a look, probably the most tired out of all of them but still in her right mind enough to tell you, “that’s like, a walking red flag.”

You laughed slightly, though it was forced. “He just cares. Speaking of, I should probably, y’know, answer his texts.”

There were mumbles and mutterings but no one spoke against you as you looked at your phone, reading the most recent texts from Rafe.

Where are you?

Why aren’t you home?

Did you stay at John B’s for the night? You better not have had anything

What the fuck Y/n. Where are you?

I’m coming to John B’s

Shit. Rafe couldn’t come here. There were so many ill feelings with him in the mix and you didn’t want anything to unfold between him and your friends. 

You texted him back hastily but he didn’t reply, telling you he was already on the way. Shit. 

“He’s coming here?!” Kiaria read, leaning over your shoulder. You were quick to hide your phone but the damage had already been done, all of your friends certainly wide awake now.

JJ let out a disbelieving shock. “Wait, wait, Rafe Cameron is coming here? Did I get that right?”

You cringed. “Um. Kind of? But I’ll meet him outside, you guys won’t have to see him at all-”

Rapid pounding on the door cut you off. You saw Sarah pale and couldn’t help but feel guilty. How fast had Rafe driven to get here?!

“John B,” Rafe called through the door. “John B open up.”

It was as if a switch had been flipped. Instead of your friend John B who teased you and begrudgingly accepted your choice in boyfriend, it was John B who hated Rafe, a dark look in his eyes as his hands curled into fists by his side. No one spoke. “I know you’re in there!” Rafe’s voice got louder; he was shouting by now. “Where’s Y/n? What’d you do, huh? You hurt her? Because I swear to God if you did-”

John B was up and striding to the front door before any of you could stop him. He was like a man possessed, his usual calm persona replaced with an indescribable anger that could only come from countless bad experiences.

He opened the door with a slam, barely avoiding hitting Rafe who didn’t look pleased with the fact. “You think I’d hurt Y/n? She’s my best friend.”

Rafe let out a low scoff, and you could tell he was pissed just by the tone of his voice. You loathed to see the anger on his face. “I wouldn’t put it past you. Where is she?”

John B seemed to still be stuck on the fact Rafe thought so low of him. “I’ve known her since we were four,” he argued. 

“You’re a Pogue,” was Rafe’s immediate response.

“She’s a Pogue!”

Rafe was silent for a moment. “Where is she?”

“No, let’s go back to the fact you think I’d be the one to hurt her-”

“Where is she?!”

You heard the sounds of a skirmish and immediately went for the door, as did the rest of your friends. You should have gone earlier but didn’t want to have to be in the middle of whatever had been going on with Rafe and John B.

When you turned the corner you saw Rafe and John B wrestling. Rafe must have tried to get in and John B forcefully stopped him, which led to John B pinned against the wall with Rafe’s arm pressing on his throat. They were both glaring at each other, wearing similar expressions of loathing on their faces. Rafe looked like an entirely different person, a hint of something wild and scary hidden in his eyes.

“Rafe, stop.”

At the sound of your voice Rafe paused, the pressure on John B’s throat lessening. He turned to look at you, his whole face softening at the sight. There was a look of relief on his face that had guilt eating at you as he took his arm away from John B’s throat, the boy coughing as fresh air entered his lungs.

“Y/n,” Rafe breathed, taking a few steps towards you.

Until your other friends took a step forward, crowding you behind them. The same hostility took over his face, the wild look you’d seen in his eyes increased, his pupils dilating slightly.

“I’m fine,” you whispered frantically to your friends. “Seriously. Let him through.”

You admired your friend's loyalty. It warmed your heart to see them caring about you that much, even when faced with this quite frankly terrifying version of Rafe you hadn’t experienced. It was misplaced though, because Rafe would never hurt you.

They reluctantly did as you said, JJ needing some hasling from Kiaria before moving away. And as soon as they did the softness was back in Rafe’s expression and he was in front of you, wrapping you in a tight hug, hands holding you as close as possible to him as he kissed the top of your head.

“You alright?” he murmured into your hair.

You nodded into his chest, his comfort sinking into your very bones. Rafe seemed to act the same, his tense posture relaxing as he held you in his arms, inhaling your scent and letting the comforting smell of you calm him down.

He pulled back suddenly, a hint of irritation on his face. “Why didn’t you answer my texts?”

You looked down guiltily, feeling like a child being reprimanded by a teacher. “I was asleep.”

“Here?”

You flinched at the stern tone of his voice. “Yeah…”

“Did you drink?” When you didn’t answer him he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Did. You. Drink?”

“That’s enough man,” JJ spoke, stepping forward again.

Rafe shot him a dirty look. “Stay out of this Maybank.”

“No I’m serious, stop manhandling her,” he insisted, gesturing to Rafe’s fingers still curled around your chin.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my own girlfriend, you pathetic little Pogue,” Rafe hissed.

You let out a gasp, pulling away from your boyfriend. “What the fuck Rafe? Don’t call him that!”

Rafe turned his murderous expression on you, and for a second it stayed murderous, causing a sense of unease to start churning in your gut. It lessened to irritation but you couldn’t get the anger of his previous expression out of your mind, the feeling that in that moment he would have done anything to get his way.

“Y/n-” he started, a hint of frustration in his voice, but JJ didn’t even let him finish.

He moved forward, placing his hand on your stomach to gently guide you behind him. You only let him because of your sudden hesitance around your boyfriend, but this seemed to only make his mood worse.

“Get your hands off my fucking girlfriend.” Rafe surged forward and you let out a gasp, barely moving in time as the two men toppled to the ground, fists being thrown and legs kicking. You were screaming at them to stop but neither man listened to you. John B finally managed to pry Rafe away, only for your boyfriend to immediately turn to him.

You ran into the middle of it before he could, and you swear to God even after recognising you for a second there you were sure he was still going to go for the hit. He managed to restrain himself, however, and said through very gritted teeth, “Y/n, get out of the way.”

You stood your ground, refusing to budge. “Stop hurting my friends.”

He scoffed, looking at you like you were a naive child. “Friends? You consider them friends, Y/n? You can’t trust them. They don’t care about you like I do. No one does. The only person you can trust is me.”

“You sound fucking psycho man,” JJ sneered, blood running from his probably broken nose. He wiped it away as he spoke, smearing it over his face.

“Mind your damn business,” Rafe snapped. He turned to you, grabbing your arm almost desperately. “Let’s just go, yeah baby? We’ll leave, and forget this shit ever happened.”

He started leading you out of the house and you let him, until you were standing in the doorway with him out of the building, which was when you stopped, taking your arm away from him. Rafe looked at you questioningly. 

“I’m gonna stay here for a while longer, Rafe.”

You watched him still, hands flex before curling into tight fists, his jaw clenched. 

“What?” that one word, so quiet you could barely hear it, filled you with overwhelming dread. You’d never heard this tone before, this quiet, deadly tone. He was always explosively angry. This felt like the calm before the storm.

“I’m going to stay here,” you forced yourself to say, grateful your voice came out even.

Rafe took a deep breath, thoughts spinning in his head, before giving a yell and kicking the empty bottles on the steps of the porch, causing the glass to smash and shatter. “Are you serious right now? Are you fucking serious Y/n?! After everything I’ve done for you? You were a dirty fucking Pogue before me that no one wanted to touch. I made you into something and you repay me by doing this?!”

He was yelling. Screaming. Eyes full of rage focused solely on you as he moved forward to grab you. Your friends were quicker, John B, JJ, Pope all standing in front of you. Kiara and Sarah both grabbed each of your hands, giving you the support you so desperately needed.

“Time to go, Rafe,” John B said, voice low. “You can’t take on all of us.”

Rafe knew he was right. You could see him, the fight in him not so much deflating as it was changing, realising he wasn’t going to win by brute force alone. He looked at you behind your friends, a frightening anger in his eyes. What was worse was you could see through it, to the sickening desperation underneath, the knowledge that he needed you ringing in your head.

You dropped your gaze, guilt and fear warring inside you. Rafe let out a low scoff, hurt and disbelief coating it. You heard footsteps and risked looking up, finding Rafe leaving the porch. At the edge he turned back though, eyes finding you immediately, and spoke in a low, almost threatening tone before leaving without another glance:

“This isn’t over.”

[emmafrostyyy]

y'all sleeping on Astarion/Lae'zel bc this moment is so...the way the flippant demeanor drops and he doesn't hesitate to call her out for sticking with her version of Cazador like their relationship is so underrated fr...

sitting down writing this bullshit like let me peel it like an onion a bit and elaborate why this pairing is fascinating to me

It's really interesting how during the most cathartic, life-altering moment in Astarion's questline, the reactions of the other companions are more about the moral wrongness/guilt of sacrificing innocent lives. Lae'zel doesn't do that and instead relates to his hurt.

She knows what's he's feeling, the lack of control, the unfairness of being powerless for too long. This is a woman who just found out her entire life purpose was built on lies, discarded and hunted by her own people after outliving her usefulness, and groomed to basically die for an insane power-hungry lich queen. She knows all too well that power isn't always real freedom. Her first instinct is to empathize with Astarion to steer him away from his hate and resentment.

Astarion/Lae'zel is so interesting to me because they're such a classic "can we make each other worse or make a better person out of the other?".

They both have genuine appreciation for violence and respect each other's ruthlessness. Astarion was used as a weapon of seduction while Lae'zel was of warfare. Sex with people is meaningless and not real intimacy for them, and while both have little understanding/experience of interpersonal relationships beyond the physical, they still feel and love very deeply. They have no frame of reference for things like friendship and warmth, but they badly want all of that and more, even if they don't know it yet.

In-game they can sleep with each other, which is basically the foundation of the normal Tav/Astarion romance. Lae'zel saw him during combat and got horny, who knows. Astarion who's used to luring people with his charms, takes up Lae'zel's blunt offer because she's a strong hardened warrior that can provide protection and be a worthy ally, and he doesn't know how to say no. Navigating the complications between one who wants to be seen beyond as a sex object, and one who comes from a totally alien culture with no concept of love/family/connections and only sex is honestly really compelling to me. It's a transactional, mutually beneficial thing with no emotional expectations. Once you get past the skeevy rockiness of their early relationship, I really like the idea of them slowly seeing something past the exterior and realizing they may have harshly misjudged the other, an unspoken friendship blooms, and in comes the realization that they are essentially loners longing for kindness and a comforting touch in the most desperate of situations.

Lae'zel is prideful, direct, has no sense of courtship talk, and doesn't hold back her thoughts the slightest--she's not sweet/agreeable and what you see is really what you get, which I imagine would be disarming for Astarion who's used to vacuous flattery and has difficulty trusting others. But she's also insanely protective, passionate, loyal, and an initiator-- every romance scene is triggered by her first and she's always showing effort towards her relationships, which would mesh well with Astarion who does need someone to nudge him.

She doesn't purposely suppress her feelings, she's just simply at loss at how to express them sometimes due to her wildly different upbringing. She stops the sparring match you agree to and an easy vulnerability slips instantly out of her: "I don't want to hurt you. I want to protect you, and for you to protect me." and "Thus far I've taunted you, devoured you, battled you. Now I want more than anything to soothe you." are romantic as fuck and Astarion of all people really needs to hear that tbh.

Astarion is also someone who struggles with reinforcing his boundaries, and a key theme in Lae'zel's romance is that she encourages and wants you to challenge her and learn to stand your ground. It's not gentlest method, but hey, relationships are about having to make an effort to learn each other's language.

I think he also would take pleasure "educating her on the matters of Fay-run" (I believe there's a whole banter with him teasing her and teaching her pet names) and would get a kick out of coaxing Lae'zel out of her shell with her shyness at showing public affection, and making her blush. Also it simply would be fucking funny to see Astarion who's used to easy seduction, trying to pass a persuasion check just to get a smooch and generally having to work to earn regular kisses from Lae'zel lmfaooo

Lae'zel also initially struggles to see her chains as chains. When she learns about Vlaakith's betrayal, she copes instantly through denial and shuts it down. Astarion is NOT having it and calls her out, he knows her well enough to recognize that she would value blunt honesty above all.

I imagine he also despises her lack of self-preservation, the way her entire identity is tied to duty and being in service of others, and doesn't understand her desire to still help/liberate the people that want her dead and are hunting her down. He wants to make this duty-bound soldier realize that looking out for herself, and putting herself first may not be the worst thing in the world.

They're so similar to each other but are also polar opposites in some ways that make a more equal, balanced romance I think. It's not a simple, one-sided, feel-good "she/he can fix her/him" fantasy because both of them have to earn each other's love, actually cut through the other's flaws, and actively motivate each other to be better versions of themselves.

They're not at all the other's ideal guiding hand. It's rough, jagged, and imperfect, but that's how healing goes. It's so far from being the healthiest relationship -- but even if their belief systems differ, their moral compass does often align. I imagine it's a slight relief for them to have a partner where there would be less shame and judgment when they expectedly, occasionally slip up and fall into their bad habits.

Also, man, the "You showed me the betweens and beyonds. Beyond war and peace, beyond passion and obsession, most importantly, you showed me freedom.", "First you were my wound, now you were my cure.", "But you saw something else in me - someone else I could be. Someone who could break the cycle of power and terror that started centuries ago.." lines really hit hard when applied to them.

Of course, they can also make each other worse, feed into the other's negative traits that will bring out the worst part of themselves. It's this duality of their pairing that is very interesting to explore, the way it can steer in either direction because it's an intense, fraught relationship at its core.

[cherrycranes]

Observed (Jonathan Crane x Fem!Reader) [+18]

Pairing: Judge Jonathan Crane x Fem! reader Summary: You just moved to this fancy building and your serious neighbor invites you for a cup of tea... At first... Word count: 4,749 Contents: (Minors DNI) Drink spiking (aphrodisiac), light dom/sub, degrading, spanking, p in v, unprotected sex, ass play, orgasm denial, creampie. Author's notes: A new collab with bestie @fuckiingloser! Enjoy cause we've been thirsting for Crane lately. At the end you'll find a playlist to set the mood for this specific fic made by yours truly and a Pinterest board made by @fuckiingloser!

Things had finally improved with you this past year. Your poorly paid job as a waitress was finally replaced with something that gave you much more money than what you were used to. Sure, being a stripper wasn’t exactly a career your family would be proud of, but it showered you, quite literally, in cash. The most exclusive strip club in Gotham had been so generous to you, you easily moved out of the east of town into a safer, wealthier area on the other side of the city. A nice apartment in a high rise condo much better than anything you had before.

It was definitely an adjustment, to say the least. In its pristine, minimalistic halls you stuck out like a colorful, almost nouveau riche thumb. No wonder you hadn't talked with your new, snobby neighbors yet. The most you got were dirty looks in the elevator or the hallway. Everybody could see right through you.

Even then, you tried to not let that get to you. If you could pay the rent, you belonged there, plain and simple. So you settled in. 

It was a Friday night. Surprisingly, you didn’t have to work, instead you filled your time unpacking some things and procrastinating on the rest in favor of some trashy TV. Three knocks on your door snapped you out of it. A few packages you were expecting laid on your doorstep to your surprise. You had imagined those would be delivered to the lobby. 

You brought them in. The first three matched in name, address and expected contents, the last one, however, was addressed to somebody else. A neighbor who seemingly lived right across the hallway from you but you had never met before.

Dr. Jonathan Crane.

Of course, you had to return it. You slipped into a pair of shoes and walked the small distance between your front door to the apartment number read on the package. You gave it a few knocks and right after, the door opened. 

Now, you had definitely seen him before in the hallways, and even shared a silent elevator ride with him once, but it never crossed your mind that that would be Dr. Crane. He was attractive. Beautiful, in fact. And up close he was just a visual delight. The most mesmerizing pair of pale blue eyes, plump pink lips and soft chestnut brown hair faced you from just a few inches away. Had it not been for his serious, nerve-altering flat facial expression, you would have continued in the trance his beauty put you under. 

“Hi… I’m your neighbor down the hall and I think I got your package by accident and brought it inside my place… Just wanted to return it to you...” Your voice gained enough strength the more you went on, but the slight unease didn’t disappear until his handsome features softened a bit.

Doctor Crane opened the door a little more, just enough to receive your package, his calloused fingertips lightly grazed your hand and sent an unintelligible feeling through you. 

“Ah, well thank you for returning it…” His voice was just as attractive as him. Warm, clear, elegant. No trace of any particular accent that could give away his origin and open him up for a more meaningful small talk.

“Of course, what kind of neighbor would I be if I didn't?” You smiled kindly, a spark of the desire to stop being rejected by your neighbors obvious to his eyes and ears. He smirked, the kind of smirk a scholar would give to an open beginners book of a subject he mastered.

“Well, it was nice to mee-” You swallowed the rest of your words when Doctor Crane cut you off. 

“I was actually just about to have a drink. Would you like to come in and join me as a thank you for returning my package?” His voice was monotone, ascetic. No hint of the ulterior lust you were used to from men. It honestly seemed like a great effort on his part, he didn’t appear like the kind of guy who enjoyed company. 

Before your lips could mouth an automatic rejection, a rush of thoughts crashed over you. He was a stranger but he was also your next door neighbor. You were bound to see him frequently, in the hallways or the elevator. And if he was the only one in this building who didn’t look at you like you were trash, it wouldn't hurt to accept his offer. Could it? 

“Sure, I'd like that.” You replied softly and he let you in. Your eyes widened at the sight of his apartment that was easily triple the size of yours and had multiple floors. It was difficult to believe this was in the same building, less right across from you. You had your little newfound money but this guy was definitely loaded. 

He led you into what looked like his study, a dark, minimalistic place filled with books neatly arranged in their bookshelves, a handful of framed diplomas and expensive furniture that appeared brand new from how little they must have been used. You took a seat on the leather chaise lounge armchair in the middle of the room, taking in the environment.

“Anything in particular you would like to drink?” Doctor Crane asked cooly. Fitting. He walked across to the well stocked small bar he had there, actually ready for anything you desired to drink.

“I actually don’t drink alcohol…” You started, and he was a little shocked for a split second before returning to his serious but oddly kind expression.

“Interesting… How about some tea then?” He suggested, and that suited you just fine. He asked you how you liked your tea then disappeared out of the room and into his kitchen, leaving you alone.

The dark foggy Gotham City skyline stared right at you from the big window, droplets of water ran desperately down the glass thanks to the hard rain outside, usual for this time of the year. As you kept clouding your mind with remarks about the weather, the vastness of the city and your neighbor’s way of living, he returned with your tea, sitting in the chair right across from you and handing you your cup.

“Sorry I'm not really dressed as fancy as you…” You apologized with a faint laugh, your simple tight v-neck long sleeve and your pair of black leggings stood out in comparison to his suited form.

Doctor Crane smirked very lightly, pale blue eyes analyzing your form as if he had just noticed it was there. Your neck, cleavage, visible nipples, thighs and legs laid under the microscope of his mind, and it was much more strange than the filthy looks of desire men would give you. Even in the strip club, with you barely clothed, you felt less exposed. You took a sip from your cup, hoping that the rich flavor would wash away the feelings that look from him provoked in you.

“I've observed you have a rather strange schedule… always coming and going late in the night…” His voice was so casual, so deadpan, as if he had only commented about the rain outside. You nearly choked with your tea. Observed?

“Well, my job just has different hours-“ You swallowed hard, playing the “pretend you’re not a stripper” game you sometimes played. 

“And what is your profession?” Crane insisted not even a second later, his crystal blue eyes bearing into yours and fanning the spark. You felt speechless, helpless. Why did he care so much? And why did you like it so much?

You took another sip of your tea, wondering just how appropriate it would be to tell the truth and weighing how hard it would be to upkeep a lie. Ultimately, you decided to be honest.

“I'm actually a dancer…” You said bluntly, preparing for the common shock the people you did tell always had upon their faces, and getting surprised when he showed none. There was an awkward pause in the silent and dark apartment only interrupted by the distant thunder outside. You continued to drink, your anxiety finishing with the rest of your tea and placing the empty cup on the coffee table, accidentally depriving you of something to fidget with. Your hands toyed nervously with each other in the dead silence for an eternity before he spoke again.

“Does being a whore fulfill you?”

Doctor Crane’s tone was so simple, so… Professionally mind blowing. You took a second to process it all. Nobody, absolutely nobody else would have ever gotten away with saying something like that to you. At least not without you telling them to fuck off. But for some reason that had everything to do with his voice, his eyes and his face, instead of anger, you felt your pussy fluttering beneath your leggings.

“I'm sorry… what?” You asked in an odd mix of shock, rightful offence and growing desire, unable to tell which feeling dominated. Crane, still so deadpan, leaned over, setting his cup next to yours on the table.

“I asked if being a whore fulfills you…  Dancing for old men and taking their money? Does that make you happy?” Once more, his voice was flat, medically sterile. For a moment, you weren’t a woman. You were one of the many cases he studied.

You squeezed your thighs together, maybe to remind yourself of your own humanity, and your own growing arousal. This mad man had really invited you to his house, let you sit on his fancy chaise and invited you a cup of tea just to degrade you on your face. And, instead of insulting him and defending yourself like you should have, you got wet.

“It's just my job…” That’s all you managed to utter, your energies too busy keeping the rest of your body in check. Doctor Crane nodded, an obvious habit from his consultations. 

“Do you have a relationship with your father?” He asked simply, his voice deep, not even a hint of mockery, just brutal, raw, unasked-for seriousness, and perhaps, judgement. 

“That's a very rude thing to ask…” You whispered defensively. 

“It’s really not if you do have one, which I'm assuming by your answer you don’t… Do you think that’s why you enjoy dressing in provocative clothing and dancing for men?” Crane asked, reaching over to touch your knee. You hated to admit, but his touch was electric. Just as dangerous as touching a wire with bare hands. Your pussy fluttered and clenched, your breath hitched and all the words you could have used to tell him off disappeared in your head.

There was another awkward silence in which his eyes didn’t stop looking into yours, drilling their way into your psyche. Crane smirked, as if he had actually gained physical access to it, and leaned in closer to you.

“I bet you’re already fucking soaking... I didn't even need to give you that aphrodisiac did I?” 

Aphrodisiac. 

Your head spun terribly and your heart pounded at the knowledge that he was absolutely right. Confused, nervous and horny you were. Dripping wet too. You looked down at your empty cup of tea in a futile attempt to find a trace of anything. Doctor Crane’s fiery hand slid up onto your thigh and interrupted your flimsy examination.

“What?” That was all you could muster.

“I think, in my professional psychiatrist's opinion, you’re in need of some guidance and attention from a smarter, older man…” His smooth, attractive voice pooled into a warm wet patch on your thong. Your mouth hung open slightly, watching him blink as the pieces fell together in your mind. The packages delivered straight to your apartment door, the last one being his, the insistence of getting you something to drink, the passing comment about observing you… He had set everything up to therapize you. To crack your mind open. And when he had you at your most vulnerable, when all of his uncomfortable questions and the tea had you under his thumb, to inevitably fuck you…

Testing you, Crane pulled his hand away from you, reveling in the little whine you made at the loss. He stood up and stepped right in front of you, his crotch on your face and his finger tilting your head up to meet his intense, serious gaze. Not knowing how much was the effect of the aphrodisiac and how much was your own desire, you felt butterflies for his sexy imposing presence, for the tiny smug smile he gave you and for the way he held his thumb to you before uttering the word: “Suck…” as a soft but serious command. 

Craving the approval, you mindlessly wrapped your lips around his thumb, letting the pad of his finger rest on your tongue before starting to suck gently.

“Good girl…” he murmured, and it felt like a hit of a drug. The most addictive, altering feeling of your life.

“You know, I’m rather picky when it comes to my women. I think with my help you could be the perfect little wife. You’re much too pretty for that club…  And I think you know that…” The more he spoke, the more you rolled your tongue over his thumb. You hummed in agreement, visions of you bathed in his attentions and riches making your cunt clench.

Crane pulled his thumb out of you with a sticky pop sound, running the tip over your bottom lip. He gave you a sly smile, his serious demeanor slipping a bit and revealing just how turned on he was.

“Get naked for me doll…” He rasped and you nearly moaned in anticipation. Who were you to deny him or disobey him?

With your head still reeling and the aphrodisiac coursing through your system, you pulled your shirt over your head, your tits bouncing free for his eyes to devour. He loomed over you, his cock ached in his dress pants at such perfection. 

Intently, he visually traced every contour of your naked torso as you laid back on the therapist chair and slipped your leggings off, losing them somewhere on the pristine wooden floor. Crane enjoyed the show, sitting on the edge of the lounge as your most devoted audience. Blue eyes raked over the pink lace of your damp thong and he felt the urge to do something with his hands. His calloused touch slid up your legs, mapping out his new, soft, warm possession.

Your heart beat out of your chest and through the delicate folds of your pussy, begging and pleading for contact.

“I said naked…” Crane repeated a little sternly, deciding to not trust you to comprehend a basic order in your state and doing it himself. He took hold of the pink lace covering your core and ripped it, pulling the now shredded fabric off your body.

You gasped softly, unable to hold back a moan. Your body was buzzing in anticipation and reeling under the influence. You needed him. Badly.

“Much better…” He purred in satisfaction, gazing into your eyes with a burning desire. Calloused hands pushed your legs apart and examined just what he had gotten.

“God you’re just dripping…” It was a whispered, slightly needy observation that betrayed the seriousness of his actions. You had a wet, delicious, hot cunt that invited him to touch, to part your pretty folds to get a good look at your aching hole.

“Please…” You whispered, if not begged, speaking for the first time in ages. Crane smirked triumphantly, he had you at his perfect mercy and he couldn’t feel prouder. He responded to your plea by leaning over you, chest to chest, and capturing your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

Your arms wrapped around him for dear life, one of your hands plunged into his soft brown hair and took in the feeling of him, of his warm tongue slipping in slowly against yours in a sensual dance, of his hand that came up to cup your breast and roll your nipple. After a minute, he pulled back, leaving you breathless and looking up at him like a begging puppy. It was a perfect sight. Crane cracked a smile, soothing you with a caress to your cheek.

“God you’re beautiful…”

He whispered, almost fooling you into believing he had slipped out of the cruel dominant demeanor he had shown up to this point. The aphrodisiac, the praise and your own attraction to him had you reeling and buzzing for a second, and that was enough to drive you wild.

“Flip over…” Crane commanded. “On your knees, bent over and ass out for me…” 

Immediately, you did as he said, eager to please. It was not the most comfortable of positions, with your head turned to the side, your cheek against the cold leather backrest and your hands clutching the frame of the chair, but in all honesty, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to be fucked, and soon. 

Crane groaned a bit, moving to adjust himself behind your tempting flesh. Both needy holes bare and on display for him to use however he wanted. One of his knees rested on the lounger behind you and one foot got planted on the floor for stability.

Without warning, you felt his hand come down on your ass. Hard. You yelped, then moaned, the pain mixing with pleasure deliciously and making you desperate for more. It was a whole miracle your pussy wasn’t dripping down your thighs and onto the fine leather at this point.

Another hard smack. This time on the other cheek to make it sting equally. You stifled out a whimper with a bite to your lip, catching the sound of his belt coming undone then followed by the zipper of his pants. You nearly shook in anticipation the longer he took to fill you up, and you started to believe he was deliberately toying with you. His large hands then grabbed a greedy handful of each asscheek, spreading them apart to get a good look at both holes.

“Please, Sir…” You finally got the courage to whisper, driven by your need. You wouldn’t be able to take any more foreplay, it felt like it could kill you.

He smiled to himself at the little ��sir” that left your pleading lips, and while he didn’t respond with words, you felt the tip of his cock slowly rubbing back and forth against your sticky wet folds just to tease you. Taunt you. He covered his tip in your perfect slick and made you moan, but he held back the pulsating need to slam into you. 

“You want me?” He asked huskily and simply so you could scream, obviously aware that you needed him. But he wanted you to say it.

“God yes…” You whined back to him, already out of breath. You tried to push back against him in hopes to get the tip to slip in, completely desperate for his cock. 

Then, you felt his palm coming down on your ass for a third time, the slapping sound echoing through the study and its high vaulted ceilings just to remind you of how much of a slut you were for this man. Desire and whatever it was that composed the aphrodisiac coursed through your veins .

“I’m going fuck the whore out of you…” He sneered and without another word, his thick cock slammed into you in one go. Your eyes rolled to the back of your skull, nearly blinding you. You let out the loudest, whiniest moan for him yet, unable to even process just how good his perfectly curved long cock hit parts of you you didn’t know needed to be hit…

His hand gripped your hip possessively, giving you no time to adjust to him as he started to piston his hips into you. As if you needed it, you were dripping wet. 

“Oh fuck- holy fuck-...” You whimpered and babbled absolute nonsense. Crane was fucking you stupid and drilling the obscene sounds of skin slapping and your pussy squelching into your mind. So filthy and erotic, you could even hear him grunting and groaning in a loss of composure. He couldn’t help it, not when he was balls deep inside this greedy slutty cunt after so much foreplay.

“This tight pussy’s getting fucked so good she’s talking to me… You hear yourself?” He asked, half satisfied, half degrading. It was like it fucking disgusted him yet it ignited him. Words failed you, all you did was moan over and over with his thrusts as a response.

“I think she knows exactly who she belongs to…” He cooed condescendingly to you, his hand coming down and spanking your ass again, leaving a sting that transformed into pleasure in its wake, adding to your already building orgasm.

“You…you… I belong to you!” You cried out stupidly, fucked so deeply, so thoroughly. His cock hit that special spongy spot inside you again and again, some drool threatened to spill down the corner of your lips from how mindlessly he was plowing you. He had really managed to erase every thought in your head, every single one except him.

“This pretty little asshole keeps winking at me…  She’s begging for my attention…” He grunted, his balls slapping against your neglected clit as he drilled into you. You babbled incoherently at his words, already so fucked out and you had’t even come yet.

You heard him gather saliva in his mouth, then, a hot wad of spit hit your asshole, you whined in response. Crane’s hand reached down until his thumb was spreading his spit around your puckered hole and pushing it into your ass.

“Ffffuuuck.” You moaned loudly at the new sensation. The burning tension of your building orgasm threatened to boil over any time now. “P-please… I'm gonna come…” You begged so sweetly, desperate for a release the harder he pounded. 

Crane’s hips then came to a stop, completely neglecting your orgasm. You felt like you could cry. 

“If you want it that badly, you can fuck yourself on my cock…  Work for it doll…” He said sternly, pulling his thumb out of your ass and making you whine. 

Immediately, you started to bounce yourself on his cock, throwing your ass back at him like a pathetic whore. It was a feast to icy blue eyes, following closely how his cock slipped in and out of your tight, wet, hot pussy. The sensation became so good he couldn't hold back a groan of pleasure that sent his head back.

Air barely filled you agitated lungs the more you bounced yourself, chasing and earning your orgasm with desperation. You could tell he was close too. You felt it from how his thighs flexed and by the grunts he made. He would never admit such a filthy weakness like that out loud however. 

A few more hard blows landed on your ass as you bounced his cock on him, making you clench hard every single time and moan like the whore he was trying to fuck out of you. Crane was even moaning himself, music to your ears and cunt.

Finally he couldn’t take it anymore, equally desperate. 

“Fuck me- flip over… I have to see that pretty face when I come deep inside you…”

Thank fuck. A smirk grazed your lips at the audible desperation in his voice. You turned over onto your back, meeting his handsome face again, his hair was now a little disheveled and his forehead glistened with a little sheen of sweat. His long, painfully hard cock was coated in your arousal, and you groaned at the sight, finally seeing it after only having it inside. Crane scooted closer, pushing back into you with ease and wasting absolutely no time. 

You bit your lip gently, looking up into his intense crystal blue eyes when you moaned in unison. He gripped the soft flesh of your thighs, spread them and pushed them up into your chest until he had you at a perfect angle, hitting the deepest parts of you. Your mouth fell open and your eyes closed just as he started to pump his hips into you, picking up speed until you couldn’t hold back loud whiny moans.

He reveled in the way your beautiful face contorted in pleasure, a smug smirk forming between heavy breaths. 

“You fucking like that?” He groaned to you, making you nod frantically to the rhythm of your squelching pussy.

“This pussy is just begging me to come so deep…” His voice gave away just how little he would last. Your mind reeled at his words, at his serious and harsh personality slipping away to reveal how much he loved the feeling of you.

The pressure of your orgasm tightened in your lower abdomen as he fucked you unforgivingly hard and deep. You wouldn’t last much either.

“Please… I'm-I’m gonna come...” You whimpered, so pathetically fucked out, unable to hold it back anymore. His hips fucked you on autopilot and he smirked.

“Come for me doll…” He cooed to you sensually and that was all it took. Your orgasm ripped through you like nothing you’ve ever felt before. Fireworks went off in your brain and your body trembled in the deepest, most needed pleasure. Your wet pussy tightened around him with greed, your back arched off the chair and your eyes squeezed shut.

“Oh my God!” You cried out to him, your legs shaking as he fucked you through it. 

Crane looked down at you in amazement, his jaw hanging open and allowing heavy breaths to escape him. It was truly the best pleasure of your entire life, the junction of his devilish beauty, your need and the last rush of the aphrodisiac making you wild. He felt you milking his willpower out of him, he had no way to resist, to keep up the front.

“Jesus-“ That was all he could muster to say. A deep loud groan resonated in the study as he gave into the intense pleasure. Akin to you, something he had never felt before.

Dizzy and mind blown, he leaned over you, his sweaty forehead against yours as his hips finally came to a stop. His cock pulsed and filled you deeply with his load, drowning your cunt in him.

You both panted heavily, hot breath mingling and hitting each other’s faces until recovery from the hardest orgasm of your lives finally came. A curious, tentative hand came up to touch his cheek with newfound softness. You smiled a little, his eyes softened in a rare moment of tenderness until his lips found yours. The soft kiss soon turned into a slow, sensual makeout. His tongue slided against you sending a flood of tingles all over you.

Crane pulled back after a minute or two of melting onto you, moving back into his position and keeling between your legs. You watched in complete devotion how his half flaccid cock left your sated heat, leaving you so empty without him inside. 

“Mmm, look at that…” He marveled, inspecting your puffy abused folds as his cum dribbled slowly out of you, his middle finger caught it and pushed back inside you. You moaned at the feeling, watching intently.

“I think with the proper training and sessions like these, you’ll be the most lovely little wife…” He practically cooed to you, and it became your life mission. Your heart swelled with the idea, no matter how demeaning it was, you were under his spell even though the aphrodisiac had completely worn off  by now.

The man you wanted to please the most flashed you that perfect smile, pulling his finger out of you just to offer it to your lips. You happily obliged, sucking it clean with your gliding tongue and humming at the combined taste of you.

“You’ll stay here tonight…” He commanded quietly, and you agreed right away, your obedience and devotion coddling to his already inflated ego. He had looked far and wide for the perfect partner… Pet…. Wife… Who would have thought she’d move in next door?

“Your next session will be in the morning, you’ll show me how good you can suck a cock…” Crane’s hand stroked your cheek softly yet possessively, and despite how sexualizing and objectifying it was, all you could ever feel was excitement for what was to come in the morning. And every morning after that.

You could tell that it was just the beginning for you both…

-Pinterest board made by the lovely @fuckiingloser

-Fic playlist made by me.

[uzurakis]

hello!! i hope ur having a good day. if not it will get better with time!! I don’t know if you’ve gotten this request yet, but I read your JJK men with a clingy reader and I was wondering if you could do a angst version one where they kind of don’t like it!! the reader would either hear them talking about how they don’t like it or they’ll say it to the readers face.

of course, if you want to and if you haven’t already. thank you for ur work. I LOVE IT!!

THEY DON’T LIKE YOU BEING CLINGY!

featuring: fushiguro megumi. gojo satoru. geto suguru. nanami kento.

n. thankyou for loving my works! i was sorta confused how to do your ask because i personally think the boys would not stray away from your touch, it felt a bit off but i still went to write it. not a full on angst though, just a tiny winy bit of it. i still hope that’s okay though, i tried my best :’]

NANAMI KENTO. he gently pulled away, holding you at arm’s length. “i love that you’re affectionate,” he began, voice soft but firm, “but i’m not in the mood for it right now.” nanami let out a heavy breath, pulling away his tie for some air. he felt a share of frustration and guilt. it wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate your love and warmth—he did, deeply—but today had been draining. the weight of his responsibilities, the stress of the day, it all hung heavily on him, making it difficult to switch gears so quickly. “it’s not your fault, sweetheart,” he said, trying to soften the blow. “it’s just been a really rough day, and i need some time to unwind.”

GOJO SATORU. “can we just sit side by side for now? save some of that energy later,” he smiled down at you, but after a moment, he gently repositioned your hands and stepped back slightly after you tried to wrap your arm around his tough body, leaning into his chest to feel his warmth. his words stung, but you tried not to show it. you nodded and took a step back, settling down on the couch next to him; folding your hands in your lap whilst forcing a smile.

GETO SUGURU. “i’m feeling a bit overwhelmed right now. can we.. tone it down a little?” geto fidgeted, playing and intertwining his fingers. he then continued, “it’s not that i don’t want to be close to you. i just need a bit of space to breathe, especially after a long day.” you bit your lip, trying to keep your voice steady, “suguru, i understand. i just… wanted to be close to you. i’m sorry..” but your boyfriend immediately answered by saying “sometimes i just need a little space to decompress. but that doesn’t mean i don’t love you or want to be with you.”

FUSHIGURO MEGUMI. you kept trying to make physical contact with megumi as the evening wore on, but he kept pulling back each time. he pretended to alter his position when he softly withdrew his hand when you sought to grab on to it while you were watching a movie. always moved slightly as you leaned on him, putting a little space between you two. he sighed softly, running a hand through his hair. “look, i’m not really a touchy person. it’s just how i am. i need a bit of space to feel comfortable.”

@uzurakis

[homunculus-argument]

do you have any advice/guides for beginners wanting to get into diy stuff? i've always wanted to make diy punk/goth shit but seeing the stuff you've made really sent me over the edge and now i genuinely need to start making stuff or i'll explode.

Start small. Try doing a little bit of easily reversible adjustments to clothes you have but don't really like, frankenstein broken jewellery pieces together to make bigger ones, sew some chain on something. I recommend looking at online goth stores for ideas or inspiration, and see if there's something simple enough to make you wonder if you could make that. You can - being a bit messy is a part of the punk look, so if it looks homemade it's perfect.

I browse online stores for ideas/inspiration of what I could make, and thrift shops for materials I could use. Invest in a pair of pliers for jewellery craft, a sewing kit, and gorilla glue. Nine times out of ten, if I need to fasten two pieces of anything together, they'll be attached both in a sensible way (chained, tied, sewed, etc) and also glued just in case.

Wearing something you made/altered yourself in public is intimidating at first, but eventually you'll feel like what you're wearing isn't enough, when it first felt like too much. And you'll take your jewellery apart again, and reconstruct them into something different and more your style.

You'll learn to look at the clothes, jewellery, accessories and so on that you have kind of like lego blocks, arrangements that you could take apart and reconstruct some different way. Thrift shopping is great once you're no longer trying to find something that you'd wear the way it's now - you're just foraging for materials. I will snatch every single piece of jewellery with silver-coloured chain that I can find, even if I sometimes don't know what I'll make of it yet.

You will have a "no idea what I'll do with this" -stash, which has random bits, bobs and trinkets that you've got no idea what you could make with. And every once in a while something clicks and a bunch of your extras come together like pieces of a puzzle.

Don't be afraid to take things apart to see how they were put together. That will teach you a lot on how to make something similar yourself. You might lose one hat, belt, or skirt on learning how to make yourself 14 new ones, in colours you like better.

[laurorne]

༊*·˚ VALYRIAN STEEL | aegon ii targaryen x sister! reader summary: you’ve found that your brother was better as a lover, in more ways than one. warnings: nsfw, minors dni, targaryen incest, top!reader, smut, p in v, riding, slight masochism, a tiny bit of a blood kink? word count: 0.6k a/n: man i love tom glynn carey 😭

Aegon II Targaryen is a messy brother. With his choppily cut hair and his dire need to do well by you, you find him endearing more oft than not. He is far from the perfect son, or the shining example of a prince. But he is loyal, to his family, to his dragon, to you.

He is messy in the sense that he's barely put together, with last minute gifts that fall apart before his eyes and half-thought out plans. Like the time he had the Conquerors crown pulled from the Red Keeps vaults, only to have the rubies removed and placed into a heavy Valyrian steel necklace —the steel from a smelted ceremonial blade mind you— accompanied by moonstones imported from the Summer Isles.

Your grandsire had yelled for a good twenty minutes before his breath left him and he needed to rest, the old fart. And your mother… oh gods she had nearly nagged both your ears off, and you hadn’t even had a clue as to why the scolding was about until Aegon sheepishly presented it to you. The nameday present spoiled now, but ever heartwarming.

After that unfortunate incident, you'd found yourself wearing that necklace nearly everyday, having dresses altered just to accommodate the sheer size and intricacy of the piece. You barely took it off, the jangling of the layered metal became a comfort over the years of your marriage.

Like right now.

Your hips roll in a slow, wide circle. Your hands pinning his chest to the bed as you work yourself atop him. He's flushed red across his neck and chest, cheeks ruddy as he pants into the night air, Adams apple bobbing deliciously as he fails to swallow down the noises he's making.

"Not much t- to say now, hmm?" You glance down at him, licking your lips as you scratch your nails down his chest and stomach.

His breath hitches at a particularly fast roll of your hips, his hands pawing at the flesh of your hips as he dares to take a peak up at you. "I don't have much to say, when you- when-"

You purposely speed up, lifting your hips only to roll back down onto him, your tits bouncing and your necklace clinking. The scarlet rubies catching what little moonlight they can as you use Aegon like a common whore.

"What was that, my sweet husband?"

"You're a cruel sister." He catches his breath, finally. His fingers pinching at the skin on your hipbone, his other hand skating over your stomach and up to your tit as you lean down into his face.

"I'm only as cruel as you are wanting."

He squeezes your breast in a soft hand, thumbing your nipple as you begin slowing your pace again. Edging him to his finish, oh-so slowly.

He hums, his thighs tensing beneath you as you pinch roughly at his nipple. He arches up into the touch as you flick over it with a nail, taking in the way his brows pinch together and his lashes flutter.

You surge forwards to catch his lips in a kiss, all teeth clashing and messy tongue. He bites down on your lip a bit too hard and you can feel the release of tension in the soft skin as blood meets your tongue.

You breathe out, pulling away by a breadths width as you begin swirling your hips, his dick heavy in your cunt as you watch a droplet of blood land on his chin. He's grinning up at you stupidly, a string of reddish spit linking your lips together before he cups the side of your face and drags you back in.

Tonguing at the cut on your lip as he moans, hips rocking up into yours finally. The other wrapping around your middle as he begins fucking up into you, punching a breath out of your lungs as he devours you.

Aegon was a messy husband, and an even messier lover. But by the Seven, did you love it.

[shantechni]

Natsume's Fear of Thunder

I'm gonna be honest, this can hardly be considered an analysis. It's more of a "sporadic and unnecessarily deep observation" of how Natsume's astraphobia has been presented in the series over the years, both in the anime and in the manga. So, please for the love of God take all of this with a grain of salt.

Yes, I'm using the term "phobia" very loosely, but I'm not about to get into that rn. Natsume has an irrational fear and strong dislike of thunder, that's an undeniable truth.

Before I dive in, I'd like to briefly explain why, of all the little bits of information Midorikawa has given us about Natsume, this one is the one to ceaselessly bump around in my brain like a DVD logo. This series is not in the horror genre (it's serialized in LaLa DX after all), but it does get suspenseful, and pretty disturbing depending on whatever topic it touches or the types of situations the characters may find themselves in. I don't fault anyone, particularly Natsume, for growing up with valid fears and preconceived misconceptions about most youkai; they can sound scary, they can look scary, and they can do some scary stuff if they really feel up to it.

That's why I'm so fascinated to see Natsume develop and still harbor an irrational fear for something like the everyday phenomena of storms. He's landed himself in all sorts of trouble and has come face to face with many beings, both natural and supernatural, who didn't have his best interests in mind, and yet the clap of thunder somehow keeps its spot on the list of things that has him scared stiff.

Aight, spoilers for both the anime and the manga beyond here, you've been warned👏🏽

Our first introduction to Natsume's fear is near the beginning of chapter 42, when he and Tanuma accidentally stumble across Taki's home while seeking shelter from a sudden shower. He questions how Nyanko-sensei ended up at her home as well and the youkai, much to Natsume's visible dismay, cheekily explains:

That doesn't end up happening since the rain remained light until its swift end, and the mention of Natsume's fear is glossed over rather quickly to save him the embarrassment, but it's an interesting mention made by Midorikawa nonetheless since it adds another layer to whatever image the audience has of Natsume and the series itself. Nyanko-sensei, having been around this kid long enough to know a lot of his vulnerabilities and insecurities (even the ones his dreams unwittingly reveal to the youkai), has seen and grown accustomed to a side of him that the audience had yet to be formally introduced to for once.

Right about now, you may be wondering how the anime adapted this scene. It didn't💀.

While the start of the episode (S3 EP5) is a one-to-one recreation of the chapter with virtually the same dialogue and scenery, any mention of Nyanko-sensei following Natsume to pick on him when it thunders is nonexistent and entirely skipped over so the gang can go straight to cleaning out the storeroom.

Most fans who have read the manga will tell you how notorious the anime is for excluding some of the characters' lines or scenes that take place in the manga, or just straight up rearranging or changing up those same factors. Sometimes those alterations work wonders, and other times they leave more to be desired, mainly if you know what happened in the manga counterpart of the episode. This such example is one of the times that'll leave people scratching their heads and wondering what warranted getting rid of a scene so insignificant that it'd have no effect on the plot of the episode whether or not it stayed. The only answer I can think of for that is the directors likely wanting a smoother progression of events to make for a viewing experience better tailored for an anime episode rather than a manga chapter.

Or, they genuinely didn't have enough space in the episode to squeeze in that little bit, which I highly doubt, but what would I know, I don't work for them. At the end of the day, we didn't get to see that scene in the episode.

After some more anime switcheroo shenanigans go on behind the scenes, along with an original episode pulling a retcon during a lightning storm, we receive our next moment in a surprising scene from the anime team in S3 EP10 (adaptation of chapter 28). Though the scene itself is short and not exactly an example of Natsume's astraphobia, I feel it should still be included because of its relation.

The chapter originally starts with Natsume and Nyanko-sensei searching for a tree that was struck by lightning during a storm the night before. However, the anime makes an addition of their own by rewinding time to that very night and showing Nyanko-sensei excitedly watching the storm take place while Natsume is tied up with his homework.

Nyanko-sensei goes on to tease him by suggesting that he doesn't want to watch the storm because he's scared, but Natsume dodges the youkai's mocking and begins to tell him to close the curtain before a crack of lightning cuts him off and illuminates his room.

Not only does Natsume not simply deny Nyanko-sensei's claim of him being scared, but his reaction to the thunder is seemingly more sudden than Nyanko-sensei's. Both of these points could subsequently lead the audience to interpret this entire sequence as the anime's first acknowledgement of his phobia, and it'd make for a very intriguing choice on the anime team's behalf after taking their ommitance of the previous scene into consideration. It could be a stretch though ngl, I tend to stretch like crazy, it makes sense to close a curtain when a pet is being noisy—

Finally moving on from S3, we eventually reach the most overt instance of Natsume's astraphobia, and potential origin or exacerbation of it, in the S4 finale (adaptation of chapter 46). This three episode arc is a largely intimate and heart wrenching one as it focuses on Natsume's journey to revisit his childhood home before it gets renovated by its new owners, a task he initially denied himself the permission of doing before realizing Touko and Shigeru would never deny him something so personal. Of course, he wouldn't be Natsume if he didn't attract a youkai along the way, and he's being pursued by one that seeks to feed on the tragic memories he formed while staying with the Aoi family, who was strongly implied to be the first family (if not, one of the first families) he was taken in by after his father's passing.

One of those memories shown to the audience is a younger Natsume relaxing in a shrine while memorizing where his childhood home is located, all in the hopes of gaining more discernible memories of his father and no longer being a burden to Miyoko and her parents.

Unfortunately, he falls asleep at the shrine and consequently loses track of time before having his slumber disturbed by a violent boom of thunder. He's so frightened by the ordeal that he can't even bring himself to rush back to the Aoi family's place, and his exhaustion puts him back to sleep until he's eventually found by some of the neighbors who went out searching for him.

The anime, with the natural strengths it has over the manga, goes the extra mile by not only keeping this portion relatively untouched, but further setting up the scenery and depicting just how rapidly the area goes from peaceful to turbulent. The character animation and voice acting make for a splendid combination and do a wonderful job of capturing this image of a helpless childhood version of Natsume.

What comes soon after this scene is a depressing sequence of events on its own, even more so when we can see he's still reeling from the storm and believing he caused the Aois to get into trouble by not getting back before dark. The adults obviously don't fault Natsume for getting stuck in the storm, but he doesn't see it that way in his shocked state.

The way Miyoko reacts by throwing her frustrations onto him doesn't help either.

And so, after aimlessly running off in his last unsuccessful attempt to find his childhood home, the memory fades away with a somber note as his present self recalls the moment he finally stopped calling for his long gone father.

Now, one could argue that Natsume had his fear of thunder prior to his time with the Aois since we don't have much reference material to work with when concerning his short period of time with his father, and they could be right for all I know. It's common for children to be startled by loud noises and bright flashes since they just aren't quite accustomed to those loud noises and bright flashes being customary for weather disturbances. Natsume, who we know grew up to be pretty sensitive to the things that go on around him, may have been one of those children who felt apprehension anytime a bad storm rolled in, and his father may have been the one to quell his fears back then. So, if we go with the conclusion that his fear didn't originate here, then this scene likely could've aggravated it. But I'm personally leaning a bit more towards the concept of this being the cause of it (partly due to how appealing that conclusion is to the obsessive part of my brain).

His initial reaction to the thunder is seemingly one of surprise rather than fear, and his behavior suggests that he's more concerned with making it back down the mountain before the thunder halts his progress. Although he's seen trying to talk himself down and fails to do so with how relentless the thunderstorm is proving to be, he doesn't need to have preexisting fears or anxieties over thunder to resort to calming himself down.

The dialogue differences strike me as something to consider too, but they're likely irrelevant.

Setting aside everything I just ranted about in the above paragraph, I should specify that I'm not simply pointing to the storm scene as the singular root cause for his future woes. Many psychological problems often aren't so black and white that someone can definitively point to one person or thing as the sole reason for the existence of their psychological problems. And phobias obviously don't always develop as a result of going through or observing a traumatic event; people can grow to fear or strongly dislike something merely by its association with an unpleasant memory or stressful situation. I know I'm starting to stretch hard rn, and this part of the post is getting awfully wordy, just hear me out—

Going back to that aforementioned short period of time with his dad, it's plain to see just how innocent of a time that was for Natsume. He was playful and affectionate with his dad like many children growing up in a healthy environment would be at that age. He doesn't even appear to have an awareness of youkai (if so, only slight enough for it to not become a problem for him just yet). We're shown later on that he would commonly draw around the house too, as evidenced by the nearly two decade old pieces of artwork his father never removed from the kitchen area and closet.

Natsume even proceeds to make a comment about this childhood version of himself likely being the mischievous type for him to run around drawing on surfaces without a care in the world.

He undeniably had his own troubles at that stage of his life though, with one of those troubles being his mom and the empty spot left behind by her passing away. Apart from his heartwarming portrait of a family with both parents, he's also shown lamenting to Miyoko after the death of his dad about not being able to remember his mom. We've seen with those two examples that her absence indeed left an impact on him early on in his life, but he doesn't stay too broken up over her considering how little he got to bond with her, and he doesn't openly despair about the loss of his dad until his growing sense of loneliness and longing becomes too much for him to smooth over.

The point I'm trying (and admittedly struggling) to make here is that after moving in with Miyoko and her parents, the worries on Natsume's plate increased tenfold and weighed him down far more than he was willing to accept at first. Suddenly, this kid had little to smile about in life, taking a glance at his only picture of his parents causes grief and envy to flare up in his chest, he's afraid of being a burden to those who took him under his wing, he's eating less than Miyoko because he's concerned with coming off as too greedy, he feels responsible for Miyoko getting picked on because of his relation to her, he's still learning the way back to the Aoi family's home, and now he's surrounded by all of these weird creatures that apparently no one else can see.

Suddenly, he's no longer that carefree toddler we saw sitting on his dad's lap as the two of them watched over his late mom's garden.

I feel moderately certain about Natsume's experience with the storm, coupled with this pivotal and devastating shift in his life, being the plausible cause for him developing his irrational fear of thunder as a child.

After this arc, we aren't greeted with another scene featuring or centered on his astraphobia until chapter 85 (which doesn't appear to be adapted in S7 judging from the PV😭), and it focuses on Natsume, Tanuma and Taki viewing a limited exhibition at an old inn that has a deep history with youkai. Not too long after the owner engages in conversation with Taki, Natsume and Tanuma briefly comment on how peaceful the inn is making the both of them feel, and a sudden lightning strike cuts through the tranquility of the inn.

It catches everyone off guard and, unsurprisingly, has Natsume frozen in place as Tanuma asks him and Taki if they're alright.

Much like Nyanko-sensei's first time mentioning Natsume's fear, the moment doesn't last long as the gang soon realizes they'll have to spend the night at the inn while they wait for the sudden storm to pass.

By this point in the manga though, Midorikawa has evidently decided to make Natsume's astraphobia a recurring element of the sorts. She could've easily left his astraphobia as another facet of his that we get to see once or twice and never again since it's not serviceable to the story as a whole, but she's started using his phobia as an additional means of displaying his discomfort in any given situation. Having a thunderstorm suddenly appear during a moment of serenity, immediately after Natsume tells Tanuma the place is making him feel strangely good, was a brilliant move of jarring him. And it works especially well here as a sign of the looming threat that'll find its way into the inn over night and slowly creep upon the group the longer they remain there.

Midorikawa pulls this same stunt again to slightly greater effect in chapter 117, where Natsume, Tanuma and Nyanko-sensei happen upon the Kisaragi Manor and find themselves taking part in a ritual for summoning youkai.

It starts with the trio meeting up in the evening to view the bamboo lanterns, but a woman claiming to be in search of a mansion requests their help to find it before it gets too dark, as well as to avoid getting caught in a downpour should the drizzle grow heavier. While Tanuma shows interest in the ritual, and the people they meet are treating them somewhat cordially, Natsume is disconcerted by the arrangement they've found themselves in. He's surrounded by five women he's never met in his life, is once again in an unfamiliar place that feels weird in Nyanko-sensei's own words, and is thrown for a loop by everyone's enthusiasm with the idea of meeting youkai rather than being put off by them.

The group isn't even a minute into their summoning ritual when a huge boom of thunder shakes the room and causes a power outage, sending them into a brief stint of darkness until Hitomi relights the candle.

While waiting for the candle though, Natsume answers Tanuma's question by for once admitting that he's bothered by thunder, leading to Nyanko-sensei characteristically picking on his phobia by calling him a chicken.

Again, the moment is subtle and restricted to one corner of the page, but it sticks the landing. Instead of using the lightning or thunder as a sign of things to come as she's done before, Midorikawa uses them here as an integrant of an already somewhat concerning scene slowly veering towards being disturbing. In addition to selling just how uncomfortable of a situation this is for Natsume, it also depicts how far along he is in his friendship with Tanuma to be honest about an irrational fear we know he'd rather not speak of.

Alas, chapter 117 was our last time seeing thunder scare Natsume, at least until the next time Midorikawa chooses to use his fear to her advantage, unless the anime miraculously surprises us with its own original take as we've seen it isn't afraid to do. What we've been given so far though is plentiful in comparison to many other plot points or quirks that get reused or called back to far less than this one. I won't throw a tantrum if his never gets referenced to or utilized again (which I doubt will happen knowing Midorikawa's writing), but I eagerly anticipate seeing it again should it reappear.

It's captivating to watch this minor detail frequently make it's way back into the story somehow, to the point that it eventually cemented itself as a miniscule yet effective way of shedding different shades of light on the many complexities of Natsume.

[miguelhugger2099]

Eye for an Eye

Summary: Miguel rescues you in an ugly way. A/N: my guilty pleasure is sometimes i wanna be saveddd Warnings: Brief suggestion to sexual harrassment/assault, a bit of violence.

Somehow in the year 2099, most people didn't understand that Spider-Man in this age didn't follow the famous "no killing" rule that the original Spider-Man upheld in the Heroic Age. Most people meaning criminals.

Spider-Man, even when saving people from falling from skyscrapers or punching Public Eye scum in the face, if pushed to his limits- he would kill. This was his rules, his timeline, his Nueva York and if some pesky criminal wouldn't understand that then he'd get rid of them by any means.

So where do you come in all this?

Despite your efforts at secrecy, in the dead of night Spider-Man would often escort you home after work or if you had gotten into trouble with some purse snatcher. Other times, he'd sneak in your apartment window after a long fight, wanting to see you and have you patch up the wounds that would take a little more time to heal.

Spider-Man had revealed to you that he was actually Miguel O'Hara, the handsome stranger that had seemingly bumped into you more and more often after your very first encounter with Spider-Man. Having already been in an established relationship, you felt your heart drop at this major secret.

A part of you was angry at him for not telling you. For revealing your feelings about Miguel to his alter ego Spider-Man and making a fool of yourself. For all the nights he cancelled seeing you without explanation-something that put a strain on your relationship for a while. 

However the other half of you was drowned in worry. So all those times his masked covered face had come in to see you, bloody and bruised while you fixed him up, it was all him. He could die, you told him. Why would he do this to himself?

"I haven't been good all my life," He groaned while you pressed a damp cloth to his wound one night. "I think of all this as repentance for being a shocking moron in my earlier years."

"There are other ways to repent. Like donating to charity or some confession booth at a church. Not some...Not risking your life." You could barely look at him, tears brimming your eyes and threatening to fall while it clouded your vision. 

"I'm not religious." Miguel replies. "It wouldn't mean anything with these in my body now. They'd probably still send me to Hell regardless." He lifts his hand, his talons auto extracting from his fingertips and he feels the bile from his stomach stir, an urge to vomit at the disgust of himself.

He forces his talons back into his fingertips so he could tilt your chin up to face him. His thumb caressed your cheek to wipe off a stray tear that had fallen. "I'm sorry I put this all on you." He whispers.

You shake your head. "You're stupid, I always knew that," You sniffle and Miguel bites his cheek so he doesn't smile. "But I could help you better now. I...I know who you are and everything makes sense now, we could-"

Miguel stops you by shushing you. "No, no, no. You're not helping me anymore." Your heart drops again.

"What do you mean?"

"This is the last time we'll see each other."

Your jaw drops this time. Eyes that widened in shock now turn to anger. "Shock, Miguel. I knew you were an asshole but breaking up with me after revealing your secret identity to me has got to be one of the lowest things you're doing."

You lean away from him, bloodied and dried cloth thrown at his chest. "I was useful when you could just pop in whenever? No strings attached–was it fun?" You scoff in hurt.

Miguel grits his teeth. "No, carajo, it's-it's me-"

"Don't bullshit me Miguel with that it's not you, it's me rhetoric." You cross your arms tightly to your chest.

"It's dangerous!" He barks back.

"Like it wasn't dangerous before?" 

"It was! That's why I can't come back! I can't let myself lead them to you!" Miguel sits up and grabs onto your shoulders tightly and gives you a firm shake. His hands shake as he holds you, his head hanging. "This...this power of mine. I...it can lead so many of those assholes to you." He whispers. "I trusted you enough to come here, which I hate myself for. I should’ve never involved you in any of this.” Miguel’s hands fall from your shoulders and down your arms to grip your hands in his. “I’ve already put you in so much danger. If you got hurt, I don’t know what I’d do.”

The feeling of his talons pricking your skin and the sight of his fangs leaking a drop of his venom made you think maybe he did know what he’d do. He would just really want to avoid it.

“Miggy,” You say softly. “How about you let me make that choice? Now that I know, it doesn’t scare me. Do you know why?” You take your right hand out his grip to cup his cheek. His tired eyes look up to yours, nostril dried with blood and a scar on his forehead that surely needed bandages.

“Because I know you’ll protect me. You’re Spider-Man.” You lean in closer, Miguel under your spell. “Let me help you. That’s my decision. In return, if I’m ever a damsel in distress, I hope you’ll help me.” You give him a small smile and his hand covers yours on his cheek. He squeezes your fingers. “I promise.” He swears. Miguel always kept his promises even if he stumbled on the way. So when he went to visit you after his nightly patrol, he didn’t expect to see your entire apartment in disarray. His mask phases off his head, scarlet eyes wide and panicked. He gulps down his fear, muscles tense as he steps into your room. Blankets and pillows on the floor, some slashed and stuffing being poured out the seams. Your desk that held photos of you and your friends had also fallen to the floor, glass shattered and frames broken. Miguel takes another quiet step outside of your room. Your entire living room was a mess. Your couch had been moved and cut in half, lamps cracked and more photos on the floor. His heart stops when he sees blood in the kitchen. Some of the knives had been taken and another wave of fear splashes down his spine. It was clear there had been some sort of resistance with whoever took you. Whoever took you. Who took you? Miguel feels the fear morph into rage, his mask phasing back on his head. “Lyla. Scan this place.” He growls. His AI assistant glitches into existence, her eyes behind her pink heart shaped glasses full of worry. She begins phasing in and out of different places while Miguel lets the anger fester in his body. HIs talons on his fingers and feet itch to come out, to be sharpened for whatever poor soul’s flesh he’ll rip into. His fangs seep out his paralyzing venom, his tongue licking off the excess. Lyla appears in front of him, more meek and smaller compared to her usual upbeat and sarcastic nature. She knew there was a time and a place. “The blood isn’t hers. They most likely knocked her out since there’s no trace of her own blood around. Fingerprints on the knife handle are hers. No other DNA samples could be acquired.”

Miguel walks towards the entrance of your apartment. His hand grazes the door frame that had been split apart. Lyla appears next to him. “Forced entry, probably by foot. There’s some traces of wet soil–mainly seawater. I’ve tracked several fishing ports–most in Staten Island.” She displays holograms of different spots, standing tall by his side while he skims through. “Did you find a match on the blood?” His voice rumbles. “Negative, Miguel. None in the criminal database, including The Raft. Looks like this is the work of someone new.” Miguel grows furious. He roars as he punches his hand through the already destroyed couch. Some novice wants his attention so badly, he’s willing to piss him off for it. Miguel swings out of your place and searches the entirety of Staten Island’s fishing ports until he finds the one he was looking for. You don’t know where you are but you can feel everything. A sash was wrapped tightly around your eyes, some rope or zip ties held your wrists together and your ankles to the chair you sat on. You felt the pounding of a headache when you woke up. The last thing you remembered was one of the intruders lifting his gun and slamming the barrel down on your temple. They grew tired of you after reaching into the kitchen to protect yourself. You held them off well but you were still just one person. The sash had been lifted from your eyes and you groaned when a bright light of a lamp shined in your face. While you squinted, you could make out at least three people in front of you.

“I’m sorry about my men. They’re still a little new. You know how it is when you get trainees for a new job.” The one in the middle speaks, you noticed he also is the one that took off your sash. “What the hell was the point of all this? You just kidnap random people from their homes?” You glare up at the man and his two puppets. “Streets say you’re good friends with Spidey.” One of the smirks. “Had one of these guys watch him crawl in your window like some squashed bug.” You scoff softly, rolling your side to the side. “So what?”

The man in front shrugs. “Either you’re his whore or you know him. So which is it sweetheart?” He rests his hand on the back seat of your chair and leans in close to your face. “Who is Spider-Man?”

You licks your lips and stare back up at him, choking back the stretch his breath was. “I don’t know.”

He grins. “Hm. So you’re his whore. A special one at that. He doesn’t appear in just anyone’s home so what services do you offer him in exchange for some protection? Do they apply here? Baby, I can protect you too.”

He’s sick, your mind screamed. You struggled against your restraints.

“Shock you.” You spit on his shirt and he lands a hard slap across your cheek.

He mumbles a string of curses before grabbing your chin and forcing you to face him again. “Don’t forget who’s in the shocking chair, sweetheart. Your hero ain’t here so be a doll and shut the hell up.”

Your chest heaved up and down in deep breaths to calm your scared heart. You feel your cheek stinging and it didn’t help with this rotten man’s fingers digging into your skin.

Your silence pleases him and his other hand reaches down to your knee. “I don’t wanna hurt you, sweet thing. It’s just one simple question and I’ll let you go.” He lies. His hand rides up your thigh and your leg tries to kick him away from you but he just grips you tighter. “I don’t know.” You plead hoarsely. “I know, I know. So you say.” Out of the corner of your eye you see one of his men snatched into the darkness with a clawed hand around his mouth. Miguel. The guy in front of you digs his nails deeper in your skin and you can feel the scratch. “Eyes up here, sweetheart.” You whine at the pain, pursing your lips to keep yourself quiet. “See, Spidey’s head goes for millions of dollars–money you can’t even comprehend so if you could do your community a favor of just letting us in on some intel on the son of a bitch; that’d be great.” “You wanna kill him?” You ask breathlessly, looking to the other side to see another newbie being hindered, his neck tilted to the side while some teeth bite into his flesh. His body slowly lost consciousness and was also dragged into the darkness silently. “Most of Nueva York wants that guy dead. All the ones on top but I’m dirt poor, sweetie. It’d be a disservice for the hero to not let me kill him. Shouldn't he give to the poor and needy?” He sighs, letting go of your cheek so both his hands rests on your upper thighs. You feel your skin crawling and try to move away as far as you can in your seat. “But you don’t know anything do you? Then I’d be doing a disservice by throwing out some useful goods here, don't you think?” His grimy hands grip your hips, looping his fingers around your jean belt loops. Before you could even think, the man is instantly ripped off of you by his shirt. He’s thrown back on his side, skidding as he comes to a halt. Spider-Man towers in front of you, his back facing you. You could still see the rage oozing from his suit, shoulders and muscles tense and claws out. His chest rises and falls with each jagged breath, the only sound coming out of him.

“Spider-Man!” The man growls, stumbling to get back on his feet. His pistol had slipped from the back of his jeans, sliding away from him. “Dammit–Darrell! Fernando!” He calls to his two men but he freezes. On the floor are both his associates, one’s clothes ripped apart with claw marks on his chest, the other with his jaw slacked open and two puncture holes in his neck–a strange mixture of blood and another liquid oozing from the wound. He lets out a strangled scream as he looks back up at Spider-Man. His tall frame stalks over to him but the man crawls to find his gun. Before he could grab it, Miguel stomps on the man's arm, giving a satisfying crack to his bone which the man cries out painfully. While he writhes on the concrete ground, Miguel grabs onto his broken arm and lifts him up–he screams, trying to push Miguel away. “You wanted to kill me?” Miguel growls, his voice deep and menacing. The man pleads for his life and another set of footsteps come from behind. “Shoot him!” The man yells as Miguel looks back over his shoulder. The rest of the group comes up from behind Miguel, raising–what Miguel considers pathetic–guns up to his face. The eyes on Miguel’s mask squint slightly and just as quickly, he turns with the man in his hands and uses his body to protect himself from the onslaught of bullets. The man’s entire group fires and every single bullet pierces into his body, splattering blood on the ground and Miguel’s suit. Miguel makes sure that you weren’t hit at any moment. Miguel tosses the limp corpse to the side and pounces into the group, attaching his fangs into some man’s neck while his talons ripped along his arm to let go of the rifle he was holding. Chaos ensues and they all begin shooting at one another in hopes that one shot could land on Spider-Man. Miguel’s claws ripped apart limbs and skin, every single hand that raised against you was littered to the ground. He continues to swing and jump around, letting everyone get lost in the confusion before tearing through chests and stomachs. His rage knew no bounds at the moment. He had planned to just come in secretly while he still had a part of his mind. Get in, use his venom, take you and get out. But when he saw what that scum would’ve done to you, touching you, gripping onto you–he lost his mind. Even with Lyla’s brief protest, Miguel couldn’t help but want to tear him apart. So he did.

It wasn’t often Miguel had to be reduced to such measures but everyone had their limits. By the time it was over, he barely noticed how silent it had become. His ears were still ringing, he felt like he was underwater as he gulped in heaps of air. “Miguel!” He hears Lyla yell at him. He snaps his head to where he heard her voice, blind rage melting when he sees you still in the chair. He sees Lyla with her arms crossed, her little foot tapping angrily in mid-air. Lyla had done her best to cover your sight and hearing of the crime Miguel had done with holograms of whatever–surely it was much nicer than watching Miguel gnaw off a piece of someone’s throat. Miguel glances at his hands stained and dripping with blood. He wipes them on his legs, hoping to get it off him before you could see. He falls to his knees in front of you with a soft whine of your name and his mask phases off. “Lyla, blur the room.” Lyla does as told and lets you see him. Your eyes are concerned and scared. “Miggy…” You whisper, feeling the trauma set in. “I’m here, I’m here–I told you I’d protect you, yeah?” Miguel uses his talons to cut off the zip ties from your wrists and ankles that were digging in your skin. Once you were free, you wrapped your arms around his neck and jumped into his arms. Miguel fell back but made sure to hug you back, his arms going around your waist while his other arm went up to cradle your head. He buried himself in your shoulder, breathing in the mixture of your natural scent and the scent of the man. He growled and held you tighter. He’d do something about that smell.

“I was so scared–I didn’t know what to do–How did you find me?” You babbled as you finally felt safe enough to sob and cry. “Don’t worry about that. You’re safe. You’re okay.” Miguel reassures you, kissing your temple and cheek, pulling away gently to brush your messy hair away from your face. He wipes your tears with the back of his hand, unintentionally leaving a bloody mark. “Shit..” He mumbles, ashamed and pulls his hand away. You stop him, holding his hand back to your cheek. You just wanted to feel him, his warmth. You weren’t stupid. You knew what happened when Lyla put up holograms that blurred what you weren’t supposed to see. You didn’t care. May they rot. “Thank you.” You whimpered. “Thank you.” Miguel presses a kiss to your forehead. “Always. I’ll take you home.” “But, my apartment–” You try to speak as Miguel moves to hold your body in one hand while he swings on his web with the other. “Not your apartment. Mine. My penthouse. I’m never leaving you out of my sight again.” Your arms were securely around his neck. He was still tense but much less before. You tried to look back down but he squeezed you tighter– he didn’t want you to see.

For tonight, he’d take care of you just like all those nights you took care of him.

[detectivestucks]

Home

18+ content, Minors do NOT interact

Pairing: Yandere Tobi/Obito x F!Reader

Summery: Obito found you paying your respects to his memorial and an obsession with his first love's best friend blossoms. Soon he finds that he will do anything and everything to protect you, his delicate peach.

Warnings: Stalking, Violence, Kidnapping, Fingering, Nipple play, Unprotected Penetration, Virgin Reader, implied threat of suicide.

Word Count: 9.7k

Author's note: Yes, I know the timeline is a bit altered, it was a creative decision. Deal with it. :)

Itachi and Kisame remove their hats as they return to the hideout looking slightly worn out, presumably from battle. They had just finished scoping out the Leaf in search of the nine tails jinchuriki and Itachi’s little brother, Sasuke.

“Did everything go okay?” Pain asked

“Yes, we ran into my former captain.”

“Itachi had it covered but the copy ninja's annoying boyfriend started attacking and then some shinobi we couldn’t see sent shockwaves into the ground that sparked a small tsunami.”

“It was at that point we thought it best to retreat. We know the jinchuriki is still located inside the village. There was no need for further engagement.”

Obito felt his chest constrict. Shockwaves...he knew that jutsu. That was the trademark of Rin’s best friend. That was a jutsu unique to you. But you had left the village a long time ago. When had you come back? 

Itachi being the only one among them who knew Tobi’s identity, quickly noticed the shift in Obito’s stance. The rest of the group, completely oblivious to the insignificant comic relief, did not notice as Obito exited the room and hurried towards the village. 

Rather than scouring the Leaf hunting for you, he waited at the one spot he knew you’d come, the memorial yard. Sure enough it only took one evening to catch you bringing lilies to your best friend’s grave. Obito cried with you as you shed tears for your friend but then you did something he didn’t expect, you stopped at the memorial stone to pay your respects to him. 

“Obito, I wish you knew how much I cared for you. You didn’t deserve what you got. You were too good for this world.” You dragged your fingertips along his name, tears streaming down your cheeks as you remembered the boy you loved as a child.

You…cared for him? He was… too good?

Obito felt a pang in his chest. You were just like her. So kind and sweet. Always seeing the best in people. Even poor retches like him. He wanted to thank you but he didn’t want to scare you.  Instead he let curiosity get the better of him and followed you home. He watched you through the window as you did your nighttime routine. Seeing you at peace alone in your home brought him contentment. He  snuck up to the window’s sill to catch a closer view as you got into bed and drifted to sleep. It brought him comfort to see you rest and he took that comfort with him as he finally returned to the hideout.

The next day, plans for tracking the other tailed beasts including the three tails had Obito feeling emotional. Itachi caught how stiff ‘Tobi’ stood during the conversation and soon after caught him leaving the hideout to go see you. He found you at the training grounds running drills with Kakashi’s team.

“Y/N-sensei, I wanna learn a new jutsu!”

“Now Naruto, I am under direct orders from Kakashi to work on chakra control drills with you three. A new jutsu will be no good if you don’t have a way to command the chakra to execute it.”

“When will Kakashi-sensei be better?”

“He’ll be better soon Sakura, don’t you worry.”

Obito sat in the trees watching you for a few hours until the jinchuriki kid was done pestering you. He was such a nuisance but you didn’t lose your patience even a little. The same could not be said about his teammates which seemed to only bring you amusement. When you were done you walked over to the memorial stone and gave your gratitude to your fallen comrades before heading home. 

You were so much like her. Beautiful and sweet as a peach. The way you cared for and nurtured others, it took a hold of his heart. He could watch you all day and never get bored. You were his light in the darkness of the Akatsuki. 

The next day he went out with his partner on their mission. While Deidara requested alone time so he didn’t need to suffer Tobi’s presence, Obito used kamui to visit you. Carefully watching from a distance till you fall asleep. Just like he did every time he visits you. Following the same ritual as before. He’d enter your home and play with your hair, stroking it as you slept. Some nights he would lay with you and breathe in your scent while you were none the wiser. It was in these moments that he knew he needed to protect you. His delicate little peach. No one in this cruel world would bruise you. He would make sure of it.

One evening while you were paying your respects to your friends, a jonin he didn’t recognize approached you. The man brushed your hip and backside and you pulled away as he asked you on a date. The audacity of the man to think of romance while you were mourning your lost comrades. You had told him no and he left but something told Obito it wasn’t over. This was clearly a man who needed to be stopped. 

The next day the man came to you again and held your hips while he asked to take you on a date, a little more forcefully than before. You had declined his request once more and politely pushed his hands off of you before turning to walk away. He had called out to you but before he could say anything further Obito had dragged the man into his void. The shinobi looked around bewildered. Obito growled at him from behind his mask.

“The lady said no” 

“Where the fuck am I?!”  

“A place no one can hear you scream so don’t give me a reason to bring you back here.” If the man could see Obito’s face behind the mask he surely would’ve wet himself. But instead in a facade of bravery he hurls insults at Obito

“A fuckin coward relies on tricks. Be a man and show me your face.”

“My face is none of your business, as for tricks, I have none, just superior prowess.” Obito makes his voice thick and deep, tapping into Madara’s tone of intimidation. “If I see you bother her again it will be the last time you speak.”

His facade is broken and his throat bobs as he swallows his pride. “Fine, no pussy’s worth a fuckin death threat.”

“Good, now that we understand each other, you may go.”

Obito materializes the man back in the village while he teleports himself over to the tree outside of your home. He spots you walk up to your door and head inside. He yearned to be the one greeting you, welcoming you home,  rather than outside in a tree. You should come home to his loving face, not a room of darkness. 

Instead he waits till you are sound asleep to touch your hips where the other man had touched them. He replaced the man’s predatory touch with his loving one. You rolled into him, your subconscious nestling into his presence. He held you, almost falling asleep from your intoxicating pheromones as they lull him into a state of bliss. When he was sure you wouldn’t wake, he slipped his body out of your bed, replacing himself with a pillow as you searched for his comfort. 

His thumb brushed over your forehead before he disappeared from your home. His beautiful peach ripe for the picking.

While masquerading around as Tobi, Obito couldn’t help but feel lonely and isolated. His thoughts of you began to consume his mind. Every opportunity he had to visit you, he took. He had disappeared so often that the Akatsuki almost forgot about him, not that they were complaining about taking a break from his annoying persona. 

He noticed that you and Kakashi had become close. You were always assisting with his young team and visiting the cemetery together. Obito didn’t like this one bit. Kakashi would pluck his sweet peach from him. But he had to remind himself that Kakashi did keep you safe when you joined his team on missions. He took care of you when Obito could not. Though that didn’t dull his need to claim you, take you as his own. The feeling was intensifying, swelling every day. 

He found himself hunting down every man who so much as looked at you. Kakashi was the only man who’s affection he let slide…even though he was the one who made him the most angry. Maybe it was his sentiment for his old friend. Maybe it was his fear of Kakashi’s skill. Either way, he let him be, not wanting to catch the copy ninja’s attention. 

The remaining miscreants were hunted without mercy. Sometimes he couldn’t help the bloodshed that was inevitable. He was unable to restrain himself, when it came to his peach, there was no limit to what he would do to keep you safe. If they showed no remorse for their predatory stares and their greedy thoughts he would gladly hear them scream before stopping their hearts. A trail of blood secretly followed you but it was all in your delicate name.

He kept tabs on everything you did, especially when it came to your missions. He had to ensure your safety. Recently learning some of the details of one of your upcoming missions, he knew he’d have to keep special watch over you. It was a dangerous mission with Hidden Mist shinobi that had been under consideration to join his troupe. He couldn’t risk history repeating itself and no longer cared if Deidara or Itachi figured out what he had been doing with his spare time. Even though you would be joining Kakashi on this mission, it wasn’t a guarantee of your safety. He already knew that too well and he must protect his sweet peach at all costs.

He stalks your group as you travel through the woods, earning him a side eye from Kakashi who knew something was up but couldn’t quite pin his finger on who the lurker was. You asked him what was wrong but Kakashi refused to say anything, not wanting to tip off a watching Obito that he knew they were being followed. 

Nice try Bakashi, but I already know your tricks.

Soon you came across your target. As predicted they put up quite a fight. You and Kakashi made a remarkable team fending them off. Your mission was to capture them for intel but the confrontation with the targets escalated to the point that elimination was deemed necessary. Obito was impressed by your strength. You took on three of them at once, knocking them down with your earth style shockwave. You manipulated the magnitude, where the earth would fracture, where it would cave in, and even where it would snap up. It was an impressive jutsu but it was not foolproof. He watched you closely, ready to intervene if it ever became too much. He watched you so closely that he hadn’t noticed the back up Mist shinobi that had been summoned. Kunai thrown from the trees flew at you as you went to weave more hand signs. You lept out of the way but still one caught your leg and the other grazed your thigh.

No.

Before Obito could even breathe he was in front of you, mangekyou in place, murder in the front of his mind. His stance was so protective, you didn’t doubt whose side this unknown stranger was on for a second. You simply pulled the kunai out of your leg allowing the blood to flow freely before going on the defensive. 

When a second wave of backup came, you did what you could but you were overwhelmed. Kakashi and his team could not keep up with the stampede of attacks. The fear for your safety caused Obito to snap. He went on a homicidal rampage, annihilating the entire group with gruesome bloodshed, bringing both yourself and Kakashi to a halt. 

In your stunned transe you didn’t catch the shinobi who snuck past your blind spot and stabbed you in the chest. When Obito turns to slice down the man he sees you clutching the kunai. In the span of a single heartbeat he dropped his weapon and pulled you into his void, bending over you in a state of panic. 

He stole your body from the battlefield so quickly Kakashi almost missed it. Kakashi finished off the last of the Mist shinobi, making certain that the life of the man who attacked you would drain by his hand. He stood up in alarm asking Naruto and Sakura if they saw who the man was that took you away. Neither of them did and Kakashi instructed them to search the nearby area for you.

Obito’s hands shook over you as he went to remove the knife, holding pressure where it once had pricked you like a pincushion. You had no idea where you were or who this man was. You had just watched him slaughter nearly twenty men to protect you immediately before his abduction. You would have been terrified if you didn’t have a more pressing issue to tend to.

“My peach, how do I help?” 

In your state of confusion you thought you misheard him. He must have you confused with someone else. You feel your consciousness begin to slip as you speak.

“Do you know…medical…ninjutsu?” it came out as a whisper.

“No” he whined

“Need…Sakura.”

“I can do that.” 

Obito goes back to the scene of his crime. Bodies strewn all over the field. He felt accomplished to see them sprawled out and covered in red.

“Hey you, girl”

“Me?! What did you do with Y/N-sensei?!”

“She’s safe. You know medical ninjutsu?”

“Yeah”

“Meet me over there.” 

She looked at the masked Obito with severe skepticism. He nodded at her and walked away, swirling out of sight as he did, stepping into his void to retrieve you. 

He lifted you up, supporting under your shoulders and knees. He held you close, his entire body tense with worry but somehow gentle. He felt so warm as you were growing cold from your wounds. Despite the horrors you saw him commit, you laid your head against his chest as he carried you back outside to a sheltered spot behind a few trees and a bush where Sakura was waiting.

He laid you down and instructed Sakura to do what she had to while he eagerly watched. Sakura gave him sideways glances many times when she felt she could afford to risk the distraction. Who was this terrifying murderer? Why did he have a fixation with you? After twenty minutes Sakura lowered her hands, panting from the amount of chakra used.

“There.”

“She’s healed?”

She nods, “She’s healed. The major damage at least.”

“Thank you”

He scoops up your body and retreats back to his void as Skaura shouts at your disappearing figures. 

You were out cold, resting for nearly a day when you woke up in a makeshift bed in a dark endless room filled with large gray blocks. 

“Where am I?”

You scan your surroundings but it hurts too much to move. The mysterious masked man suddenly appears in the room causing you to jump, quickly followed by you grabbing your chest in pain. 

“Careful Peach” he says as he rushes to your side, falling on his knees beside you.

“Why do you keep calling me that?” you inquire with eyes screwed shut in pain.

“Because you are my delicate Peach. I need to take care of you.”

“I’ve been taking care of myself just fine, thank you.” you say through clenched teeth, feeling the pain radiate over your entire chest. This man was clearly insane. Despite how he took care of you, you knew you were in danger.

“I wouldn’t call your current condition ‘just fine’, Peach.”

He feels your forehead, looking for signs of fever.

“Just who are you anyways?”

“It doesn’t matter. All that matters is you’re okay.”

“It does matter. And I need to go back to my team, let them know I’m okay.”

“The girl knows you’re okay, she’ll tell them.”

“Yes, but I need to get back to them. I need to-”

“No.”

“Excuse me?” Disbelief filled you, yet the earlier bells of warning were officially verified.

He looks at you and shakes his head. “No.”

You look at him stunned, fear swelling. You look around the dark empty space starting to wonder where the exit was.

“You’re not going back. They can’t protect you. I know that now. You will stay with me. Here.”

Stunned into silence you look up at him. You open your mouth and close it a few times before you finally say to him, “You can’t keep me here.”

“I can and I will.”

Obito watches as terrified anger blossoms on your face. You stand up in spite of the pain, searching for an exit. Glancing over your shoulder at him as you move further and further away, frantically peering behind every gray pillar and block.

“You won’t be able to leave on your own.” he calls to you. “Only I can teleport you in and out of here.”

“And where is here?” You say, walking back towards him with a guise of bravery.

“My void”

Your jaw fell open. “Your what?”

“My void. Only I have access to it using Kamui.”

Comprehension made your eyes flood with tears. You were trapped. A madman who just slaughtered a fleet of shinobi to save you has trapped you in another dimension to ‘keep you safe.’ You looked up at him pleading, “I want to go home. Let me go home.”

“I can’t…it’s not safe.”

“But my home, my friends, the village…”

“They will be fine without you.”

Starting to realize he was serious, you begin to plead. “At least let me tell them where I have gone. That way they don’t come looking for me. Let me say goodbye.”

“Peach, I can’t risk you running away. I can’t risk you getting hurt.” He reaches out to pet your hair and you shy away from his touch.

The tears leak down your cheeks, feeling helpless. You walk away and sit down, turning away from the masked man, hugging your knees to your chest and resting your head against the tops of your knee caps.

Obito, feeling pain at seeing you so sad walks up and puts a hand on your shoulder, “It has to be this way Peach, I’m sorry.”

He leaves you alone to sulk. You would be fine. You would grow to accept things the way that they are. You would grow to love him in spite of how it started. It was all going to be okay.

When he left in a swirl you wept. You allowed your mind to panic and wander to all the terrifying possibilities. What was he going to do with you? Why was he obsessed with you? How were you going to get out of this? 

The more your mind reeled the quieter your tears became. Eventually you collapsed back onto the ashen floor. As you lay there, staring up at the black ceiling of his void, exhaustion and sadness ebb you to sleep. 

You wake up the next day to find a large chunk of your stuff from your home was suddenly in the void. He had made the effort to move your belongings to you, even bringing many of your most cherished items such as your favorite clothes, your favorite mug, the blanket you sleep with every night, and your photos of Obito and Rin. 

How did this man know these would be the items you’d want most? How long had he been following you? You felt a shiver roll down your spine.

What you presume to be hours later, the masked man returns to check on you. He’s more timid than he was before. Approaching you carefully. 

“Thank you” you say, looking at the floor, “for bringing me some of my stuff. I’m still pissed, and I’m not staying here, but I appreciate the effort.” You were terrified but you didn’t want him to know that. You were going to find a way out of this. You just had to figure out how to get out of this damned dimension first.

If only you could see the smile below his mask. Overwhelmed by how cute you are he pulls you into a hug. You’re stiff with terror but you feel his strong torso pushed up against your own and you can’t help the little part of you that is left breathless. It feels familiar and warm but you can’t place why.

“I love you Peach.” he says as he holds you in his arms, laying his head on top of your head. He was insane. You reply to him with a shaking voice,

“If you loved me you’d give me some windows instead of dreary slate abyss. I can’t even tell what time of day it is.”

“Sorry, voids don’t work that way, Peach.”

“Sorry, I guess being abducted is new to me.” you forced the sass into your tone. You were petrified but you needed a way out of here. You figured maybe you could manipulate his affection for you.

Obito winces at the word abduction. He prefers to think of it as protection

“What? You didn’t think I’d be okay with this, did you? That is the title of what this is.” You weren’t sure where this bravery came from but he was buying it.

“At least I’m not trying to poison you against your own clan, or acting as the architect to kill your childhood crush.” he said with a venom that made you believe he was speaking from experience but you were too focused on your own situation to care. Your false bravery turned into false anger.

“Sorry to steal the opportunity away from you but I don’t have much in the way of a clan and my childhood crush is already dead.”

His face snapped and locked onto yours. “What did you say?”

“I’m not repeating myself, I know you heard me the first time.”

You watched as his throat bobbed beneath his black mask. Why did that impact him so much? Who was this guy anyways? He acted like he had known you your whole life yet you only know him as a mask and tuft of hair.

“Who are you?”

He turned and walked away from you, “Someone long dead to you”

Well that didn’t answer any questions. If anything it brought up more.

“Well if you won’t tell me who you are, then tell me what to call you.”

“Currently the world knows me as Tobi.”’

“Do you want me to call you Tobi then?”

“No…”

“Then what do I call you?”

He paused. “I guess Tobi is fine.”

“Okay, well Tobi, I want to go home. I am not spending my life tucked inside this vault.”

“That’s out of the question.”

You inhale deeply. Acting skills front and center. “Then I guess my safety isn’t guaranteed.”

He glanced over, tilting his head, giving you a questioning look.

“Your top priority is my safety. I can think of a lot of ways to make myself unsafe all alone here in this little void of yours,” You taunt him with your words as your eyes dart around the room.

His blood boiled over. Were you really suggesting what he thought you were? And over some dumb sunlight?! His hands twitched by his side.

“Tobi, if you intend for this” you say pointing around the void, “to be the rest of my life, it will be a short one because I’m not doing it.” you cross your arms. Of course you weren’t actually suicidal but you were going to say anything to better your circumstances. He may be your psychotic captor but he seemed to have a weakness for your well being and you were going to pull at that thread till he unraveled.

He heaved a heavy sigh before grumbling. “Give me a day to figure it out.”

“And how will I know if it's been a day?! I can’t tell time without the sun or so much as a frickin watch!”

The theatrics were working. 

“I’m sorry Peach, I’ll be back.”

He fled from the void with his tail between his legs. You let out a huge breath. How you were able to pull that stunt off was beyond you. Desperation breeds its own strength. You hoped with all your might when he came back it was to get you out of his little dimension. 

You waited, having absolutely nothing to do. No books, no games, no radio, no food, no beverage…nothing. 

You mind tortured you with thoughts. You wondered how everyone was back home, rejecting the demons of your subconscious telling you that you may never see them again. 

I will find a way out of this. 

You strolled around checking out what was behind all the gray boxes. Surprise, it was more gray boxes. You climbed each one, beginning to count them as you went. You were usually a very ambitious person but there was nothing to do. You began playing with your jutsu to see if it would work in a void. Update: it does. You brought an entire kilometer to rubble just for fun and treaded up the path you created to get some exercise. Then you jumped block to block, back to your little makeshift bedroom waiting for Tobi. Eventually you got tired so you made yourself ready for bed hoping that when you woke up he would be back with updated living arrangements.

*******************************************************

You turn over as you stir and nuzzle into a hand that is softly petting your hair. 

“Good Morning Peach”

You stiffen before your eyes dart up to his. Mask of bravery back in place, you greet him. “Good morning Tobi.” He winces. He hates how the false moniker sounds coming from your mouth. 

“I see you started destroying my void.”

“I was bored so I decided to train.”

A hearty chuckle left his throat. “I made arrangements but please understand I will not sound or behave like myself where we are going.”

“And why is that?”

“You will see eventually.”

“Oh boy, so glad you enlightened me.” you lay the sarcasm thick and it only makes him laugh more. Good, he finds you charming. You can work with this.

“I also want to warn you, we will be among rogue shinobi.”

“So your idea of keeping me safe is to have me live with the very people that I’ve been hunting. The very same people who want to kill me and my friends?”

“Yes, If you are among us, no one will bother you. If you remained in the village, you would be subject to their…missions.”

“Seems like stupid logic if you ask me.”

“Please trust me.”

“I don’t, but I don’t have a choice either.”

“At least you’re not dumb”

“Did you think I was?”

“Not even for a second.”

He grabbed your hand with his strong possessive one. Something about the way your palm fit in his felt right. You weren’t sure why but that was the signal your brain sent your hand when you gripped it tighter. A psychopath whose hand you were holding. Great, you’ve completely lost your marbles a mere three days into captivity.

Next thing you knew you could smell the air of the earth again, you could see the shadows left by the sun, happiness washed over you in a visible way and Tobi’s fingers slid between yours upon seeing your reaction. He pulled you into another hug, he seems to always be hugging you. It’s like he’s forcing you to get used to him. “I will be this person when we are alone. I will be another when the others are around. You understand?”

You nod your head worried about what he could possibly mean? What kind of a monster is he around this gang of thugs that he needs to warn you?

He removes his hand from yours and places it between your shoulder blades pushing you towards a cavern. A man with orange hair, purple eyes and many piercings looks you up and down as you enter. 

“Tobi, this is her?”

“Yes Pain! This is the hostage I spoke about!” His voice was comically high pitched and he sounded like a child. You tried your hardest not to react but it was just so different from what you were expecting. 

“Put her in the dungeon.”

“Well sir, remember I requested she stay in my room, sir?!”

“Yes but she’s a hostage, who will stop her from escaping?”

“Do you really think she’s dumb enough to try and leave the hideout of the Akatsuki?”

Your face went pale as you realized just who you had been dealing with this whole time. They were supposed to wear black cloaks with red clouds. You hadn’t seen Tobi wear his once! Always dressed in all black with sandles. But your reaction built a convincing case. The man named Pain accepted your fear as enough of a restraint. He didn’t question why it would be Tobi’s room but some blonde man eyed you hungirly and told Pain Tobi was probably keeping you in his room to finally lose his virginity. 

Once behind his door, he modulated his voice back to normal.

“What the hell was that?” you asked more honestly than you intended.

“What? You’ve never seen an act before?”

“Well of course. But why do you make yourself seem like a fool?”

“So no one will suspect.”

“Suspect what?”

“Don’t worry about it. Here.” Tobi swirls you back into his void and he starts gathering your things. After a second you begin to copy him and he brings you both back to his room in the Akatsuki hideout. You start to find nooks and crannies to store your things leaving only one remaining item in your hands. He watches you as you look down on your photos of your friends. Eyes lingering over the one of you and Obito before you tuck them away with mist in your eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, but…thank you…for bringing the photos. I don’t know how you knew but I appreciate it.”

Tobi pulled you into another hug. You were unsure why he cared so much and why you kept letting him hug you. Maybe it was cause compared to your new roommates he suddenly seems less scary. To his credit this hug felt nice. Plus, since it seems like he was going to be your only companion for a while, you decided to tolerate it. 

He unfurled the hug and began tugging at your shirt. Lifting the hem above your neck, exposing your bare breasts.

“Hey!”

He disregarded your complaint and touched where your stab wound had been. “How does it feel?”

“It’s fine.” You say blushing while you cover your bosom. “May you please let go of my shirt now?”

“Huh? Oh, of course. Sorry Peach.” He drops your shirt and backs away swiftly almost as if he was embarrassed. He seemed a little more humane today so you decided to press your luck and scout out your surroundings.

“Can we go outside? I’d appreciate some sun and maybe some real food”

He gives you a piercing stare out of the eye hole of his mask.  “Stay by my side. I know you are strong but however strong you think you are, I am stronger.”

You gulp remembering the massacre you witnessed three days ago.

“I will be your protector. No one will hurt you ever again.” he lifted your chin so you’d look up at his eye through the swirling mask. “I promise.”

“I believe you…”

You see his eye crease when you speak. He was happy. That’s good. Keep him happy and it will give you openings to escape…though you weren’t sure outrunning him would be possible given his tricky teleportation ability.

You spend the afternoon with him, gathering intel and acting flirty, playing along with his advances. When he grabbed your hand, you laced your fingers. When he reached for your hip, you reached for his. When he hugged you, you draped your arms around his neck. You play into his affection for you, keeping him happy, earning his trust and lowering his guard. If I keep this up, captivity will be bearable. But you also feared that if you acted a little too well, you may fall for your own lies. Holding him today felt too easy given your desperate situation. Was it a genjutsu perhaps?

Nighttime came and instead of parading you past the other members of the Akatsuki who were home between missions, he teleported you both straight to his chambers. You get ready for bed and realize you do not have a bed of your own. It was still in the void. Would he send you to spend the nights in the void? He cleared his throat, snapping you out of your thoughts.

“I would feel safest if you shared the bed with me.” he said looking down. “You can sleep on the opposite side of the bed if you would like but I don’t want an enemy who finds the hideout to get to you before I wake.” 

You swallow nervously. You know he loves you. That much is obvious but you are searching for signs that he might try to take advantage of you while you’re unconscious. You think back to earlier when he was checking your wound. He didn’t seem to register that he had exposed your breasts for his pleasure. It was almost like your anatomy was irrelevant, only your well being consumed his thoughts. You chose to believe he will be respectful and so you agree.

“Pick whichever side you want. I’ll be back when I’m done.” He grabs a fresh pair of pants and heads to the bathroom. When the door is snapped shut you stand there looking at the bed. You’ve never chosen a side of the bed before. You’ve never been in a situation where you had to. You paced around the mattress like it was the most daunting choice you ever had to make. It’s not like this was a long term decision. You’d escape or convince him to let you go soon enough. So why were you weighing your options so carefully? 

Eventually you decide to choose the side closest to the window and give him the side closest to the door. You were much more afraid of his fellow gang members coming in with less than pure intentions than you were of outside shinobi coming for the blood of the Akatsuki. 

Just as you finally slip between the sheets, Tobi comes out of the bathroom with only a pair of black stretch sweatpants on. Your eyes drink up his figure. His body was half white as if made up of false materials but it moved like it was his real body. He was extremely toned, swollen pecs and chiseled abs cut across his upper body causing a little drool to pool in the corner of your mouth. Most surprisingly, he also took off his mask and below you saw battle torn skin that etched across the right side of a face that was intimidating, yet soft and familiar. His eyes catch you staring and he quickly looks down removing some of the intimidation you felt. 

He scratches the back of his neck. “I haven’t shown my face to anyone in years. I’m sorry if it scares you. I just can’t always sleep in the mask.”

“No, it’s fine” you say in a hoarse voice. Your throat had suddenly gone dry. “It’s not scary.” 

It wasn’t but what did scare you was the thoughts of what epic battle had mangled him to this degree only for him to survive and still be as strong as he is. You suddenly wondered if he was invincible and if escape would ever be possible. 

He took his position on the vacant side of the bed, smiling that you left him by the door. He knew exactly why you chose the side you did. He turned to face you from under the covers. 

“Goodnight Peach.”

“Goodnight Tobi.”

You see him wince as you say his name. You knew he wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t want you calling him by that name. He turns over and extinguishes the candle letting darkness blanket the room as you drift to sleep with surprising ease. Your body’s alarm, shockingly low given your current residence.

*******************************************************

Sunlight seeps into the room as Obito wakes up. He suddenly realizes how warm he is and it only took a few more blinks of his groggy eyes to realize why. You had traveled over to his side of the bed last night and latched onto him. He smiled, feeling his chest fill with joy. He petted your hair. You were his. You didn’t know it yet, but you were. In a few short days not only were you almost completely healed from your recent battle but you were falling for him too. Hugging him, holding his hand, cuddling in bed, Obito had never experienced human touch like this before but he was sure it didn’t always feel this right. 

He tries waking you but is met with grumpy groans and you bury yourself deeper into his chest. He kisses the top of your head as your little fists cling to him tight. He gave up on trying to wake you and let you ride out your sleep, enjoying the cuddles that were sure to cease as soon as you came to. 

Sure enough, nearly an hour later he hears you sharply inhale as you withdraw from him. You quickly sit up and face the window as he casually stretches and gets up. 

“Good Morning” he yawns feeling smug and powerful

“Morning” you say as you adjust your messy bun, trying to seem casual as you hide your embarrassment that you were needily cuddling with your kidnapper. 

You both get ready for the day, you donning a set of tactical clothes for no reason other than it was what you were used to and him, his mask and Akatsuki gear, no longer hiding the cloak now that you knew his occupation. He grabs your hip and teleports you to a tea shop for breakfast. 

You live out a week in this manner. Spending all your free time together. Occasionally having run-ins with the other Akatsuki members. They eye you in a bone chilling way. You are certain they are calculating how to enter into your room without awakening Tobi. They are nothing but disrespectful towards him, but he gives as good as he gets. You especially have to hone your acting skills to not laugh when Tobi says something ignorant and rude in his comedic tone, earning the anger of who you now know is his partner Deidara. 

One thing that bothers you the most is the ever watchful eyes of the mass murderer Itachi Uchiha. He is always polite and quiet and would seemingly be the nicest of the members if not for his reputation for slaughtering his entire clan. It’s always the quiet ones. You didn’t like how he would stare at you. After your last run in with him and Kisame, you were sure they were looking for retribution. You decide to bring this up to Tobi as he gets in bed. 

“Tobi,” he winces “I know you said I’d be safe here among the other members but I recently fought against Itachi and Kisame. I don’t like how the Uchiha looks at me. I feel like he’s looking for payback.”

“He’s not.”

You were annoyed at how quickly his dismissed you. His concern for your safety was then entire reason for your current predicament.

“How do you know that?”

“Cause I know him.”

“So you should know what he did.”

“I do.”

“And you trust him?”

“With my life.”

“How can you say that? He doesn’t even know your true identity?” 

You are gobsmacked by the wild claim Tobi is making. He killed his entire bloodline and Tobi was okay with that. It was moments like this that reminded you that Tobi was a murderer, not the lovable goof that he had been masquerading around as. 

“Itachi is the only person walking this earth who knows my true identity.”

Your jaw drops open. 

“But you said that no one had seen your face…”

“It’s true, he does not know my face but he knows my identity.” You were at a loss. “One day I will enlighten you on the events of that night but know this, of every person here, Itachi is the one you can trust the most to keep you safe. If anything happens to me, he is entrusted with your safety.”

The thought terrified you. He was out of his mind. You saw what Itachi did to Kakashi first hand. You saw the morning after the Uchiha massacre. He was not to be trusted. “Tobi, no…”

His nose twitches and that was the last straw. “Well if you hate the name Tobi so much then why do you go by it!” your emotions had been high strung for over a week and you were snapping, boldly yelling at your captor.

“I don’t hate the name. I just hate when you say it.”

“What the fuck does that mean?!”

“Cause it feels wrong to hear you call me by something other than my name.”

“There’s just no winning with you. I can’t call you by your real name cause it’s some big secret that only a serial killer knows and oh yeah, apparently that same psychopath inherits me if you die!”

You cross your arms over your chest, huffing in frustration. You weren’t even sure why it bothered you so much. This is a temporary situation. You were kidnapped. You were going to escape. If Tobi dies then it will mean you’re finally free. You just have to find a way to sneak out of this hideout and you could finally go home.

“He’s the only one I can trust to guard you with his life.”

You roll your eyes, huffing once more before pursing your lips. “Why? I need to know, Tobi. Why?”

He looks down and shrinks in your gaze. “Because only he knows what it’s like to love as an Uchiha.”

You felt the wind knocked out of you. Was he saying what you think he is?

“You’re a…?”

“Yes.”

“But Itachi…”

“...had help.”

Your hand flys to your mouth covering it in shock. 

He finally looks up at you. “Y/N, it’s not what you think it is. I can explain.”

You feel fear chill your entire body and you see on his face how upset he is that you are more afraid of him than ever. He rushes towards you and gets on his knees begging and pleading, “please allow me to explain.”

“Your clan…you helped him murder…all those people.” you said it robotically. You begin to disassociate from the conversation, lost in thought till you circled around to the realization that no one talked about a missing body among the corpses. The only survivor was Saskue. There was no one else left unaccounted for among the names of the fallen brethren. So who was Tobi?

“Tobi, if you’re an Uchiha, then who are you?”

His face flushed to a cherry red. Despite the horrifying details he just shared, for the first time you felt you had the upper hand in your captivity. Why was he so afraid to tell you? He grabbed both your hands, rubbing his thumbs along your knuckles. 

Your eyes bore into him anxiously waiting for an answer.

“It’s me.” 

You remained silent, your stern expression waiting for clarification.

“Obito”

Your hands went limp in his hold. Every tense muscle relaxed as your heart leapt to your throat getting your hopes up. Then after a moment you began shaking and crying with anger. 

“That’s not funny, Tobi.” You growled at him in quiet rage. “Obito died over a decade ago. Kakashi and Rin saw it happen. None of us were the same after. I visit his grave every day I’m in the village. But I’m sure you knew that already, didn't you?” You were seeing red. He had been stalking you. This was all a ruse to get you to fall for him. You didn’t care for your safety at this moment, even after discovering he was a part of one of the most heinous crimes in the history of the Leaf, you were going to knock sense into this liar if it was the last thing you ever did. 

“Y/N, it’s me. It’s really me.” He grabs your photo of him and holds it by his face. “See?” 

You can’t see the resemblance cause your eyes are too full of tears. 

“Take your hands off that photo! Don’t touch it!”

“Y/N, think about it.” He pleads with you, “Kakashi has a sharingan in his left eye. My left eye is missing. Obito was crushed under a boulder on his right side. Look at my right side! It looks like this.” he gestured to the Hashirama cells, “I was rescued, Y/N. Madara found me. I survived.”

You had to admit that it made sense except for the last part. 

“Madara is dead.”

“He is now, but he wasn’t at the time. He became my master after the accident, after I healed, after Rin…”

His voice cracked at the last word. It was a sobering sound causing your anger to break.

“...Obito?”

He swallowed heavily, “Yes”

You believed him….

The wave of emotion that crashed over you knocked you to your knees. You fell to the ground sobbing. The boy you had loved all your life was before you, taking care of you, alive and well. A monster who had done horrendous things but he was alive. The realization broke your mind. Obito joined you on the floor, holding you as you cried in his arms. 

“Why did you never come back? All of us, we needed you. I-I needed you.”

“I can’t tell you that Peach. But I’m here now. I won’t leave you.” 

Your hands grabbed at him like he would disappear at any given moment. One arm wrapping around his back, the other cradling his head as you hyperventilate in his arms. 

He nuzzles into the curve of your neck as he professes, “I love you Peach.” 

You wanted to say it back but talking wasn’t an option. You were too overcome with emotion. 

He helped you up to standing and laid you down on the bed. He got in next to you and held you in his arms till your cries quieted. His large palm stroking over your back, comforting you as your mind came to grips with the fact that he was very much alive and very much in love with you the way you were in love with him. 

Occasionally as you cried, he’d kiss your cheek or your temple. Suddenly all the terrifying things you’d witnessed over the past ten days were no longer so terrifying. He stalked you cause he loved you. He murdered all those shinobi to protect you. He kidnapped you cause he wanted to spend the rest of his life with you. The alarms that he been blaring in your head all turned quiet.

Your breathing began to return to normal and you pulled away to look at Obito squarely in the face, leaving no room for misinterpretation. You needed him to know your intentions. 

You grabbed both sides of his face and leaned in for a kiss. He quickly pulled you into his body as tightly as he could, squishing you into his chest, nearly breaking your ribs with want. You both inhaled deeply as your lips locked onto each other. You opened your mouth, seeking to deepen the kiss. It was your first one after all, you wanted to make it good. 

You toss your leg over his hip, grinding into him as one of his hands lowered to stroke your thigh and ass cheek. You moan into his mouth, him returning your sounds of affection into your own. The stroking of your leg became rough as his tough hands grip into the flesh of your behind. Your breathing heavy and ragged as your arousal increases. 

Eventually he falls to his back as you straddle him, hunching over to feast on his mouth while you continue to roll your hips against his pants. You were in the most heated and only kiss of your life and you were sure for Obito it was the same. His deep groans as you dry humped his boner concealed inside his sweatpants made your heart flutter with excitement. Everything that had been stolen from you as an adolescent was right beneath you, in your arms and between your legs. 

Obito released your lips to lean his head back with a particularly loud moan echoing out of him causing Deidera to pound against the wall. “Just cause I knew you were going to fuck her doesn’t mean I need to hear it you fucking virgins!”

You laugh centimeters from his face before he flips you onto the bed so he is hovering over your panting silhouette. Lashes fluttering as you salivate from the way his strong presence looms over you. 

“Obito, I…” He kisses you slow and deep, not letting you speak. You break the kiss to finish your sentence. “I love you.”

He latches onto your lips again before speaking into your mouth, “I love you too.”

You wrap both of your legs around him, lifting yourself up to rut into him when he finally leans back on his knees to rip down your pajama pants, letting your legs fall to each side, exposing your soft flesh, ready and waiting to be sullied with unholy deeds. He sinks down, positioning himself between your legs. You prop yourself up on your elbows to watch him with curious interest. 

He kisses and sucks on your inner thighs. He releases the pliable flesh with a pop and smiles at his artwork. Of course he’d leave a mark the first chance he got. You were his after all. 

He worked his way to your center, licking a stripe up your sex before latching over your little bundle of nerves. He began to suck on it as if hoping to separate it from your body. He licked the small nub gently between vicious suckling, driving you wild and causing you to squirm. Your hand shot down to rest in his hair as you furrowed your brows and tilted your hips up into his chin, soaking his face in your secretions. Desperate need consuming your body.

He came up for air and crawled back up over you to get another one of your sweet kisses, before sinking his fingers into your tight virgin cunt. You whimper into his lips. He drags his fingers in and out of you causing you to clench around them. You make small cries as you feel him attempting to stretch you, readying you for his intrusion. 

Your hand reached for him, looking to sink beneath his pants to stroke what you desired. He propped himself up on his elbow next to you while his hand reached between your legs. You slipped between his abdominals and his waistband, fingers gliding around his thick base before closing around it and stroking upwards. Obito shuddered at your touch, hips instinctively thrusting towards you. Your hand firmly set around him, stroking up and down, you twisted towards his face to continue kissing him. The sloppy exchange continuing while you worked between each other’s legs. The heat radiated off of your bodies as your lust filled every pore. You pull back, a trail of spit connecting your mouths as you speak.

“I’m ready.”

Obito withdrew his fingers as he leaned away. He sucked his fingers clean as he stood up next to the bed. He dropped his pants so that they pooled around his ankles. He stepped out of the fabric and crawled back on the bed over you. 

He gently glided his barren length over your folds, lubricating himself in your sopping wet juices. His tip lightly poked at your swollen bud causing your breath to hitch. He gives you a nod signaling he’s going in. He sinks just the tip in and your arms tighten around him in response.

“Are you okay?”

You look up into his eyes and nod. “Mhm”

He begins to push inwards. You gasp at the stretch. It was painful but soon it shifted into a pleasurable sensation.

“Are you still okay?”

You bit your lower lip as you nod in agreement. He reached down. He wanted to be the one biting your lip. Connecting his with yours once more, his tongue swirled with passion as he stroked in and out of you slowly, allowing you to turn into a puddle under him. You cry into his mouth as you feel your walls constrict around him. You had never felt anything quite like it. Every part of you was satisfied in this position. Legs wrapped around his waist, lips connected with his, sharing the air you breathed, and the feeling of him buried in you. It was love in its purest sense. 

His soft slow romantic strokes began to give way as he realized how good the friction felt. Your tight walls wrapped around him so well, squeezing him in a way he could have never even dreamt about. You were perfection itself and it was making him ravenous.

He rolled his hips into you till they slapped against your rear. You make little sounds in response to the connection. It encourages him so he continues to roll. You keep mewling with each stroke. It is an anthem to his heart and he wants to hear it played louder. He begins slamming into you. You want to take it and please him but it’s becoming too much. 

You see his eyes gloss over. He’s consumed with the unfamiliar sensation. He flips you onto your stomach. He straddles you with his knees on either side of your legs, pinning them together. He thrusts up and in as you lay down flat. He slams his palm down on your cheek and you make a small grunt upon impact. You hear him smirk.”tch” He wants to do that again. 

You grunt a second time. He sits back on his heels and pulls your perfect body up off the bed and sits you down on his erection. Back facing him, he snakes his hands around your front and under your shirt. His muscular arms lift you up and down on him as you sing out little sounds of pleasure. 

“That’s it baby. You’re doing such a good job.”

You completely exhale as he whispers praise into your ear. Your heart thundering at a wild pace as one hand grabs on top of his hand that has a bruising grip on your chest and the other reaches back to grab him behind his head. 

He bends forward to lay light kisses along your neck and into the curve of your shoulder. You were his every desire. All the dangerous things he was capable of were only out of love for you. He would murder hordes of shinobi, tame tailed beasts, and level entire cities in your honor. He would do anything to live this moment on repeat for the rest of his life. 

You twist in his arms, politely asking to look upon his face. He sits back as he lifts you off of him. You turn around on your knees and straddle his lap, facing him as he tugs at your hem, gently lifting the fabric over your head and tossing it to a dark corner of the room. 

He hunches down to taste your perky peaks. His tongue dragging along each nub before his lips close around it with a gentle suckle. Your head lulls backwards as you cry out blissfully, allowing the new sensations to overwhelm your mind. Obito rocks your body up and down along his shaft but he doesn’t think he will be able to hold out much longer. 

He gingerly lays you down on your back, propping your legs open with his arms as he leans down, pushing his chest into yours. You feel your flexibility being tested as he sinks into you and your eyes widen at how deep he went. He begins to stroke, craving the warmth of the fast friction generated by his thrusts. He allows his sack to sway into your rear, hitting it with a satisfying clap at each impact. Your face begins to twist with pleasure. Your rhythmic cries calling to him like a siren's song. 

He leans down and presses his lips into yours, allowing your moans to reverberate around the inside of his mouth. He nears his climax as you reach yours. Releasing together in loving harmony. He slowly pumps into you, draining the seed from his length into your loving walls that graciously drink it in. 

Your doting eyes never leave his face. You realize you are hopelessly bound to him. You would never escape your captivity, nor did you want to. Both of you have surrendered to the other. Your head collapses onto the pillow and he licks one last stripe up your neck before falling next to you and kissing your jaw. His strong finger tugs at your chin, turning you to him so he may continue to adorn your lips with kisses. 

Your faces would fold into each other's necks as your bodies tangled together under the covers. The man who kidnapped you, now your most valued treasure. He would possessively hold his delicate little peach every night from henceforth and you would never speak of going home ever again because now that Obito lay with you, you were home. You allow your eyes to close and your heart to go still as you fall into a deep slumber in his arms.

Home… 

Masterlist

[cassandraclare]

*sighs a bit* Okay. Guys. I have been asked this question a lot, and answered it a lot. I don't know how to give a better answer — Dru & Ty&Kit share significance as main characters — so I guess I'll talk a little about comparison and structures.

First, all series have different structures. I don't think it's super useful or predictive to try to map an upcoming, unknown book series onto an existing series. In TLH the main character was Cordelia, everyone else was secondary to her, and people's roles and the significance of them altered from book to book. It was a big ensemble cast and they mostly stayed put in London especially in book 1.

TWP focuses on a smaller group of people. It also has a very different structure. In book one, Dru is not with Kit and Ty. They are in different places, both of which have their own stories that are significant to the plot. There is no way to see Place One without following Dru. There is no way to see Place Two without following Kit and Ty.

I know that TWP is a long way off. I know there are people who are very angry with me that there's such a gap, but there isn't anything currently I can do about that, or about the fact that I don't yet have the schedule for my upcoming books. That rests in the hands of several different publishers who must coordinate the release times and production schedules for four different series. I am not withholding any information about when these books come out. I simply don't know it yet.

I understand that TWP being a long way off makes for anxiety, and that those who are worried Kit and Ty will somehow be secondary are looking for tiny clues in microscopic details — micro-reading the of placement of the word "and" in my newsletter and such — that are meaningless, but I get that it all comes from anxiety. (FTR, those worried Dru will be secondary are equally anxious.)

I think there is only so much I can say. Because there's a big gap between TLH and TWP everything I do say or every image or hint about it is freighted with a weight of assumption it can't really support. Anxiety is always going to trump reassurance. And truly, at the end of the day, if you only care about Kit and Ty and find the idea of a Dru story tiresome, you will feel like they got shafted because when you absolutely hate a plotline, you will always feel like it's taking up way too much space. That's just how our minds work.

I've been doing this long enough that I know no book can survive a hostile reading. I know that Book Three of a trilogy is the one people hate until they don't. (When Clockwork Princess came out people hated it so much I considered quitting writing!) I know that it's wonderful to love a character but can also be a problem for people when I put out books that aren't about that particular character or dynamic. I know that for a lot of people, Sword Catcher and Ragpicker King are just tiresome things that have no business on my schedule because they're not Shadowhunter books. And I get it. But I also have to block it out, because I've been writing a long time, and I've gotten to a point where I know that I have to write the thing I want to be writing, because if I don't, if I sit down and try to force myself to write something I'm not feeling like writing at that time, I'll be making myself physically and mentally sick. And that's no good for anyone, really.

I suppose the positive thing is that, while this would not have been true five years ago, I am at the place where I want very much to be writing Wicked Powers. I missed these characters and am glad to be back with them. I consider this a story in which there are three main characters. And that is all I can say right now because it's all that I know.

(And this was much more of a general response to a lot of things than a specific response to this question, but I did feel like it was stuff that I needed to say. Creators are at the end of the day, just people. Sometimes we are powerless to reassure. Sometimes we are tired. Sometimes we are wrong. Sometimes we try things and they don't work. Sometimes we can't explain to you what our story is going to make you feel, because only reading it is going to tell you that. This may be one of those times.)

[naeviskz]

WHIRLWIND ๑‧˚₊ ─── HHJ

synopsis ; you overreact just a teensy bit when you see hyunjin talking to another girl, but when you find out the actual reason why … you try everything you can to make it up to him.

genre 숌 non-idol au, boyfriend!hyunjin x girlfriend!reader | established relationship

words - 3.6k tags/warnings 숌 fluff, (some) angst? pwp, smut, reader gets very jealous easily/has possessive tendencies, small mentions of insecurities, v v v clingy & needy gf, marking, dry humping, dirty talk, oral (m), lowkey daddy kink, hj has a big cawk, breeding kink cause that’s my fave tehe. i will preface that oc kinda has a toxic way of thinking and it’s def not healthy to act this way irl !!

now playing 🎧 : cool with you by newjeans, streets by doja cat

☆ 彡

[ this my first ever writing that has smut in it so bear w/ me pls ;-; i’m still learning how to do this right haha, but lmk if you enjoyed this at all <3 **not proofread btw ! ]

“Let’s go on that one next Jinnie!!” You squeal like a giddish teenager as you point to the ride up ahead, violently pulling on Hyunjin’s hand his entire arm might just fall off.

It’ll be your 1 year anniversary in approximately a week, and what better way to pre celebrate than going to the amusement park and watching fireworks at night? You haven’t been to one in years, reminiscing all those times you were a kid innocently frolicking around, not having a single care in the world. Since you’re a fully grown adult now it’s an altered experience, you’re able to pick up on social cues and no longer need parental supervision. You forgot just how thrilling it was to let loose and have fun, all while spending it with your lovely boyfriend.

The current ride you’re both getting on is essentially a giant wooden pirate ship that swings in a horizontal motion, elevating you high up in the air. You don’t do heights very well but Hyunjin’s a little daredevil who gets off on the adrenaline rush. He’s tried convincing you to do skydiving but that’s just something you refuse to compromise on. Before going on the pirate ship ride you went on the teacups, which was probably your favorite one of today. You couldn’t stop giggling and teasing Hyunjin over how incredibly fast he was spinning the turn-wheel, almost forgetting that you were also supposed to contribute. Spending quality time with your boyfriend like this means everything to you, he makes you feel like you’re floating on a pink cloud whenever you’re together. Like nothing else matters but you and him.

As the day progressed, what was once a milky, pale blue sky has now become a smoky dull atmosphere. Night was approaching any minute, making the temperature drop dramatically— you regret leaving the house in just shorts and a crop top. Your limbs shaking and trembling involuntarily from gusts of cool air the wind casually blows, Hyunjin seems to take note of this and takes action immediately.

“Want my hoodie babe?” Hyunjin asks out of concern, ready to yank it off the minute you agree.

You profusely nod at his offer, unable to withstand the frigid weather for another second. He pauses momentarily to grab the hem of his Versace sweatshirt with his free hand, swiftly drawing it over his head and handing it to you. Underneath he wore a thin plain white tee, now suffering from the cold— but any sacrifice is worthy of making for his precious babygirl.

Quickly putting it on, your body feels instantly warmer from his body heat still embedded into the soft fabric. “You saved me Jinnie, I almost turned into a human popsicle!” Were you exaggerating a bit? Maybe, but that’s beside the point. You’re all cozy now in Hyunjin’s oversized hoodie, loving the fact that only you get to wear his clothes.

His eyes shape into crescents as he flashes an adoring smile, “my diet would only consist of peach flavored ___ popsicles for the rest of my life then.”

You swear he’s just the cutest, most adorable, sweetest thing to have ever walked this earth. Sometimes you wonder how you got so lucky to end up with a person as charming, and perfect as Hyunjin. He’d say the same about you too but there’s another layer to how you feel. You’re often very over protective and territorial over him, needing to know exactly where he is at all times and who he’s hanging out with. Most of the time he’s with you, either at your place or at his. There was a set routine you two had at this point, after he’s done with work he’ll call and let you know he’s on his way to yours. Hyunjin knows how paranoid you can get when he’s gone for too long so he makes sure to communicate with you as much as he can throughout the day. It’s hard to deal with someone as high maintenance as you but he makes it work, he likes that you’re always worried and concerned about him — he’d rather have a girlfriend like that than one who doesn’t care about him.

“Looks like the sun should be setting soon.. won’t be much longer ‘til the fireworks start!” You cheer out of excitement, part of the reason you wanted to come was to see them.

He nods in agreement, “you’re right, is there anything else you wanna ride before they start?”

As if your brain answered before you could even think, “You.”

His doe eyes widened at your bold reply, never quite getting used to your subtle dirty mind. “I’ll give you that in due time, don’t worry mamas.”

A little bit later on you challenged Hyunjin to try the ‘test your strength’ game and of course he couldn’t pass up a moment to impress you. He gets into a competitive sports stance, gripping the hammer tightly before he swung hard at the puck. The meter flew straight up and hit the bell on his first try, able to win whatever prize he wanted from the largest section. He lets you choose whichever plushy you wanted, a giant fluffy pink stuffed unicorn that you held in your other hand that wasn’t occupied with Hyunjin’s.

“Hyunjinnieee, ‘m getting kinda hungry,” you childishly whine in hopes of getting him to buy you both food.

Before he could even get a response out your eyes were already fixated on something. The glowing neon lights of a food stand selling mozzarella corn dogs, you’ve always wanted to try those as you see them all the time on TikTok. Without hesitation you make a mad dash for the line as you drag your innocent boyfriend along for the adventure. As you got closer you realize the lines pretty spread out, there was at least 20+ people waiting but you were willing to stay as you really wanted one.

Hyunjin detaches his hand from yours, making you question his sudden intentions, “be right back babe, m’gonna go to the restroom.” He politely excuses himself, “here’s my card just in case I don’t make it back in time.” Pulling his credit card from his wallet to hand you before venturing off.

“Don’t be gone for too long please, or else I’ll come find you myself.” You were dead serious too, honestly speaking you didn’t necessarily want him out of your sight but you trust that he’ll come back in a reasonable amount of time. Hopefully.

“I promise babe.” He reassures, giving a quick peck to your forehead before vanishing into the crowd.

After what seemed like an eternity, you manage to secure the corn dogs and pay for them with Hyunjin’s card. Realizing now that your boyfriend is still gone, it’s been a good 15-20 minutes and he promised that he’d be back. Now you have to go looking for him like a mother who’s just lost their child. Scanning every area of the park you came across, you begin to feel anxious when you don’t see him anywhere. A range of negative thoughts intrude your mind with possibilities of where he could’ve gone. What you weren’t expecting was for your intuition to be exactly spot on.

There he was standing in front a taco truck, talking and laughing with another girl. A girl you absolutely do not recognize and have no clue why or what she’s doing even having a conversation with your man. You couldn’t move at all, frozen in place as you watched the scene fold out in front of you, making you more livid as it continues. The mystery girl was pissing you off by the minute, the tiny skirt she wore barely left anything to the imagination and her body language was way too close for comfort for your liking. You had to put a stop to this immediately.

Slowly you make your way up to them, examining the situation further. The blonde girl tries to loom even closer to Hyunjin but he backs away a bit, a sheer look of fear and paranoia in his eyes. She keeps talking to him but he doesn’t really say much back, only half smiling and nodding. What makes you pick up your pace at lightning speed was when he pulls his phone out from his back pocket, as if he’s about to ask for her number.

You’ve seen enough, it’s time to intervene now.

Practically sprinting up to them you see the girl perk up when she sees you, giving a friendly wave and inviting smile as if she wasn’t just trying to steal your man a second ago. You’re ready to rip this bitches hair out and show her that she’s picked the wrong one to mess with today.

“Oh hi, you must be ___, it’s so good to finally meet you!” Her voice was so squeaky and high-pitched, not even in a cute way, just obnoxiously loud and annoying.

…How the fuck does this girl know who you are?

“Who the hell is this?” You snap at Hyunjin, completely ignoring the girl’s presence, “How does she know you?”

“I’m— ”

“I believe I asked my boyfriend, not you. Who is she?” You rudely cut her off to reiterate the question.

Hyunjin looks like he’s just witnessed a murder, his own murder to be exact. “This is Valerie, we went to high school together, I was just showing her your freelance work and all the cool designs you make ‘cause she’s looking for graphic designers and I think you’re really talented babe.”

Your heart just sank to the pit of your stomach. The balled up fist your right hand was clenching soon released itself, no longer in fight mode but flight mode from the sudden embarrassment you’re internally battling.

“Oh..”

“Uh, well it was nice talking to you Hyunjin! I’ll go find my husband now, but your graphics are incredible ___ and I’d love to hire you for a couple projects I have lined up. Here’s my business card!” She hands you the flimsy card stock and leaves in an instant.

Now you feel totally ridiculous for almost causing a scene and cursing out the girl and your boyfriend for just wanting to promote your work. You owe him an apology big time.

“I thought you were…”

“Flirting with another girl, seriously? You think I have a death wish or something? Of course I’d never try something like that. The first thing she saw was you as my lock screen when I checked the time. Plus she’s married, I don’t think she’d be that dumb.” Hyunjin further proves his case, making sure not to leave any details out.

“M’sorry baby, please forgive me.” You plead for forgiveness, regressing back to your softer, more gentle side “lemme make it up to you daddy.”

“Nngh! Hyunjin-” you keen into his ear as you rub your clothed heat against his toned thigh, holding onto him for stable support.

You seriously felt bad for acting out like that earlier, all you want to do now is make him feel so good he forgets all about your previous unhinged behavior. Lord knows what you’d do if you ever lose someone so important to you. You can’t think about that right now though. Right now was all about him and making him feel good, but you can’t help but get something out of it as well.

The backseat of his car was a bit cramped as he decided to take his smaller convertible instead of the SUV, not exactly bargaining that later on you’d be getting freaky in his vehicle. Nonetheless you enjoy each other’s company, not needing much space anyway — if anything you wanted to be as close to him as possible. If you could get inside his skin you probably would. You love Hyunjin more than yourself, often feeling like you aren’t good enough to be with him. Maybe the reason you’re so protective and jealous is because you fear he’ll leave you for someone better.

Lazily trailing your lips down further, placing small pecks here and there until you land on his neck, adorned with a dainty silver chain, nuzzling your face into the crook of it. He smells so good, the cologne he’s wearing along with his natural pheromones is an intoxicating concoction. You stick your tongue out, gliding the wet muscle over his bare skin, still feverishly rutting into him while listening to his ethereal moans.

“Mmm.. I love you.” He murmurs under his breath, slipping his hands underneath (his) your hoodie to feel you up. His hands travel upwards to find the valley of your breasts, still covered by the bra you’re wearing he slides underneath the cups to lightly squeeze them.

You nibble on his neck in response, harshly sucking on the flesh to leave visible love bites, you want to make it abundantly clear to the whole world Hwang Hyunjin belongs to you.

“I love you more Hyunjinnie,” you stop for a brief moment to say, “gonna prove it.” Which you will once you’re satisfied with marking his entire neck and chest with dozens of purple and red hickeys.

Even though he’s touching you, grinding his hard length into you and purring out your name, you need more. Craving to see and feel more of him, you tug at the hem of his t-shirt in hopes he catches your drift.

“Off. Now.” You demand sharply, getting more impatient by the second.

He obliges instantly, stripping the garment off his body to reveal the most gorgeous set of abs you’ve laid your eyes upon, he’s so unreal it makes you constantly question if you’re dreaming. You went from his neck to kissing his plump lips, his hand cupping the side of your face to deepen the kiss, both so desperate and horny for each other. Running your manicured hands down his beautiful body, just the tiniest flexing Hyunjin does with his muscles makes you go crazy. You need him to manhandle you, have you bent over and get fucked senselessly.

“Lie back Jinnie, m’gonna suck you off.” You command him to move, getting up from him so he can pivot into a more comfortable position.

He shuffles around, leaning into the leather seat before quickly undoing his pants and sliding them down his ankles. You get on your knees, disappearing between his legs to come in contact with his stiff erection. Tracing figure eights on his thighs, he hisses from your delicate touch. You couldn’t resist planting a chaste kiss to his stomach, leaving another wet kiss to his v-line. Any little touch makes Hyunjin’s heart beat out of his chest, he can’t get enough of you just as you can’t of him— high off each other like an addictive, psychoactive drug.

As you finally free his cock from the last barrier, his boxer briefs, you’re in awe from just how much precum he’s leaking already. His length stood straight up resting on his stomach, faint veins protruding around the shaft. You kiss his pretty pink tip while looking up at him with innocent eyes, grabbing the base of his cock, opening your mouth just a little to provide a few kitten licks. You’ve only just started but he feels like he’s going to come undone already.

“Shit-” he lowly grunts, feeling his cock pulsate in your tiny hand.

Taking him further in your mouth now, you manage to fit half of his length, bobbing your head up and down while keeping a tight suction on his cock. Hyunjin involuntarily rocks his hips into you, making you gag just a little from how big he is. You could never fit all of him (except for that one time you were super drunk and magically forgot what a gag reflex was) but you still try your best and that’s all that matters to him. He loves that you’re always willing to give him random blowjobs whenever and wherever, you both love public sex and the idea of possibly being caught. You take a short break to collect more saliva, spitting on his cock and spreading it with your hand to make it even messier. His mouth was permanently agape, staring down at you with lust filled eyes, not knowing how much longer he can last. When you start pumping his cock much faster along with swirling your tongue around it , he thinks he might just lose it. Panting heavily, he shifts underneath you in attempt to get you to stop but you keep sucking like the cock hungry slut you are for him. He’s seriously going to nut any minute if you continue at this rate.

“Babe.. you’re gonna make me cum if you keep this up…” he closes his eyes, almost giving in to what’s inevitably about to come.

“Isn’t that the goal?” You ask quickly before going back.

“No,” he says, slightly frustrated with you for not obeying, “fucking this tight little pussy is.”

You’re confused when he’s pulling you away from him, moving you from the floor and back onto his lap all in one swift action, manhandling you for real this time. “What’re you doing!” You raise your voice at him like a brat, to which he spanks your behind in response.

“Shh.. relax.” He shuts you up by pulling you in for a slow, sensual kiss.

You moan into his mouth, melting right into his touch like always. “Need you so bad please..” you whine for to feel more of him.

“Tell me what you need, I’ll give it to you baby.” He promises, lacing his fingers in your hair, looking at you with pure admiration.

“Your cock.. need your big fat cock inside me now,” you beg like a good girl, “please daddy, i’m literally soaking for you.” Shameless at this point with how you talk, but you know the dirtier you get the more Hyunjin likes it.

He can’t say no when you ask so polite that. “I’ll give it to you, I’ll give you whatever you want princess.”

And he does.

Once he rids you of your shorts and underwear, you’re back on top of him, lining yourself up with his thick cock that slides right in from you being so ready.

“Fuck you’re so wet baby.. you take this cock so well cutie,” he praises you in the hottest way possible. You’ll never get tired of hearing him talk like this to you, hence why you love to have sex so much.

“Only for you daddy.” You breathlessly spoke, getting used to his length for a moment before beginning to move. Slowly bouncing up and down his member at first until Hyunjin slams his cock into you, walls clenching as you feel every inch of him. You shifted from grinding on him in slow motion to picking up your speed, placing both hands around his neck. Hyunjin throws his head back in pleasure, wrapping his hand around your waist as the other grips the soft flesh of your ass.

“Mine… your cock is mine,” you’re going faster and faster, crying out as he matches your movements, thrusting back into you hard. “Only I get to ride this everyday.”

He doesn’t hesitate to agree, letting you know exactly who he belongs to. “I’m all yours babygirl, can have this cock as much as you want, use me to get yourself off..”

You feel like you’re about to come soon, legs shaking and spasming from his girth splitting you open. “Yes baby..” you couldn’t think straight anymore, “love your cock so much Jinnie..” You mewl from being so full and cockstuffed “mmph.. wanna have your babies.”

“Yeah? Want me to fill your little cunt with all my cum and get you pregnant, hmm ? That what you want pretty girl?” He sounded so pussy drunk he couldn’t even blame you for wanting to any of this.

One more thrust was all it took for the thread to unravel inside of you, seeing white, glowing stars as you get closer to your orgasm.

“Jinnie kiss me.”

He does as he’s told, grabbing your face to kiss you roughly, entering his tongue in your mouth to intertwine with yours. He’s so good at everything he does it’s insane. Maybe if the dick wasn’t so damn good you wouldn’t be half as crazy.

“I’m so close princess..” he announces, slipping one of his long, slender digits onto your clit, coaxing your release.

“Me too.”

Everything feels ultra sensitive to you as you approach your climax, whimpering as Hyunjin sucks on your perked nipples while you continue riding him. A sudden rambunctious crackling sound startles the both of you, but what you weren’t expecting to see outside were fireworks lighting up the night sky. You’d completely forgot how excited you were to see them, watching in amazement as all the vibrant colors morph together. Leaning in to tenderly kiss your boyfriend who was also momentarily distracted, you get back right to business, chasing after your highs. Hyunjin finishes inside you like you wanted, feeling his hot seed spill into your aching heat. You came undone shortly after, holding onto him while your bare chests collide. Fireworks detonate inside your body as they do outside.

As if the universe had orchestrated the perfect 1 year anniversary pre celebration just for the two of you; a perfect moment to seal your love with the glittering magic of romance and fireworks combined. Hyunjin’s so happy to have met someone like you, someone who loves him so passionately and so deeply. He may not understand why you think the way you do sometimes, or react with such brash methods, but he knows that you do it out of pure love. It’s a whirlwind of emotions dating you but he wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world or have it any other way.

- 完 ♡︎