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yanderenightmare · 3 months

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TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, omega verse/hybrid au, size difference, pet-play, predator x prey, collaring, double-pen, gangbang kinda, tag-team

fem reader

It’s been a month since your new owner brought you home, and despite expectations, you’ve yet to be eaten by the predators you share your den with. On the contrary, the six hybrids seem to have accepted you as their seventh pack member despite you being at the very bottom of the food chain.

You’ve come to trust that, despite the look of hunger in their eyes… food isn’t exactly what they have in mind.

The hyena seems to be the only one your age. But he’s also a bit of a bully. Always goading you with ticklish poking until you stomp your feet and whine at him to stop.

He never listens to you, though – he just cocks his head, finding it funny how you try giving him orders – only grinning as he pins you instead, chewing some on the lops of your ears while squeezing your cottontail – smirking and giggling at your pouty face getting all frustrated.

Your weak kicking is so cute, and so is how you try clawing at him despite having but blunt nails – he can’t help but laugh at the way it tickles him.

It’s so painstakingly clear you’re not made to fight back, and it’s so adorable how you don’t even realize you already surrendered the moment you rolled over on your back with your belly up.

It makes him go absolutely feral when you pull on his ears and mane, begging him to stop as he laves at your slit and clit, delving his long tongue deep within your walls until the tip prods your womb. It’s course against your skin and harsh on your insides and scratches your poor clit until it’s all swollen and throbbing for him – making you sob as his feral smile teases your chubby mound with a bite – only satisfied when you cum in his mouth.

But while the hyena enjoys play-fighting with you, the rest are more prone to fight each other…

The panther and leopard are good friends, whilst the fox and wolf seem to tolerate each other – and you don’t know whether it’s unfortunate or a blessing in disguise that both pairs only want you for themselves and often end up fighting over you.

You’d say the four are the most trigger-happy of the pack – always hissing and barking at each other. But everyone knows that cats and dogs don’t get along.

The canines are a little scarier, you think. They’re rougher with you.

The wolf especially. He’s older than you, a big heap of hulking muscles that bear down over you with the daunting superiority of a seasoned hunter.

He doesn’t take lightly to you talking back to him – acting as though he’s actually offended when you so much as open your mouth if it’s not to swallow his tongue. Even if all you ask is for him to go a little slower, he’ll just growl at you – threatening your neck with fangs while chewing your collar – and otherwise ignore your cry completely. Calling you his bitch while telling you to quit your whimpering even though he’s been breeding you sore for the past hour, ramming your poor cunt so hard your muscles have all given out and left you to lie on the floor with only his paws keeping your hips upright.

He's always extra rough when you reek of cat – as though it’s your fault. Huffing and puffing as he now has to spend so much effort scenting you again.

It’s a never-ending war between them all. You go from camp to camp, getting marked again and again like territory, only for your owner to clean you up at the end of the day.

But the wolf is the worst. One time he’d gone so far as to piss on you…

But he was later scolded by the owner – bonking his head with a rolled-up newspaper, telling him he had to learn to share or else he’d have to go sleep out in the doghouse. He’d also been told he had to stop breaking skin when biting you unless he wanted to be muzzled.

It only made him all the more grumpier. Growling in your ear that the one who ought to be muzzled is you and your snitch-mouth always crying wolf like some bitch who never learns her place – that next time you go talking to the owner, he’s going to eat you like the piece of meat you are.

You come to learn that he’s more bark than bite after a while.

When you get used to him and his stamina, you stop crying and start holding onto him instead. And it’s when you’re burying your face in his neck and begging for his seed that he softens up for you.

He stops biting and starts sucking instead – laying hickeys all over your neck and chest, blushing with closed eyes when suckling your tits like a pup. You learn he’s a sucker for being called good boy and will wag his tail when you sit on his face.

He’s also the one with the most owner-sickness of the pack, always clinging to you, growling when others get close, and never ever sharing when his turn.

He only begrudgingly allows the fox to eat his scraps afterward.

You can only mew as he mounts you next.

His tempo is always a bit of a shock – a bit juvenile, but who can blame him when he’s had to wait for so long? He’s a little younger than you – eager and desperate for it every single time.

Pounding you sharply – hard and fast with howls and heavy panting – even whimpering as you hold you tighter and tighter, squeezing you free of air as he savors the feel of your wet pussy clamping down around him.

He doesn’t growl too much when you whine. Instead, he laughs – elated and frenzied – eyes manic as he sticks his tongue as far down your throat as he can – drooling uncontrollably as he sinks his knot inside you and spills his worth inside your womb.

It’s a relief he doesn’t last as long as his bigger partner.

He’ll suck love-bites on the chubs of your cheeks as he unswells – lick all the sweat from your skin and come down by the sweet taste. Laying sloppy kisses all over your body and lapping over all bruises and soreness in gratitude – looking at you somewhat sheepishly with big puppy-dog eyes as though suddenly embarrassed that he’d been so feral.

The felines are less spastic.

But they also like to lick you – with sand-textured tongues scraping at your fur and skin until they’ve made sure you’re coated with their scent. They seem to enjoy grooming more than anything, always snuggling with you.

But they get flirty, too… you’ll know when they start kneading your softer parts – blinking at you slow and expectantly until you return the favor.

They’re the same age and have known each other all their life, practically brothers, and do everything together as though they were a pair of Siamese – including when they mate with you.

They’ll lay you down on one lean chest while the other is poised above you. Purring as they take turns with you – both so gently.

The panther always has a sly smile on his face when looking down at you – his claws retracted while he sticks his slender fingers inside your mouth to play with your tongue. He says it’s one of his favorite things about you – so soft and so silky, so different from theirs when you lick his skin.

It makes the leopard pout behind you, nuzzling you tight, his cheek to your cheek, asking the other if he doesn’t like it when he grooms him.

The panther only smiles down at both of you, promising that he likes both your tongues until he proceeds to swap between which one of you he kisses.

When the leopard kisses you, he also admits he likes your tongue – whispering all depraved things that come to mind – loves how smooth it feels in his mouth and on his lips and neck and nipples and cock and balls.

Eventually, the heat gets to their heads, and their pointy ears start to droop, looking at you with such dark glossy eyes, opium-blown with pleasure and lust for more – kissing each side of your face, asking whether you won’t allow them both inside you at the same time – their pretty pleas making your head go silly, panting while nodding your head for them, bucking your hips stuck between the two while begging for both of them.

You feel their slim tails coil around each of your thighs as they sink inside your drooling heat together – their breaths deep and shuddering while they feel your tightness squeeze around them.

They coo at you – telling you how perfect you look trapped between them like that – as their pretty little double-stuffed toy. And you’re too cock-drunk to do anything but agree.

After flooding you with cum, they go back to cuddling – sleeping – the both of them purring with lanky limbs all tangled on top of each other and you in the middle.

The bear is also a lazy fellow – a gentle giant. Something you’re grateful for – you don’t think you’d survive if he ever tried mounting and pounding you like the other boys.

He’s the eldest of the pack. Twice your age. You feel the seniority in his movements – all unhurried, savoring every second with a warm smile.

He’s satisfied with having you on his lap – cock-warmed by your tight bunny-cunt while you hand-feed him berries. You feel a little safer with him knowing you have the same appetite and that he isn’t thinking about eating you.

He hums, a rusty sound that comes from his gut – telling you he likes seeing you eat – that it’s cute how you take such small bites – and the way your nose scrunches and your cheeks fill.

Sometimes he’ll tell you to hop on his lap – his massive warm paws placed on your haunches with large black claws gently denting the plush flesh found there, encouraging you as you ease up and down the great length that bulges from your belly.

The size of it makes you pant.

You’re glad he’s happy having you at the end of the day – after you’ve been loosened up by the others. You fear he’d split you in two if otherwise.

The owner collects you before bedtime after everyone’s had their share – clips a leash onto your collar, and leads you to the bathroom – crawling on all four like an actual animal. You’ll often collapse halfway there, but he doesn’t mind scooping you up to carry you instead – always with a few patronizing words leaving him while mollycoddling you, almost speaking baby to you, telling you how proud he is of how domesticated you’ve become.

There’s always a bath waiting for you – a gift for being such a good little pet, he says.

It reminds you of when you were first brought here, as he washes you with his own hands – rubbing the filth of spit, cum, and sweat from your sore limbs, messaging your flesh into nice limber softness again.

He’s always mumbling about human matters under his breath – money, business, estate – ruffling your hair when you give him a blank stare. Apologizing while saying he won’t trouble your pretty head with such complicated topics.

All you have to worry about is being his stress-relief – something clueless and dumb and dependent on him. You realize that without him needing to say it. It’s communicated through all the other things he says anyway.

He’s always whispering in your ear before bed – sweet nothings about what a good bunny you are – how you’re the cutest, softest, sweetest little thing in the entire world – telling you how much he loves you and how happy he is that you’re finally settling in – how you’ve become the most precious little housebroken pet for him.

It feels different when he touches you. The other hybrids make you feel small, but there’s a familiarity with them – something about being hunted fairly and squarely, like out in the wild.

With the owner, you’re reminded you’re a pet eating out of his palm – something tame warming his bed at night with your leash tied to the bed frame.

He doesn’t fuck you with the same intent as the others do – there’s no rut behind his cold movements. It’s not mating or breeding. It’s something else you can’t put your finger on. Something human. Something alien to you.

Something in the way he has his hand fisting your leash as he sinks inside your heat – something in how he babies you, calls you cute when you shake and cum around his cock like you can’t control yourself.

It all makes you feel like some mindless animal.

Impulsive and primitive in comparison to him and his calculated thrusts and how he only cums inside you after you’ve all but begged him to breed you.

part 1

Owner: BNHA - Aizawa, AFO JJK - Nanami, Kenjaku HQ - Ukai

Hyena: BNHA - Shigaraki JJK - Mahito HQ - Tendou

Wolf: BNHA - Bakugou, Dabi JJK - Sukuna, Noaya HQ - Sakusa

Fox: BNHA - Kirishima, Denki, Deku, Amajiki JJK - Yuji, Yuuta, Choso HQ - Hinata, Nishinoya

Leopard & Panther: BNHA - Denki & Shinso, Hawks & Dabi JJK - Gojo & Geto HQ - Miya twins, Oikawa & Kageyama, Kuro & Kenma

Bear: BNHA - Enji, Aizawa, All Might, Mirio JJK - Toji, Nanami, Higuruma HQ - Daichi, Ushijima

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere smut #yancore #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #jjk smut #bnha smut #yandere bnha #mha smut #my hero smut

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lauraneedstochill · 9 months

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Confess the longing you are dreaming of

summary: Aemond thinks the woman he has to marry is the most impudent and unsufferable he’s ever met. He’s also never wanted anyone so badly. pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Martell!reader (third person, no mention of Y/N) warnings: bantering and teasing, mentions of unpleasant sexual experience, praise kink (guess who’s got it), a dollop of softness, mild smut (... for starters ;) author’s note: couldn’t get the idea out of my head and spent a few sleepless nights writing this. I imagine her brothers as Pedro Pascal and Oscar Isaac ✨ words: ~8000 song inspo: Hozier — Better love

>>> Aemond isn’t present when the idea is voiced the first time — he has a hunch that his grandsire is to blame for that. No doubt, Otto was the one to plan it out, come up with arguments served with his persuasive tone. He’s always loved to make arrangements and strike deals, each one of them to play into his hands, and Aemond hates the thought of being just another pawn of his.

He is blindsided at the breakfast but it’s made sound carelessly mundane — as Otto puts down his cup, he throws him the proposal, the way one would leniently throw alms to the poor. And Aemond thinks he must’ve heard him wrong.

“Marry me to... Who?” the prince asks, hardly covering his surprise.

His grandsire directs his gaze at him, the old man’s mouth twitching into a condescending smile. Since Otto isn’t keen on idle talk, he tells him plainly:

“You’ve long been of age, Aemond, you know that,” his knife scratches the plate as he cuts the meat, his eyes not moving from the prince. “House Martell holds power, and we’ll be fortunate to have such allies. Besides,” he pauses to take a bite, and Aemond gets annoyed at waiting; Otto chews, then adds, “I’ve only heard good things about your bride-to-be. Wouldn’t you confirm, Ser Criston?”

The mention of the knight is unexpected to them both — Aemond turns his head to meet Ser Criston’s puzzled look. But the brunet effortlessly copes with his emotions:

“We met when she was just a kid. But I knew she’d grow into a fine lady,” he easily agrees. Mayhaps, too easily for Aemond’s liking so he makes a note to talk about it later on.

His grandsire only lets out a pleased hum. “Well, I’m under the impression she will make a good match for our prince,” and Aemond feels that Otto carefully picks each word, “She’s said to be both beautiful and smart, and known for being quite independent,” he’s usually so stingy with his praise, it’s worth its weight in gold.

But that is not what Aemond hears. The choice was made for him, and his rejection of it makes him paint a portrait less alluring — a pompous wayward woman raised in the traditions that are starkly different from his; and yet, it is expected of him to accept it freely. His wounded ego simmers at the thought.

“I’d add another word to that,” Aegon chimes in, half-drunk already, “Everyone knows the Martells to also be promisc—”

“Look who’s talking,” Otto glares at him, and Aegon shuts his mouth.

The word is left unsaid, only the meaning of it isn’t hard to guess, and Aemond feels embarrassment creeping up his cheeks and weighting down his chest. He deems himself an educated man, well-read and eager to put his knowledge to the test, but he has yet to learn of carnal pleasures. A memory is clawing out: him, ten-and-three and plied with wine, laid on a bed that smelled of sweat, a naked woman next to him. Despite her tireless attempts, he wanted none of it, and the repulsion made him sick — and then it made him hate the act itself.

He did go to the brothel through the years, tried watching, touching, looked at bodies of all sorts, only it felt like putting paint over a rotten wall. He felt constrained, and lacking in some way (perhaps, in many), and more so awfully incomplete. Not once he sensed a spark, a pleasure he would crave, and no amount of effort could help him fill the emptiness inside.

He quells the feeling, pushes in indifference instead, and glances briefly at his mother. She meets his eye but only grants him a faint smile, her own gaze lacking any protest.

“Her brothers wrote that they would visit in a fortnight,” Alicent peacefully explains. “It is our duty to ensure a royal welcome.”

“Brothers?” Helaena blithely chirps. “How many does she have?”

“Four but only two of them are coming,” Otto tells her softly, then looks at Aemond, adding in a voice more wily. “I am convinced they really want to see whom their dear sister is about to marry.”

He doesn’t spell it out but the implication can’t be clearer — Aemond must play the part and make a good impression. As if impressing just one stranger wasn’t tedious enough.

As if he isn’t vexed already by how unsuitable he finds her.

>>> Frustration grows in Aemond with each day, takes roots, and clogs up all his thoughts. Some other man would’ve been glad — he often heard that the Martells are quite the lovers. He can’t admit it to himself how much he’s bothered by his own misfortunes on the love field.

He bottles his emotions up and doesn’t utter any word of discontent, nor does he ever speak of the awaited visit. Although he makes just one exception.

“My grandsire mentioned that you knew her,” he reminds Ser Criston one day after training.

The knight nods. “I crossed paths with Quentyn, he’s the oldest. She used to come to watch us train.”

“What was she like?” Aemond carefully wonders.

Ser Criston ponders for a minute, polishing his sword. “She was a quiet little girl, kept to herself. A lot of boys were always chasing after her, and she paid them all no mind,” he smiles at the memory. “But I remember one of them who was... particularly pesky. His charms didn’t work on her so he got offended, rude, followed her around. She tolerated him for over a month. One morning, he was hassling her in the training yard, and she just took a spear laying nearby — and smacked him with no warning,” he shakes his head but it’s apparent that he isn’t judging. “She didn’t use the pointy end but she got him good. And then she told him that next time he would think twice about his actions. She was impressive for a ten-year-old,” he muses and puts the sword away, then turns to Aemond, giving him a wistful stare. “Frankly, I think that you will like her.”

He does, for just a second, as his mind rushes to paint the image of a fearless little girl; and then he mercilessly wipes that image off. Maybe in other circumstances, he could’ve found amusement in that story, but Aemond only huffs and thinks back to the list of all her traits he prematurely made up. He adds “rebellious” to that list, and his self-doubt is a venom that clouds his judgment. He’s in no rush to find a cure.

>>> Their ship arrives a few hours earlier than planned — and after the dock watchers break the news, the bustle begins. Maids, servants, guards all run and faff about the castle, the dining hall gets filled with smells and noises, plates and dishes clanking.

Aemond is not excited in the slightest.

He dresses up reluctantly, each piece of clothes only dampening his mood that’s been already sour for the past two weeks. He all but drags his feet into the dining hall and by the time he reaches it, he looks so grim that one may think the prince’s preparing for his death, no less.

The minutes fly too quickly for his liking — they barely have time to sit, his mother nervously toying with the tablecloth already, and then the guards rush to announce the guests. Surprisingly, she’s not among them. The prince thinks he should be relieved; deep down, there is a splash of worry fizzling in him.

Her brothers walk in calmly in a cloud of servants bearing gifts. Their kinship is immediately clear — both tall, broad-shouldered, and dark-haired, self-confidence subsisting in their every step. The oldest is distinguished by a touch of gray in his short beard, his gaze more focused, a slight smile plastered on his face. The other one shamelessly stares at every maid his eyes can catch.

“Your grace, it is a pleasure to finally meet you,” Quentyn reaches their table first, and Alicent walks down to greet them. He keeps his distance and his smile, his tone is measured. “We were so sad to learn that the King has fallen sick. But I can tell the Kingdom is in great hands. And —”

“Women’s hands do have a healing touch,” Oberyn smoothly interrupts, his accent a bit thicker, his voice honeyed. “I will prefer a Queen over a King at any given day. Unless, of course, your husband can compete with you in beauty... I somehow doubt that.”

A shade of disapproval grazes Quentyn’s face but Alicent is too amazed to notice. The compliment may come off as blunt but she still takes it well, her smile embarrassed yet sincere.

“I hope you will enjoy your stay,” she tells them humbly, then looks over the crowd. “But may I ask where is the lady we’ve been waiting for?”

“She made a stop on our way to catch up with an old friend,” Quentyn answers, ready to explain, “It’s been years since we’ve met Ser —”

“Still can’t believe he is the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Oberyn chuckles. “I think it’s all the armor that makes it look like he poses a threat. But you may reconsider if you see him in the nude.”

This time, the older brother glares at him with warning, and there’s a lull in their conversation, while Aemond’s struggling to hear what made his mother’s cheeks so red, his mind nervously preoccupied with someone else —

her laughter enters first.

It’s bright and joyful, a sound so lovely it might be enough to crack up his restraint. But then he spots her, and it feels like his whole body flares up at the sight.

She’s walking with her hand under Ser Criston’s arm, and Aemond’s never seen a dress that covers so much but hides so little. It’s muted orange, floor-length, made of sumptuous silk, with two long slits along the sides, curves of her thighs beguilingly seen through. Her neck and arms aren’t covered, and the material is intricately stitched around her waist to show a few more glimpses of her sun-kissed skin. The waves of her long hair fall on her shoulders and frame her face, each feature of it striking but her lips stand out the most — full, plump, and reddish. Not once before Aemond found the thought of being kissed so tempting.

She doesn’t even turn her head to look at him. She’s talking to Ser Criston quietly, and he’s engaged in conversation, unusually relaxed. Their difference in age is obvious, and the knight seems like just another relative of hers, but an uneasy feeling still leaves a bite on Aemond’s chest. He can’t imagine her so carefree — so beaming and compliant — by his side. His jealousy tastes bitter like a stale wine.

He hears his brother let out a short laugh. “It’s not like they were fucking,” Aegon carelessly notes. “Please ease your outrage before she runs away.”

“I don’t remember asking for advice,” Aemond snarls.

“You do look like you need it,” the blond comments, then goes back to drinking.

She gracefully approaches them, her voice melodic like a murmur of a river. “Forgive me, your grace, for being late, I haven’t seen Ser Criston in some time,” she tells his mother. “He was once a dear friend of mine.”

“I only helped to shush away a few of your admirers,” the knight cackles, earning a smile from her.

“I hope you are making use of all his talents,” she says to the Queen, making her face flush right away.

She delicately moves on to another topic. “It is a pleasure to have you here, you must be tired from taking such a long trip.”

“We found it quite enjoyable,” Quentyn remarks politely. “The beautiful sights along the way are worth the journey, and your city has some great views too.”

“Can’t say I’ve heard great things about your food,” Oberyn grins. “Hence why we took the liberty to bring some of our own,” he signals to the nearest servant, who runs to open one of the trunks they carried. “The dornish fruits are also my sister’s weak spot.”

“As if you don’t gorge yourself on them!” she jests, letting go of Ser Criston’s arm at last. “My brother is a glutton, your grace, please excuse his manners in advance.”

“You can call me Alicent,” his mother corrects her warmly. “Only seems fair to continue this discussion at the table,” she slightly moves away to let the girl go first.

Aemond unintentionally stiffens and only when he stands up from his chair to greet her, she finally does look at him. In contrast to her countenance, her gaze is dark and piercing, and the prince is staggered by how unreadable it is. Her brothers glance at Aemond briefly — Quentyn is pensive, while Oberyn looks like he wants to bite his head off; neither says a word.

She’s seated to his right, and she leaves behind a trail of scent — apples and plums, and he can’t help but catch the movement of her hips under the flowing dress. The words all mash and fall apart, and he can’t pick a single one to strike up a conversation.

Aegon is sitting next to her, and his patience only lasts a minute. “Never knew Ser Criston was such a ladies' man.”

“I’m sure he succeeded on that front but we are merely good friends,” she answers calmly, keeping her eyes on servants bringing fruits — blood oranges and pomegranates, robust grapes, and ripened cherries.

“You two seemed more than friendly,” Aegon presses, his tone evidently taunting.

She picks a golden apricot and runs her thumb over its fragrant surface. “Maybe it’s the wine that makes you see things,” she rebuts and takes a bite out of the fruit, a drop of juice risking to escape her mouth but she wipes it swiftly with her finger. She catches Aemond looking, and his cheeks heat up.

“We’ve never seen him in the company of a woman,” the older prince points out, filling up his cup once more.

She takes out the kernel and eats up the fruit, her mouth glistens. “Aren’t the knights of the Kingsguard forbidden to marry?”

“Never stopped them from bedding whoever they like,” Aegon remarks crudely, and Aemond is thankful that their mother is too preoccupied with Oberyn’s tireless chatting.

“Maybe some men have the decency to follow orders,” she responds, unbothered, taking a cherry and clasping it with her lips. Aegon doesn’t seem to notice and only gulps the wine and rolls his eyes. Aemond can’t look away.

“Aren’t you Martells known for not following the rules? I thought unruly was in your house’s motto,” Aegon argues, a corner of his mouth curled in a smirk.

She takes another cherry, the third in a row, her lips already stained with juice. “I think you keep getting your facts wrong,” she brushes him off, and Aegon goes to object some more but spills the wine right on his shirt. The displeased cry brings Aemond out of his trance.

“He tends to do that when he’s drunk,” the one-eyed prince coolly interjects.

Her eyes flicker to him, then she fully turns her head. “So you can actually talk,” her teasing comes off soft but her gaze still burns. “It’s good to know.”

“You seemed preoccupied with someone else,” he musters an excuse.

“Do you expect your wife to never speak to other men?” her voice almost betrays her disenchantment.

“No,” Aemond quickly answers, caught unawares by how strained his thinking process is. “She— you are free to choose your friends, of course.”

“I’m flattered,” her tone suggesting otherwise, “Not that I would ask for anyone’s approval,” she reaches for a plum; he closes his eye with a sigh.

Aegon comes to stand in between them on the pretext of needing another carafe of wine: “I didn’t mean to interrupt your friendly bickering, please continue.”

“It seems like Aemond isn’t in the mood for talking,” she doesn’t look at him, the tip of her tongue darting to lick her finger. “And I am never in the mood for begging.”

“My brother’s hospitality leaves much to be desired,” Aegon takes a sip. “So I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer,” his hand falls on her chair. “But if you ever wish to be... well satisfied, all you have to do is ask me”.

It’s hard to tell if Aegon’s actually that drunk or merely provoking (or if he’s got a death wish, Aemond wonders).

She replies without much thought. “Well, if I ever find myself in need of...,” she trails off with a smile but her gaze gets harsh — her words then follow, “My choice won’t fall on you,” the smirk falls off Aegon’s face, and she glances straight at Aemond, adding, “I like them taller.”

But her straightforwardness is met with his resistance, with the deep-rooted unacceptance of his lurking needs. He adds “indecent” to the list, and they speak no more.

>>> Her boldness doesn’t pose a problem to anyone but him. To his surprise (or more so to his shock), his mother gives in first.

The morning can’t come fast enough for Aemond after he spends the night tossing and turning. A few hours later he rushes to the garden for a walk, overwhelmed by restlessness his training didn’t help him cope with. That’s when he sees it — a spot of yellow shining through the trees. He somehow knows it’s her without further confirmation but still, his feet carry him on.

Her dress is vivid like a field of marigolds, her hair plaited, wrists adorned with golden bracelets. He slackens pace and peers into her — and he wants nothing more than to drink her up, her whole appearance is the sweetest nectar... Until he hears another sound and realizes she is not alone, and it’s his mother sitting by her side, wrapped in her favorite green and, unexpectedly, in glee. He can’t remember when he saw her laugh like this — out loud, giggling, tears at the corners of her eyes are not from sadness but from joy.

“My dear, that is so improper! Did he apologize at least?” Alicent inquires with a smile.

“Oberyn rarely does,” she tells her serenely. “His lover looked way more ashamed. I hope each of your rooms has locks, gods know I don’t want to walk in on him again.”

Unlike his mother who is covered by the shade of trees, she’s bathing in the sun, the soft light caressing her skin, and Aemond’s eye greedily follows every ray. In barely a minute he feels warm all over.

“I hope that Aemond’s chambers got locks too,” she adds all of a sudden, a bit louder, and his chest is splashed with cold.

His eye moves to her face, and she’s already looking at him, direct and daring. He knows he’s hidden by the trees but there’s no hiding from her gaze.

Aemond turns away and steps back in haste, his abashment mixed with grievance at her implication. He believes someone like her would never lust for him, and her jokes at his expense not only hurt but prompt his resentment to grow stronger. He adds “deceptive” to the portrait of her he is so adamantly set on painting.

>>> She wins Helaena’s heart with ease. His sister fondly compliments her brooch — a little poppy made out of gold — and she gifts it to Helaena the same day. The silver-haired princess grabs at chance to show her own collection, and they spend the day looking through the jewels spread over the floor, sitting right there and equally amused.

And that’s how Aemond finds them. He only planned to see his nephews but hearing her voice coming from Helaena’s chambers makes him slow his step.

“... And this one he gave me for my latest name day,” Helaena babbles cheerfully.

“Aemond clearly spoils you,” she laughs without a shade of envy. “As he should!”

“He is very kind at heart,” Helaena eagerly assures her. “You will be happy with him, I am certain of it.”

There is a pause that makes him feel uneasy, makes him sneak up closer to the room.

“I do believe he’s not an evil man,” she finally says, “Maybe he just wasn’t made for marriage.”

Surely she can’t see him through the door but he can swear that he feels her gaze, like a silent challenge, a hidden mocking. He barges in without a knock.

Helaena beams. “We were just talking about you!”

His sister’s dress is milky blue, modestly pretty, and loosely fitted. It’s also treacherously pale compared to the liquid gold the Martell girl is dressed in. She’s sitting with her feet under her thighs, the bending of her back is bare and in plain sight. He should’ve walked away the second he heard the sound of her voice because not looking at her seems impossible.

“Oh, you came to see the twins? They are with Aegon but I can call— No, I will bring them back myself,” Helaena springs to her feet, rosy-cheeked and smiley, and leaves the room before Aemond can protest. And then it’s just the two of them.

He takes a breath and makes an effort, with his jaw tense and his blood rising, to drag his eye away from her. It feels as pointless as ignoring sunlight in an open field on a summer day. Only her beauty is more brazen — and so is her wit.

“I take it, gold isn’t your favorite color,” she speaks up with an impish tone. “Would be a bad idea to wear it on our wedding then.”

She never comes too close, always just a little out of reach, and yet he feels as if her presence grips him, weakening his will. He doesn’t want to be with her until he is — and then he has no wish to leave.

It scares Aemond as much as it spikes his anger.

“Why did you agree to come?” he bristles.

“You are not asking about your sister’s chambers, are you?” she clarifies, and he hears her smiling.

He tells himself he only needs to cast a glance to check.

He does — he meets her gaze — her earrings catch the sunlight and cast a trail of glares — the scattering of specks play on her skin, her neck and collarbones, sneak to her upper chest — his own is heaving. His struggle only lasts a moment but it leaves him short of breath. He isn’t looking anymore, his eye trying to discern the pattern on the drapes behind her.

“Our marriage, how do you benefit from it?” he hates how hard it is to control his voice.

And how she watches him intently without giving him a clue of what’s on her mind.

“I plan on visiting my family a couple of times a year. It will be easier to do on dragon back,” she doesn’t sound spiteful when she says it but her words still sting.

He can’t stop an image flashing through his mind: her on top of Vhagar, lungs full of air, pressed to him. It’s tempting — to have her in his hands, and yet the vision is too intangible to cling to. Instead, he thinks that in just three days she learned to play him like a harp, his years' worth of self-control is merely a sand castle against the tide of her sharp tongue.

He only snickers dryly at her reply, then they both hear the sound of running footsteps. Jaehaera and Jaehaerys rush to greet him — but almost instantly abandon, the kids' attention drawn to the shining golden dress.

He thinks “unruly” suits her better than does “pompous”. He comes up with a fake excuse to leave; the image of her stays with him.

>>> He picks more adjectives as the week goes on — she’s audacious, disobedient, wanton. She moves around the castle as if she owns every room she’s in. She wears less, and even on rare occasions when she doesn’t, her defiance more than compensates for it. She never shies away from a deep neckline, nor does she feel the need to hold back her resounding laughs. Her jewelry clinks, each of her dresses is brighter than the other, but it’s her wicked mouth his eye always falls on first.

More times than not, Aemond can’t tear his gaze away, each meal for him now both a torture and a feast.

He watches as she parts her lips, puts them around a luscious grape, a cherry, or a peach, she swipes her tongue to lick up every running drop, savoring its tang — and keeps eye contact with him. He barely can taste the food he’s eating, and no wine can quench his thirst, his body flooding with a feeling he can’t define, his heart adrift.

He tries to fight it off with all our strength. He scratches off “unruly” to write down “unabashed” instead.

But then the dinner comes, and even though he’s never had a taste for sweets, he thinks he’d eat them from her lips (deep down, he wants to). The lies he tells himself are brittle like the flesh of fruits under her teeth.

>>> He comes to think “insufferable” fits her the best. That thought rings in his head while he is standing in the stable, his eye on anything but her. He was informed she wished to pick a horse, and he begrudgingly agreed to come, only to keep up the pretense.

What turns out to be much harder is for him to keep restraint. The dress she’s wearing might as well be a chemise — it’s just as light and white, and much to his discomfort, it also tirelessly risks hiking up to expose more of her legs.

Discomfort, mayhaps, isn’t the right word for it.

He stays out of her way but, unsurprisingly, he ends up looking — at how she walks, spring in her step, swinging her hips. She gives each horse a piece of apple and feeds them by hand, strokes their muzzles, and then she mounts and rides them, one by one. She grabs the reins, her foot easily finds the stirrup, and as she swings her leg over the saddle, her dress slips up, showing a few inches of her skin.

He swallows thickly, glances more intently — over her dainty ankles, bending of her knees, he notes how smooth her skin is, soaking up the sun. Her dress then billows slightly, and his eye glides higher, hungry, follows up the contour of her thighs that bounce a little as the horse gallops.

He feels it blooming — a sensation with no name that travels from the lower chest down to his very navel, then spreads and tightens all that’s underneath.

He is so deep in his enthrallment, he doesn’t hear the steps approaching until there’s someone standing next to him. Quentyn stays silent for a minute, throwing him a sideways glance.

“My sister’s always been terribly picky,” the man says out of the blue, “And usually it’s hard to meet all of her demands,” — it doesn’t seem like it’s the horses he is talking of. The vagueness of it makes Aemond focus as he takes his eye off her but Quentyn doesn’t elaborate, giving him a smile instead. “I do admit, your patience is commendable. Some other man would’ve already interfered just to wrap the process up.”

“I was under the impression she doesn’t need anyone’s help,” Aemond replies evasively.

“You guessed it right,” Quentyn titters, his tone veiled with the same unclear meaning when he adds, “The only thing left for us all is to accept it,” and with that, he goes to join his sister.

When Aemond — tamely, almost yielding — takes a peek at her, his gaze collides with Oberyn’s who clearly watched them talk. Unlike his older brother, he prefers to stay away, but the mischief in him pairs really well with danger. He grants Aemond a nod, switching attention back to her, his threats unspoken for the meantime.

For just a second, it gives Aemond pause as he finds it odd that no one brings up their wedding, and no announcements have been made ever since she came. He doesn’t mull over it for long because her laughter interrupts his thoughts (or maybe he just yearns for any chance to look at her). She rides around the yard, her hair floating in the wind, a little breathless but breathtaking, her lips enticing and her curves making his throat dry.

He tries to ground himself, to look for explanations, for some reprieve from the entrancing spell he’s under — he’s never been so close to losing reason —

out of the corner of his eye, he sees a couple of guards dropping their gaze in poor attempts to stop themselves from gawking; it reins his passion, bringing back his jealousy instead. He’s way too used to seeing himself unworthy to even entertain the thought of having her, and his denial prickles. He wants to burn his feelings out, and anger helps with that — it breaks out and engulfs him fast, hardening both his heart and gaze.

“Quentyn is the friendliest of the two, and you couldn’t hold a conversation?” Aegon appears out of nowhere, seemingly displeased despite the bottle in his hand. “Must you always be so gruff? I stayed behind in hopes you’d make it work!” he waves at Oberyn then glares at Aemond, waiting for a reply. “Are you pretending to be deaf or...?”

“Must she test my patience?” Aemond mutters, his tone not jealous but exasperated, his eye boring into her, “Putting herself out like that for all the men to see.”

Aegon being speechless is a rare sight. He cannot fathom it at first, looking from Aemond back to her, confusion sobering him up. And then he grins, realization creeping up on him; there are some things he’s always quick to notice.

“It’s funny that you say that,” he leans in to tell him and catches Aemond’s gaze, “Since it’s just you who’s staring,” Aegon pats him on the back and leaves to greet her brothers.

Aemond tries to choke it down — his irritation and his shame combined, but it’s too much for him to handle, his head and heart clearly in conflict. He doesn’t wait for her to make a choice, retiring without sparing her a glance (a fear nibs at him that if he looks at her once more, he will stay rooted to the ground).

He doesn’t leave his chambers for the remainder of the day, dining all alone and fuming all the same. He’s usually good at curbing his emotions but he is having trouble understanding them, wanting nothing more than to erase all memories of her. But even in his solitude, he catches himself thinking — about her cunning smile and swaying hips, her eyes on him, his hands wanting to roam and touch and —

Aemond shoves unwanted thoughts away and goes to bed earlier than usual. He remains steadfast in his resolve to find some peace, he makes a conscious effort to shift his focus to all the boring, random things his mind can come up with until he is too tired to care.

But then he falls asleep, and his subconscious welcomes her. He sees her right before his eye in that obscenely short white dress, there are no people in the yard, her tantalizing moves all meant for him. She hops off her black horse and walks to him without a single word — anticipation makes him drop his guard and hold his breath — and then he feels her lips on his, her body pressing into him, his hunger for her ruining his self-control, the kiss is searing, suffocating, driving him insane, his fingers pulling up her dress —

he wakes up painfully aroused.

He lays in bed, his heartbeat rushing, his breathing ragged, and vision blurred. While he’s still grasping for the remnants of his dream, he sneaks his hand into his breeches, wishing he could rip her dress off and sheath himself inside her, spread her on his bed, and drink every salacious sound she makes... It only takes him a few strokes to spill over his fingers; he can’t remember if he’s ever reached his peak so fast.

And only then, as he comes down from his high, it hits him, like lightning in the dark — in spite of her remarks, her audacity, her dresses, and every cruel adjective he’s found for her, he’s never wanted anyone so badly. Aemond sits up abruptly, his sleep gone, giving way to stubbornness that comes hand in hand with reticence. He persuades himself that he’ll suppress this — the spark, the pleasure that he craves, and he won’t be a slave to his desires.

He’ll rid himself of feelings, of this lust. Inevitably it will wane.

>>> It doesn’t.

Desire is a guest that never leaves, unwanted but demanding space, attention, time. It slips into his thoughts the moment he wakes up, it whispers in his ears, never giving up, it’s layered in between his clothes and his skin. He hides it well from everyone; it lodges deeper into him.

Desire is a cherry in her mouth, each fruit she bites in, savors, drinks the juice from. He doesn’t want to watch — he can’t take his eye off her, caught in his fervor like in undertow, the flavor of her lips the only one he truly yearns for.

Desire bruises more than does a hit, cuts deeper than a blade, and there’s no weapon he can fight it off with. His training brings him no relief, and he can’t sweat it out or wash it off him, and even while he soaking in a bath, it feels like longing only rises back with steam.

Desire waits for him at night, stands by his bed, slides right under the covers with him. He dreams of her, and in those dreams, her body sings under his every touch, trembles from his praise, his hands and mouth paint her with marks and kisses. He wakes up with his chest aflame and out of breath, and then it takes all of his willpower not to crawl to her.

It staggering how much he really wants her, and he hates himself for it.

>>> It’s been three weeks and they have barely shared a word. He does his best to cut down their encounters and avoid her, he doesn’t argue and takes no offense, he hopes that if he pulls back just enough she will give up and let him be.

Aemond spends his evenings in the study, his table piled with books, and for a couple of hours, it does help to take his mind off things. The night already steals in while he’s searching through the shelves for scrolls, too caught up in the process to pick up the creaking of his door.

Her gaze nearly scalds him. He only looks up out of surprise — and then he freezes at the spot, his heart a stone that plummets to his stomach.

Out of everything she’s worn, this dress might be the one to bring him to his knees — the cutting out the front so low, his eye falls in the hollow between her breasts; he envies fervently the golden chain that rests there. He takes in her whole body, bare arms, and flaunting forms, all clad in deep dark green. He’s never seen her pick that color (and he can’t help but think she put it on for him).

He’s brought back from his stupor when their eyes meet — and startled by the determination in her gaze.

“Ser Criston told me that you missed your training,” she stately starts walking toward him, “Quite a few times this week.”

“I found myself preoccupied with other things,” he clears his throat and clasps his hands behind his back, the scrolls forgotten.

“With reading, I assume?” she almost sounds aggrieved (he wants to ask what else she’d rather have him do) but then her tone gets jaunty. “Would you mind if I join?”

“Actually, I would,” Aemond takes his eye off her, his coldness feigned. “I’d like to avoid distractions.”

And more than anything, he would like for her to leave; she’s not the one to give up so easily. “Maybe we can learn some things together?” she nonchalantly insists, and that ambiguity — deliberate or not — leaves his face suffused with pink.

“I highly doubt you take interest in the things I study,” he manages, his crudeness biting his own tongue.

She only sneers, already nearing his table. “You surely rush to judgment.”

“And I am never wrong.” (Although he’s been wrong once before.)

“That’s very humble of you.” (And she’s tenacious with her intent to prove him wrong again.)

“I am surprised you know that word,” he replies too hastily — and instantly regrets his outburst.

And his attempts to get away from her could’ve been valiant, but only left him feeling like a coward.

She’s got enough courage to spare. “Oh, my apologies, did I strike a nerve?” her hip grazes a stack of books. “You sound so displeased with my behavior,” she puts her hands right on his table, her cleavage in full view.

“You interrupted my studies,” he’s looking only at her face.

“Just this one time,” she clears up, her sly smile is a dare, “Sounds like you have quite a few complaints.”

Damned be her dress and the day he laid his eye on her. “It’s clear as day that we have nothing in common,” he hisses, her persistence molding his anger. “From your bawdy humor to your reckless behavior and your...,” he struggles to push the word through his mouth, “vulgar dresses — everything suggests that we will never make a good couple.”

He catches a gleam in her gaze but it’s not threatening nor hurt — and when the corners of her mouth curl up, her face expression actually looks amused. “I didn’t realize my presence tormented you that much,” she crosses arms over her chest, her hands under her breasts; he looks away that very instant. “So will it please you if I take my vulgar dresses and go back home and leave you be?”

He wants to say it will — he’s thought of it for days — but now he isn’t sure. The dreams he has of her will hardly be enough as every image he collected has got nothing on the real form.

“Is there anything that does?” she asks him suddenly and takes a step in his direction, and then another one.

Belatedly, he realizes that he’s backed against the wall. The air in the room heats up, and Aemond moves back to his table, fingers holding to its edge to find some balance. “...Does what?”

“Please you,” she swiftly clarifies, now standing at arm’s length.

“That isn’t any of your concern,” he wants to glance away and yet, his eye is drawn to her.

“I am inclined to disagree,” her lips stretch into a smile. “Shouldn’t a wife know how to make her husband feel good?”

“We are not married yet,” he tries to argue weakly.

“I’d like to learn beforehand,” but her assertiveness works quicker than his doubts.

The time is still, and seconds drag like hours. His heart leaps at the thought of being all alone with her, his concentration crumbling, his self-restraint already hanging by a thread.

“The way you look at me suggests you aren’t averse to the idea,” she tells him in a low voice, her eyes two glowing embers. Aemond gulps, she deftly rounds the table. “You act so cold and so collected,” she muses, coming closer, and he helplessly steps back. “But I am yet to meet a man who would deny himself the pleasure of laying with a woman,” her voice is warm and warming; his legs bump into the chair, prompting him to sit.

He hesitates for barely a moment but his quick reaction fails him because the next thing he knows, she’s standing next to him, her golden chain casting a blinding glint — he blinks — and then she’s straddling him, her thighs on either side of his.

Aemond’s mouth falls slack as he becomes aware: to lift her he will have to touch her. He glances down at her legs that sneaked out through the long slits of her dress, all bare to the very hips before him.

“I wonder if you are too spoiled by the attention of the ladies? Mayhaps you’ve got so satiated, the intimacy doesn’t bring you any joy,” she runs her fingers up his chest.

He only finds it in himself to shake his head. She isn’t satisfied with that reaction. “Or do you simply find it boring and have a taste for something else?”

Objection bubbles in his throat but he gets no chance to voice it — he barely registers a clinking sound before he feels cold steel pressed under his chin, her fingers wrapped around the hilt of his own dagger. He meant to leave it at the training yard but it completely slipped his mind.

“Does this work better? I’ve heard that you Targaryens have peculiar tastes,” her other hand lands on his shoulder, his chest is stirring with emotions he can’t read.

“That’s not— No,” he mumbles, his voice raw, the weight and feeling of her body overwhelming.

She cocks her brow at him in disbelief. “No? So it’s just plain old satiation then?” she makes no attempt to press the blade but her questions do get pushy. “Must be so hard when women throw themselves at you ever since you were... What was it, ten? Twelve years of age?”

He would expect her to sound teasing — instead, he hears disappointment. That’s the reaction he is used to getting.

“My brother took me to a pleasure house when I was ten-and-three. He said it’s time to get it wet,” he forces out, “And it was...,” awful and humiliating, something he wishes to forget, “...Not what you are describing.”

Her face expression changes — first surprised, then splashed with sadness, and her every feature softens. Aemond sees her opening her mouth to speak but he averts his gaze, abasement scrabbling at him. His eye falls closed, and he keeps thinking that now she will get up and leave, and there won’t be any wedding, and he’s got no reason to get so overly upset already, and —

she sheathes his dagger without a word, the unexpected movement making him breathe out.

And then she dips her head down, and her lips fall on his jaw. Aemond inhales sharply. Her mouth feels softer than it was in all his dreams, and she plants kisses down his throat, moving to the part of it the blade was pressed to. He doesn’t know where to put his hands while hers lock nimbly around his neck.

She pulls back slowly, and he dares to look at her again, trying to catch the merest shadow of pretense but there is none.

“I am truly sorry that you had to go through that,” she tells him quietly. “Have you tried some more since then?”

“I did,” his answer comes off hurried, blank, “I... I am aware of how the act is done.”

“How the act is done? Aemond, that doesn’t sound enjoyable at all,” she pouts, then gently caresses his face, her voice a tender whisper when she adds, “But it should be.”

He stiffens, waiting for the discomfort to wake up, for the aversion to coil his guts, to trigger the jarring need to move away. None of that happens. Instead, he feels her fingers running through his hair, a calming motion bringing only comfort, her every touch relieving tightness in his chest.

“You seem too tense... We have to work on that,” she joyfully murmurs. “Unless, of course, my worry causes you distress,” her fingers stop, “Do you want me to leave, my prince?”

“No,” he rasps, he almost pleads, “D-don’t.”

She hums with satisfaction, bringing her hands down to unclasp his leather doublet, knowing she won’t meet any resistance. He should resent her for this but he doesn’t (he didn’t and he won’t). The air lays cold over his shirt, and Aemond shivers; she moves her fingers down his firm chest with an unspoken admiration.

“Tell me how it usually goes,” she inquires, one of her hands finding its way back to his silver locks. “Do you find pleasure in undressing them?”

Her warmth envelopes him, scented with cinnamon and peaches. “They come without much clothes,” Aemond blurts out, earning another hum from her.

“And what about you?” she glances curiously at him.

“I don’t... I don’t like them touching me,” he timidly avows, and saying it to her does bring somewhat of a relief.

With both of her hands, she cradles his face, thumbs gently contouring his cheeks — he all but melts into her palms. “And yet you are so responsive to the touch,” her voice praises, “So pretty.”

She leans in again, leaving a kiss at the hollow of his throat — and then her mouth travels up, ardent and steady, and he squirms in place. Not out of discomfort.

“You are not supposed to rush it if you want it to feel good,” she whispers in his ear and moves back to catch his gaze. “You never rush into fighting so why love making should be any different?”

Astonishment brightens his face, and she chuckles lightly. “I must confess, I did enjoy watching you train, even though you never noticed. The way you move and twirl your sword,” she’s recollecting breathy, “You are so lithe and fast and so resistant... An infatuating sight.”

She holds his gaze and lifts her hand — he follows it, unblinking, until it finds one of the straps — she hooks it with her fingers. “Fairly soon it made me wonder how would your hands feel... on me,” his heart jolts at her words.

Slowly, she moves the strap aside, baring her breast for him; Aemond’s breathing hitches. She takes his hand in hers, planting a kiss over his knuckles — and then lets his fingers graze her naked skin.

“It was so cruel of you to rob me of my pleasure,” she laments, but he can barely hear a thing, his eye wide as he fixes on the soft swell of her breast, on how her nipple peaks so eagerly under his touch.

She guides his hand over her chest, down to her ribs and waist, letting him brush her every curve, placing his fingers firmly on her hip. And then she reaches for his other hand and lowers the other strap; his body trembles. The layers of his reticence are all peeled at once, leaving his desire raw and undisguised, unshackled. He’s drawn to fondle, clutch at her plump breasts but her grip is tight and taunting, not letting his fingers roam free.

Still, when both his hands sink into her hips, he realizes that he’s getting harder by the second.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by her. With a controlled, torturously slow move she drags her clothed core over his straining cock. His mouth stays closed but there’s a sound — a muffled moan caught in his throat.

“Doesn’t this feel good?” she teases, lightly tugging on his hair, her lips reaching the column of his neck. “With how much you read, I hoped you’d be more generous with words,” each of her kisses weightless like a drop of rain but then her mouth finds a spot below his ear and suckles at it, pulling a whimper from his chest.

He thinks he should... his mind goes blank after another movement of her hips, and she picks up the pace, merciless and sensuous. He tries biting down his moans but only hurts his mouth. She notices, her rapt eyes on him, and puts her finger on his lower lip:

“Please, don’t be shy with me,” she coos, her gentle touch soothing his bitten flesh, “Our desires coincide,” she earnestly affirms him — and the spark erupts and drags him into pure bliss.

He feels that his arousal leaks, his breeches way too tight to hide it, his fingers dig into her supple skin, but she gives no complaints. He watches breathlessly through his hooded eyelid as she grinds against him, then looks over her bouncing breasts, her nipples pebbled, and the pressure curls somewhere down his spine. She peppers him with kisses — the angles of his face, neck, everything that she can reach, except for his desirous mouth. And yet the softness of her lips and hands, her skin that’s draped with the redolent scent, the rhythm of her hips all bring him closer to the edge.

Her forehead is pressed to his, their lips an inch away but never fully touching. “Let go for me,” she says against his mouth, “My handsome, fierce dragon.”

That does it for him. He harshly presses her to him, then shudders with a strangled moan and comes undone, his eye squeezed shut as her name quivers in his mouth. The pleasure whirls him in and leaves him drained and stunned, a little bit light-headed.

It takes Aemond a minute to recover before he finds her gaze again — and in another minute he discerns her shallow breaths, her parted lips, brows slightly furrowed. He wants to ask her if she reached her peak, if he can help her with it —

but she pulls back.

She stands up and only briefly grabs his shoulder, steadying herself, then promptly puts the straps back on, fixing her dress. He wants to lend a hand but she moves it away, leaning in to lightly caress his face. “No, you don’t get to have me yet. I want you to admit it first, to say that you want me,” her words are laced with dignity but cooling to his mind.

She steps back, cruelly fast, the only consolation is her naughty tone. “Until then, I have to satisfy myself some other way. But I will think of you while doing it, my dear prince,” she promises, a ghost of a smile on her lips, and then walks out without looking back.

The silence feels unwelcome in the room and hangs over the ceiling like a cloud, but Aemond he is too dazed to move, spent and perplexed to wrap his head around it.

Desire, it seems, has come to stay.

But it’s not the only thing he’s feeling.

✧... YES, there will be a second part, it’s already in the works! ✧ and yes, I didn’t bother to rename Pedro’s character 'cause I adore Oberyn sue me

✧ just to clarify, I usually age Aemond up to 20 (or however old Ewan looks to you ;) ✧ I got inspired after watching the video for ROSALÍA’s “La Fama” (give it a watch, she is soooo 🥵) but I only found it because of this gorgeous gifset so shout-out to OP for giving me inspiration

✧ my recent fic (couples who kill together, stay together 🔥) ✧ my masterlist

thank you @amiraisgoingthruit for letting me tag you in every silly story of mine, hope you’ll like this one (if anyone else wants to be tagged, don’t be shy)

English is not my first language, so feel free to message me if you spot any major mistakes. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

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faetreides · 3 months

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Feral feral Anakin fucking you every second of the day because he can’t get enough of you and is overly obsessed

send me coryo, luke castellan, or anakin asks (this is a threat)

implied canon compliant prequels and childhood friend afab royalty reader (basically in padme's place) based on an upcoming fic

This is canon Anakin behavior actually, he's like a big dog with his favorite chew toy. The dog obviously loves the toy a lot but it's because of his love that the toy becomes well used. No matter how tattered it becomes, the dog will still curl around it and spend its days licking the hell out of it until it withers away.

I think that because of how he grew up, just a little boy on some ball of sand whose life really didn't belong to him, as soon as he's free from that he just unravels. I love Anakin being written as more unhinged or even slightly like an eldritch horror, because suddenly he has this big destiny laid out in front of him and the tethers holding his soul together inevitably come unhooked. I think that he's wired like that from the beginning, very passionate but without a means to express it.

So, when he meets you, little royal heir with all the stars of the galaxy in your eyes, he tells a familiar story about an angel and from then on, it's over for him. Every moment of his life orbits around the sun in his solar system, you.

The first think he thinks when he sees you again, is how your moans would echo off the windows when he eats you out on one of the couches. Then he imagines your perfectly manicured hands clawing delicious ribbons down his back while he rabidly pounds your sopping wet pussy against the wall of your huge walk-in closet in your apartment. He'd have to hold a hand over your mouth, but he wouldn't do a thing to clean up the slicks that drips out of your pussy onto the floor. You'd pout as you'd rush to get ready before Obi-Wan came back, and all he'd be able to do in response is hook his chin over your shoulder and smile.

"No, it's because I'm so in love with you."

You're leaning against a balcony overlooking a lake in Naboo and all he can think about as he strokes a shy finger down your back is hiking your dress up and bending you over it. You're chained to a pillar in between him and Obi-Wan, and when all is said and done, he wishes he killed everybody that was relishing in your suffering in that arena and fucked you with their blood coating his body. He could go on forever until the last grain of sand on Tatooine flies away. He'd have gotten you barefoot and pregnant immediately if the leash around his neck was any looser.

No matter the fantasy or the moment, you always have at least one mark on you. He's not patient enough for hickies and his fingers move too quickly for any serious bruises to form on your body. He favors bite marks, near perfect impressions of his teeth etched in your soft skin. He doesn't bite to tear, just does his repeated 'chomp!'s without a single thought in his head; your thighs bear the brunt of it. Anakin likes when drops of blood bead at the surface of the bites, because then he can lick the bites soothingly. You usually have to run your fingers through his hair to get him to come back to himself when he starts doing it on autopilot with his eyes rolled back.

"Yes, yes, yessssss.... love fucking my cunt, missed making love to my sloppy pussy. Taking my dick so well, keep breathing with me, my love. That's it, just like that."

His way of saying good morning is languid strokes deep in your guts. His way of saying good night is crazed thrusts that have him putting it back it when his frenzied pace causes his length to slip out. He has is so hard sometimes, determined to carry the entire galaxy on his shoulders with you on top of it. You can the rising anger that builds within him when everything he does to prove himself goes unrecognized. The best way he has to ignore all of that outside responsibility is knocking your sweaty body up the bed while you're clutching the headboard for dear life.

Anakin's emotions bleed from him so openly, and all you have to do is drink them in. Because even though he wasn't free when he met you, you owned him them with his gift around your neck. You own him now, your cervix kissing his mushroom tip in its own display of affection. He is supposed to live his life with the intention to be the force's son, but he is burning to ash faster than he is fulfilling his destiny; at least he can keep you and your future children warm.

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r0-boat · 1 month

Note

*clears throat* PUPPY! *chases Naberius*

(I'm sorry I'm a white girl who has no fear about petting the big puppy)

The funny thing is that he would enjoy it ;)

Naberius general headcanons

NSFW&SFW

His defeat growl gave me chills.

Has different levels of his form!

10% : ears and tail with fangs, they tend to pop up when he is excited.

50%: most werewolf like, Naberius can somewhat control it. He's just more animalistic.

100%: Run! He is no longer in control usually happens when his emotions are at his highest. Extreme anger/extreme sadness ETC.

Clingy, however he doesn't really like to show it. I'll follow you like a lost puppy to any room you walk in. Desperately wants your attention, your touch, even though he's trying to be professional, but you make it so hard.

He'll do anything, get you anything, He is completely loyal, hoping for your praise, your affection. Sitri hates him, calls him your lap dog. As if he also isn't as eager to serve as Naberius is.

Protective. He'll watch you chatting with other devils. He has told you before that some devils aren't as nice as the ones you've met before, but he doesn't want to stop you from hanging out with anyone you choose. However, he will not hesitate in beating The shit out of any devil that harms as much as a little hair on your head.

*Nabs pissed off and chewing out a devil*

Mc: "who's a good boy!"

Nabs: "Mc! Not now..." *He rolls his eyes unaware that His tail is wagging*

He's usually calm and collected, but once he's worked up, it's hard to calm down. Amon and Bael quickly realized that Naberius, in his Titan form, seemed to stop in his tracks when he sees you; the beast that was knocking buildings and setting everything ablaze with fire breath now sitting idly, His three tails wagging happily, nuzzling you with their big noses.

Raw and primal, that's how he thinks sex should be. He can't tell you how many times he has daydreamed about taking you doggy sinking his fangs and claws into you while he knots you. Whimpering, to fill you with his pups. His tail wagging back and for as he humps into your squeezing walls despite to milk every last drop of his seed inside you.

Naberius is just as filthy and wild as he is refined and professional. So eager to turn into a mindless beast ripping off his and your clothes and breed you, make you his mate.

To make him submit to you you'll need to overwhelm and overpower him. Collar and leash him. Make sure the collar and the leash is strong enough so it doesn't break when he shifts.

His were hellhound body is so much bigger than yours. It's not as large as his Titan version, where he towers over buildings. But it's enough to tower over you. To encase you in his arms to hold you down while he mates with you.

Nothing gets him off more than letting him chase you down; nothing gets him harder than the thrill of the hunt. Looking at you with pure hunger in his eyes as it gives you a 1-minute head start. Don't worry; His nose is extra sensitive. He could sniff you out of any hiding spot; he has memorized your delicious scent. He could feel his cock hardening when he saw you from the bushes, helpless prey, vigilant, delicious prey. He hopes you run when you see him, Even though he could outspeed you. Run and fight him till your lungs and legs give out for Naberius to tackle you down onto the ground. And he wants you to fight back, claw and bite, Kick and hit, fight to escape, or fight for dominance. He'll try his hardest to hold deep down, rip your clothes off, and fuck you good until you obey. Take you to his balls are empty, and you are both spent

He is an intelligent, demon with a lot of responsibilities. Despite his powerful position, He craves nothing more than sometimes to become your mindless little fuck pet, his only job being to serve you.

He has ruts; they're so bad if he doesn't knot some tight hole soon, His control will slip, and he will turn into a rampaging beast. He tries to lock himself away. Anyway, he can keep it at bay as much as he wants to slip and become a mindless animal. He knows how much damage he'll cause to the entire kingdom. But now that you're here, his ruts are more enjoyable. Addicted to your scent and the taste of your sweet skin, His body is practically glued to yours, nuzzling his nose into your neck, begging for you to be alone with him. Begging for you to be underneath him, begging for you to let him stick his cock inside you and knot you. He is addicted to the feeling of himself pushing inside you one last time for his knot to lock itself deep inside, with the head of his cock nuzzling against your deepest parts before emptying his balls inside you.

#smut #whb x reader #whb headcanons #what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #whb naberius #naberius x reader #whb x mc #whb mc #whb #pretty busy whb #whb fanfic #edit: forgot to add #yes he has ruts

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yuutasprincess · 8 months

Text

Day 5: Ino Takuma

Word Count: 1.k Warnings: Pussy drunk Ino, super sappy I love him

The building before him hardly resembled what Takuma had anticipated, it’s clean and somewhat private. In front of him stood a blank wall, its sole feature being a solitary hole positioned at hip level. With a quick glance at his phone, Takuma composed one final message before tucking it away: ‘This is where you come?’ A faint vibration emanated from his pocket, but he paid it no heed as the sound of a closing door reached his ears.

‘I don't actually go there. Just messing with you!!Have fun!!!’ Accompanying the text were a series of laughing emojis and playful GIFs, all underscored by a mischievous selfie of Gojo, his hand obscuring a sly grin.

Sucking at his teeth he unbuckles his belt, heat flooding his cheeks as he eyes the hole, “I’m not sure... Uhm, I’ve never done this.” his cock is flaccid as he pulls himself out, embarrassment eats at him as he tries to just do what Gojo told him. Just stick your dick in the hole and let her take care of you. He can’t believe he came here.

Your voice isn't what he expected it to sound like, nothing is the way he assumed it’d be. “That's alright handsome, let me see you.” His blush travels down to his chest, body warm at the smooth tone of your voice resonating through the wall. Ino knows you’re just flirting with him; you can’t really see him but the way your words bounce around his head have his dick hardening.

Takuma half expected to be hunched over somewhere in a bathroom, cock shoved in a hole with the writing ‘insert here’ pointing down while a stranger sucked him off before he’d pay you and tear Gojo a new one for sending him there.

He’s thick, not the longest but his dick is so pretty, angled to the left with a long vein on the underside. You can tell he’s cute, the way he mutters under his breath when he pushes his hips into the wall has you biting back a teasing quip. Taking him into your mouth there's already an ache in your jaw, he’s heavy on your tongue and doesn’t taste unbearable like the other men who visit you. Ino’s moans quickly become your favorite sound, breathless and choked up as his forehead meets the wall.

With Takuma growing in your mouth you swallow around the bulbous head, breathing through your nose slowly you suck his cock until he's hitting your uvula and you're gagging. Throat tight and his dick warm between your tongue and the upper ridges of your mouth, “Ah- Shit, oh my god-” When you swallow again he whines, it’s candy in your ear and you tongue at his bulging veins until he’s pulling away from you.

Shying back to his side of the wall he awes at the way your saliva coats his cock, “I’m not sure- where do I? Um” He can’t even feel embarrassed anymore, his whole body on fire, “Can I cum in your mouth?” You laugh. And the sound is so sweet, it’s airy and has him flustered as he pushes his dick back into the hole.

Chewing at his lower lip, Ino cries at the way you kiss his tip, closes his eyes and imagines the most gorgeous women he’s ever seen cherishing his cock. He’s a romantic. Hands clawing at his sweatshirt when you trace his veins with your tongue, fingers wrapping around his base and pumping him softly. “You’re so big, so pent up.” Takuma can’t get over your voice, mouth dry as you squeeze him in your palm trying to make your fingers touch. “Such a pretty dick, maybe I’ll let you fuck me if you cum.”

Ino entertains the idea of knocking the wall down, he could. But if anyone ever found out how desperate he was for pussy he’d die. He just knows your cunt would feel as good if not better than your mouth. The way you take him inch by inch, tongue lapping under his head has him gripping his hair, scalp burning when you take him all the way into your throat and moan around his length.

When he cums it’s in thick ropes, hot in your mouth while you keep him still with a hand at his base and another fondling his balls, “Shit, shit- oh fuck, so good” His voice is whiny, cock still hard in your hold as you swallow his cum and kiss the long vein running up the bottom of his dick. Takumas hips ache, stomach flat against the wall as he humps the air while you move away. He hears something rip before your hands are back on him, condom between your lips as you slide it on him.

Takuma thinks he might seriously pass out when he feels you slide onto him, you’re so wet the stretch is welcome as he fills you. “I won’t last long, sorry.” Groaning into the wall he practically cries when you start to fuck yourself back into him, his own hips smashing into the wall and shaking it as he chases after your cunt.

Ino might seriously tear this wall down if it means he gets to feel your heat, he can barely hear you over his own panting. “Shit, you feel so good” He’s flattered, your praise making him cum as he stills himself and presses his lips tight to hide the whine trying to leave him. You're still using him as if the roles were reversed and he doesn’t dare pull away. Not even when the pleasure ebbs into pain, he lets you use him until you're clenching around him and pulling away with a wet pop.

Your voice is a whisper while he’s still starstruck, face pressed against the wall heaving and slurring his words trying to thank you, “I don't do this, ever. But I’m out in an hour if you want to really thank me.”

When Ino checks his phone again it’s with you on his lap in the back of his car, cock aching and leaking in your pussy as you sit still. You're putting your number in his contacts when you see the notification, “Smile handsome” With a hand holding his wet chin up you wink at the camera before sending it to whoever Gojo is with a plethora of smiling emojis and an “I did!!” that’ll be left on read for the rest of the night.

#I LOOOVE HIM #jjk smut #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #Ino x reader #ino takuma x reader #kinktober

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lacyohlacyyy · 24 days

Text

consequences

levi ackerman x fem reader

cw;

mdni, masochism (???), spanking, overstimulation, rough and aggressive sex..

an;

levi is a canon brat tamer and you can't tell me otherwise. also, BIG thank you to @m8tchalatte for being my editor, lysm. this fic was kinda rushed so my apologies beforehand.

You were on round three. And it didn’t look like he was going to stop. You’ve put him in a sour mood and you knew damn well what the consequences were. Levi was going to fuck an apology out of you one way or another.

Cunt raw, indentations on your ass, tears streaming down your reddened face as your body trembled with each thrust. Your incoherent, cathartic pleas of ‘I’m sorry’s and ‘I won’t do it again’s reverberate through the room which only added fuel to his fire.

“Stop. Fucking. Crying.” His voice is gruff, his hands moving up from your hips before he grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking it so you met his hungry gaze. His cock pressed a deeper angle, sliding and squeezing roughly against your walls causing your back to arch further.

You tried scooting away, trying to retract from him but it’s futile—only to be met with a painful slap on your ass making you wince.

“Tch. Can’t handle this dick can you?” He mocked, rutting his hips against your slick heat. You cried in pain and pleasure—you couldn’t make out which. “Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Please..” You manage to wheeze out, screeching. Your mouth agape as a thin trail of saliva hangs from your lips. “I swear, I won’t-”

He smacks you again. Hard. And you’re still shaken from the last.

The visceral heat in his steel grey eyes is unmistakable. He’s eager to see you crumble; eager to ravish, to push that pretty body of yours to its limits as if you haven’t reached them already.

“Come for me, baby, come on.” He urges under his breath, forcing himself into you.

You bite your lip, resisting an orgasm. After everything that happened, you’re not giving him the satisfaction. Though, try as you might—every effort and every breath you held didn’t stop you from being dangerously on edge. Damn it.

Levi knows you; he knows that you’ll cum for him one way or another—and it’s evident in the way his free hand rubbed tormenting circles on your sore clit.

Gone was the sliver of resistance you had within you. Your walls spasm, and you shatter pathetically in your puddle of tears.

“Jesus — fuck!” He grunts harshly, his groin pressed firmly against yours. He brings his hand up again, digging his fingers into your soft, supple flesh as you climax sweetly on his cock once more. Your mouth hangs open, breathless is an understatement.

What was an agonising session, Levi finally pulled out of you. Ass up, shoulders on the bed, your shaking arms that failed to support you sprawl behind your back. He took a moment to scrutinise the vulnerable state you were in; cum overfilling you as it trailed down your thighs.

A prideful smirk curls up Levi’s lips, but it’s quickly replaced with one of authority. His hands find their way to your waist, flipping you over to lie on your back. He admires your tear-stained face, your plump, quivering lips.

"Are you gonna listen to me now? Have you learnt your lesson?” He clamoured, his fingernails clawing onto your waist. “Yes!” A tearful moan escaping your lips. “Yes, yes, please! I’m sorry!”

He takes a sharp breath, seemingly hesitant of your answer. But he’s pushed you enough for now. He finds you adorable like this, all cummed out for him.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.” He muttered, brushing a few strands of drenched hair away from your face. “Let me see that pretty face.”

Levi gives you a soft peck on the cheek, moving closer to your level. He runs a hand through your hair, his breath swelters against your ear.

“Are you really sorry though?” He teases, his tone carrying an abrasive nature. He knows you are.

You nod profusely, chewing on your lower lip. Your tears and sniffles subsiding as he caresses your cheek gently.

“You better be.” Levi jeers playfully, stroking the top of your head, “Don’t ever do that again, sweetheart. Understood?"

an;

how was that?? support and feedback is appreciated, please be respectful. check me out on ao3, @lacyohlacyyy

#levi ackerman #levi aot #levi x reader #levi x you #levi smut #aot smut #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #overstim kink #rough kink #mdni #smut #levi snk #attack on titan x reader #brat taming

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teamfortraven · 3 months

Text

Vox enjoyers... I am yet again here with food...

This is an SFW tickle fic! If you don't like it, don't read!

Summary: the reader finds out something particularly sensitive about their boss, and he has to go to certain lengths to prevent the spread of this information. AKA reader bites off more than they can chew :]

Words: 3,010.

I gasped as a set of claws wrapped tightly around my wrist, jerking it away from the circuit board I had been messing with. I was quickly forced to turn around and nervously face the man who had caught me in the middle of my operation, his figure looming over me as he practically held me off the ground by my forearm.

“Oh! Boss! You’re back from the meeting, umm, early!”

“Yes. I am.” Vox’s voice was stern, eyes narrowed at me while the brightness from his screen practically blinded me.

“I was just about to wrap up maintenance on this section, but since you’re back now, I’ll go ahead and get out of your way-” After scrambling to defend myself and gently tugging my arm down an inch to ask permission to leave, he instead yanked it even more taught into the air so I was barely standing on the tops of my feet.

“Maintenance, you say? So that’s what you’re doing in this room you strictly don’t have permission to enter?” He tugged me a little closer, studying me with a scowl. Sarcasm was woven into every word he spoke, hiding the anger swelling underneath.

“W-Well, I certainly can’t fix it like you can”, I quickly added, wincing as I stuttered,” but I just didn’t want you to have to deal with it when you returned!”

I was lightly shoved against the wall, his claws gripping my shoulder even tighter as if to squeeze the answer out of me. “Don’t lie to me”, he said quietly. “What. Were. You. Doing?” I instinctively shut my eyes and managed to avoid an attempt to hypnotize me into telling the truth, turning my head to the side.

“Not to be rude, sir, but why ask me when it’s clear you could feel what I was doing?” It was a risky thing to say, but it was either this or die by trying to come up with an excuse. The flashing light that perforated my eyelids stopped, and I slowly opened them and focused on his screen.

His eyebrows had raised for a moment, staring at me as if he were taken aback, mouth slightly agape. Then his brows furrowed yet again, squinting at me as he quietly chuckled.

“What?”

“Well, as soon as I did this…” My hand darted to the open panel and I trailed a single fingernail down the inside of the circuit. I merely glanced at him and smiled when he flinched – no, jumped – at the sudden action. “...you seemingly teleported here in order to find out what was messing with your wiring.”

Nearly cutting me off, his hand shot to my wrist in fear of my realization, but I was faster, scratching at the other side of the circuitry in quick motions with one finger. He gasped and shook, his back arching and hands balling into fists before he fell on one knee, arms wrapping around himself protectively. I held back a laugh at his dramatic reaction, earning me a glare and gritted teeth.

“Don’t.” He said unsteadily. I decided it would be funnier if I didn’t heed his warning, so I shot him a smirk with lidded eyes before I began gently spidering my fingers over the face of the circuit.

I watched in glee as he shrieked and fell backwards, puffing before falling into giggles, his eyes squeezed shut. He was clearly struggling to maintain his composure, which I didn’t like. I figured I’d mess with him a bit.

“So, this tickles, huh?” He fought to bark back at me through the endless stream of giggles exiting his speakers.

“Fuck you… and fucking stahap!” His pause to supposedly gasp for air in between each phrase only had me smiling wider, increasing the pace for a moment and watching as he threw his head back and his voice raised in pitch.

“Don’t wanna admit it? That’s okay. I guess I can see why this would be embarrassing for you.” His legs kicked out at me stubbornly, claws nearly tearing at the sides of his suit. I took a step further away from his kicking out of caution; his frustration at not having control of the situation was kind of cute.

“Hey! Don’t try to kick me! That’s not very nice.” I positioned all of my fingers at the top of the circuit before slowly dragging down, causing him to squirm even more and grip the corners of his screen.

“As soon… as I gehehet you… you’re fuhucking DEAD!” He shouted.

“All the more reason to keep exploiting this little weakness of yours…” I made eye contact with him as I slowly opened the neighboring panel, revealing yet another circuit board. I saw fear flash across his digital complexion as I merely tapped the new circuit while my other hand continued gently spidering.

“DON’T!” He yelled, lunging at me and managing to grab my ankle before I began sporadically tickling both circuits at once as fast as I could. Vox immediately fell into uncontrollable laughter, letting go of me and twisting onto his back, attempting to cover his mouth despite not having one. Pixels formed tears at the corners of his eyes as they shut tight, kicking out aimlessly as he swore and gasped.

“YOUHOU FUHUHUCKING BITCH!” It was at this point that he started glitching, some of his words almost unintelligible.

“Aw, is the big, bad overlord extra sensitive right here?” I teased, relishing in the way his screen glowed just a little brighter at my comment. As I continued, the static and glitches he was experiencing became greater, almost to the point I worried it might be painful. Finally, I let up, watching as he lay limp on the ground in a ball, twitching and giggling on occasion as he recovered.

After a good couple seconds, he fell silent and lay still, screen shielded by his claws, breathing lax. He made no other movement. Concerned, I crouched down next to him — either something was wrong or he was pissed and about to fire me. “Sir…?” I gingerly set a hand on his shoulder.

I heard him quietly mutter something and I leaned down to hear him better. “What?”

With a terrifyingly low chuckle, he moved one of his claws to reveal his right eye and the side of his mouth; two strings of red ran down to the bottom of his screen, and black rings emitted from his pupil. He said one word.

“Run.”

Suddenly filled with adrenaline, I fell backwards and scrambled, managing to turn myself around and start booking it, tripping a few times and catching myself with my hands, pushing myself off the floor for a small boost. As I was running, it occurred to me I didn’t know which way I wanted to go; I had no idea whether he was going to kill me or if he was turning this into a game. If I headed out of the observatory and he was just messing with me, I risked making both of us look unprofessional in front of his other employees or, god forbid, one of the other Vees who were on a surprise visit to see him. If he was trying to kill me…

I made a brash decision and burst through the observatory doors as I heard a maniacal laugh split the air behind me, followed by the sound of electricity zapping. Within seconds, he materialized in front of me, causing me to force my heels into the ground and come to a screeching halt. His arms were folded behind his back and he leaned down a bit intimidatingly, chuckling in amusement at the bewildered look on my face. He slowly began taking steps towards me, forcing me to back up past the observatory doors I had just so half-hazardly barreled through seconds ago. “Going somewhere?”

“Just following orders”, I replied in nervous excitement, watching as his grin only widened.

“Oh, but when I tell you you’re not to enter the observation room unless I specifically say”, he used his electrokinesis to close the small gap between us, grabbing my wrists in either hand, “suddenly you know better?” The observation room doors slammed behind us, once again shielding us from the outside hallway where anyone could walk by as he pushed me onto the floor and straddled me, effectively trapping me.

“Well…” I desperately tried to change the subject as his clawed fingers suddenly grasped either side of my waist, causing me to squeak. “You’re not the only one who’s confused. Why didn’t you use your electrokinesis to get away when I was-“

“How ticklish are you on a scale from one to ten?” He interrupted, eyes seeming to scan me before his pupils flickered back up to mine, obviously avoiding the question.

“Wh-what?” I was caught so off guard by the question that I stuttered, shrieking as he suddenly squeezed my waist, my hands flying to grasp his wrists.

He laughed at my reaction, eyes narrowing. “Ah, ten. You really just fucked yourself, you know that?”

“I’m not… that… I was just taken by surprise!” I stared wide-eyed as he suddenly sat up a bit, seeming to process what I said. Then he laughed again, eyes crinkling shut for a moment before looking down at me.

“You’re not… that? Not what?” His eyes widened in glee. “Holy shit, can you not even say the fucking word?!”

Red dusted my features as he continued laughing at me, finding the whole situation hilarious. “I can say it just fine!” I lied defiantly. “I said it earlier, didn’t I?!”

“Oh yeah, sure, you said it earlier when you weren’t so flustered. I think your brain turned to soup when I pointed that out, though…” He tapped his screen right below his eye, indicating that I was blushing. Of course, this only made it worse, and he snickered at my reaction. “So, if you can say the word ‘just fine’, do it now. Say tickle.” He crossed his arms and waited with a knowing look.

Of course, I could only manage to stutter, testing the first syllable of the word over and over, growing more and more embarrassed. His stupid smirk only grew as more time passed, eyebrow quirking. Finally, I gave up out of frustration at being proven wrong. “Fuck you!” I chided, watching as he threw his head back and laughed.

“See? You’re such an open book! I bet even this stupid shit would get you…” I froze as he suddenly hovered both hands in front of my face, wiggling his claws. “Tickle, tickle, tickle~”

I squeaked and put my face in my hands, a reflex more than a conscious decision. My face felt like it was on fire at this point — how long was this fucker gonna keep bullying me for?! Everytime he laughed it felt like I was about to explode, and I jumped as I felt his hands settle on my sides again.

“You’re way too fucking fun to mess with”, he mused. “I’m not even trying!” He suddenly applied an overlay to his voice as if he were broadcasting. “Breaking news: Voxtech employee blushes so hard their face explodes!”

As I went to protest, I instead found myself sputtering and squirming as he suddenly dug his claws into my sides, attempting to push him off of me, to which he only chuckled.

“Trying to escape already? You must be reaaally sensitive, huh? Really sensitive right here?” Claw after claw dug into the area on either side, and he rapid-fire squeezed for emphasis, causing me to make a series of noises not unlike a pug, twisting and turning underneath him.

“V-Vox, wait, nohoho!” I trailed off into helpless giggles as he spidered his claws on either side of my waist, squirming around underneath him as his face lit up with delight.

“Aww, is it too much? Does it tickle that bad?” His teasing made me attempt to hide my face again, eyes squeezed shut as I attempted to muffle my giggling. I failed to keep myself quiet as he suddenly moved his hands to just beneath my ribs, causing me to shriek and grab his hands. His eyes widened in recognition, chuckling evilly.

“Oh! You’re just making this too fucking easy for me! Could you be any more obvious?!” I fell into laughter as he continued digging into the area even faster if anything, causing me to basically short-circuit as pleas began involuntarily leaving me.

“W-WAIHAIT BOSS PLEAHEASE!” I whined, unsuccessful in my attempts to cover the area, the tips of his claws managing to break through.

“Oh, what, are you just too sensitive? Can’t handle it? Is this your worst spot? Is there a worse one…?” He trailed off with lidded eyes as they started wandering before returning to my own. “How about… here?”

I nearly screeched as he dragged his claws across my stomach, hurriedly attempting to sit up. He acted quickly, pinning my legs with his own and laughing at my urgent reaction as he continued spidering across my stomach, having me hiding my face again as he briefly displayed a casino slot machine on his screen that lit up in a jackpot.

��You know, how are you still alive being this fucking ticklish? I mean, I could just tickle you to death if I wanted to. And that’s saying something given I haven’t even…” I fell into desperate hysterics as a small jolt of static electricity left his claws, creating an overwhelming tingling feeling.

“VOHOX NAHAHA!-“

“Vox, what? Vox, please keep going? Vox, I love when you tickle me? If you want me to stop, you better switch back to calling me ‘boss’ again… and start apologizing for that little stunt you pulled earlier.” My struggling only intensified as he suddenly shoved his fingers under my arms, unable to pry his claws away. “Orrr you could just keep trying to fight back. That meeting was my last one until tomorrow, so I can do this all day…”

I tried to fire back at him about earlier, but all I could do was laugh, so instead my hands moved from his wrists to the sides of his ribs, desperately spidering. He physically convulsed, gasping before giggling a bit, immediately removing his claws from me to grab my wrists. Once he had torn them away from his body, he glared down at me, clearly a bit flustered as I managed a shit-eating smirk.

“Oh, you think you’re so fucking funny, huh? You think you can get away with something like that again?” I felt my face light up as I realized how strong his grip was, my proud moment short-lived as he put both wrists into one hand and pinned them above my head. “Hoho no, you’re gonna fucking pay for that…”

I quietly gasped as the tip of every claw on his free hand pressed straight onto my ribs, unmoving. A wicked grin split across his screen, studying my reaction with playfulness that was borderline malicious. “Really? Really? You targeted me somewhere that you can’t handle yourself?” I could only wiggle around as he started tickling, showing no mercy.

“HA! You have no idea how ridiculous you look right now. Can’t do anything, huh? Just gonna twist left and right like you’re actually able to get away?” I couldn’t respond to him if I wanted to, as I had immediately fallen into hysterics, trying everything in my power to get a quip in with all the talking he was doing… If I knew anything about Vox, it was that when his pride was hurt, he felt the need to explain himself to heaven and back. Once he had monologued for a bit, he let up slightly – just enough that I could form words again.

“Okay OKAY BOSS I’M SOHOHORRY!” He rolled his eyes with a smirk, voice lowering from the practical shout he had been using this entire time.

“Want me to stop? I don’t know~ there’s plenty of other spots I haven’t explored yet…” I fell into uncontrollable giggles as he gently spidered across the sides of my neck, blushing furiously. “Oh, really sensitive here, huh? I wonder if I tease you some more if your face will get even redder than it already is…” It did, in fact, get redder after he said that.

“BOSS PLEAHEAHEASE! TOO MUHUCH!” Tears were forming at the corners of my eyes as I desperately turned my head this way and that, his claws jumping to the other side as I attempted to defend myself.

Finally, he sighed, sitting back and letting my wrists go. He stayed on top of me, however, watching with his arms crossed as I regained my breath, hiding my face as it began returning to its normal color.

“Cute.” My eyes shot to his, unsure if I heard him right. I didn’t have time to ask him, however, as he quickly stood up and grabbed my hand, pulling me up next to him.

“Well, that was… fun. And just as a reminder…” He wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me to his side.

“If you ever tell anyone about your little… discovery…” He poked me in the ribs as emphasis before whispering right into my ear. “I’m going to wreck you so badly that the mere sight of these claws”, he wiggled them in front of my face threateningly, “will have you blushing so hard that you faint.” We stood still like that for a moment, as if he wanted to make sure I processed what he said, before he suddenly let go of me.

“Alright, get out of here, and if anyone asks, you were laughing because I’m just that fucking hilarious, got it?”

“Y-yes, sir”, I nervously agreed before he shot one last smile at me and turned, walking to his console. I left the observatory still a flustered mess, fiddling with my hands as I questioned if any of that even happened. I knew one thing for certain: the very next day I was doing that again.

#tickles #sfw tickling community #hazbin hotel vox #we're not gonna talk about how red my face got while writing this #he would absolutely DESTROY with teases though #god help me

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