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e1dritchjackal0pe · 2 months

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𝔗𝔬 𝔗𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔉𝔦𝔯𝔢

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stunning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that both comforts and terrifies you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Lykirī."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you prepared to ride?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Lykirī, Vhagar."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Remain calm," he reminds you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Sōvēs!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Gaomas bisa drējī kostilus ao, ābrazȳrys?"

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

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

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

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

"Pāsan ziry gaomas."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you wish for me to stop-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Undress yourself."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

How gorgeous he would look.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Aemond, pleas-"

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

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

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

"Oh, my gods! Aemond- fuck!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond smut #aemond targaryen x reader smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #prince aemond #house of the dragon x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fanfic

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ssailormoonn · 1 month

Text

❛ GENTLE ❜

HImejima Gyomei x Fem!Wife!Reader

WC; 1.3k+ | !MDNI! | TW/CW :: x fem reader, fem pronouns, fem bodied reader, oral -> female receiving, male giving, fingering, praise, slight overstimulation? implied size kink, reader is smaller than Gyomei + probably more

⋆·˚ ༘ * 𝑅𝐸𝒬𝒰𝐸𝒮𝒯 :: (filled request) could you write a Gyomei Himejima x reader smut. Because I think her would be SO gentle if her ate them out. And would constantly check in on her and maybe at the some after care. - ANON

A/NOTE :: This has been re uploaded bc it wasn't showing up in tags :(

m.list | demon slayer m.list

You were sprawled out beneath Gyomei, your legs over his beefy shoulders and your head thrown back against the plushy pillow beneath your head. There was also a smaller pillow propped underneath your hips, Gyomei said that it would make it more comfy for you and it did. He always worried about your pleasure and comfort.

"G-Gyo," you whimper out as his nose bumps against your clit.

"Are you okay?" he asks, worried about how much your voice was whimpering at the small amount of contact with your most sensitive area.

You squirm under the hold Gyomei's hand on your thighs, back subtly arching into his face, wanting to indulge further in his touch.

"Yeah," you say breathlessly.

"You'll be alright, my love," Gyomei reassures, placing soft and fluttery kisses on your stomach.

You shiver underneath the simple gestures, awaiting when he puts his tongue and fingers to use.

"'M know, Gyo," you replied, your fingers interlacing with his short black strands. "You're jus' so big."

Gyomei lifts his head towards yours, wondering what you meant as his intent was to pleasure you on his tongue. However, he quickly realises that you were referring to how thick only one of his fingers was, and he would usually use two. A frown crosses onto his face, worried that through out all the times you tow have been intimate with each other, he had been causing you pain.

"Have I been causing you pain, my love?" he asked worriedly.

"Wha-! No, Gyo," you replied. "It's just' you're so much sometimes, takes me so long to get used to and I finish so quick."

You finish so quickly because of the sheer size of him.

Gyomei descends once more to your most sensitive area, your soaked cunt. "You need to tell me if I hurt you."

"You never hurt me, Gyo," you said while a shaky breath leaves your mouth.

A whimper leaves your mouth when he places a kiss on your clit and your thighs clench around his head. You attempt to arch away from the overwhelming sensation but Gyomei's grip keeps you in place.

"G-Gyo," you moan out.

"I know, love," Gyomei reassures. "It's okay, I'm here, tell me if it's too much."

God, he was so gentle with you that it felt like you would break beneath his touch. His grasp on your thighs somewhat relaxed, giving you a tangible reassurance that you could pull away if necessary. However, he cherished it because you were so little in comparison to him and beneath him that he was afraid to shatter you.

Once more, Gyomei's nose brushes up against your delicate clit, and your grip on his hair tightened. A satisfied sigh seeps through him into your folds as a mewl from your full lips.

"Are you okay?" he asks before licking a long stripe up your folds and you moan, your back arching and your cunt pressing further into his face which he relished in.

You whimpered before answering, trying to gather your scattered thoughts, "Yeah, 'm am, Gyo."

He loves you so intensely it hurts, and your response makes his heart sing. His tongue climbs up from your wet hole to your clit while you let out a moan. Your thighs tighten around his head as a result of his constriction, and as you grind down on his face, a moan echoes through your clit. Your lips were filled with chants of his name, and he relished every moment of it.

"Gyo, f-feels s' good," you moan, tears welling in your lash line, he was making you feel so good.

"You're okay?" Gyomei asks.

When you feel a thick finger push past your closing walls, you furiously nod your head, your eyes expand, and you cry with delight. It felt so fantastic that you never want it to finish, even though you thought you would break because he was so huge.

His finger pressed up against that soft spot inside your walls. Gyomei was slow with his pace as he curled his fingers every time he entered your cunt, along with sucking and licking at your puffy, sensitive clit.

"You're being so good, you're doing so well," Gyomei moans against you, refusing to rut his hips into the mattress, this was your pleasure, not his own.

A moan arouses from you and your hips grind themselves onto his face. He let you for once have some sort of control over the situation, and he decided that if you came quicker he'll let you do it more often. "That's it," he praised.

His motions become more rapid and needy as you cry his name through broken letters, and the one hold he held on your leg tightens. Your stomach coil tightened, and your fingers wrapped around his locks to stop him from moving and make him sigh deeper into your folds.

The only thing the groans did was push you over the edge, and when he placed his tongue firmly against your clit, a quiet scream from your lips. Your stomach coil unwound, soaking his face completely.

He slowly removed his fingers from your drenched pussy, your cum spilling out from your puffy folds. Before rising his head, he places a kiss on your clit and your mewl softly in overstimulation.

"Are you alright, love?" he asks worried, kissing away the pleasure-caused tears streaming down your cheeks and the side of your face.

You hmm in peaceful contentment as he peppers gentle and soothing kisses to your face. "I am, dear," you reply.

"You did so well, you took me so well," Gyomei praises.

A mumbled thank you leaves your lips before you wrap your arms around Gyomei. "I'm s' tired," you slur out.

"I'll clean you up, don't worry," Gyomei says. "I'll wash you up."

Your eyes widen, "But what about you?"

"Giving you pleasure makes me feel more pleasured than anything," he reassures before adding, "Let's go clean up." And he picks you up to take you to the bath.

The warm steam rises from the bathwater as you and Gyomei settle into the large, wooden tub, its surface rippling gently with the movement of your bodies. The fragrant scent of lavender and eucalyptus fills the air.

Gyomei helps you ease into the bath, his strong hands guiding you gently. The water is pleasantly hot, enveloping you in a soothing embrace. As you both get comfortable, Gyomei sits behind you, his broad back against the tub’s edge, creating a space for you to lean back against him.

So warm.

He takes a soft washcloth and dips it into the warm water, wringing it out before gently placing it on your shoulders. His touch is careful, his movements deliberate as he begins to wash away any pain or soreness that you have gotten.

"You did so good for me," he murmurs, his voice a calming rumble against your ear. "I’m proud of you, you're so good."

You close your eyes, savouring the tenderness of his touch and the warmth of the water. Gyomei's hands move with care, his touch so gentle with your body, ensuring you feel safe and loved by him.

As he washes your back, he occasionally leans forward to press soft kisses to your neck and shoulders, each one causing butterflies to rise in your stomach. You can feel his breath on your skin, adding an extra layer of warmth.

After you’ve been thoroughly pampered, Gyomei carefully helps you rinse off, his hands guiding the water over your body with a steady, reassuring touch. He then takes a moment to gently brush your hair, running his fingers through it.

Once the washing is done, he wraps you in a large, fluffy towel, his movements slow as he dries you off with care. His touch is gentle, making sure every inch of your skin is dried and warm. His steady heartbeat and the warmth of his body against yours create a sense of profound peace, and you feel a deep connection with him.

"You’re my everything," he whispers, his voice filled to the brim with love. "I want to take care of you always."

You smile, resting your head on his chest, and let the soothing warmth body against you lull you to sleep in his hold, because you know that if you fall asleep, he will be there to dress you and take to to bed. And you will be safe in his arms.

Do not copy, steal, modify, etc. Relogs and like are appreciated.

m.list | demon slayer m.list

#gyomei himejima x you #gyomei fluff #gyomei x you #gyomei x reader smut #himejima gyomei smut #himejima gyomei x reader #gyomei himejima x reader #gyomei x reader #gyomei smut #demon slayer x fem reader #demon slayer smut

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sierra-r-a-e · 3 months

Text

ProHero!Kirishima w/ an overstim kink x fem!Reader

wc: 792

cw: overstimulation kink, multiple orgasms, PIV sex, male and female overstimulation, multiple rounds, use of quirks, missionary position, implied oral sex (fem-receiving), aged-up Kirishima (obviously)

MDNI under the cut

Ejiro Kirishima had always considered himself to be somewhat of a composed man, one that was able to keep himself together in just about any situation. This was one of the few exceptions to that.

Here he was inside of your warm, wet walls that was always so snug around his thick cock, as if your pussy was specifically made for him. He felt like he was about to burst any minute, but he held on, determined to make you finish one more time; despite the many orgasms he had already given you.

He just couldn't stop himself, not when you looked so pretty writhing in pleasure underneath him, hot tears streaking down your face. "One more baby, give me one more", he'd say, gently wiping your tears away with his thumb; even though that's what he said two orgasms ago. You looked up at him, tears threatening to fall over your lash line any second, your lips slightly swollen from how much he'd been making out with you.

Your eyes are rolling to the back of your head from the overwhelming pleasure. "t's too much", you say, almost completely drunk off his dick. "C'mon sweet girl, you can take it", he says in your ear, his words making you tighten around him. His gentle words the complete opposite of the brutal pace at which he thrusted his cock into you.

The way he's panting and moaning around your ear was driving you closer and closer to your sweet release. "Oh fuck, I'm so close~", you moan as he tries to muffle his own sounds in your shoulder. "Cum for me, baby", he moans out. You feel him shift his weight, one of his hands sliding between your bodies to rub your clit.

All it takes is for the pad of his thumb to circle your clit twice before he has you convulsing around his cock, crying out his name in ecstasy as your orgasm washes over you in waves.

The feeling of your pussy tightening around him oh-so-sweetly as you cum, completely sends him over the edge. His worn-out body desperately humps into you, filling you up with a load of his warm, sticky cum. He moans out your name as he reaches his high, letting out a few whimpers from how hard his release hit him.

You thought that he'd stop there, thinking that he's finally finished. Oh, how you were so wrong; he used his quirk to harden his cock again right after he came. Then, he began fucking into you with newfound stamina— not that he didn't already have an impressive amount to begin with.

Your pussy was still overly sensitive from your previous orgasm, and with the way he ruthlessly continued to rut into you, he not only overstimulated you, but also himself in the process. He lifted his head out of the crook of your neck, and you had never seen such a fucked-out expression on his face.

His bottom lip was between his teeth, his eyes were rolling into the back of his skull, his brows were furrowed, all with a pretty pink blush coating his cheeks. The only noises that could be heard were the incoherent moans and whimpers of each other's names and the astonishingly lewd squelching sound that came from your soaked pussy every time his pelvis met yours.

He has his eyes on where your pussy and his dick connect, a white ring forming around the base of his cock from all of your previous combined releases.

Soon enough, you began to feel a familiar sensation bubbling up in your abdomen— except this time, something was off. The tip of his dick perfectly kissed your sweet spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure throughout your body. "You feel so good, m' gonna cum again~!" You moan, already beginning to see stars from the overwhelming buildup of pleasure in your core.

You didn't even have time to register the weird feeling building up in your gut before your high hit you like a truck with hardly any warning, making you squirt for the first time in your life. Seeing you gush around his cock like that, it was almost too much for him to handle. "Oh, fuck", he moans, cumming unexpectedly from the sight alone.

"Holy shit, did you just squirt?" He asks breathlessly after he came down from his high. "Do you think you can do that again? I want it on my face this time", he says, getting off of you and practically manhandling you to the edge of the bed. Then, he kneels down to be face-to-face with your pussy.

That's when you realized that this is going to be a very long night.

I apologize for the rushed ending, my back was killing me 😭

Please let me know your thoughts on this, it was kinda bad bc I'm not entirely familiar with this character 🙏

Divider credits go to @ saradika-graphics

Request by my one and only best friend: @arwenisepik

#kirishima eijirou #mha #mha x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #kirishima x reader #mha kirishima #kirishima smut #mha smut #bnha smut #mha drabbles #mha headcannons #bnha headcannons #bnha drabbles #kirishima drabble #kirishima headcanon

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year

Text

Yandere Miguel O'Hara Headcanons

Warnings: 18+, Depictions of Smut, Implied Non-Con, Breeding, Kidnapping, Restraining, Yandere Miguel, Obsessive Miguel, Possessive Miguel, Implied Female Reader, Implied Gender-Neutral Reader, No Pronouns used for Reader Except ‘You’.

You took him in after you found him collapsed on the rooftop of your apartment, a thick, bleeding gouge along his side. And, initially, he was very suspicious of you, found your generosity – your eagerness to clean and dress his wound, to bring him a fresh change of clothes, to offer him a warm meal – a cause for alarm.

But, you made your intentions with him quite clear; that you only wished to help, to make sure he was fully-healed before he descended upon the world once more.

He did try to leave. Truly, he did. But your proclamations that he needed rest and the nice warm bed you’d offered him forced his body to succumb before his mind did.

As convincing as you may be, Miguel is still highly cautious of you. Tuning into his senses, trying to detect poison in his food or a hidden enemy in your apartment.

But, for the days he’s there, Miguel picks up nothing.

You tell him about yourself – anything and everything he’d like to know – often sitting by his side and answering every question he asks of you: your name, your job; the basics. And, eventually, he opens up to you. Marginally. Tells you a little bit about why he’s here.

He only tells you he - and his associates – are in pursuit of a highly dangerous target. Of course, he omits the part about the fate of the Multiverse hanging squarely on the success of this mission, and he just can’t seem to bring himself to as your eyes fill with wonder and curiosity, your attention solely on him.

And he can’t help but indulge you when you ask him if he has any stories about his time as a superhero.

He relents. Tells you of missions which bear little weight on the universe you reside in – nothing that could endanger you should you tell another soul. And you listen with an eagerness he wished his subordinates would display, even if only for theatrics’ sake.

You tell him how lucky the world is to have a hero like him – how lucky you are to even be talking to him, seeing as you’re just a civilian.

Your earnest nature makes something in him tick. Something he can’t place his finger on.

As the days fly by, he finds himself racking his brain for more stories to tell you, more tales to regale where he comes out on top, ever the hero he is.

It helps bury some of the guilt that lingers in his heart, fractals of a universe he’s shattered. Makes him feel as if he’s not entirely a failure.

Whenever you leave the apartment – for work or for shopping – Miguel wanders around, watches some TV, formulates his game plan for when he has to leave.

That last one brings him a little too much anxiety for his liking, so he often finds himself thinking of you instead to ease his nerves.

Something, initially, he’s somewhat shocked by. But the longer he does it, the more natural it feels. The more vivid his daydreams become.

He tries never to let them stray into lewd territory, but after he accidentally caught sight of you undressing, his mind has been urging him to visit some...unsavoury places.

He only permits brief trips there when you’re out of the house, and never for very long.

The two of you fall into a routine while he’s healing; you come home and prepare him dinner, he comes and helps you – even when you tell him he should be resting. Then, you eat together and watch a film.

One evening, close to his departure – Miguel knows he hasn’t long with you left – you fell asleep on him, your face resting on his shoulder.

He dared not move for fear of disturbing you, losing you.

Then, his heart…fluttered.

And, as you slept soundly on him, with all the trust in the world, he realised that nobody had been this close to him – physically – since…

Since he lost his universe.

The idea that someone could take this for granted, the simple act of trust, that they could take advantage of yours, shot through him, a bullet of realisation. And the pain only sears as he looks upon your face, oblivious to the thoughts racing through his mind, through the minds of others – criminals and low-lifes who would kill you for no reason.

He couldn’t leave you.

Not here, and not on your own.

He knows it’s selfish, but, in another vein, he believes he’s saving you. Being the hero you see him as.

The next day, he’s fully-healed. And he has a proposition for you.

“Go…with you ?” you say, eyebrow raised. “Miguel, I don’t underst-”

“You don’t need to,” he says. “But what you do need to know is that you’re not safe here.”

“What makes you think that ?” You cross your arms over your chest, as if to contain – hide – the suspicion growing there. Miguel brings a hand to the back of his neck, rubs it, tilts his head back.

“Listen, I just know things– things that make me qualified to tell you that you, on your own, in this universe, are not safe.”

Miguel knows he’s getting nowhere with you. Especially since he made no effort to explain his multiversal goings-ons to you when he first arrived. So, he shows you.

He takes you by the hand and, willingly, you go with him. To him, that’s confirmation – submission. Your compliance with his whims.

He brings you to a universe where everything is oddly…liminal. Like an early 2010’s Microsoft desktop wallpaper. Just green hills, a distant forest encircling the land, and a house. Big enough to fit a family of considerable size.

Made to fit you and Miguel.

By the time you realise anything’s wrong, out of the ordinary (aside from being shown inter-dimensional travel), Miguel’s dropping a bombshell on you.

“This is your new home,” he says, standing behind you. He’s so close you can feel his warmth against your back. He places a hand on your shoulder. Squeezes it. “Our new home.”

Any shock that overcomes you is overpowered with the sense of dread that you’ve walked right into Miguel’s trap. That, just as he’d warned you, someone had taken advantage of your kind, trusting nature.

You can fight as much as you want, but Miguel’s got his heart set on you. And your future here.

You see, while you were caring for Miguel, showing him the concern and attentiveness he’s been starved of for years, his mind had begun to wander. Wondered what you’d be like with him if you were always together. Wondered how you’d act if you were to care for a child.

His child.

He’ll try to convince you of this ideal, that this is right and is what’s best for you, but if you keep resisting, you’ll see his possessive side emerge. His anger.

Red eyes, pinning you to the wall, nostrils flared; he is not losing you. And if he needs to frighten you into this new life, then so be it. Though, he wants you to adjust naturally, to want what he wants, to, dare he say, love him as he loves you.

And if you’re not going to submit to him willingly, he’ll take it by force.

If you’re capable of bearing children, he creates a strict regiment wherein he takes you, filling you with his load. At first, this was once a day – every two days if he was busy.

Initially, he’d string you up to the ceiling by your legs after finishing, “To make sure it takes,” he told you. And it doesn’t matter how hard you struggle; his webs are steadfast. Stubborn.

But, as he became more ravenous, more enemaoured by the prospect of keeping you, of breeding you, he became sloppy. Desperate. The thought of you swollen with his offspring hits him while he’s at work, during the downtime between missions.

At which point he just takes care of himself, panting your name in the bathroom stall before finishing and returning to work as normal.

Then it became more frequent, occurring while he’s on missions, during integral moments. At this point, he tries to suppress it, save it for later. After all, it’s not like he has a choice.

And that’s when he’d come and pay you a midnight visit, girthy and stiff and eyes red with the carnal need to fill you again and again until your stomach bulged.

That regime he’d set up unravelled, and now he takes you at every convenience, every chance he gets, pinning you to a web and making sure you can’t struggle if you’re particularly resistant.

At first, he did feel guilty about this; guilty that he was the one hurting you, causing you to cry, to beg for him not to finish inside you as you told him you weren’t ready to have a child.

And, during this period, he would wear his mask. He thought it would offer him some protection against your tear-streaked, anguished stare, your pleas for him to let you go, to return you home.

It didn’t.

He tries to comfort you, to tell you that you’ll “Love being a parent – just give it a chance,” as he pumps his hot load into you, holding you close to him.

Depending on his mood, he can be very gentle or very rough.

When he’s gentle, he whispers in your ear, tells you how much you mean to him, how he loves you more than you’ll ever know.

When he’s rough, he’s merciless. And gone is the tender love he’d subject you to, replaced with growls and claims that he needs you, that he won’t stop fucking you until you’re filled with his offspring.

He has a web created specifically for when he breeds you – where he attaches you to it upside down, making sure your chances of pregnancy are maximised. He fucks you here too, sometimes. And while blood is rushing to your head from being upside down, Miguel’s pounding the life out of you, panting, sweating, moaning your name.

He can go for many, many rounds. His superhuman stamina and strength make him unstoppable when it comes to you.

He’ll keep going long after you’ve finished or while you’re unconscious and exhausted from his barrage, never ceasing until he stuffs his cum into you, holding you to him, pressing kisses to your face as he tells you what a good job you’ve done, how well you’ve taken him.

If you do end up pregnant, Miguel is never letting you go.

You can say goodbye to any chances of getting back to your universe when he finds out you’re bearing his child.

And you can’t hide it from him, either. His hearing and perception tell him you’re expecting even before you’re aware of it.

By that point, the only thing you can do is just accept that this is your life now. Doing so early on will make your existence with Miguel little more than bearable. Because if you aren’t excited or tolerant of this child, Miguel will string you up in your bedroom.

“For your own good,” he tells you, his eyes flickering down to your stomach. His eyes soften, fill with warmth. “And the baby’s.”

If he suspects you’ll try to hurt yourself or the baby, he’ll take drastic measures to ensure neither of those things happen; restraining you, placing you into an induced sleep, cocooning you.

If you can’t have children, he’ll simply take one from another universe and tell you that the two of you will raise them together.

If he suspects anyone or anything else is going to try to hurt you or the baby, he’ll destroy it. No questions asked.

He’s indiscriminate, too.

Even if it were one of his associates – someone he’s worked alongside for years – they’re all superficial to him.

His only concern is you.

And he’ll make sure you’re loved and cared for forever.

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

#miguel o'hara #miguel o hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o hara x reader #spiderman 2099 #spider verse #into the spider verse #spiderman #yandere spiderman #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel ohara x y/n #yandere #spiderman x reader

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targaryen-dynasty · 6 months

Text

STRESS RELIEF.

Daemon Targaryen x female!Reader

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT-MINORS DNI; implied canon typical incest/ targcest (no named relationship other than husband & wife but reader speaks high valyrian), oral (m receiving), balls sucking, balls worship, cock slapping, breeding kink, fem reader (no mentions of appearance)

WORDS: 2.9 K

NOTES: I KNOW I said you won't get anything from me for the next two weeks, but this is an old story I love and edited, and I'm always in the mood to suck his balls. Ty Lana @zaldritzosrose 🤍

❗️𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

The door to your chambers bursting open with a thud, the thick wood slamming against the old masonry of Maegor’s Holdfast, is what forcefully pulls you out of your slumber.

As your eyes shoot open, you need a few seconds to adjust to the dim light of your chambers, the flame of the fireplace long extinguished and indicating it’s been a while since you found sleep.

Every sense of tiredness that has lingered in your bones vanishes suddenly at the noisy intrusion, more so as you spot the armor-clad silhouette of your husband standing at the threshold of your marital quarters.

He appears to be even more bulky and bull-like with the natural broadness of his shoulders accentuated by the heavy armor and the golden cloak, and just that sight alone has an aching desire filling your veins.

It’s the closer look you take that makes you aware of his labored breathing, chest rising and falling with heaving breaths, almost seeming as though he’s in great stress.

Whenever Daemon barges into your chambers at this hour, still wearing his armor, you know he needs to be consoled and pampered.

“Husband?” Your soft voice finally pierces through the silence, still thick with sleep from being awoken so abruptly.

A few, determined strides is all it takes him to enter the room, closing the door behind him as loudly as he’s opened it before. Although you know something is plaquing his mind, and that he’s not usually as harsh towards you as this, you still flinch at the thud.

Sitting up straight with the bedcovers bunched in front of your breasts, you have a puzzled look on your face. One of the few things Daemon has established fairly early into your marriage was the strict prohibition of you wearing any kind of smallclothes or nightgowns to bed, as he wants you to lie just as bare next to him as he always does.

He always states that there are quite a few practical reasons for it, with easier and quicker access to your cunt being the main one of them. Albeit you know for certain that he just loves to feel your skin on his when he falls asleep, solely embraced by the warmth and softness of your body snuggled up against his.

Clashing of metal accompanies his heavy footsteps as he approaches you, stern gaze fixed on your small frame.

The closer he gets, the more you are able to make out his chiseled features with long strands of his silver-blonde hair framing them perfectly. Even in the almost non-existent light of your chambers you notice the dark blown eyes, the adored lilac almost fully eclipsed by pitch black.

“Va aōha ybon,” he rasps, voice deep and commanding, and leaving no space for any kind of objection. On your knees.

You comply swiftly, the bedcovers thrown aside to reveal your naked form. A somewhat feral growl ripples through your husband’s chest at the sight, the curves and dips of your body enhanced by the light the moon casts through the windows.

The stone floor feels cold and hard as you sink to your knees, causing you to shift your weight from one knee to the other and back, trying to mend the discomfort at least slightly.

It usually requires your help to strip him off his heavy armor, but much to your surprise, Daemon manages to shred himself out of the majority of it all by himself, driven by sheer lust and hunger for you.

Where his silver hair is usually well combed and neat, the loose tresses now cascade down his shoulders and back visibly tousled and dirty.

Your hands lie folded in your lap, thumbs brushing over each other in a way to keep yourself calm. You have been married to Daemon for two summers, but know his silence never means anything good. It is threatening, and more often than not getting you into trouble, because he always has something to say.

As he stands in front of you in his full glory, only clad in a pair of dark breeches and a loose tunic, you hesitantly reach to place a hand on his sturdy thigh while his hand cups your cheek in return. Finding yourself leaning into the touch, you’re quickly repulsed as you catch a whiff of what smells like sweat, dirt and… iron.

“What have you done today?“ you ask innocently, though you aren’t sure if you want to hear his reply – that means if you even get one.

While the pad of his thumb brushes over the curve of your lips, his other hand slowly unlaces the front of his breeches, easing the confines of his half-hard member, and causing a wave of arousal to seep out of your cunt, anticipation making it clench around nothing.

“Oh, we have restored law and order,“ he purrs, the cocky smirk on his lips indicating that he’s more than satisfied with the outcome of it all. “The Kingsguard cleaned the streets from the city‘s scum.“

Listening intently, you just nod in acknowledgement, not at all surprised by your husband‘s actions. “And does the king know you did that?“

“I do not care if the king knows or not,“ he spits, impatiently tugging the front of his breeches down just enough to free his cock and stones. “He is blind, guided by the incompetent leech that claims to be his hand.“

A musky scent hits your nose when you catch sight of his thick cock. His musky scent, mixed with the salty smell of sweat. It has you licking your lips like a greedy whore, and if anything, you love it. It’s a sharp reminder that you have married a hardworking and ambitious man, and not a boy.

Your hand instinctively curls around his member, your index finger and thumb barely touching. His girth has always been something that impresses you. He’s considerable, leaving you wondering at times how it even fits into your mouth and cunt.

You slowly tug him to full hardness, stroking him the way you know he likes, even though your pace is a bit slower than usual. You listen to him rant about his brother, and the insolence of his hand, Otto Hightower, merely humming whenever your husband expects you to.

Once his cock stands to full attention, throbbing in your hand, you release it and instead fondle his stones, heavy and hot in your hand. The fleshy pouch they sit in is a bit darker than the rest of his pale skin and visibly sagged, but doesn’t hang too low.

Your actions earn a disapproving tsk from Daemon, despite the visible twitching of his cock at the new stimulation, and he wastes no time in fisting a good bit of your hair to shove your face towards his crotch. The scent is more prominent the closer you get, but not at all repulsing. Instead, it arouses you even more.

You’re not sure if it’s Daemon‘s usual lack of patience or his abnormal obsession with the king and his entourage that makes him greedy and needy for your touch, but you decide to not give in to him so easily.

Gently squeezing and fondling the sack of his stones, your tongue licks a flat stripe from the base of his member up to the bulbous tip of it. A salty taste lingers on your tongue, the few beads of his arousal quickly gathered and swallowed by you. You hum appreciatively at the taste, seemingly pleased to witness the affect your touch and presence has on your husband‘s body.

A sharp tug on your hair catches your attention and makes you yelp, your wide eyes finding your husband‘s demanding ones. “Quit playing games,“ he growls. A warning. But he should know by now that you are not one of his hounds, and what works with them doesn’t necessarily intimidate you.

Your tongue swirls around the tip of his cock, kitten-licking it until his heavy pants are replaced by annoyed huffs and grunts. Daemon doesn’t like you teasing him – not when he craves relief.

You keep your eyes neatly trained on him, studying his changing expressions to know whenever you’re playing with fire, and when it is best to follow his commands. Switching the positions of your mouth and hand, warmth brushes your face before the familiar musk seeps into your head.

Closing your eyes as all your senses are clouded by him, you latch on Daemon’s sac of stones, nuzzling your nose into the dark, coarse hair to take one of them in your mouth. Low purrs ripple from your throat, sending vibrations through his body.

You haven’t noticed, but your thighs clench and unclench repeatedly with each suck of your mouth, trying to soothe the aching settling at the apex of your legs. However, it doesn’t grant you the friction you crave.

“My, my, now look at that,“ Daemon coos. “Sucking my stones like a common whore. So desperate to have your mouth filled by me, hm?“

The condescending tone of his voice sends shivers up your spine, and you keen at the degrading nature of his words, moaning around his slightly slacked flesh.

Daemon is unable to tear his dark blown eyes from your full mouth struggling to take both of his stones. You’re trying so hard, but your mouth isn’t slack enough, causing you to nearly choke yourself trying to please him.

Droplets of your saliva dribble from the corners of your mouth down your chin, gathering in your jugular notch, and really making you look like you belong to the Street of Silk; a common whore desperate for her mouth to be stuffed by something, and not caring if it was filled by his stones or cock.

While you are messily suckling the sack of his stones, you tease a few licks up his length, tracing the prominent vein on the underside of it with the tip of your tongue.

You relish in the way he twitches and squirms under your touch, the deep grunts only spurring you on even more. But you also are soaked for him, core clenching and aching, begging to be used.

Daemon has started to tug himself off at the sight of your lips around his flesh, big hand the perfect size for his considerable length, while his other tightly fists into your hair to keep you where he wants you.

You hollow your cheeks around him, sucking with the tip of your tongue dragging over the sensitive skin. The familiar taste of manhood lingers on your tongue, and your jaw goes slack, finally managing to engulf his whole sac with your mouth. But when you try to pull away for a breath, Daemon only snorts and pulls you right back to his stones.

He harshly tugs on your hair, tilting your head back so you are forced to look at him when he slaps his hard cock against your face. Your saliva adds a sheen to his flushed skin, making him glisten in the dim light, and catches your attention, your eyes trailing over the length of his cock – you want nothing more than to feel those veins on your tongue.

As his cock repeatedly makes contact with your swollen lips and cheeks, the indecency of it all sends heat straight through your body, for it’s the first time he has ever done something like that.

Daemon bows forward, looming over your frame but coming close enough for you to feel his breath fanning over your face. Goosebumps prickle on your skin, and his intense lilac eyes send desire straight to your jumbled mind.

“What a wanton harlot you are,” his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “Whores of the Silk Street do such things.”

While his degrading words go straight to your head, making you eager for more, you still cower beneath his dominating presence. “Yn ao hae ziry,” you reply, cocking your head sideways in an innocent way. But you like it.

It seems that your feigned innocence doesn’t convince him, because you suddenly feel something warm and wet dripping down your cheeks; his saliva. He has spat on your cheek, spreading it over your heated skin with a satisfied smirk ghosting over his features. Daemon rarely enjoys having you talk back at him, to tease him, and right now clearly isn’t one of those moments.

At the realization of what he’s just done, you feel your voice tighten in your throat, your lips pressing into a thin line as embarrassment floods your veins.

“Gaoman, yn…,” he muses, bending back and tracing the tip of his length along the slit of your pouty lips. “...nyke hae ziry tolī skori gaomā daor ȳdragon rȳ mirre.” With these words leaving his lips, his cock hits your cheek once again, almost as if he’s making fun of you. I do, but I like it more when you do not speak at all.

The grip on your hair loosens only for him to cup your cheek, fingertips digging sharply into the flushed skin of your cheeks. His other hand repeatedly taps the tip of his cock against your swollen lips in a demanding manner, begging for entrance.

“Open your mouth, or else I am opening it for you.”

You wet your lips, just the mere thought of having him down your throat causes a sense of soreness to linger in the back of it, and Daemon seems to notice your apprehension.

“I see your mouth begging for my cock, you filthy slut. Don’t act like an insufficient brat for you have done this plenty of times before.” He is right, but that doesn’t mean you’ll ever get used to his sheer size. Your thoughts, however, are cut short because Daemon isn’t Daemon, if he doesn’t take matters into his own hands.

The tip of his cock prods against your lips, and with the grip on your face tightening, you are all but forced to part them for him. There’s only little to no time to adjust to his size granted to you, because he sheaths himself inside of you in one, swift thrust.

A few seconds pass in which neither of you moves. Your nose is nuzzled against his pubic bone, the tip of it brushing the wispy trail of his hair, and you try to stifle the urge to gag and choke around him, your hands getting ahead with clutching his muscular thighs to keep yourself grounded.

Every muscle of his body twitches with pleasure as he grows accustomed to the warmth and tightness of you, his head tipping back to release a bawdy groan.

And then his hips start to buck into your mouth, allowing a wave of fresh air to fill your lungs when he almost completely pulls out; only the tip remaining embraced between your lips. A firm hand locks behind your head to stop you from pulling back.

Daemon’s hips thrust into your mouth with reckless abandon like he belonged into it, the bulbous tip hitting the back of your throat but never giving you anything you can’t handle. He knows you can take it, and that you like it.

The lewd noises of his soaked cock easing in and out of your warm mouth fill the room, spurring him on even more. At this point, you are soaking wet for him, droplets of your arousal leaking onto the stone floor beneath your legs.

Your cheeks hollow around him as you choke and sputter around his length, spit dribbling down your chin and bosom. His stones tighten with his cock throbbing on your tongue, ready to spend himself down your throat at any given moment, your previous teasing clearly coming in handy.

There are tears brimming in your eyes, unhelpful when all you want is to look up at him, watch how he scrunches his brow and puckers his lips as he gazes at you in rapture.

“That’s it,” Daemon groans, the pace of his hips faltering as he chases his release. “Take it all.” And that is when you felt it.

His hot seed spills down your throat, coating your tongue. You gag slightly when his hips start to stutter, cock twitching and pulsing with the force of his peak. Droplets of his seed spill from the corners of your mouth, mixing with your saliva and dribbling down your chin while you struggle to swallow the rest.

Nonsense spews out of his mouth as his groans grow more wanton, no doubt losing awareness of his volume. You are destined to be the main topic of the court's whispers in the morrow, just like your mother and father have been before you.

His fingers comb through your hair slowly, stroking your head as if he’s thanking you for a job well done, while he rides out his peak with languid thrusts of his hips.

When he finally stops to regain his composure, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath he takes, he allows you to pull back from him, a string of your saliva connecting your swollen lips with the bulbous head of his cock, only breaking as you lick your lips to gather the remnants of his spent.

“Ñuha sȳz riña,” he rasps, pulling you up on your feet to capture your lips in a heated kiss. The taste of him on your tongue spreads over his tongue and causes him to groan. My good girl.

Like a man possessed, he flips you around and easily throws you onto your marital bed. When you land on your stomach with him following closely behind, mounting you and straddling your arse, you squeal and chuckle, ecstatic that it’s finally your turn.

“Tonight is the night I shall put a child into you. I want to see your body swell with my seed.”

Daemon Taglist: @barbiedragon @hypocritic-trash-baby @schniiipsel @avalyaaa @baizzhu @yn-jackson

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techhasmjolnir · 7 months

Text

Dealer's Choice

Plot: You and the guys are enjoying some downtime in between missions, and one night you all decide to kill some time by playing a game. Things quickly take a bawdy turn.

Author's Notes:

Many thanks to @zoeykallus and her wonderful “Truth or Dare” story as the inspiration for me to finally craft a poly Batch tale.

Unlike my other works, there's a general description of the reader as someone that's into body modifications (piercings and tattoos). Additionally, assume the reader has a contraceptive implant. No other description of the reader is implied, nor should it be inferred. This story also assumes that the interest is there between the reader and the boys, but they're not yet in a relationship.

Sit back and set aside some time to read this one, for it comes in with a word count of 14,009.

Important Notes:

This content is strictly for audiences 18+. The roles in this story assume female readers and all members of the Bad Batch. Concepts introduced include: creampie, cum eating, cum swapping, dirty talk, female ejaculation, M & F masturbation, M & F oral (giving & receiving), PiV, toys

A collective sigh of relief comes from you and the men you've spent the past year working with, the specialist troopers of Clone Force 99. After bouncing endlessly between missions, the word is finally given that all of you are to take a standard Galactic month off for much-needed R & R, and to spend time overhauling the Marauder. You look forward to going home to your countryside villa on Naboo, and extend the offer for the guys to stay with you instead of spending their nights on the ship.

“This is some place you've got here, Y/N,” Wrecker says, his head swiveling around to look at the large vestibule into which everyone is gathered.

“This is nothing,” you reply, groaning as you let your heavy backpack slide off your shoulders. “You should see some of the villas out in Lake Country. This place? It's modest, by Naboo standards. I did the best I could hoarding credits away for years during my time as a bounty hunter in order to be able to afford it.”

“Bounty hunter? I suppose that explains how you ended up with us,” Tech chimes in as he pushes his lenses back in place. “Mercenary work is a natural extension of bounty hunting, in terms of a general skill set.”

“You're not wrong about that, Tech. I may not have enhanced tracking abilities like Hunter, but I more than make up for it elsewhere. All right, since all of you are going to be crashing here for the next month, you're more than welcome to occupy any of the spare bedrooms on the second or third floors. It looks like the housekeeper was here just recently, so everything should be cleaned and in full working order. I don't know about the rest of you, but I've been dying for a real shower ever since we were holed up in that dump on Tatooine!”

“Don't remind me,” Crosshair remarks. “I think I still have the stench of bantha on me.”

“I thought it was obvious it was their breeding season,” Tech slyly adds, never missing the opportunity to get digs in on Crosshair whenever possible.

“Enough, you two,” Hunter interrupts. “Grab your gear and head upstairs. Y/N's been gracious enough to let us stay here instead of being miserable in the Marauder every night, so let's at least try and act somewhat civil.”

You let out a cackle and painstakingly re-shoulder your backpack. “All right, you guys. Go upstairs and get settled. How about we reconvene in a few hours for something to eat, and maybe start unwinding with a game or two?” You start walking off to your bedroom, stopping to turn around when you hear Echo.

“Where are you going, Y/N?”

“Oh, my quarters are down here. I don't think there's enough room in there for all of us,” you tease.

You disappear down the hall toward your bedroom as the guys start making their way to the second floor, completely out of earshot as Crosshair casually says, “you want to make a bet?”

*****

“All right, guys, the rules are simple. All you have to do is spin the bottle, and whoever it points at is the one who will be asked “truth or dare.” If you pick truth, just answer the question honestly. We're all adults here, so there's no need to be embarrassed about anything. Same goes for dare. The only rule about dares is that you don't have to do them if it violates your personal ethics, or is a violation of whatever you consider to be your hard limits. You can rescind consent at any time and ask for a pass, or change it to truth. I just have a hard time believing you guys have never played this game before...I think almost every culture in this galaxy plays some version!”

“Remember, Y/N, we're from Kamino. “Fun” and “games” are two words that are not in the Kaminoans' language,” Hunter offers. “We did our best to amuse ourselves when we were boys as a means of escape from our harsh reality...but not with anything like this.”

“She doesn't need a trip down your memory lane, Hunter,” Crosshair sighs irritably, shifting his ubiquitous toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. “Are we doing this, or what?”

You roll your eyes and set an empty wine bottle on the floor. “Since you are my guests, one of you can spin the bottle first. Mmm, Wrecker, you want to do it?”

“Absolutely! Let me at it,” he says cheerily.

“Wrecker, mind your strength,” Tech warns. “We do not need you launching the bottle into the wall, or one of us.”

Wrecker's huge hand closes around the wine bottle and he gives it a deft spin. It slows and comes to a stop, the neck pointing at Crosshair. He chuckles and narrows his good eye as he looks at his brother's seemingly constant sour expression. “Oi, Cross...truth or dare?”

There's an audible crunch as Crosshair snaps the toothpick, hastily plucking the broken pieces out of his mouth. “Do I have to?” he grumbles.

“Do you have to be so disagreeable all the time, Crosshair?” you reply, half jokingly. Quiet laughter from the others ceases when you hold up your hand. “It's a harmless game. Just relax and play along. You might just have fun.”

“All right, fine. Truth,” he says churlishly.

Wrecker's face breaks out into a huge grin, and you have the feeling he's up to something. “Yes or no – do you have a crush on Y/N?”

Crosshair's eyes widen, heat stealing its way up the back of his neck and into his ears. You look around at the others, surprised that Wrecker would lead off with a very revealing question. Hunter is trying not to smile, and Echo and Tech share a knowing glance. You won't be surprised if Crosshair answers yes; it wouldn't be the first time someone admitted they had feelings for you while working closely together. The reactions of the others suggest your prediction is correct.

“Well? Do you?” Wrecker asks again, grinning madly.

Crosshair digs his fingertips into the arms of the chair in which he's sitting, his face slightly reddened. “Yes! Yes, all right? For fuck's sake, Wrecker, did you have to do that?” He turns his head away, not able to look at anyone, especially you.

Uproarious laughter fills the room as everyone finds it hysterical their normally unflappable brother is quite humiliated. The only one not laughing is you, because while you find it fitting that Crosshair is temporarily subdued, you're empathetic. You've always known Crosshair is a very private person, and admitting something like this represents a serious loss of control.

“Guys, please. Crosshair, it's your turn. Spin the bottle,” you say gently.

He sighs softly and turns to look at you, his cheeks tinged red. His dark eyes bore into yours and don't break your gaze as he leans down and forward, speedily grabbing it and setting it in motion. The bottle wobbles for a moment before it stops and points at you. You can hear Tech muttering something to Echo under his breath and for a split second, you have a feeling of apprehension. Crosshair's pride is hurt, and now that means he's unpredictable.

“Truth or dare, Y/N?” he sneers, completely evaporating whatever embarrassment he just felt.

Everyone's eyes are on you, keen to see if you'll accept a challenge from him. You look around and grin, chuckling softly. “Well, I hate to disappoint you, boys, but for the first round, I'm going to have to go with truth.”

One look at Crosshair's expression tells you exactly what he plans on doing; he's going to try and retaliate in an effort to fluster you. “Have you ever fantasized about any of us in a sexual way?”

You feel your heart start to race a little and you do your best to stay calm. Heat flows into your cheeks and as your expression softens, a little grin is riddled upon your lips. Ever since you became part of the squad, you've done your best to try and maintain an air of professionalism, but you're only human, and with five handsome men always in close contact with you, you certainly entertained thoughts of what it would be like to be with any one of them.

“Hey, are you in there?” Wrecker asks.

“I'm...thinking,” you reply slowly, the grin becoming a big smile. Finally you end up laughing, rolling your eyes as you speak. “Of course I have. Anyone with eyes would end up fantasizing about a group of incredibly attractive guys like you. There. Are you happy, Crosshair?”

He smirks at you, sitting back in his chair as he taps his cheek idly with his finger. “Not just yet, but give it some time. I think I will be.”

*****

“Are you ever going to accept a dare?” Crosshair complains. “I think you're playing coy on purpose.”

The game has been going on for awhile now, and it's been highly entertaining. The bulk of the racy questions have all been directed at you, and the only reason you've hesitated opting for a dare is because you know the minute you say yes, someone is going to get really creative, which will result in you losing an article of clothing. You're no stranger to being in various states of undress around men out in the field, and the guys are no exception, but you've never been completely naked around them.

“All right, all right! Fine! If you're that keen on it, I'll take a dare. Just make it a good one, Crosshair,” you say, feeling your heart starting to beat a little faster.

Crosshair grins and runs his hand through his hair, pausing briefly before speaking. “I think we've all learned quite a bit of...shall I say...interesting things about you tonight, Kitten.”

“Cross, don't call me that. You know I don't like it,” you sigh, rubbing your forehead. “Where are you going with this?”

“You wanted a good dare? I've been thinking about this all night, and it's something I think we're all going to like,” he says, a disconcerting grin emerging. “As long as you consent, of course.”

It doesn't escape your notice that Hunter flashes him a questioning look, and both Tech and Echo moved forward to the edge of one of the couches they're sitting on, clearly interested as to what could possibly be this good. Wrecker glances over at you, puzzled as to what Crosshair's about to do, and as you look over at him, you shrug. As you look back at Crosshair, he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a very hungry look in his eyes.

“I've consented to everything you boys have thrown at me tonight. I can handle whatever you come up with.”

“That's good to know, because you're going to strip down to nothing and stay that way the rest of the night.”

You flash him a look of defiance, momentarily catching him off guard. “Fine by me! I've got nothing to hide, and besides...” You pause and look around at the guys, all of whom have the tiniest of grins on their faces. “The likelihood of all of you not wanting to see me naked is precisely zero.”

Tech clears his throat a little nervously. “I do believe she's got us, there. Statistically speaking...”

“Tech, shut up for a moment, will you?” Crosshair snaps. “Y/N, you accepted the dare, so follow through with it.”

You slowly rise and roll your shoulders as you stretch. Sighing softly, you pull the tie for the lower back of your top, letting the ribbons flutter loosely around your hips. The guys have all gone quiet, watching with you with rapt interest. Closing your eyes, you let your head fall back a little as you reach up to loosen the ribbon at your neck, pulling away your top and letting it fall to the floor. You can hear someone's breath hitch in his throat as your chest is on full display. Heavy tattooing spans the area over your breasts and down your sternum, prominent steel rings in your nipples.

You open your eyes and Hunter, Crosshair, and Wrecker are looking at you completely awestruck. Glancing over your shoulder at Tech and Echo, you wink and flash them a sexy grin, chuckling as you see color beginning to creep into both their faces. “You won't be left out, boys. Just be patient.”

Might as well give them a little show, as long as I'm doing this, you think. Really give them something to get off on, later...

Sliding your thumbs under the waistband of your soft, loose pants, you start to roll your hips in an enticing manner, purposely making eye contact with Crosshair. You slowly begin to slide the material down, the silky shimmer of your black panties coming into view. He stares, completely enamored, shifting uncomfortably in his seat in an effort to disguise the fact he's starting to grow hard. Despite the fact that Tech and Echo are sitting behind you, they're getting as much of a show as the other three, and the moment your muscular ass comes into view, one of them accidentally lets slip a tiny groan. You grin and step out of your pants, casting them aside to join your top.

“Mm, someone's enjoying the view, am I right?” you say, your voice lowering seductively as you turn to look over at Wrecker, who's got his hands in his lap, trying to cover up his growing arousal. “Please, big guy, I'm not stupid. If anything, it's pretty fucking hot.”

You bring a hand to your chest, letting it linger between your breasts, as the other slides down your stomach and lightly grazes your pubic mound. Letting out a content sigh, you hook your index fingers in the band of your panties and begin to lower them almost agonizingly slow, stepping out of them carefully as you drop them with the rest of your clothes. You're careful not to reveal too much of yourself, but you can't help but part your legs just a little so that the ring in the hood of your clit is plainly visible.

“By the Maker...” you hear Tech utter quietly.

You raise your hands above your head and lazily turn yourself around in a full circle so everyone gets a full look at you, coming to a stop in front of Tech and Echo. The two of them can't stop themselves from looking you over head to toe, with Tech's attention turning to your hood piercing. A broad grin crosses your face as you take your index finger and let it rest under his chin, tipping his head up so his golden brown eyes meet yours.

“My eyes are up here, honey,” you laugh. “It's all right. You like what you see. There's no shame in that.” You look at Echo, his normally pale skin now flushed pink with arousal. “I think the same goes for you, too, dear.” You turn around to face Crosshair, a look of smug superiority on your face. “Well? I did it, and I managed to render you speechless. I consider that a rare victory...and I do believe it's my turn to spin the bottle.”

You sit down on the floor, keeping your legs closed and to the side. Giving the bottle a hefty spin, it eventually stops and points to Wrecker. “Truth or dare?” you ask, a little smile on your face. He looks over at you, blinking slowly as he makes up his mind. Heat floods his cheeks as he feels his cock twitch heavily under his hands. “Which one, Wrecker?”

“Truth,” he says hesitantly.

“Hm. If you could have one thing right now, what would it be?”

His mind immediately goes blank trying to think of something plausible, because he's embarrassed to tell you the truth. “A giant bowl of Mantell Mix would hit the spot,” he mumbles.

Crosshair bursts out in derisive laughter. “Wrecker, you're the worst fucking liar. Really? Mantell Mix? You're going to have to do better than that!”

Hunter rolls his eyes and crosses his arms, turning to look at Wrecker. “Just tell her the real truth, vod. The smell of it rolling off you is getting to be a bit much.”

Wrecker groans and closes his eyes. “All right, fine. Honestly? I'd love to have you sitting in my lap with my cock buried in you, while I play with your clit.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, a mixture of amusement and intrigue on your face. “Well...I certainly wasn't expecting to hear that out of you.” The idea of having him splitting you in half with what is probably quite a thick cock is tantalizing. You feel the stone of arousal forming in the pit of your chest, along with a tiny pulse in your clit.

This gets a rise out of the rest of the guys; they're all laughing quietly and Echo gently pokes Wrecker in the arm playfully with his scomp-link.

“Come on, everyone. If Wrecker is brave enough to say that, then I'm betting the rest of you are having some pretty sexually charged thoughts, too,” you gently chide.

Wrecker takes the bottle from you and a brief look of appreciation passes between the two of you. It spins wildly before ultimately pointing to Hunter. “Truth or dare?” he rumbles.

Hunter's dark eyes lock on yours before he speaks. “Truth.”

“I wanna ask you the same thing Y/N just did. What's the one thing you want most right now?”

“I really want Y/N perched between my knees, letting me fuck those perfect tits of hers,” Hunter replies quietly, shifting just a little so you can see the bulge forming under his blacks.

Now it is abundantly clear to you where the rest of the game is headed. The heat building between your legs is growing stronger, wetness beginning to seep from you. The pulsing in your clit becomes constant as the sensitive flesh begins to swell. There's absolutely no hiding from Hunter that you're fully aroused now, and the look he gives you is one of sheer desire. You wonder if the rest of them are all sporting massive erections by now, but you don't dare to move your head to look around to check, lest you give away your intentions.

“I think you like my idea, Y/N, don't you?” Hunter asks with palpable amusement in his voice.

“She's turned on?” Crosshair murmurs, idly scratching his chin with a fingertip.

“Without a doubt, she is,” Hunter replies, giving the bottle a quick spin. It lands back on you, and your heart starts to race again. “Truth or dare, ad'íka?”

Your mouth goes dry and you manage to keep your voice from quivering with apprehension. “Dare.”

“I'm willing to bet that you've got an absolutely gorgeous little cunt. It's a shame you've kept it hidden away from us for so long. Spread your legs so we can all see.”

You feel your cheeks go hot, but not from shame. Hunter's never used language like this with you before and all it's doing is casting more kindling into the roaring inferno of your arousal. More wetness seeps from you as you carefully unfold your legs and rearrange yourself into a position on the floor where everyone can see you from the front. Slowly, you comply, leaning back on a hand to balance yourself as you part your legs. With your other hand, you take your index and middle fingers, spreading them into a V shape as you spread your outer lips, showing the guys the slickness between your cleft.

“You look so fucking tasty, Kitten...” Crosshair rasps as he slowly starts touching himself through his blacks, already soaked through with pre-cum.

Ignoring Crosshair's use of the epithet, you look at the others to see them all nodding in agreement, their eyes all seemingly darkened with lust. Tech leans over to whisper something to Echo, and the two of them chuckle softly, Echo biting his lower lip for a brief moment. You steal a quick glance at them, and like the others, they're concealing prominent bulges under their blacks. Tech looks over at you with a gentle smile on his face.

“If you are willing, Y/N, would you consider letting us all have a taste?”

It takes you a moment to figure out what Tech means by having a taste, and you realize it goes much further than wanting to eat your pussy. You choose your words carefully, making sure there's no room for any misunderstandings that could end in regret. “I know it's been a really long time since any of us have gotten what we want, or need. If we're going to do this, I want you to know that I trust all of you explicitly, and yes...you may all share me. Let's just have fun, and enjoy each other.”

“Then I believe a modification of the way this game is played is necessary,” Tech declares, pushing his lenses back into place. “Instead of asking truth or dare, we will tell Y/N what we would like to do with her, and she can choose to accept or decline. This way, there will be favorable outcomes for us all. Y/N, is this agreeable?”

You smile at him winningly and nod. “Works for me, everyone.” You exhale forcefully and send the bottle spinning. As it stops on Wrecker, you look and see him grinning like he's won the best prize in the galaxy.

“Can we do that thing I said earlier?” he asks a little shyly. “And will you let me have a little taste of your pussy, too?”

“Absolutely, big guy,” you chuckle as you get to your feet and stop in front of him. Even though you're roughly at his eye level when he's sitting, it still feels like he's towering above you. “How do you want to do this?”

“Climb on my lap, sweetie, and let me do the rest. I'll be gentle, I promise.”

As you straddle his massive lap, one of his huge hands rests on your back and the other comes under the back of your leg, suddenly pulling you off your feet so your legs are slung over his shoulders, your pussy so close to his face you can feel the heat of his breath. You let out a yelp and try to figure out where to put your arms so you're comfortable. Balancing your forearms on his thighs as his hands close on top of your knees, you look up at him, catching him wink at you with his good eye. You've watched people eat you out before, but never from this vantage point.

“Just relax, mésh'la. It's all right,” he reassures you.

You let out a surprised, quiet moan as he lightly kisses your clit and then your outer lips. His warm tongue delicately trails its way through your folds, gathering up all your juices as it makes its way up to your now swollen clit. When he closes his lips over it, you groan and let your head fall back, shutting your eyes as he alternates between suckling lightly and flicking the tip of his tongue along the underside of it, and over your piercing. When your legs start twitching involuntarily with each stroke of his tongue, Wrecker lets out a deep, rumbling moan of his own against you, the vibrations tickling every nerve ending.

His cock twitches against your back and you moan his name softly, thinking about what it's going to be like to have him inside you. Wrecker turns his attention from massaging your clit to slipping his tongue through your outer lips all the way to your entrance. His strong tongue probes deeply as he tastes another flow of your juices, and his grip on your knees tightens.

He starts to gently rock his hips up into your back, silently telling you that he's just about ready for the next step. As he pulls his mouth away, one hand comes back under your back to support you as the other brings one of your legs down. Once you're back in an upright position, you climb off his lap, your legs visibly trembling.

“I hope that was all right, Y/N,” Wrecker says. “Been a long time since I've done that with anyone.”

“All right? I think that was more than just a little all right,” you reply breathlessly, feeling like your legs are going to give out.

He laughs and takes your hand, placing it right over his thick, meaty cock, straining to be let out of his blacks. “That's all for you, mésh'la. Why don't you show everyone how beautiful you look when I've got my cock stuffed inside you?” His hands slip under the waist of his pants, easing them down to his ankles. His cock lies long and straight against his stomach, and as your eyes fall upon it, he flexes it for you, a little bit of pre-cum clinging to the tip. “Come sit and keep it warm, Y/N,” Wrecker coaxes.

You turn around and see the wanton expressions on the others' faces as they patiently wait their turns. Wrecker takes his cock in his hand and starts stroking it gently as he waits for you. As you back up and straddle his lap once more, you let out a loud gasp as you feel the head of his cock slip through your outer lips, positioning right at your entrance. Resting your hands on his thighs for balance, you start to carefully ease yourself down on him, exhaling slowly as you feel him start to stretch you out.

Wrecker wraps an arm loosely around you, resting a hand on one of your breasts, gently thumbing your nipple. “Take all the time you need, Y/N. I know this is an awful lot,” he murmurs.

“Y-yeah, it is,” you reply shakily. “You feel incredible, already...”

You lower yourself down onto him, inch by inch, moaning continually as his girth stretches you to what feels like your absolute maximum. Wrecker buries his face in your hair, groaning loudly the farther you sink. As he bottoms out in you, his strong hands slide under your legs and lift you up just a little so that instead of your hands on his thighs, now your feet rest there. He takes you by the ankles and you take a hold of his forearms as he starts to slowly rock up into you.

“How's it feel, Wrecker?” Hunter asks as he strokes his cock idly through his blacks. “Usually women are scared to death of that thing,” he chuckles.

“So tight...hot...wet,” Wrecker groans through his clenched teeth. “Ride me, mésh'la, please...”

You oblige, and start bouncing on his cock, deep lusty moans springing from you with each successive stroke. He starts bucking up into you a little harder, passing over your sweet spot repeatedly, sending white hot bolts of pleasure through your pussy. One hand leaves your ankle and works its way between your legs, where the flat of his thumb falls upon your rosy pink pearl, swirling in tight little circles. Wrecker is notably dexterous, switching with ease from rubbing your clit to flicking his thumb over it, loving how you're responding to his touch.

Riding him faster, you feel yourself getting closer to your peak, unable to combat the fiery combination of Wrecker's cock ravaging your pussy and the determined stroking of his thumb. Your clit buzzes pleasantly, tiny little contractions starting to multiply, and a deep growl rolls out of Wrecker as he now lays into you, feeling his own orgasm on its ascent. His cock begins to tighten even more with each upward stroke, and the electricity in your clit becomes more concentrated.

“Don't stop, Wreck...I'm so fucking close,” you gasp.

“So 'm I, mésh'la...come for me,” he moans.

A few more well-timed strokes of his thumb against your engorged clit is all it takes before he hears your breath hitch in your throat, his name falling from your lips in tiny gasps. The lightning in your clit spreads quickly through your core, sharp cries of unrestrained bliss spilling from your throat as your walls constrict around him. Wrecker's thrusting becomes erratic as his cock swells to maximum within you. He lets go of your other ankle and you lift yourself off, sinking to the floor on your knees with your back to him, chest heaving wildly.

Closing his hand around his cock soaked with your juices, he strokes himself hard. It's only a few moments before he lets out a choked gasp followed by a deep moan as he comes, painting your back with thick, ropy strands of his seed. He sinks back in his seat, covering his face with a hand, panting heavily. Utterly spent and basking in the afterglow of his long overdue orgasm, Wrecker slowly gets his pants back on. He looks down at you, sitting back on your feet, admiring his handiwork as his spend trickles its way down your back.

“Go clean her up, dí'kut,” Crosshair hisses. “She doesn't deserve to be left a mess.”

Wrecker gets up and heads to the kitchen, returning a short while later with a warm, damp towel. He attentively wipes down your entire back, then takes his hand and ruffles your hair affectionately. “Sorry about that, Y/N...I didn't ask if I could do that,” he says apologetically. “Are you okay?”

You get to your feet and reach for his chin, standing on tiptoe as he bows his head. Your lips meet his for a soft, loving kiss. “I'm fine, big guy. Might be walking funny for the next day or so, but...” The entire room erupts into laughter as Wrecker returns to his seat, blushing slightly. You wait for everyone to calm down before picking up the wine bottle. “All right! Who's next?” you say playfully, giving the bottle a spin. This time the bottle comes to a stop in front of Tech and Echo, pointing at neither. “Hm, well, this is a conundrum, indeed,” you muse.

“If I may, Y/N,” Tech interrupts, “there is a perfectly reasonable solution to what you perceive as a problem. Let us both gratify you, thus eliminating your need to choose. Echo, why don't you show Y/N the modifications to your scomp-link that we made? Perhaps we can also show her that new attachment I created. I am most eager to see it in action.”

“I'm not surprised you two have been up to clandestine operations,” you say, rolling your eyes. “But you've piqued my curiosity, and...I very much want to have both of you.”

“Excellent. I will return shortly, Y/N. Echo, help her get more comfortable on the floor; we will need the extra space,” Tech says as he rises from the couch, purposely readjusting himself so you can get a better sense of what he's got hidden under his blacks. “This will be worth your while, cyar'íka...I promise.”

As Tech heads upstairs to gather all the necessary equipment, Echo takes all the pillows off the couch and lays them on the floor. You walk over and sit next to him, his good arm wrapping around you. Slipping your hand down between his legs, you run your fingers gently over his fully primed cock, loving the little moan that escapes from him. His lips seek out yours as he lightly pushes himself into your hand, moaning once more when your tongue collides with his for an impassioned kiss.

“Oh, mésh'la, if you only knew how long I've dreamed of doing something like this with you...” he whispers hotly against your neck, planting a few open mouthed kisses there.

You let out a soft sigh at the touch of his lips, his kisses working their way down your neck to your collarbone. He lowers you just a little so he has easy access to a breast, his tongue gently licking a nipple, sending shivers down your spine. Echo grins as he closes his mouth around it, sucking lightly, relishing the sounds of your moans. You squeeze his cock firmly in return, his eyes tightly shut as he groans deeply.

“You want me to suck your cock, Echo? I can't wait to see what you have for me,” you purr, feeling the material of his blacks dampen under your fingertips.

“I do not think he wants to wait any longer to show you what he has in store for you,” Tech calls from the entrance to the living room. He's carrying a case and a small drawstring pouch with him. “Y/N, if you please, spread your legs for Echo so he can begin.” He pauses, and you see his brow furrow for a moment. “I...know we already have your consent, but I feel it prudent to ask you regardless...” He stops again and you see one of his hands tremble slightly.

Crosshair snickers as you get up and walk over to Tech. “What, now you lose your nerve, Professor Highbrow? She already said you can take her, so what the hell's your problem? Got limp dick syndrome, or something? You should forfeit your turn and let me –”

You whirl around, fury written all over your face as you approach Crosshair, who looks supremely amused with himself. As you stop in front of him, you grab the collar of his blacks and yank him up until he's a hair's breadth away from you, eyes locked on his. His eyes widen in genuine shock; he's never seen you this angry before. Hunter is about to spring into action to pull the two of you apart, but Wrecker puts a hand on his shoulder, curious to see how this is going to play out.

“Crosshair, shut your fucking mouth! I am so sick of you constantly ripping on Tech, trying to tear him down. Is it really necessary to try and destroy your brother's self-esteem?! You dare...in MY house?!,” you seethe. “Just for that, when it's your turn...I've already decided what you're going to do with me...and you'd better fucking follow through!”

You shove Crosshair back into his seat hard, letting go of his shirt. You look at the others, and they're all staring at you in disbelief, especially Tech, who remains rooted to the spot. Walking back over to him, you reach your hand up to gently cup his face, his eyes seeming larger than ever. “Now, what were you going to ask me?” you ask softly.

“Cyar'íka...” he starts, trying to regain composure and find his voice. “I would very much like it if you would orally pleasure me while Echo takes care of you. Would you also let me take you from behind?”

“For you, Tech, anything. You know...you didn't need to ask me for permission, but I'm happy you did. I just want to enjoy both you and Echo in every way possible.”

You retake your seat on the floor next to Echo, with Tech coming to sit beside you, putting the case and the pouch off to the side. “Spread yourself for me, Y/N, and relax. I think that beautiful pearl of yours needs some more loving,” Echo says as he positions himself between your legs. “This might feel a little strange at first. I'll start with this, then switch over to the new attachment.”

Tech leans down and rests a hand on the back of your neck as his lips graze across your cheek and down to your mouth where your lips meet his for a delicate kiss. Echo lightly rests his scomp-link on the hood of your clit, then activates it. You gasp as you feel gentle vibrations emitting from it, and Echo smiles, glancing up at Tech. “I'm glad you suggested we rewire this thing...I think she likes it!”

Echo swirls the scomp-link around your clit attentively, listening to you moan deeply as he touches every part of it. He can see you beginning to swell and grow harder for him with each pass, the sides of your clit especially sensitive. You lift your hips up into him, craving more stimulation and he obliges, upping the level of vibration. With his good hand, he pulls his blacks down enough to free his cock – thick, hard as durasteel, and craving your attention.

“Please, Y/N,” Echo softly moans. “Touch me...let me come for you,” he pleads.

He shifts a little so you can slip your hand down between his legs, taking his cock to slowly stroke it in an underhanded position. Echo sighs in pleasurable relief as your hand glides over the hot, turgid flesh, taking time to swirl your thumb over the head as more pre-cum steadily seeps from him. Tech, not wanting to be left out, takes your unoccupied hand and you look up at him, his eyes glazed over with arousal. He guides you down between his legs, and as your hand covers the conspicuous bulge, you squeeze gently, making him shut his eyes and let out a shaky breath.

“Are you ready for me, cyar'íka?” Tech asks as he takes your hand, kissing your palm as he frees himself from his blacks, revealing the sublime and statuesque curvature of his lengthy cock. “I will let you set the pace,” he reassures you as he lets your hand go, shifting close to your mouth.

Closing your hand around his cock, the tip of your tongue gently trails its way underneath the head, earning you a stifled moan. Slowly, your tongue swirls around its entirety, getting a taste of pre-cum as you slip him into your mouth, letting your tongue glide along his shaft. You expertly corkscrew your hand around him as you find your rhythm, sucking and stroking him with vigor. “If you only knew how many times I imagined doing this with you...” Tech murmurs as he lets his hand rest gently on the back of your head.

The grasp on Echo's cock tightens as you stroke him a little faster, feeling the pulsing in your clit intensify with each pass of the scomp-link. The constant low moaning coming from Echo sends a fresh wave of arousal coursing through you, and you feel your juices seeping out, dampening the pillow you're sitting on. You moan heavily around Tech's cock, the vibrations rewarding you with a hard flex and the sound of him choking back a deep-seated moan of his own. He rests a hand on your cheek, then pulls his cock out of your mouth, leaving you feeling strangely empty.

“You're too good at this, cyar'íka...I am already getting closer than I would like,” he pants as he sits back down, blinking heavily as he tries to recompose himself.

Echo's hand covers yours as he pulls himself back from your grasp, breathing hard. “I'm close, too, mésh'la...still want to...show you the best part...”

He takes the scomp-link away from your throbbing clit, taking the case lying next to Tech and opens it, revealing an instrument with two distinct curved parts to it – the larger part is considerably longer and thick, the smaller one much shorter and thin. Echo nimbly unscrews the scomp-link and replaces it with this new creation, holding his arm up so the others can see.

“The larger part goes inside you, and the smaller part stays outside and rests on your clit,” he explains once he catches his breath. “Both parts vibrate, and they also have a small range of movement to them, so they can simultaneously work your sweet spot and clit at the same time.”

Tech picks up the small drawstring pouch and opens it, taking out a bottle. “You may want to use this,” he advises, handing it to Echo. “It will make Y/N's entire experience that much more pleasurable.”

Echo applies a few drops of the lube to the attachment, spreading it evenly. He drips a little bit more onto your clit, letting it run down between your outer lips before he takes a finger and traces it around your entrance. As his fingertip makes its way just inside, a content moan rises from you, and Echo smiles. Satisfied you're ready to accept this new toy, he withdraws his finger and smears the residual wetness on his cock. He carefully nudges the head of the large end up against your entrance and eases it fully inside you. As promised, the head of the smaller end is flush with the underside of your clit – a perfect fit.

“I really want to see you come before Tech fucks you, mésh'la, but if it gets to be too much, tell me and I'll stop immediately.”

“Oh, fuck!” you gasp loudly as Echo activates the toy. “This isn't going to take me long!”

Echo keeps the level of vibration on its lowest to get you used to the feeling, the tip of each segment moving in tiny circles, alternating with a gentle upward massaging movement, perfectly mimicking someone's fingers and tongue. Involuntarily, your walls clench around the toy as it teases your sweet spot. You let out a lusty moan as the outer piece flicks gently under your clit, sending waves of fresh heat through your core.

Your eyes close as Tech's brilliant new toy works its magic, biting your lower lip as your hands come to your breasts, cupping them as you gently pull on your piercings. Echo increases the speed just a little more, a sharp cry coming from you as the pressure increases in your cleft and the buzzing in your clit becomes stronger, drawing you close to your peak. Tech smiles proudly, knowing his little invention works perfectly and is driving you wild.

Echo's hand strays between his legs once more to close around his cock, his arousal at a hair-trigger. He finds his rhythm quickly, his eyes locked on yours as he strokes himself hard, bucking his hips as he goes. Your head drops back against the couch cushion, arching your back and suppressing a small scream as Echo increases the intensity a third time. Tech takes one of your hands in his and squeezes it as your other hand remains on a breast, rolling and pinching your nipple.

Your clit becomes the epicenter of searing heat and electricity as the manipulation of your sweet spot triggers your inner walls to contract around the toy. Your legs begin to tremble, toes curling as you're nearing your climax with everyone watching you in fascination, waiting to see you come. Breath catching in your throat, you manage to utter, “So fucking close, Echo...you're going to make me come...”

“That's it, mésh'la, let it all go,” Echo groans as his cock pulses in his hand. “Come for me, Y/N...”

As your orgasm breaks, his name cascades from your lips in a heaving sob, a riptide of pleasure crashing violently through your body. The walls of your pussy constrict forcefully around the toy as you bear down. Rolling your hips madly, you cover your face with your hands as you keep riding the waves of your high. “No more, Echo, pull out...pull out...pull out!” you wail.

Echo shuts the toy off and removes it, a lewd wet sound following in its wake as a spring of your juices ejects all over his hand and cock. “By the Maker, Y/N,” he says, looking down in disbelief. Using the newfound wetness to his advantage, he strokes himself hard, moaning your name. You watch his balls tighten as he starts to come, spilling a considerable amount of his seed all over your stomach and pubic mound. Chest heaving with exertion, he sits back and gets himself tucked back into his blacks.

“It appears the toy did exactly what I designed it to do,” Tech says with a satisfied grin on his face. “You performed flawlessly, Y/N...how do you feel?”

“I'm...not sure I have the words, Tech. It's been a long time since I've come like that,” you admit sheepishly.

Wrecker passes the damp towel to Echo, who lovingly wipes you clean. His parting gift to you is a gentle kiss between your legs just above your clit, then he leans in to plant another kiss at the corner of your mouth as he lightly strokes your hair. “Thank you for everything, mésh'la...that was extraordinary,” he says, his voice laden with adoration. “I can't wait to watch you with Tech...you're in for a real treat,” he chuckles as he returns to your other side. “She's all yours, ner vod...”

Tech smiles and takes your chin in his hand, turning your head and leaning in to kiss you tenderly. You bring your hands up behind his neck, enticing him to leave a trail of kisses along your jaw, down your throat, all the way to your breasts. One of his hands reaches for a breast, closing over it as he traces his finger over your firm nipple, taking hold of your piercing. You let out a breathy moan as his eager tongue snakes out and flicks quickly over the other, holding the ring in his teeth. As Tech begins to gently pull on your piercings, your arousal renews with strong pulsing in your clit and an insistent fluttering deep in your pussy.

“You are hungry for all our attention tonight, aren't you, cyar'íka?” Tech says as he lets go of you, his silken voice low and sultry. “Get on all fours for me, and I'll share something else with you that is in desperate need of attention.”

As your rise to your knees, Tech pulls away the pillow soaked with your juices and replaces it with a larger one, wanting to maximize your comfort. You get into position for him and he reaches out, tracing his fingers down your spine, making you shiver and lift yourself up toward him as his hand reaches your ass. Taking both cheeks in his strong hands, he kneads them firmly, letting his fingers roam down a little until his thumbs are on either side of your outer lips. He gently parts your folds, looking down upon your entrance, moist with fresh wetness.

“Both Wrecker and Echo did an excellent job preparing you for me,” Tech states casually as he draws his index finger between your glistening lips. “Now we've learned that even something simple as playing with your nipples leaves you a soaking...” He slides his finger into you slowly, grinning as you let out a tiny moan. “...wet mess.”

Tech finds your sweet spot easily, teasing it in short strokes with his fingertip. Your eyes close and you let out a quiet sigh, a hand straying down between your legs to gently touch your clit, still partially swollen and sensitive from the last orgasm . Tech feels your pussy gently contract around his finger and he lets out a small groan as his cock stirs heavily. He pulls his finger out of you and slips it into his mouth, sucking it clean and marveling at the delicate balance of sweetness, salt, and acidity.

“Are you ready for me, Y/N? Will you come as violently for me as you did for Echo?”

You push your ass back toward him and he meets you halfway, letting you rub yourself along the front of his blacks, dampening them with your juices. Tech slides his pants past his knees, guiding his cock through your folds and over your clit, holding back a moan as your hand passes along the underside, your fingertips deftly caressing the tip, feeling a small amount of pre-cum emerge. He withdraws and then aligns himself with your entrance, taking your hips in his hands as he slowly pushes his way in. He's nearly as thick as Wrecker, and as he sinks himself deep into your succulent heat, Tech lets out the moan he's been trying to suppress.

“Fuck me, Tech,” you mewl, swirling your hips around him once he's fully seated within you. “You feel so fucking good...”

Tech feels pleasant heat rush to his face from your praise and he smiles, proud of himself for being able to please you like this. Now he starts to slowly rock his hips fore and aft, watching his cock effortlessly slip in and out of you, listening to your fervid cries growing steadily louder. You reach down to start rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, fingertips dancing lightly over it, making your legs twitch uncontrollably again. A shuddering groan comes from Tech as he feels your walls quiver around him, feeling like tiny kisses all along his cock.

You softly moan as Tech leans over you, propping himself up on one hand as the other comes up from underneath to cup one of your breasts. His long fingers easily manipulate your nipple and piercing, gently rolling and pulling the hardened flesh and its adornment. You feel another strong pulse in your clit and Tech groans quietly in your ear as the contraction that follows makes your walls squeeze against him tightly.

“Cyar'íka, move with me,” he whispers as he begins to sit up, pulling you with him. “Let me show you what you and I have done together in my dreams.”

As the two of you rise, Tech carefully shifts himself back onto his feet, not wanting to slip out of you. One of his arms is slung loosely around your hips with the other around your torso, his hand resting between your breasts. Resting on your knees, you straddle his lap with your hands on his thighs as he pulls you flush against him, the hand on your chest sliding up to gently close around your throat. His mouth comes to your ear and plants a tiny kiss, followed by more along your jaw. A deep moan emanates from your parted lips as Tech's other hand comes down between your legs, his graceful fingers brushing over your hot, swollen clit.

“I always wondered what it would feel like to fuck you while you sit in my lap,” Tech mumbles into your hair as he starts to buck his hips up into you once more. “Granted, I wanted to do this with you while in the cockpit of the Marauder...but this will suffice.”

You start to ride him, timing your descent perfectly with each hard upward thrust. Tech lets go of your throat and lets his hand gravitate down to your chest, cupping a breast as he begins to play with your nipple and piercing again. His fingers skillfully swirl over your clit at the same time, stoking the fires of arousal once more. Tech lets out a muffled moan against your neck as his cock is greeted with renewed wetness.

Your hands dig into his thighs as you bounce on his cock a little faster, the fingers working your clit keeping time. Luscious, tingling heat pools in that tiny singularity, begging for release. Tech turns his attention to your neck, hungrily nibbling and kissing the soft flesh, sending shivers down your spine. You gyrate your hips when he's nestled fully in you and he moans unabashedly as his cock begins to swell.

“That's the way, cyar'íka...such a good girl, letting us fuck you,” Tech says, his voice pouring into your ear like liquid silk.

He lets go of your breast and trails his fingertips up your chest before wrapping his hand lightly around your throat once more, holding your head steady as his hips snap up into you briskly. As you match his pace, you feel him getting tighter as he stretches your insides to their limit. He rubs your clit in tight circles, your moaning constant as he starts to shorten his thrusts, the head of his cock perfectly massaging your sweet spot. Tech squeezes the sides of your neck slowly and you shut your eyes as your breath hitches in your throat, every nerve ending in your clit ready for the ultimate liberation.

“So close, Tech...make me come,” you gasp.

“I thought you'd never ask,” Tech replies flippantly.

He buries himself all the way in you and holds still, his fingers flicking over your clit as you near your peak. His thighs tremble against you as he feels your pussy clutching his cock like a vise, requiring every ounce of his restraint to not release before you do. Tech takes your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling the flesh of your hood over it as he strokes firmly, drawing out a few last gasps from you.

As he loosens his grip on your throat, an intense cry bursts from you as the floodgates open and he tips you over the edge, your nails digging into his thighs as the nectar of euphoria flows through you. Writhing your hips madly, Tech wraps his arm around your waist to hold you steady, unable to hold himself back any longer. He swiftly withdraws, then cants his hips up into you, relishing at the obscene wet sounds his cock is making as he drives himself in deeply. Mouth at your ear, Tech's low moaning sends shivers down your spine, knowing he's just about to come.

“May I...” he grunts, and you feel his cock swell and stiffen.

You bring a hand up around the back of his neck and turn your head towards his, pulling him down for an ardent kiss. “Do it,” you command. “Be my good boy and fill my pussy...”

Tech hides his face in your hair as he thrusts hard for a final time, letting his breath out forcefully as his orgasm overtakes him, moaning your name repeatedly. His cock flexes heavily in your cleft, and you whimper as you feel the sudden heat of his seed coating your walls. At long last, Tech releases you. Falling forward onto your hands, he backs out of you, juices steadily dripping between your legs onto the pillow underneath.

“Y/N, are you all right?” Echo asks, reaching out to take you by the shoulder and help you upright.

“Better than fine,” you reply breathlessly as you shift around to face the others. “Here's a little something extra for you, boys. Consider it an encore...”

You part your legs enough so they can clearly see between them, your outer lips swollen and spread wide. Biting your lip as you bear down, everyone watches transfixed as Tech's thick, creamy load slips out of you. You look over at Tech, now sitting back on the couch as he recovers from his high. Unsteadily, you get to your feet and go to him, taking his chin in your hand as you look into his beautiful golden brown eyes. He reaches up to touch your cheek with his finger, a relieved smile on his face.

“That was...extraordinary, cyar'íka. Thank you for letting me –”

You cut him off with a gentle kiss. “No need to thank me, Tech. If anything, I should be thanking you.” You pause for a moment, a grin creeping across your face. “However, I think you and I need to have a chat about an escapade in the Marauder's cockpit sometime...”

Wrecker snorts and bursts out laughing, causing Tech to immediately start blushing. Everyone else joins in as you sigh and shake your head, reaching for the towel to wipe yourself down. You look around for the wine bottle, stopping as your eyes meet Hunter's. He's sitting calmly in his seat, watching your eyes as they travel down toward his groin. As if he's read your mind, he spreads his legs apart for you a little, resting his hand on the mouthwatering bulge under his blacks.

“There's no need, ad'íka. It's my turn,” he says, pulling the waist of his blacks down just a little so the head of his cock is visible. “I'm serious about wanting to have those exquisite tits of yours squeezed around my cock. But first, be a love and let me have your mouth for awhile. Seems to me your pussy needs a break,” he chuckles.

Hunter swings his legs up onto the generous couch on which he's sitting, stretching out as he lies down, sliding a thumb under the waistband of his blacks. Looking over at you, he smiles and starts stroking himself through the material, closing his eyes as he starts thinking about sliding his cock into your mouth, watching your tongue swirl around the tip. You make your way over to him, wedging yourself between his muscular thighs. Curling your hands into his pants, you start sliding them down his hips, your lips curled into a seductive grin.

“Show me what you've got for me, Hunter,” you say as you get his blacks down to his thighs, holding back a moan as his lengthy cock is unveiled, thick with a gentle upward curve. Once you get his blacks off, you lay your palms on his thighs, running them up toward his groin as you lean forward to gently kiss his tip. “Just as beautiful as your brothers,” you murmur.

Starting at the base, your tongue draws its way up his shaft, tenderly swirling along the underside of the head. Hunter moans softly and rests a hand on the back of your head as he spreads his legs wider for you, resting one foot on the floor. Taking his cock in one hand, you bring him to your lips, kissing the tip once more before you guide him into your mouth, sucking lightly on the head. You ease him farther into your mouth as your free hand cups his balls, palming the firm, swollen orbs carefully.

You pull him out of your mouth with a slight pop, licking your lips. “Mm, look how full you are, honey. I bet you want to blow a huge load all over my tits, don't you?” Now you squeeze his balls just a little, a deep groan rolling out of him. “Gotta say, Hunter, I figured you would have wanted my pussy, but your creativity is fucking hot...”

Sliding him back into your mouth, your tongue flattens out along the underside, letting you inch him in slowly. Your eyes meet his, pupils fully dilated and shining brightly with fascination and arousal as he watches his cock disappear around your lips. Taking in as much of him as you can, one hand closes around him again to start stroking, twisting its way along as you hollow out your cheeks, sucking on him hard.

Hunter groans and lifts his hips up into you as you pull away, a long strand of saliva connecting your tongue to the tip. You close your index finger and thumb firmly around his cock, swirling up and over him, taking time to massage the head as your tongue lavishes attention upon his length, flicking over the small slit as a bead of pre-cum oozes its way out. Back into the hot confines of your mouth he goes, this time picking up the pace to stroke him a little faster while you give most of your attention to the heated, swollen flesh.

“Fuck,” he moans softly. “I thought you'd never do this for me, Y/N...”

One of his hands comes to rest on the back of your head once more, and now he begins to gently buck his hips as you let him fuck your mouth, pushing in deeper as you close your hand fully around him. Your other hand returns to give his balls attention, rolling and squeezing them while your index finger strokes the fine, soft flesh of his perineum, evoking a gasp and a choked breath from Hunter.

You can feel his leg starting to tremble against you a little as you draw him closer to his climax, and you chuckle with him in your mouth. The vibrations travel along his shaft, causing him to flex in your hand, and when the head tightens and swells, you exhale sharply through your nose, pulling him out. You're slavering all over his cock, curling the tip of your tongue as you withdraw, showing Hunter just exactly how much you love giving sloppy blowjobs.

You shift yourself back a little, placing a hand on Hunter's thigh as your head dips down, your tongue lovingly passing over his balls. Your other hand comes to rest on his other thigh, and reflexively, Hunter encircles his fingers around yours, while his other hand reaches to take a hold of your hair. Slowly your lips close around one of his balls, sucking a little to pull it into your mouth. Hunter closes his eyes and grits his teeth as he tries to restrain a deep-seated moan of pleasure.

He's so full that you almost can't fit it in your mouth, but as you engulf him completely, you suck on him tenderly, filled with anticipation over how much he's going to come for you. Hunter lets go of your hand and takes his cock, still wet with your saliva. He starts stroking himself, watching you intently as you let him go with a wet smack of your lips. As you take his other testicle in, he comes undone, moaning deeply as you sensually tease him. You can feel him beginning to tighten up in your mouth, and you release him, sitting back on your feet, flashing a sassy grin as you wipe your lips with a finger.

Hunter pulls himself up and you hear a low growl building as he suddenly reaches for your shoulder, pushing you down onto your back. Quickly, he climbs on top of you, his cock pulsating as he gets himself into position. Your heart races with excitement over his powerful show of dominance, but also with curiosity over how it will feel to have him gliding between your breasts. Hunter takes a breast in each hand, massaging them softly as he takes in this new vantage point.

“Do you have any idea how fucking hot you are, Y/N? You're like something out of a wet dream,” he confesses as his thumbs trace over your nipples, mesmerized by the gleaming steel of your piercings. He looks up and over at Tech, holding out his hand. “Gonna need that lube, vod. Throw it over here.”

Tech pitches the small bottle of lube across to Hunter, who catches it easily. He flicks open the cap and drizzles the lube generously onto your sternum. You let him rub the lube between and all over your breasts, groaning happily as he massages your heated flesh. As he finishes, he takes his cock by the base, rapping it firmly on your chest, a wicked grin on his face. You start pushing your breasts together until they're just touching him, a little unsure of how close you should be.

“Always wondered what this would feel like,” he murmurs as he starts to rock his hips slowly, pushing his cock between the cleft, letting out a soft sigh as he easily glides through.

Hunter looks down at you, seeing the enthrallment on your face as he pushes his cock closer to your mouth. Briefly, he pulls himself out and holds himself within reach of your mouth, easing just the tip in a little as you suck on him gently. Back between your breasts he goes, and you push them much closer together this time to create more friction. He teases you, the head of his cock coming close to your chin and mouth, and you let your tongue hang out a little, trying to lick him.

“Tech's right, ad'íka...you're starving tonight...you want me to feed you?” he questions, voice smoky with passion.

“Give me everything you've got, Hunter,” you reply.

Hunter smiles and licks his lips as he continues driving his cock between your breasts, this time adjusting himself so he can push his way into your mouth easily. You take him in and he watches as your gaze meets his, an incredibly arousing sight to see you suck his cock so easily. His heart goes into overdrive as he feels you press yourself tightly around him, and he wonders if your pussy feels anywhere near as good as this.

Faster he begins to thrust, and low moaning progressively becomes heavy as Hunter feels himself rapidly approaching his edge. Your eyes are locked on his and again, you open your mouth to show him your eager tongue. Seeing you so willing and trusting turns him on even more, and he holds his breath when his balls begin to tighten, knowing his orgasm is imminent. You can see his thighs beginning to shake slightly as he comes close and you push your breasts against him as far as they'll go.

“M-mésh'la, hold still, I'm gonna come,” he gasps, surging forward a few more times before you feel his cock flex, watching as he starts to unload.

Hunter moans loudly as thick streams of his hot seed launch all over your chest, neck, and chin before he pulls his cock from between your breasts and strokes it a few more times, sending the rest into your mouth. You swallow every last bit, your tongue slightly tingling as you taste the salty, slightly bitter profile of his spend, momentarily grateful he chose not to come solely in your mouth. He carefully climbs off you and reaches for his pants, tugging them back on before he leans down and kisses you affectionately.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he says quietly, moving your hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “That was incredible...I would love to do that with you again sometime.”

You take his face between your hands, bringing your lips to his for a few velvety kisses. “Any time, Hunter...never done anything like that before, but it's getting added to the “must do” list,” you laugh.

Hunter gives you one last kiss before excusing himself to the kitchen to get another clean towel. You're sitting propped up on your elbows when he returns, and you close your eyes, letting your head loll back as he cleans you up. The warm dampness of the towel and Hunter's tender ministrations leave you feeling relaxed and perfectly sated. You inhale deeply, collecting your thoughts before you finally finish this game and set Crosshair in his place.

Without opening your eyes, your voice takes on a startling edge. “Crosshair, be my good boy...come over here and kneel before me. Now.”

The chatter among the others stops and Hunter retakes his seat on the couch, his attention fixed on Crosshair, who's looking across the room at you. As you bring your head back up, your eyes slowly open and you turn to look at him, his normally bitter expression erased and replaced by one of uncertainty, his cheeks red with uncharacteristic embarrassment. He's rattled by the glacial look you're giving him, and he swallows hard, looking at his brothers one by one, especially Tech.

“I strongly suggest you comply, Crosshair. It would be unwise to arouse cyar'íka's anger once more,” Tech says with a vein of mirth in his voice, a sly grin on his face.

As you sit up, you move to the edge of the couch, spreading your legs so Crosshair can get a good look at what he's been coveting all night long. The roseate bloom of your pussy lay before him, his longing for you coming to its summit as he sees your glistening folds, his cock throbbing insistently. Resting a hand daintily upon your knee, you reach out and beckon to him, smiling sweetly. But Crosshair is no fool; he sees through your façade, knowing you're up to something.

He gets up out of his chair haltingly and does as he's told, stopping before you and sinking to the floor on his knees. You can see his breathing becoming shallower, his dark eyes shining brightly with deep yearning. You bring a hand under his chin and lift his head up as you lean in, your other hand running through his silver hair. Your lips brush softly over his, and he doesn't bother trying to hold back a small moan. Now your mouth seeks his, tongues sparring as you converge for a fiery kiss.

“That's my boy...” you whisper heatedly. “You're going to learn a little humility and accept the consequences of your earlier transgression...starting by licking my pussy until every trace of Tech is gone.”

A brief look of disgust flashes across his face at your choice of words, but the desire to please you and be praised for it is overwhelming. As you look down at him, your expression softens as his hands make their way up your legs slowly. Crosshair never takes his eyes off yours, his long fingers caressing your silky skin as they rise over your knees and over your inner thighs. The corner of his mouth turns upward into a tiny crooked grin, knowing you're enjoying this.

Crosshair gives pause as he reaches your pubic mound, suddenly not wanting to proceed lest you think of something else to deflate his ego. His eyes search yours pleadingly, looking for the sign that he should continue. He wants nothing more than to touch you, let his tongue work its magic on the tantalizing swell of your pearl, and draw you to another orgasm. Hesitantly, his fingertips stroke the soft flesh of your outer lips, and when you don't stop him, his thumb rests on your piercing before he retracts the hood of your clit.

You let out a pleasurable sigh as you watch him close his eyes and lean in, his mouth closing over your clit. He wastes no time in showing you how skilled he is, sucking firmly while his tongue teases and massages the hypersensitive underside. His index finger makes its way to your slick entrance and slides in with no resistance. It's quickly followed by the middle, and you let out a gasp as he carefully threads in his ring finger, your pussy feeling like it's about to split in two.

Crosshair opens his eyes and looks up at you for signs of discomfort, but sees none. He starts moving his fingers in and out, the wet sounds coming from you are almost profane. He knows exactly where to touch you, curling his fingertips upward to manipulate your sweet spot as he pulls his mouth away, letting his tongue flick expertly across your clit. The divine heat and pulsation start you anew on the path to your climax, and he feels your walls starting to close around him.

“I think someone's hungrier than I am tonight, boys!” you exclaim, exhaling sharply as your needling leads Crosshair to pull out his fingers, coated with both your juices and the remnants of Tech's. “You're desperate, Crosshair. Lick them clean,” you order.

Jeering laughter erupts from Wrecker, clearly enjoying watching his brother being put in his place. “She's got you there, eh, Cross?! About time someone taught you a lesson!”

Crosshair's eyes narrow as heat spreads like wildfire through his face, blushing furiously. He sticks his index finger in his mouth, sucking it clean, the commingling of salt and bitter acidity not as vile as he expected. He licks his middle and ring fingers, watching your face for the sign of approval he aches for. You smile and point down at your pussy, slick with fresh arousal. Choking on a groan, his hands fly to your thighs and grip hard as he buries his head between your legs once more.

He licks a wide path with the flat of his tongue through your slit, gathering up everything he can. You rest your hand on the back of his head, encouraging him to do it again. Moaning softly against your folds, he makes another pass before his lips close around your clit and piercing once more. This time he suckles gently, feeling his cock twitch hard underneath his blacks as you utter his name. He brings a hand down between his legs and feels how damp the material is, badly wanting to sink his cock into you in any way possible.

Crosshair gives your clit a loving kiss and looks to you once more. “Was...that all right?” he asks. You don't answer right away, instead moving in to taste yourself on him, licking at the corner of his mouth before lightly kissing his forehead. “C-cyaré, please...are you satisfied?” he implores.

His words from earlier in the night come back to haunt him as you chuckle softly. “Not just yet...but give it some time. On your feet, Crosshair...show me that cock of yours and let me make fantasy a reality.”

He rests his hands on your knees as he slowly rises, his lithe, muscular body seeming taller than ever as he looks down at you. Your eyes lock on his as your hands slide their way up his thighs, and you feel him tremble slightly in anticipation. You palm his cock through the fabric, feeling how hot and impatient he is as you lean forward, strategically planting ethereal kisses as your hands take the waistband of his blacks and ease them down. The graceful curve of his impressively thick length is unveiled, the head glossy with pre-cum.

Crosshair licks his lips as he watches you take him by the base, your tongue emerging to lightly trace its way over his frenulum before it swirls over the tip, drawing in his wetness. His breath catches in his throat as you take him in your mouth, his level of touch starvation evident as you feel him beginning to swell a little from the most basic attention you're giving him. You suck on him gently for a few moments before withdrawing, and he brings a hand to your face, cupping it tenderly. Closing your eyes, your hand comes up over his, letting out a sigh of contentment.

“Cyaré, tell me how to please you,” he begs, inwardly cursing himself for feeling so needy and vulnerable.

You let go of his hand and slip it between his legs, taking him by the balls and squeezing firmly. Crosshair groans and bites his lip, moving his hand to the back of your head as your other hand grasps his cock. “Begging is beneath you, Crosshair,” you coolly reply. “Here's the deal. You're going to blow your load on my face, and then you're going to lick it up.”

Hunter raises an eyebrow in surprise as he looks over at you, and you hear Echo mutter, “oh, Maker,” as Tech covers his face with his hand, desperately trying not to laugh. You look over at Wrecker and he's sitting there silent, mouth agape and eyes wide. Crosshair feels the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his neck and into his ears and face. He didn't expect this from you, and now he finally regrets his egregious behavior.

“Just one more thing, love...don't swallow!”

With that, you release the grip on his balls, rolling them in your palm as the hand on his cock moves it way up his length, closing over the tip to gently massage it. Crosshair moans softly and his fingers wind around your hair as your lips close around him, slowly easing him in. Your hand slides up his shaft, joining your mouth as you move your head to and fro, sucking tenaciously. He can't tear his eyes away from you as more of his cock disappears, chills running down his spine as you moan deeply around him. Cautiously, he starts to thrust into your mouth, curious to see how much of him you can take.

You accommodate him easily at first, your hand controlling the depth of his progress, but he soon starts to push in more aggressively. Tears prick the corner of your eyes unbidden as he moves in too deeply, triggering your gag reflex. You pull back, salivating wildly all over the head of his cock and for a split second, you catch just a hint of smug satisfaction on his face. Squeezing his balls roughly in retaliation, he lets out a hiss as your hand picks up the extra wetness and grips around him tightly, stroking him hard. Crosshair's thighs tense up, his arousal mounting exponentially as he starts bucking his hips toward you, wishing it was your pussy he was fucking instead of your hand.

“That's the way, baby,” you croon gently. “Such a good, obedient boy, wanting to come hard all over his cyaré's face...”

Crosshair moans heatedly at your words, especially the Mando'a term of endearment. He pumps his cock through your skilled hand, groaning deeply as his tip pushes through the tight ring of your fingers. Visions of having you all to himself and feeling how tight your pussy is for him race through his mind, and it's not long before his other hand joins yours, grasping his cock as his thrusting intensifies. You slowly ease your hand off him until he's fully in control, stroking himself vigorously as he chases his climax.

Now with both hands free, you turn your attention to his balls, which are already starting to tighten. You take one in each hand, rolling your thumbs over them, massaging lightly as Crosshair's breathing becomes rapid and shallow. As you squeeze his balls again, this time with care, his free hand gravitates to the top of your head to hold you steady. A low groan builds deeply in his chest as he feels himself drawing close to his orgasm, cock swelling firmly in his hand. He closes his eyes and brings his hand up to start quickly stroking the first few inches, moaning your name ardently.

“So close, ner cyaré... Let me come... Please let me come,” he gasps, legs trembling as he forces himself to hold on until you grant him permission.

You shift back a little to give him space and close your eyes. “I release you, Crosshair!”

He deftly strokes his cock a few more times and feels the coil in his pelvic floor unwind, a deep moan pouring out of him as he begins to come. Hot streams of his seed eject all over your forehead, nose, lips and chin, covering your face like a spectral mask. Breathing hard, Crosshair pulls away from you, hastily pulling his blacks up and tucking himself back in. Not forgetting the other half of your directive, he gathers his courage and sets aside feelings of revulsion, leaning forward and taking you by the shoulders.

He's never tasted himself before now, but curiosity and the driving need to satisfy you get the better of him. His hot tongue starts at your lips, licking them clean with a single pass. Hunter chuckles quietly as he watches Crosshair grimace, the salty bitterness an unpleasant surprise. He returns to your chin, then quickly passes over your nose and forehead, lapping up the remnants of his spend. You open your eyes and see he's pulled away from you, a look of serious aversion on his face as he's fighting the urge to spit out his load.

“Have you learned your lesson, Crosshair?” you say with great merriment. “Judging by that sour face, I'd say you have. Am I correct?” He nods, and you get to your feet, wrapping one arm around his slim waist, the other around his shoulders. He looks down at you and you can see his eyes silently beseeching you to hurry. “Feed me, love...I want to know how you taste.”

You open your mouth, tongue resting on your bottom lip as Crosshair lowers his head, opening his mouth when he's within reach. A quiet moan emanates from you as his tongue touches yours, the creamy pool of his seed passing from him to you. Curling your tongue back into your mouth, you swallow all of it as Crosshair closes his eyes and sighs softly. Your hand trails its way up the back of his neck until you're cradling his head, and you moan faintly into his mouth as his lips connect with yours for an amatory kiss.

“Now...I'm satisfied. See, I knew you would bend to my will. All it took was the proper motivation. Well behaved boys will always be rewarded...miscreants will not. It's that simple.” Your fingertip traces its way along the lines of his tattoo, his eyes meeting yours. “Such a good boy you are, Crosshair. My good boy.”

Crosshair's hand passes down your spine until he reaches your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks firmly as he seeks out your mouth for a passionate kiss. You hold onto him tighter as his tongue and yours meet, his hunger for you not yet slaked as he takes your tongue between his teeth and gently nips at it. You groan softly as you start growing wet again, and you can feel Crosshair's cock stir once more. A soft cough behind you interrupts the moment, and you turn to see Hunter looking at you with a gentle smile of approval.

“Oh...right. Game's over, lads. Everybody wins,” you laugh.

“What, no second round, mésh'la?” Wrecker jokes as he stands up and stretches. “I think I'm ready for another go!”

“No way, big man. Not until I've had another shower and a little sleep...you've all worn me out. So if you'll excuse me, I'll –”

You let out a yelp as Crosshair reaches under your legs and picks you up. “Then let's get you cleaned up and in bed, cyaré...as far as we're concerned, the night is still young,” he says devilishly, turning to walk out of the living room with you.

“Crosshair, wait.” He stops as he gets into the main hallway, and you look over his shoulder. “I don't want to sleep alone tonight, boys. Come on.”

*****

As you exit your bathroom still combing out your hair, you see Crosshair and Tech already under the covers of your gargantuan bed, waiting for you to occupy the space between them. The other three are all sitting at the foot of it half undressed, their shirts slung over the back of a nearby chair. You stop and flash all of them a flirtatious grin, and all of them return it with carnal smiles of their own.

“You said there wasn't room for all of us in here, Y/N,” Echo remarks with amusement.

“I was being facetious, Echo. This bed can support half the Hutt family, and then some!”

“Then we are in no danger of having it collapse,” Tech interjects. “Come to bed, cyar'íka...we all very much would like to continue the bonding process with you.”

He holds up the covers for you, and you see that both he and Crosshair are fully naked and partially aroused. You slip between them, Crosshair pressing himself against your side as he nuzzles your neck contentedly. Tech slings his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek softly. Echo and Wrecker reach for Hunter as they all lie down, settling in the spaces between you and the twins.

Crosshair closes his eyes, laughing quietly. “You owe me 10 credits, Tech. I told you we'd all fit.”

#star wars #the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch x reader #the bad batch x you #the bad batch poly #the bad batch tech #the bad batch hunter #the bad batch echo #the bad batch wrecker #the bad batch crosshair #tbb tech #tbb crosshair #tbb wrecker #tbb hunter #tbb echo #the bad batch smut

445 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 24 days

Text

Blue Crow.

Yan Nobunaga x F Reader x Yan Uvogin. (College AU.)

Synopsis: Uvogin hates taking buses, but he enjoys seeing you one seat ahead of him.

Warnings: Yandere themes, non-con, the reader is described as AFAB and she/her pronouns are used, unhealthy relationships, brief mentions of drug/alcohol usage, victim blaming, oral (female receiving), oral (male receiving), sexual blackmail, and implied stalking.

Word Count: 5k.

somewhat inspired by the game classmates! check it out here if you'd like. <3

also inspired by @uvobreakmylegs's digging deeper! it's amazing! <3

*~*~*~*

The 5A station was the closest one to your dorm. It had no seats or shelter of any kind in case of bad weather, only a large blue sign that said Yorknew University, Nursing Program in white bold letters – because it didn’t say anything else about the buses that stopped by and because this stop is surrounded by old rotting trees, the drivers sometimes fail to notice you.

It’s raining now, and everything here is so dark – your clothes, your umbrella, the night sky, and your bag.

Your phone says the bus will be here any minute now, but will it even see you?

If not, you’ll have to find a different way to make it to Nobunaga’s place.

He seemed friendly enough. If you were a few minutes late, surely he’d understand. You were not close enough to invite him over, go inside his home, or let him drive you anywhere, though that is just how you are with all males you casually know. It’s nothing personal.

There are two bright lights a small distance away, and at the sight you raise your hand and wave.

By some miracle, the bus stops and opens its automatic doors.

You take a few steps as you close your umbrella and make your way up the stairs, being careful not to slip. You slip a few quarters into the little slot beside the driver and sit down on a seat near the window.

Taking off your hood, you ruffle your wet bangs out of your face, using your reflection to attempt to get them back to looking presentable. It doesn’t really work, but what does it matter? You’re just there to give Nobunaga some notes his friends wanted to give to him and leave.

*~*~*~*

“You’re [First], correct?” Chrollo asks, putting his right hand out towards you.

You take out your earbuds, fixing your posture as you nod. A blonde man sits next to you on the bench before Chrollo could, smiling and giggling like he is some gossiping schoolgirl.

“Dang, you’re cute!” Shalnark exclaims.

“Shal, what the hell are you doing?” Uvogin had started to stomp over. His mere size was enough to keep your eyes on him and not the others. Even the one girl who was with them didn’t draw your attention, despite her hair being unnaturally bright pink.

“Saying hi!” Shalnark put an arm around you. On instinct, you squirm a little bit, not noticing how Uvogin rolled his eyes in response to how Shalnark smirked at him. Once you were out of his loose grip, Chrollo politely cleared his throat.

“I was wondering if you could do something for us, Miss [First]. For the gang, I mean.”

The gang? From what you knew, Chrollo’s group was always causing some sort of rule-breaking but Chrollo himself stayed at the top of the class with superb grades and plenty of attention from girls. It is like no one knew they were connected. They seemed like bad news, but all of your interactions with them had been positive thus far. Did Nobunaga put in the good word for you?

“Um… sure?” As long as it was something that didn’t land you in prison or the hospital, you decide to go along with what Nobunaga’s leader asks of you. It is probably a bad idea to reject, and maybe you’ll get something good out of it in exchange.

“I’d like you to give Nobunaga some notes he missed. He’s been out. Sick, most likely.” You didn’t notice the small piles of books he was carrying until he made them closer to you, wanting you to take them. “Surely you have noticed? He talks to you a lot, I hear.”

“Yeah.” You decide to put them on your lap for the time being. The notes weren’t as heavy as they would have been if you were carrying them. “Is… he doing better?”

“Not sure,” Uvogin says, attempting to pry Shalnark off the bench. “He hasn’t been answering his phone, you see.”

“I don’t wanna!” Shalnark whines.

“Shut up, Shal. You’re gonna make us look bad in front of Nobu’s girlfriend.”

Girlfriend?

“I’m… not his girlfriend…”

They don’t seem to hear you. You’re not exactly the loudest person, after all. You have been teased for having a soft voice and having to speak up. These people wouldn’t ignore you, you think. Shalnark and Uvogin are play fighting, and Chrollo is talking to that magenta-haired woman. They wouldn’t ignore you, you’re just being too shy. They wouldn’t ignore you, they are Nobunaga’s friends. Nobunaga wouldn’t ignore you, why would they?

“I’m… not his girlfriend.”

Uvogin is the only one to give you a response after hearing it. He shoots you a confused look before continuing to tickle Shalnark. No one else seems to notice your words.

After a few more tries, you decide to give up for now. Looking at the notebooks in front of you, you decide to open the top one up. There are just standard mathematical problems as well as some doodles and words of encouragement in the vacant spaces of the looseleaf.

‘Go get them, tiger!’

‘Don’t die on me now!’

‘Remember one plus one?’

‘♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡’

At first, you think that it is Nobunaga’s girlfriend, but you shake your head to erase it. No. The gang thinks you are his girlfriend.

Perhaps Shalnark then? From the times you sat near him in your chemistry classes, his handwriting was a mess. It took some effort to realize that he was simply drawing and not paying attention to the professor in the slightest. However, his favorite things to draw were bats and computers. Would he really draw hearts and not those things so Nobunaga could know it was him?

Maybe it was an inside joke. You’re not going to ask because you don’t want your question to come off as disrespectful, though you were slightly curious.

You’ll just do what you were told and go right back home.

*~*~*~*

Shalnark texted you the address of Nobunaga’s place a few hours ago, but if you were being honest it took a while to decipher what he was saying. In between every five or so memes or videos he sent you there was a number or letter, maybe three at most if you were lucky.

You sat there with your phone in your hands for what felt like forever, not having the guts to ask Shalnark to just tell you straight up – because he wouldn’t, you know that.

From what you managed to gather from your online map, it seemed that Nobunaga’s place and Uvogin’s place were near each other, no more than a fifteen-minute walk at most. If they lived so close to each other, why didn’t one of them just visit the other? That was the third red flag you didn’t say anything about… and came to regret only half an hour later.

The electric sign attached to the entrance of the bus flickered from time to time with varying degrees of brightness. One person complained openly to the driver that the screen was so dark they did not know that they had missed their dormitory’s building. He didn’t care, only shrugging his shoulders and telling the student that ‘that’s life’. They got off murmuring curses you could hear from the middle part of the bus. Once again, he didn’t care. Like Shalnark, the driver wouldn’t take anything you say seriously; so you just used your online map to count the stops ahead.

“Hey.”

“Next stop: Aster Road, Thirds Street.” The automated message from the bus speakers loudly said, glitching a little after the word ‘Road’.

“Hey.”

You failed to notice who was behind you as you were too busy counting the stops ahead on your phone.

“Hey.”

“Next stop: Ritas Street, Wilds Complex.”

“Hey.”

“Next stop: Neo Road, Neon Green.”

“Hey.”

“Next stop: Romeos Road, Kiki Terrace.”

“Hey.”

“Next stop-”

You failed to hear the name of the stop because the hand that tapped your shoulder startled you and made you turn your neck around to the seat behind you.

You see a familiar face despite the fading light – or should you say, a familiar body.

“O-Oh… hi… Uvogin.”

Satisfied you had finally noticed him, Uvogin puts his hands behind his head as he smirks.

“Fancy seeing you so late,” he begins, looking down at your black bag. “Going to Nobu’s place, ain’tcha?”

“Yeah… you?”

“Basketball.”

Was Uvogin on the team too? If you remember correctly it was only Phinks, Feitan, and Nobunaga who were on it. Perhaps he just wanted to watch? Oh well. It’s not any of your business.

After remembering your last conversation with him yesterday, you decide to ask him why everyone thinks you are Nobunaga’s girlfriend – you only talked to him when necessary, in the classes you shared with him, but to be fair he also escorted you around the building most days.

“Listen… about that time…”

“What?” Uvogin turns his head, cupping his ear with his hand. “Speak up.”

“About Nobunaga and me…” You look down – at the books, at your cold wet hands, at the heels of your feet bouncing up and down. Your gut tells you that you’re making a mistake if you talk to him about you and Nobunaga’s relationship, or lack thereof. Your brain goes against it, saying that clearing things up will lead to less trouble down the line.

Your heart is beating too fast to accept or reject the possibility.

“Nobunaga and me…”

“You’re still talking too low,” Uvogin interrupts, his stare near-lethal to you. When you flinch at his words, his annoyance seems to disappear. “Hey, you can tell me. We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Yeah. Yeah, you’re friends or at least acquaintances. Saying the truth won’t hurt him and won’t hurt you. Maybe Shalnark’s teasing will go away. Maybe Chrollo won’t give you a task again. Maybe Nobunaga won’t be confused when he comes back to school.

“Nobunaga and me… aren’t dating-”

Uvogin’s expression changing wasn’t as fast as before, but his glare intensified as he stood up.

“Next stop: Nightstar Avenue, Owl’s Place.”

Your ears felt numb after you heard the ‘beep’ sound of someone pressing the stop button. Your eyes felt numb as you tried to see the details of Uvogin’s scowl in the dark.

It was Uvogin. He made the bus stop. But why?

It then hits you; this is the closest stop to Nobunaga’s place.

“Stop requested.” The speaker stated. The bus started to pull over next to a tall blue sign.

“Woah, the bus got here so quickly,” Uvogin says, going to the exit doors. When he didn’t hear you stand up too, he turned in your direction. “Don’t tell me you don’t know the directions to your boyfriend’s house?”

“Please exit through the rear door.” Another automated message. Uvogin presses on the door and it lets him out. After a few more seconds you follow him – your gut tells you that you must.

He helps you down with his much larger hands despite you not really needing it – there are handrails on the doors for that.

“What were you saying?” Uvogin asks. “Something about Nobunaga?”

There is a lit street lamp above the sign. It doesn’t flash like the ones near your dormitory and is much brighter. Despite the weather still being stormy, you can see houses a small distance away – not just the street.

You can see that Uvogin is smiling again.

“Nothing… It’s nothing.”

“Oh?” He sneers, his smirk getting even bigger. “You didn’t want relationship advice?”

“No…” You reply, your hands going to your backpack’s zipper to make sure the notes don’t get too wet.

“Nobunaga likes mochi. Maybe you can get some for him next time. Daifuku especially. He’d be so happy, maybe he’ll stop skipping class with me.”

A sigh comes out of both of you at the same time for much different reasons.

“But I don’t want that to happen… hmm.”

*~*~*~*

The outside of Nobunaga’s house wasn’t the house that stood out the most in this neighborhood. It had rather small walls that had peeling white paint in places closer to the ground, and cigarettes and used needles were thrown all over his dead lawn. The only thing you somewhat liked was the rusty gold sign beside the front door that read 251 – and only for the styling of the numbers.

“Here’s the place,” Uvogin says, patting your back as a way to gently push you forward. “Go on, doorbell's right there.”

You were forced up the steps with a force you knew was gentle for Uvogin but not for you. A trembling finger approaches the button slowly – as if using it would make you lose it via a guillotine’s blade.

Doing so didn’t because this is reality, but the pain in your heart feels similar to such a fate anyway. After a few more seconds and the door still being closed, Uvogin knocks loudly.

“[First]’s here!” His yell almost made you cry.

Your name may as well have been the password because Nobunaga opens the door right away. He pants a little like he was running to greet you two.

“Oh fuck, you made it! I thought the storm woulda scared you away.”

Nobunaga didn’t look very sick; he wasn’t wearing a shirt, had his hair down, and only his boxers covered his lower half. He didn’t look very sick; he actually looked quite well. Those signs scared you more than Uvogin’s subtle threat – if his glaring was intended to be such, that is. You don’t step past the doorway, leaving Uvogin to stand in the rain as you take off your backpack. But when you try to undo the zipper, you feel both of their hands touching you up and down as their grins widen.

“Stop that,” You murmur, attempting to step back. Your spine was greeted by Uvogin’s front half. You feel something pressing into you. Once you figured out what it was, you started to go under one of Uvogin’s arms. His leg caged you in then.

“She’s cute, Nobu.”

Nobunaga doesn’t answer in words – he only chuckles and continues to have his hands resting on your hips.

“Listen. Your notes are here, Hazama.” You say, making an effort to still be nice, to still be understanding. You don’t want to scream because what if you’re misreading something? You don’t want anyone to… be framed for something they didn’t do, right?

“It’s Nobunaga.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Nobunaga,” You’re pushed and pulled more. Before you can blink, you’re thrown on the couch’s back. Uvogin is the one who lets go of you and the one who locks the front door, Nobunaga is too busy feeling the back of your thighs. “I’m your boyfriend – it’s normal to call each other by our first names, right?”

Boyfriend?

Was… Was he…

Was he the one who told his gang you’re dating?

“I missed you, baby.” He murmurs, leaning down and pecking your neck.

He doesn’t seem to note how you’re trembling now.

“Stop.”

Uvogin simply gets closer. He doesn’t touch you, but he crosses his arms smirking as he leans against the sofa’s frame.

“Stop,” You repeat, trying to push Nobunaga harder off of you.

It’s not an order either of them recognize, so Uvogin continues to stare and Nobunaga continues to kiss your body.

“Stop!” Your tone makes Uvogin slightly shift. He frowns and his arms uncross.

He takes a few steps towards you.

“Nobunaga.” Uvogin’s voice is cold now, like how it was when you were about to get off the bus. You freeze. Nobunaga doesn’t stop – he doesn’t even look at Uvogin. “Nobunaga.”

“Stop, Haz-”

“Watch it.” Uvogin glares at you. “It’s ‘Nobunaga’ for you.”

He’s not… He’s not going to help you?

“Yeah.” Nobunaga agrees, pulling you further into his embrace.

“Let go of me!” You snap and push harder than you did before – and manage to finally ply him off of you.

Nobunaga stares down at you. He is now still. He doesn’t blink. His smile has slightly faded, but it is still there. There are subtle movements in his hands. His fingers are curled up. They want to grab something again.

They want to grab you.

“Don’t joke around like that, princess,” Nobunaga finally says, taking a few steps too close to you. “Not many guys are willing to forgive their girl for pushing them away like that. You almost screamed my ears off.”

“I’m not joking!”

“You are.” Uvogin interrupts, stomping his feet. “You are and I am starting to get annoyed. What about you, Nobu?”

“I’m just here to give notes Lucilfer told me to give to Hazama! I’m not here for anything else.”

Nobunaga’s gaze lingers on your backpack for a few silent moments after you say that. “Really… nothing else?”

“No, she’s here to cheer you up, Nobu,” Uvogin says, attempting to give a warm smile to his best friend. “She’s… just shy.”

The glare he gives you when Nobunaga’s eyes aren’t on him makes you feel like you are about to see God.

“...Right, [First]?”

You don’t respond right away, but Nobunaga does. He giddily smiles like a child on Christmas morning.

“Oh, you!”

He hugs you – his skin feels akin to slime and his hair clings onto your neck in little bunches. You feel unbrushed knots and his heart beating fast with adrenaline. When your own heart mimics the motion, Nobunaga thinks you are simply being shy – Uvogin had once again fed his delusions.

“She brought you the notes you missed. Even wrote a few cute lines in the blank spots.” Uvogin smirks as you look at him in horror. “She wanted me to come with her. Was anxious about missing your bus stop, sweet thing.”

He walks over to your backpack and grips onto the zipper. You attempt to stop him, walking a bit forward and trying to raise your hand, but Nobunaga’s grip is too strong. Within only a few seconds, the stack of notebooks Chrollo had given you is in Uvogin’s hands. He opens a page and starts reading aloud the cute notes someone else had written.

“Go get them, tiger.”

He turns to another page.

“Don’t die on me now.”

Then another.

“Remember one plus one?”

Then another.

“A whole bunch of hearts here…”

He then turns to a section you hadn’t looked at before – the back page.

“With lots of love, your one and only girlfriend [First].”

Oh shit. Oh shit.

Did his gang set you up?

…They did. They did.

This is bad. So very bad.

“I never-”

“Stop being so shy with your boyfriend, [First].”

“Why are you being so difficult?” Nobunaga asks, slightly frowning as you protest.

You have to get out of here – fast. If you distract them enough, maybe you’ll be able to make it outside. But they’re faster than you, just better overall when it comes to physicality-

Uvogin’s hand rests on your shoulder, silencing any thoughts or ideas he does not approve of.

“I know what she wants.”

“Huh?” You and Nobunaga ask simultaneously with two distinctly different tones.

It then dawns on both of you what he means – because his shirt is tossed on the couch before you can even take a step toward the front door.

“I know what she wants.” Uvogin repeats.

He wants nothing more than to put you on your knees as he unzips his pants and as Nobunaga keeps you down. He wants nothing more than for Nobunaga afterward to have a turn – or he could go first if he wishes. One of his fingers and one of Nobunaga’s own will be forced into you after your own clothes are discarded. Two tongues will slather all over your pussy like thirsty dogs – and after a few pictures are taken you’ll stay the night with Nobunaga while he makes his way to tell Chrollo that his idea was a success.

“I really couldn’t have done it without you, boss.”

-You try to scream and Nobunaga’s hand muffles your mouth’s cries.

“Don’t go being such a brat,” Uvogin continues, “When all you really want are two bodies to love on you.”

Your arms are grabbed and you are dragged up the stairs.

In a last attempt to get out of here, your legs spread out on the stairs and kick around at Nobunaga – but the fight is short-lived because they thump so roughly with each wooden step and it hurts; Nobunaga makes a note to finally get rid of any rotten oak once you leave.

The bedroom isn’t as spacious as Uvogin had hoped. Clothes were scattered all over the place already; most Nobunaga’s but others were clearly from past flings or some of yours that he had managed to steal. Your dorm was nicer despite it being the same size as the bedroom and your bed being even smaller. But at least yours had a frame and covers.

Maybe later Uvogin will stop by to see you crying yourself to sleep and to take some trophies.

Your white panties were a favorite of his, but Uvogin wouldn’t mind a little bit of change in his collection. A few bras perhaps or a few black thongs. He hopes for whole lingerie sets, but he knows it will only happen if he is lucky that particular evening.

Uvogin sits on the bed first. He thinks about pulling on your hair to make you sit on the dirty floor, but he dismisses the idea. That would be hurting you more than he has to and Nobunaga would be upset at him inevitably having long strands on his palm.

“Hey Nobu,” He says, unzipping his pants and boxers as he quickly tugs them both down to his ankles. “Make sure she’s comfy as we do this, okay?”

It took a while for you to stop crying after that. It took a while for you to do a lot of things Uvogin and Nobunaga wanted you to do. It took a while for you to take just the tip of Uvogin’s penis. Nobunaga had told Uvogin to take it slow when you had finally clamped your lips around him.

“It’s her first time, Uvo – be gentle, okay?”

Uvogin almost laughed at the irony he managed to leave unsaid.

He didn’t want Nobunaga to get upset with all the information he had attained while stalking you for months. You were supposed to just be his little secret he pinned down once in a while, but then Nobunaga just so happened to share a few classes with you.

He fell for you too. Uvogin had never felt any negative emotion for Nobunaga ever over their years-long friendship, but the slight tinge of envy he possessed the moment he found out could almost count.

Oh well, he thinks. I still have pictures of you that he does not. Pictures I would rather not have him see and you probably don’t either.

Just for future reference in case you acted up too much, though Uvogin could always take the more physical route.

Though once again he remembers that Nobunaga is in the picture now. Though their bond is as strong as forged steel, he knows that his friend has always been a bit too controlling when it comes to what he has and loves.

Whether that be simple instant ramen or expensive bottles of brandy, Nobunaga has always had a habit of stowing his possessions away where no one can even look at them.

Uvogin understands although Nobunaga had said nothing about you being something to own. Uvogin understands because he sees how he looks at you.

It’s not disgust he feels. It’s something much less potent, but he cannot put his finger on the exact word. Machi had described it perfectly once when they were all in their mid-teenage years.

He doesn’t bother to remember right now.

You are more important.

You look prettier than he had ever seen you – precum is leaking a little from your lips as little noises come out of them too.

Please. Please.

Please.

You’re not in tears right now.

Uvogin is glad. You in makeup is nice to look at, but he knows that since it is absolutely pouring outside you didn’t want to put some on. Either for that reason or because you knew that Nobunaga was just a friend, despite what Nobunaga in return has told the Troupe. It’s cute, really.

Maybe later he can pull this when he inevitably breaks into your dorm or even in a study room in the university’s library. You’ll have makeup on when you feel like it or when he forces you to. He can ask Pakunoda about how to apply mascara and stuff. She’ll teach him. As a bonus, she won’t tease him like Shalnark does daily.

Thinking more about the idea, Uvogin makes the mistake of letting go of your face.

You cough louder than he had expected. Your spit is now all over the wooden floor Nobunaga has to clean up later. The floors are water resistant. But not waterproof. Uvogin has to remember that there is in fact a difference. Hopefully, it won’t stain and rot like the stairs did, but if it does Uvogin wouldn’t mind paying for the damages.

He wouldn’t mind paying you to keep silent about this too – or he’ll make the cops silent if it came down to it.

“Oh,” Nobunaga rubs your arched back as you squirm and saliva runs down from your clearly sore jaw. He sounds disappointed, but trying not to let it show. It’s not successful. Every person Nobunaga has ever crossed can read him like a book, not that Nobunaga knows about it. Or maybe he does and just doesn’t want to admit it. “You spat it all up. Didn’t wanna swallow it?”

You don’t respond. Uvogin is getting used to that by now. Not Nobunaga though.

“Shh… it’s okay.” Nobunaga senses your distress but thinks it is just shyness. Uvogin is getting used to that too. “It’s okay… you did such a great job.”

“Home,” You choke out. “Please… let me go home now…”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” Nobunaga asks, turning his head a little. “We’re not done here.”

“Please… Please, I-”

“Shh.” Uvogin interrupts. Now it is his turn to play the good guy here. “Nobu still hasn’t had his turn, remember? Thankfully he won’t use your mouth.”

A blend of hope and fright is in your gaze. Uvogin didn’t have to get used to that one. He has seen it too many times with all sorts of people. Chrollo loves that look. Feitan loves it too. Maybe their partners’ eyes are like that as well. A ginger-haired girl avoids Chrollo like the plague and Uvogin hasn’t seen that look particularly on her. Apparently, she does in fact beg him for things. With how prideful she acts, Uvogin would pay money to see that.

“He’ll use his,” Uvogin says. He stands up, zipping his pants back to how they used to be. There are a few white stains here and there, but nothing the laundromat wouldn’t fix. “Then you can go home. Okay, princess?”

You’ll get used to this, Uvogin thought to himself. Everyone gets used to things. Even death.

270 notes · View notes

lilmoonbunny · 10 months

Text

Co-Workers to Lovers; Albert Wesker

Warnings: Cheating boyfriend (reader's bf, not Wesker), alcohol consumption, implied nsfw.

Working alongside Albert Wesker was… interesting.

He was cold, rude, blunt, and so on with all his workers, except for you.

He wasn’t a lot nicer, but there wasn’t the same amount of judgement, hatred, and annoyance in his tone when he spoke to you.

If it wasn’t for the fact that he would kill them, your co-workers would joke that he has a sweet spot for you.

It wasn’t like you didn’t have one for him also. Most of your co-workers hated you for the special treatment you got from Wesker, so he was basically all you had at Umbrella.

Your boyfriend wasn’t fond of your work-relationship with Albert, something about how he “didn’t trust the creep” and how “he’s trying to steal you from me”.

You never believed any of that, but then again, you never believed that your boyfriend would cheat on you either.

Well, until the night you came home from work earlier than usual to the sound of moans from your bedroom.

At first, you thought maybe he was masturbating. After all, it had been a while since you two had last had sex. Work Albert had been keeping you busy.

The moment you heard the female moans, you knew what was happening, but you couldn’t stop yourself from entering the room.

“Really?” You asked him, watching his face morph from pleasure, to shock, to anger.

“You’re home early!”

“Clearly.”

Without another word, you left the room as your boyfriend of three years rushed to put his pants on and chase after you, but before he could reach you, you had already left, beginning to walk in the pouring rain.

You didn’t know what to do or where to go, so you ended up back at work. They had beds for those doing 24-hour shifts, so you could just take one of those.

“I thought you finished for today. Why are you here, and why are you wet? You’re dripping on the floor.” Whilst his words would seem annoyed, there was an underlying tone of concern in Albert’s tone.

“My boyfriend cheated on me; I walked here in the rain. Sorry, Sir.” You whispered, avoiding eye contact.

Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the way his jaw clenched in anger, but all you heard was an annoyed sigh followed by you being told to follow him.

He took you to his office, bluntly telling you to sit before leaving the room.

You waited, eyes still staring at the floor rather than the room around you.

You were embarrassed more than anything. First your boyfriend cheats on you for God only knows how long, and now you’re crying to your boss.

“It’s not your fault.” Wesker’s deep voice sounds from behind you, the weight of a towel being placed on your shoulder pulls you from your self-deprecating thoughts.

You shrug and he sighs again, taking a seat in his chair.

“Look at me.” You do.

It isn’t easy for him, not at all, but he does do his best to put on a somewhat kinder face and try to comfort you.

“He’s a moron. Don’t worry about that idiot. You deserve better.” He says. “You deserve me” sounds his internal voice, but he ignores it.

With a quiet sigh, you nod and agree. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Albert is quite fine, Dear.” The name causes you to blush and you silently pray that he doesn’t notice or will just pass it off as you being cold, but he isn’t stupid.

“Thank you, Albert.”

Wesker can’t deny the way his body reacts when his name rolls from your tongue, but he can sure as hell ignore it. He doesn’t need feelings. He isn’t capable of them, he tells himself.

“You can stay in my office for the time being. I finish in an hour or two, I’ll drive you back to my place.” It wasn’t an invitation, it was a demand, but one that you didn’t want to turn down.

“Thank you.” You repeat, and he simply nods, passing you some dry clothes, and leaving to return to work.

Once he finished work, Albert gathered his things and lead you to his car.

Being the gentleman he is, although it was only for you, he held the door open for you, enjoying the way you blushed and muttered a thank you.

The drive was quiet. It was late, dark, and you were both deep in your thoughts.

He was wondering if he had made a mistake inviting you to stay at his home until you were back on your feet. He didn’t know how long he could go without kissing or touching you, but it also didn’t sit right with him making you stay at Umbrella offices where it wasn’t safe, or with your cheating boyfriend.

However, all you could think about was how good he looked driving, his hands tightened around the wheel and the gearstick. There was something oddly attractive about it.

Despite him being deep in his own thoughts, he didn’t fail to notice and couldn’t help the smirk on his lips which made you blush once again.

“We’re here,” he said, quickly moving to open your door for you and lead you into his mansion house, enjoying the shock on your face.

“Thank you, Albert,” you smiled at him as soon as you two were sat with drinks in your hands. “It means a lot to me. More than you can imagine.”

“It’s no problem, Dear.”

Over the weeks that you had stayed at his place, it was safe to say that you and Albert had grown closer, the same as your feelings had grown more for one another.

Albert was working more to keep himself busy, as were you, but the drives home were becoming more and more painful each time.

It was obvious to him that you had feelings for him, but he was him. Albert Wesker isn’t exactly the king of relationships, or even friendships; he had betrayed everyone in his life, after all.

He couldn’t resist, however, placing his large hand on your thigh as he drove, enjoying the way you tensed up beneath his touch and a blush ran to your cheeks, but you remained silent.

Having enjoyed your reaction, this was something he began doing every journey. He loved seeing you flustered, even more so when you stuttered when he spoke to you during the drive.

“No need to stutter, Dear. It’s only us.” He would say with a smirk.

You didn’t know how much longer you could last without touching him either, but you were afraid of rejection. Sure, he touched you, but what if he didn’t want you to touch him.

He could sense your hesitation and didn’t expect you to ever do anything, at least, until you laid your hand on top of his that rested on your thigh, your head lying on the glass of the window. It was clear you were tired, and perhaps that was why you were doing it.

You fell asleep that drive, the sound of rain and feeling of Albert’s hand touching your own lulling you into a deep sleep, one that he didn’t want to wake you from., so he didn’t. Instead, he carefully lifted you and carried you to the room you had been staying in. Your room.

Your relationship grew closer from there. You trusted him and, scarily enough for him, he trusted you also.

You went out one night with your friends, Wesker telling you to call him when you were ready to come home, and he would pick you up; he didn’t trust anyone but himself to get you home safely.

You had talked about him all night, leaving your friends wondering what was happening between you both. That was when you finally admitted it to yourself: you loved him.

Whilst the thought had always been there, completely admitting it to yourself was terrifying, but it had to be done.

However, the only way you felt you could properly think on this was by drinking more.

When it reached 3am, you texted him telling him you’ll get a cab since he was likely asleep.

Don’t be stupid, I’ll come get you. I can’t sleep. Where are you? Came his immediate reply. He would never admit it, but he stayed up worrying about you.

He was there moments later, helping you into the car so you didn’t fall with a sigh.

“Are you mad at me?” You asked upon realising that he wasn’t touching you for the first time in weeks.

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

“Then why aren’t you touching me?”

“You’re drunk. I’m not touching you whilst you’re drunk, Y/N.”

A blush ran up your cheeks at the realisation and your drunk self couldn’t stop the words leaving your lips.

“But what if I want you to? What if I want you to do more than hold my thigh?” You’d regret that in the morning, but you were too drunk to care.

Albert’s hand tightened on the wheel at your words, doing his best to calm his breathing before responding.

“You’re still drunk. I’m not taking advantage of you whilst you’re under the influence. If you still want it tomorrow, then I will.” Were the final words for the night before you fell asleep and he, yet again, carried you inside, the smallest smile on his lips.

The following morning you were terrified of facing him, remembering what you had said, so you stayed inside your room until noon when a knock came on your door.

“I know you’re awake, Y/N. We need to talk.” Came his stern voice that had both your heart and thoughts racing, assuming the worst.

“Okay.” Came your meek response as you opened the door, allowing him into the room.

It was silent for a few moments, before you offered him a seat beside you.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asked, staring at you. “Be honest, I won’t be offended if you say no.”

His words confused you, but as you stared at him, you couldn’t help but notice the way his pupils dilated whilst he stared back, lips slightly parted. You weren’t dumb, you knew what that meant. He wanted you the same way you wanted him.

Rather than responding, you closed the gap between both of you, his hands instantly moving to push the straps of your dress that you had failed to change out of down your shoulders.

Once you pulled away, breathless and half undressed, he chuckled quietly.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He teased, but you ignored it and pressed your lips to his again in desperation.

Maybe it had always been him since you met him. Maybe your cheating ex-boyfriend was just what made you realise that.

One-shot (Cheating Heart) coming soon!

#resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil imagine #resident evil imagines #resident evil fanfic #resident evil fanfiction #resident evil smut #resident evil wesker #resident evil albert wesker #albert wesker #albert wesker x reader #albert wesker imagine #albert wesker imagines #albert wesker fanfic #albert wesker fanfiction #albert wesker smut #wesker #wesker x reader #wesker imagine

704 notes · View notes

theyhavetakenovermylife · 2 months

Note

Hey welcome back! 🐢🔥 I missed your writing!!

Was thinking of like 2003 Raph helping his stubborn s/o to blow off some steam and calm them down by pleasuring them. 👉👈

Chill Pill (18+)

2003!Raphael x reader

A/N: I am glad to be back!💚🐢 Now, time for Raph’s stubborn partner to cool off hehehehe😈❤️

All characters are aged up.

Warnings: Orale - female receiving, fingering, grinding, implied sex.

“Have I ever told ya how hot you are when ya get worked up?”, Raph said with a smug smile, watching as you stormed around your bedroom in annoyance. You turned towards your boyfriend in a snap, staring daggers into his face as he laid there comfortably on your bed, smiling at you as if you were the funniest thing in this world.

“You’re such a prick!”, you yelled out, before continuing stomping around your bedroom, more frustrated than before.

“Feisty”, Raph chuckled, sitting but from his relaxed position. “I like that”.

“Shut up”, you mumbled, not even looking at him.

“Babe”, your boyfriend said, his voice as friendly as ever, directing your attention towards him, seeing him sitting there while his smug smile showed brightly at you. “I know it was a stressful day at work, but it’s okay now. Tomorrow is going to be a much better day”.

“No, it’s not okay!”, you yelled, feeling more frustrated than ever, your cheeks red and ears burning. “Because tomorrow that bitch of Karen is going to keep complaining, and then my boss will keep telling me to fix it, even though she is the bitch that started the problem in the first place!”, you yelled, standing for a moment to catch your breath.

“And people call me a hot head”, Raph said as he got up from the bed, causing you to shoot him another unamused glance. He walked over to you, wrapping his arms around you, looking directly into your still irritated eyes. “You need to relax”, he said, giving your nose a small tap with his finger, making you scrunch your nose.

“No I don’t”, you said, waving away his hand from your face.

“You don’t? Huh, funny”, Raph said, looking as if he was thinking. “Aren’t ya the one who keeps telling me I need to relax when I get worked up?”

“I am”, you said somewhat annoyed.

“I thought so”, Raph said with his stereotypical sarcastic voice. “So now, do like the pretty girl that ya are, and lay down on the bed for me”, he said, giving your back side a small clap as he guided you towards the bed.

“Sometimes I hate you”, you said over your shoulder as you made your way to the bed.

“And that is also why ya love me. So get on ya back and be as cute as ya always are”, he said, crawling onto the bed himself.

“Shut up”, you said once again, trying to hide your pressing smile.

“No”, Raph said with big mouth movements, placing his hands on your legs, giving them a small shake. “Even if I lose my mouth, I won’t shut up”. His hands went up your legs, gliding over your pants covered thighs. “But we won’t want me to lose my mouth”.

“Why not?”, you asked, feeling like a small challenge, watching as Raph’s fingers slowly went for the button of your pants in order to undo them.

“Ya know why not”, Raph chuckled, tugging at your pants, sliding them off of your legs when you lifted your hips for him. You couldn’t help but bite your lip, as you slowly realized what he meant.

With your pants hitting the floor, Raph settled between your legs, spreading them wider for him. And from the smug smile on his face, he was able to smell something you obviously couldn’t.

“Someone is liking this”, he said, his fingers slowly taking a hold of the sides of your underwear, getting ready to pull them down.

“You’re dumb”, you said, no longer able to hold back your little smile as he slowly pulled your panties down.

“You, need to take a chill pill”, Raph said with a smile, pulling your underwear all the way down your legs, leaving your lower half bare for him.

“You got one for me?”, you asked, watching him as you continued to bite your lip.

“Of course I do”, he answered, lowering his lips connecting to your thigh before slowly making their way upwards. “And I got plenty of where they come from”.

Raph’s lips came into contact with your mount, pressing a firm kiss against it, before slowly moving downwards towards your bundle of nerves. His hands running down under your thighs, grabbing a hold of them before pulling you closer against him, allowing his tongue to lick over your clit. This action caused your legs to tension up momentarily, your lips parting allowing a small sound of pleasure escaping, closing your eyes momentarily.

Raph’s chuckle vibrated against you as he gave your clit another lick, watching your reaction with observant eyes, loving what he was seeing. His trick was already working on you, just like he knew it would. You were already crumbling beneath him, and he hadn’t even started yet.

He continued his kitty licks on you, watching as each lick got a reaction out of you. It didn’t take long before one of your hands found their way to the top of his head, pushing him further against you.

“Keep going, Raphie”, you moaned, your eyes closed in pure bliss. And so Raph did, wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking lightly before slowly going harder at it. This caused you to buckle your hips up against his face, welcoming all the actions he gave you.

Raph hummed against you, finding amusement in your actions along with the expression on your face. Placing one hand on your abdomen, he pushed you back down against the mattress, your legs already beginning to squirm, just like he knew they would. You needed this.

“Shit”, you mumbled, hiding your head against your shoulder. You could feel Raph smirk against you, giving you one more lick before wrapping his lips around your clit once more. You felt Raph’s finger prod against your entrance, feeling your wetness and his saliva running down your folds.

Raph watched as you laid there in pure bliss, your eyes shut closed and your mouth open, one sound of pleasure after the other, your other hand coming up to hold the mattress by your head, while the other continued to push Raph’s head against your core.

You gasped when Raph’s finger entered you, his thick digit stretching you out ever so slightly around it. Raph’s churring against you as he moved his finger in you, moving it based on your reaction, leading him to do curling motions when he found that familiar spot inside you. This made you sit up and look at him, taking in the sight of him between your legs, smiling smugly at you. Of course he had to give you that look. The I-told-you-so look.

You wanted to call him something, just to be playful. Just like the two and you often would. But at this point Raph could read you like an open book. He knew what you were going to do before you did it. So with that he worked his finger harder and faster on you, making you fall back against the bed once more with a loud moan.

“Fuck, you’re a prick, Raph!”, you moaned, trying to buckle your hips against him again, causing him to laugh against you once more.

“Your favorite prick”, he smiled, before continuing his work on you, adding another finger.

Your legs started to shake by Raph’s head, letting him know that you were not far away from reaching your peak. You could feel the growing pressure inside you, pushing further and further, making you feel like you were going to explode.

“Raph, babe, I’m close”, you whimpered, your voice breathy.

Raph answered with a low growl of approval, somehow speeding up his fingers, pushing you closer and closer to the edge, your legs lifting and curling, your sounds becoming more and more desperate.

A few more thrusts of Raph’s fingers and his tongue and lips on your clit, finally caused you to trip over the edge, letting the wave of pleasure wash over you as you came onto his face. Raph continued his actions, letting you ride out your high, until you finally calmed down, laying on your bed, blissful and happily exhausted.

Raph crawled up from between your legs, resting his chin on your chest, looking up at you with his face covered in your juices. “How did ya like that chill pill?”

“It was okay”, you hummed, smiling down at him, before letting him press a sweet kiss to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

“Great”, Raph hummed, using his hands to wrap your legs around his hips, before he slowly grinded himself against you, letting you know exactly what was on his mind. “Because now I need one as well”.

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navybrat817 · 11 months

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See Through You

Pairing: Dark!Nick Fowler x Female Reader Summary: You head to a carnival with your best friend and get more than you bargained for when your handsome neighbor bumps into you. Word Count: Almost 4.8k Warnings: Explicit sexual content, NONCON/DUBCON, unprotected vaginal sex, semi-public sex, choking, mirror sex, possessive behavior, mentions of stalking, breaking and entering, threat of violence and implied violence (not against the reader), Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?). A/N: Fix #8 Navy's Trick or Treat Nonsense! Special thanks to @maskedmistress87 who suggested dark!Nick with mirror and choking and @sgt-seabass and @tumblin-theworldaway for spitballing. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @buckets-and-trees (thanks for the feedback and help!), but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It was your best friend's idea to wear costumes to the carnival. Though it wasn't Halloween just yet, it was a good way to get into the spooky holiday spirit. You weren't sure why you decided on a Red Riding Hood costume, but the cape would keep you somewhat warm if it got too cold. So would the stockings. You even got a basket purse so you could carry your things around and keep in theme with the outfit.

If you were lucky, you'd find yourself a big, bad wolf to play with.

After adjusting the cape around your neck, you spritzed yourself with your favorite perfume and carefully set the bottle on your vanity. You always set it to the right of your jewelry box. Strangely, it wasn't in its usual spot the last few days. Just like your robe wasn't yesterday. You swore you set it on the left hook, but when you got out of the shower it was on the right.

It would’ve been easy to write it off as a roommate messing with you, but you lived alone.

“I really need to stop watching scary movies before bed,” you mumbled as you went to your dresser and shut your underwear drawer. It was ajar a few days ago. Had you left your place in such a hurry that you forgot to close it?

The ding of your phone pulled you from your thoughts, giving yourself one more look in your vanity mirror before you went to get the device.

“Two minutes away!” Kiki messaged you.

There was a slight chill in the air as you went outside to wait, but that wasn't why you shivered. Every once in a while, you had the feeling someone was watching you. Like a pair of eyes following your every move. It didn't make sense. There was nothing about you worth watching.

It didn't stop a chill from sliding down your spine as you looked over your shoulder every time you left your home. Or when you thought about the random things that moved around your place. As far as you knew, no one knew where your spare key was. You lost sleep wondering if some creep snuck in. If someone did break in, they didn’t take anything.

But if someone went into your place and didn't steal anything, what did they want?

“Nice costume.”

You jumped at the sound of a familiar voice, almost dropping your phone as you turned toward it. “Nick, you scared me.”

“Sorry,” he smiled, but didn't sound sorry at all.

“Sure you are,” you smiled back, your heart slowing to a steady beat again as you wondered how he managed to sneak up on you.

Nick Fowler moved into your neighborhood a few months ago. He usually kept to himself, but made it a point to give you a nod when he was going to or from work. While you wouldn't say you were friends, he was friendly enough with you and didn't bother anyone. He even helped you fix your cable when it went out some time back. As far as neighbors went, he was a good one.

And a handsome one.

The man turned quite a few heads when he unloaded boxes from the moving truck and you didn’t blame anyone for looking his way. With his athletic build, he carried the heavy items with ease. He had the bluest eyes you’d ever seen and his short, dark hair only helped to make them stand out more. The scruff surrounding his lips and along his chin looked long enough to leave a delicious burn if it ever touched your skin. You hardly ever saw him smile at anyone, except you. And he smirked at you on more than one occasion.

Like he had a secret he was itching to tell you.

“You okay?” He asked, taking a step closer. “You seem a little jumpier than usual.”

“Just a little tired. Haven't slept well the last few nights.”

“Is everything okay?”

You debated telling him what was going on since he sounded concerned, but decided against it. You didn't need to burden him with that. Besides, nothing was wrong. Just the spooky season getting under your skin. “Oh, yeah. Everything's fine. I’ll probably end up crashing when I get back.”

“Well, I'm here if you need anything,” he said after a moment. Those blue eyes of his meticulously looked over your costume. “So, you have a fun night planned?”

You almost tightened your cape around your body to hide from his gaze. Not that his attention wasn't flattering. It was kind of nice. Plus he was single as far as you knew and you never noticed him bringing anyone around. “Yeah. Going out with a friend."

Nick frowned a little. “He isn't wearing a wolf costume, is he?”

You swore there was a hint of jealousy in his tone, but you were probably imagining it. “No, she isn't,” you said, smiling as his shoulders relaxed.

“Well, it’s a great costume. You honestly look good enough to eat,” he said, chuckling a bit when heat crawled up your neck. “Sorry. I hope that didn’t sound bad.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I appreciate the compliment,” you said, both of you smiling as the warmth continued to move up to your face. “Do you have any plans?”

“I may watch a movie,” he said, running his fingers through his short hair. You tried not to stare at the veins in his hands or the way his sweater hugged his muscular frame. “It's too bad you can't join me.”

Your eyebrows shot up, not expecting his offer. Was it an actual offer? He hadn't invited you over to his place before. “Is it a scary movie? I like them, but sometimes they…”

“Scare you?” he guessed, his smile sympathetic as you nodded. “Well, you don't have to worry about any bad guys with me around. I can keep you safe.”

You smiled softly before Kiki pulled up to the curb. “Maybe another time?”

“Yeah, maybe,” he said, seemingly disappointed as he nodded toward the car. “Have fun at the carnival.”

Your smile slipped a little as he walked toward his place. “Thanks,” you called out, quickly getting into the car.

“Hey! Isn't that your super hot neighbor?” Kiki asked as you buckled yourself in.

“Yeah,” you replied, looking in the mirror as she drove off. Nick had stopped before he went inside and watched as the two of you drove away. It made you shiver. “He kind of invited me over to his place.”

“What?! And you're in here with me?” she asked, lightly smacking your arm. “You should've gone with him or invited him to come with us. You could’ve gotten laid tonight.”

At the reminder of your recent lack of sex life, you sighed. There was nothing wrong with having fun, but you wanted a bit more than that. Not like anyone had shown interest in you as of late. There was the guy who lived across the street who flirted with you weeks back, but he pretty much avoided contact with you the next day.

You wondered if he moved out since you hadn’t seen him since.

“You were already on your way and I didn’t want to just invite him,” you said, loosening your grip on your purse when your fingers began to ache. “It's weird though. He told me to have fun at the carnival, but I don't remember ever telling him I was going.”

How did he know?

“Maybe he guessed. Or maybe you mentioned it and forgot. I mean, you did say you haven't been sleeping well lately.”

“That's my own fault,” you said.

“Well, lack of sleep could be messing with your memory. And may I remind you that I told you to stop watching scary movies? They always make you jumpy,” she said, glancing over at you as her smile faded. Nick even noticed your jumpiness. “Look, we can skip this and go tomorrow. I don't mind.”

You shook your head and brushed the strange feeling off. She was right. Those films made you paranoid and she didn't need to deal with that. “No, it's okay. We deserve some fun.”

“You want some real fun, go visit your neighbor when you get back. He looks like he knows how to fuck.”

“I'm sure he does,” you giggled. You had no doubt about that. “But I'm not going to find out tonight.”

“You might. Who knows? He may even show up at the carnival to hunt you down.”

You both laughed, your smile bright and happy again. No one was going to hunt you down. No one was watching you. Your life wasn't some creepy movie. You just needed to relax and have a good time.

The carnival was in full swing, booming with cheerful music and shouts from people on the brightly lit rides. As you followed Kiki though, you kind of regretted not taking Nick up on his offer to hang out. Not even thirty minutes after you arrived, your best friend bumped into a hot guy. Literally bumped into him and almost spilled her drink on his shirt. Both of them had hearts in their eyes and they had been attached at the hip since. While you were glad she was having a good time, you were starting to feel a bit like a third wheel.

You also had that impression that someone was watching you again. Your skin prickled as you looked to the left and right, wishing the feeling would go away. It was silly. No one was looking at you. Everything was fine.

“Hey,” you said, tapping Kiki on her arm as she laughed at some corny joke. “I think I may explore on my own a bit.”

Her face fell as she looked between you and her new beau. “You sure? We can-”

“I'm sure. Really,” you assured her. She deserved to have a good time and would've encouraged you to do the same if you bumped into a guy. “I'll text you in a bit so we can meet back up?”

“Or I can give you a ride home.”

Surprise was written all over your face as you spun around. That was the second time Nick made you jump today, an amused smile on his face as you held your chest. He was in the same outfit you saw him in earlier, but he now had a sticker on the left side of his chest that stated, “Hi! My name is NICK”.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, his smile immediately fading as you took a breath. Your tone was a lot sharper than you intended. “I'm sorry. You just scared me again.”

Nick peered at you before he sighed. “Didn't mean to scare you or eavesdrop. I got bored watching the movie and decided to check this place out,” he said, glancing down at his feet for a moment. “I tried waving a minute ago, but I guess you didn't see me.”

You felt like a bitch. Maybe that was why you thought someone was watching you. It really was all in your head. “Sorry, I didn't see you.”

“Sorry I scared you again,” he said.

“It's okay. Really.”

“Well, neighbor, since you're here, you two should hang out,” Kiki suggested, giving you an encouraging smile.

What did you have to lose? “Would you like to join me?”

Your neighbor's smile was back on his handsome face. “Yeah, I'd like that.”

Kiki nudged you forward, moving you closer to Nick as your stomach flipped. “Text me when you leave or if you still need a ride.”

“Don't worry. I'll take care of her," Nick promised as she walked off with her new guy on her arm, leaving the two of you alone. “Lead the way."

“Okay," you said, maintaining a bit of distance as you walked beside him. You had no clue if you wanted to play games or go on a ride. “Anything in particular you want to do?”

“You.”

Your head twisted in his direction so quickly you almost hurt yourself. “What?”

“I said ‘boo’,” he said, pointing in front of him. The two-story, brightly lit funhouse had a bunch of random words on the panels, including “boo”. Why did you think he said “you”? God, you needed to get a grip. “Should we do that? It could be fun.”

With a small laugh, you nodded. “Fun in a funhouse,” you said, stopping when the carnival worker at the entrance held up his hand.

“I’m about to go on my break. Come back in thirty minutes.”

“Oh. Okay,” you said, shrugging a little at Nick. Maybe you could find something else to do.

Nick, however, didn’t budge. “That’s quite a break. Tell you what,” he said, taking out his wallet and pulling out a bill. The worker’s eyes lit up when he saw the amount. “Why don’t you take your break and let us go in anyway? We won’t cause any trouble.”

“Stay the whole time for all I care,” the guy said, taking the money with a toothy grin and letting both of you go past to walk up the steps. “Enjoy!” he added, roping it off with a “closed” sign before he walked away.

“Go ahead,” Nick urged, waiting for you to finish going up the stairs first.

The normally whimsical music sounded strange to your ears. Maybe it felt spooky since you knew you were the only two that would be inside. Or maybe it was because the movie you watched a couple of nights ago took place in a funhouse. A group of teens went in. Nobody made it out. No, this wouldn't be anything like that.

“We really could’ve just come back,” you said, holding onto the railing as the stairs shifted back and forth. You didn’t hear Nick follow right away. Glancing back, you swore you saw him check out your ass. Not that he could see much thanks to the cape.

“You might have decided to leave before we made it back this way,” he said as you came across a spinning barrel. Just staring at it made you slightly dizzy. “Not that it would’ve been a bad thing if we left since Kiki ditched you so quickly.”

“She didn’t ditch me,” you argued as you stepped into the barrel. The sound of a laughing clown filled your ears as you did your best to walk in a straight line. “She deserves some fun,” you added, regaining your balance once you stepped onto a normal floor again.

Nick followed you so silently that you didn’t realize he was right behind you until his lips touched your ear. “So do you.”

Hot air shot out of the ceiling above your head with a piercing whistle, giving you an excuse to jump away as your heart pounded. His eyes sparkled in amusement at your reaction. “Like I said, fun in the funhouse,” you teased, putting your hands along the walls as the hallway grew narrow. It was still large enough for you to squeeze through.

“Especially since we have the place to ourselves,” he reminded you.

A shiver rolled down your spine. You wondered exactly what kind of fun he wanted to have and if you should’ve chosen your words more carefully. “You know,” you began as you stumbled into a Hall of Mirrors, frowning as you realized there wasn’t an open door or space to move through. Which mirror did you have to push to get to the next room? “You didn’t say why you were wearing a nametag.”

“It's my costume," he said, tilting his head like the answer was obvious.

You glanced around to see if any of the mirrors had any smudges, anything to give away which direction to go. They were all clean. “And what exactly are you supposed to be?"”

He smirked as he met your reflection in one of the mirrors. “I’m dressed as your neighbour who’s gonna fuck you until you can’t remember anything but my name."

You nearly fell into the mirror and he quickly caught your arm to keep you upright, the grip a bit tighter than you expected. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me," he shrugged a little as he stepped closer. “Almost wore a wolf costume so I could chase you down. The subtle hints I've dropped aren’t working, so I might as well spell it out for you.”

You tried to figure out if he was joking or not. Your reaction was to giggle. A nervous, soft laugh that seemed to wipe his smirk away. “Is that why you came here tonight? You were hoping you'd fuck me?” you asked, remembering your earlier talk with Kiki. “I don’t even remember telling you I was coming here.”

He tapped his ear. “I heard you on the phone with your friend.”

“I was in my bedroom when we made those plans. There’s no way you could've…” you trailed off, a sense of dread pooling in your stomach as he stared at you. Did his eyes always have a dangerous glint to them? “Nick, how did you hear that phone call?”

“Take a wild guess, sweetheart.”

You swallowed a little. “It’s you, isn’t it? You’ve been messing with me.”

It sounded crazy to your ears and you didn’t want to believe it because blaming it on irrational fear was easier. But the single, unashamed nod he gave you almost made you crumble. “I never told you what I do for work, but I’m good with setting up bugs and cameras. And such a sweet thing like you living so close, I couldn't help myself,” he explained casually, like he wasn’t admitting to something completely messed up. “You make such pretty noises when you touch yourself.”

“You watched me,” you whispered, your head spinning when he smirked. He watched you in your intimate, private moments. What else did he do?

“Knocking out your cable gave me the perfect excuse to get inside your place without raising suspicion. You never would've invited me over otherwise. Though you really should be more careful where you keep your spare key. Made it way too easy for me to make a copy.”

You held your stomach to keep from getting sick. So many thoughts raced through your mind as he advanced on you. Why had you ignored your instincts? Did your attraction to him partially blind you? “Why?”

“Because I wanted to. Because you’re mine. Take you pick,” he said, wrapping a hand around your neck before you could move back. “You have no idea how tempted I was to break down your door and fuck you after watching the footage. Or every time I snuck into your place. I even moved things around in the hope you’d turn to me and let me 'help you' figure out what was happening, but you didn’t. You kept your distance. Your little ‘hard to get’ act was cute, but a man can only take so much.”

Each word he spoke added a new layer of dread and alarm. He squeezed a little when you tried to pry his hand away, tears blurring your vision. Shouting wouldn’t do you any good, but it didn’t stop the screams in your mind. “I wasn't playing hard to get. I liked you,” you managed to say.

“And you weren't trying to lead that flirty neighbor on either, but you're too sweet for your own good. Don't worry. I took care of him. He'll never bother you again,” he smirked as your blood ran cold. What did he do? “Or anyone else for that matter.”

The man was insane. “Nick, you-”

He cut you off when he pressed his soft and warm lips against your mouth. You were two seconds away from biting into his bottom lip when he spun you around and shoved your front against the closest, normal mirror. It didn’t budge. “I’m tired of waiting for you to come around,” he said, yanking your cape off. “Tired of just watching when I know you belong to me.”

You froze, unable to fight or yell when he shoved your costume up. No one would hear you over the sounds of the carnival and the worker running the attraction wasn't close by. Why weren’t you fighting? Why couldn’t you do anything to stop him?

“Nick, let’s talk,” you tried to reason. “Please, you don’t have to do this.”

The sound of him tearing your underwear away made the first tear fall. “We're past the talking stage,” he snarled, kicking your legs apart before you whimpered. You weren’t sure if it was the sound that softened his gaze or the sight of your tears. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. That’s the last thing I want to do.”

His words did nothing to soothe you when he undid his pants. “You are hurting me,” you whispered. He hurt you by bringing fear into your life when he could've just asked you out.

“Am I?” he asked, parting your opening with his fingers. He chuckled darkly as he pushed a digit in with no warning. “Then why are you so wet?”

You whined in denial, but he was right. Arousal trickled along your thighs, your hole aching with the need for him to fill you with something larger than his finger. What was wrong with you? “No,” you moaned.

“Don’t deny me,” he growled, nosing along your neck before he bit down. You yelped, the sharp pain making you tighten around his finger. “Oh, sweetheart, we’re going to have so much fun together.”

Your body betrayed your will as he played with you and you were thankful momentarily when he pulled out. The relief was short-lived when you looked over your shoulder, just in time to watch him unzip his pants and take his hard cock out of his underwear. He’d break you with his size. “You can’t, please.”

“Yes, I can,” he said as he pressed the head of his cock against your sopping wet entrance. “Now be good and take what I give you.”

“Don't-”

“The only thing I want to hear you say is my name. Let’s let your pussy tell me how much you want me.”

You screamed as he pushed inside, your walls burning as you tried to accommodate for the size of him. He hadn’t prepped you nearly enough, though your arousal took some of the pain away. He didn’t pause to give you a chance to adjust either, as if the wet sound of you sucking his cock in gave him permission to take what he believed belonged to him.

“Fuck, your pussy feels better than I imagined,” he groaned, your resolve cracking as you opened your eyes. He forced you to meet his gaze in the mirror and you watched in horrid fascination as he took you. The surrounding glass showed every angle of his claim, your reality becoming more and more distorted. He surrounded you. Consumed you. “And it’s all mine.”

You made a small sound as you braced your hands on the glass, forced to feel every drag of his cock. The more he moved, the more you tried to grind your hips back against his. It was shameful for you to like it, humiliating that you wanted to get off because of him. It was as if your body no longer belonged to you and maybe it never did. Otherwise, why would you want this?

“When I get you home, I’ll take my time. Get you addicted to my cock,” he grunted, smiling at the glazed look in your eyes. “I’ll record it. Make you see how much you love it.”

“Nick,” you gasped when he put his hand around your throat again, a silent command not to close your eyes or look away. You moved a hand to his wrist when it became harder to breathe. He loosened his grip enough for you to inhale and slid his hand down to your chest, squeezing one of your breasts with a moan. You moaned, too.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Look at you. Look at us,” he groaned as he thrust faster. The hand on your chest moved back to your throat when he reached under your skirt. “See how perfect we are together? How well you take my cock? You know you belong to me.”

The sloppy sounds of your cunt got louder as he found your clit and rubbed it quickly. It was almost too much, but you craved more. What was the point of denying him when your pussy kept trying to pull him back in? Why fight the inevitable pleasure when your body surrendered to him?

You weren’t sure how much time had passed and it didn’t matter. You were lucky to remember your own name. He was fucking you dumb and you wondered why the fear faded. You knew it would return when he finished, but you felt ecstasy for now.

“My fucking slut. Never letting you go,” he said, pinching the bundle of nerves with a smirk as you breathed his name. The familiar twist of pleasure grew and his name was the only word you said as dark indulgence flooded your veins. You were going to come and there was nothing you could do to stop it. “So come for me. Right. Fucking. Now.”

The rough demand made your fluttering hole squeeze around him almost painfully. You struggled to hold back, but the release washed over you like a tidal wave. All you could do was helplessly pant as you trembled, his soaked cock thrusting still so he could join you in sweet bliss. And you wanted it. You wanted him to come inside you.

You could hate yourself later for wanting it so badly.

“You. Are. Mine,” he growled, his name falling from your lips as he tipped over the edge. You spasmed around him still as he finished, your cunt filled to the brim. “Mine.”

You gasped for air as he buried his face in your neck, your body shaking as you pressed your forehead against the glass. Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Maybe once you had the strength you'd run. Scream. Cry.

“Look at me,” Nick breathed, his lips touching your pulse. You blinked some of the haze from your eyes as you lifted your head, your heart still racing out of control. Minus the darkened tint in his cheeks, he looked normal. Not a hair out of place. Like he hadn't forced himself on you. “Didn't have to be like this, but it would've happened no matter what."

You nodded, believing him. He took you in the middle of the funhouse without a care of getting caught. He got what he wanted.

“And don't even think about running away from me or I'll chase you down,” he added.

Feeling his spend slide out of you as he pulled out helped the reality of the situation sink in. He took you and you didn't stop him. “I won't,” you answered in a small voice you didn't recognize as he tucked himself away and fixed his pants.

“Good,” he smiled, retrieving your cape from the ground and wrapping it back around you. “Because I'd hate for anything to happen to Kiki. Such a nice coincidence that some guy bumped into her, isn't it?”

You shook your head quickly, tears forming in your eyes again. “No, don't hurt her,” you begged. If what he said about your neighbor was true…

Nick cooed as he framed your face and gently kissed your lips. It was so tender and you almost believed he was capable of being good. Almost. “Be mine and I won't.”

He said it casually, but his eyes told you not to defy him. “I'm yours,” you whispered.

“Good girl,” he said, pulling a hand away to check his watch. “Time's almost up. Let's go.”

You had a hard time moving your feet, but he put an arm around you to help. It was like you were drunk, unable to see or think straight as he quickly found which mirror to exit through. You just wanted to go home, but he took your safe haven away.

Was Nick Fowler your villain or was he an antihero for doing whatever it took to get you?

“Don't worry. We'll let Kiki know you got home safely. You can even tell her I asked you out tonight,” he said, flashing a smile at you that made him look like he'd take a bite out of you. “And when we get back to my place, I'll get you addicted to my cock like I promised.”

So, what do we think? Love and thanks for reading! 🧡

Masterlist ⚓ Nick Fowler Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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lovebelphie · 10 months

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𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐁𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋

featuring - lucifer/satan, asmodeus/solomon, beelzebub/belphegor

ꨄ synopsis: they realized their feelings a little too late for you and learn you’re with another.

content warnings: nsfw with (major?)angst, female reader, standing up sex, public sex (in the hol library), marking, oral sex (fem receiving), doggystyle, heavily implied established relationships, unrequited love essentially

side-note: quite angsty and cruel in a sense, but who doesn’t love a little betrayal essentially(?) anyways, enjoy lovelies!

-`♡´- 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐅𝐄𝐑 — ft. 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐚𝐧

sometimes it was like lucifer was a little too stubborn. especially when he shouldn’t be. for some reason, he never could accept the fact he had feelings for you. it was like admitting he liked you more than just someone he was close to and trusted was a crime.

and it was his stubbornness that would be his downfall in this case. he had been looking for you in hoping to talk to you. he’d been busy with council duties he’d barely seen you.

plus his time away from you was making him realize maybe it was time to come to terms with his feelings. only for it to be too late. as he was walking by the house library he noticed there was light from the fireplace. which seemed odd.

until he heard what sounded like a moan coming from the room. the doors were slight ajar and he couldn’t help but glance through. only he immediately wished he hadn’t in that moment.

you were pressed up against the shelves, your legs wrapped around satan’s waist as he pounded into you. his thrusts causing the shelf behind you to rattle. your moans rang through the room as you clung onto him, “fuck, you’re extra tight, kitten.”

lucifer could feel his heart break, not realizing how much something like this would hurt. especially when he caught view of the bitemark on your neck, satan purposely traced with his tongue as he had you bouncing on his cock for him.

-`♡´- 𝐀𝐒𝐌𝐎𝐃𝐄𝐔𝐒 — ft. 𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐧

for some reason asmo denied having feelings for you. he flirted with you all the way, to the point of being a bit too touchy with you. except he was like that was everyone, you couldn’t be any special. he insisted there was nothing there between the two of you.

though because of his thoughts, he had been somewhat avoiding spending time with you. he hardly saw you but still flirted whenever he did and it was only brief.

yet as he walked down the hallway, you were on his mind. he was getting close to passing your room and felt the urge to check in on you and see you for a bit. he had heard that solomon was helping tutor you with some of the spells they were learning.

except as he reached your room, he heard noise. easily picking up what he knew for sure were moans. not to mention the clear sound of your bed creaking as well. it made his heart drop.

still somehow he compelled himself to open the door and his heart broke at the scene before him.

you were on your hands and knees, your face pressed into a pillow as you sobbed while solomon pounded into you front behind. the loud slapping of skin ringing in his ears as he heard you crying out solomon’s name. “fuck, you love when i’m pounding you from behind don’t you, princess.” solomon growled, his hands digging into the flesh of your hips as he thrusted harshly into you.

for some reason asmo still had hope. maybe it was a hookup, after all he had meaningless flings but he was quickly proven wrong. he saw the way you looked back at solomon. the way he kissed you and murmured a sweet, ‘i love you.’ was the final nail in his coffin.

-`♡´- 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐙𝐄𝐁𝐔𝐁 — ft. 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐫

there were plenty moments were beel seemed blind to his feelings for you. just the way he talked about you was sweet but he would say it with an ending of being just friends. despite him clearly desiring more than just friendship.

he didn’t know how to go about his feelings, barely aware he viewed you romantically. romance wasn’t something he desired but with you, that became a different story. he just didn’t know how to act.

which was why he hardly treated you any different or exposed clear interest like how he often did when it came to food or eating. he just didn’t know, and because he was so confused he spent time away from you. trying to understand what he wanted, did he really want you romantically?

he had been going to see you and belphie who he heard were in the attic. he had been hoping to also talk to you about his feelings with the possible support of his brother belphie by his side.

except while reaching the top of the stairs, he heard noise and a weird slurping sound. he came to a halt by the door, peeking inside only for his eyes to widen and his poor heart to break.

he saw belphie in between your legs, eagerly eating you out while you had your eyes closed and held on his hair. “you taste just so sweet every time i devour you. do you like me tongue on your pussy~?” belphie’s words teasing yet his hands tracing along your thighs were loving. gently squeezing them as he sucked on your folds and made you throw your head back into the pile of pillows.

beel was frozen in place hearing the girl he loved, screaming his twin brother’s name. it hurt even more when he saw the way belphie’s hand reached up to grab yours, intertwining your fingers together.

#obey me shall we date #obey me #obey me smut #obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus x reader #obey me asmo #obey me solomon #obey me beelzebub x reader #obey me belphegor #obey me beelzebub #obey me x reader smut #obey me x female reader

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youwerenevermeanttofeelalone · 1 year

Text

Dips and Valleys | Damian Wayne

✦ pairing — older!Damian Wayne x afab!female!Plus Size Reader

✦ word count — 2.5k

✦ request — I was wondering if I could request a older Damian Wayne x Plus size reader nsfw? Which would be that they are experiencing some new foreplay with Damian being the sub for once by being tied up in a chair getting teased real well to the point he doesn't make it. It would be funny if Damian had enough of her teasing and skillfully untied those ropes and well... become his dom self and had his way with her

✦ warnings — nsfw, switching, teasing, chair bondage (male receiving), brief marking (male recieving), cum play, cum swallowing, fellatio, unprotected sex (please don't do this), vaginal sex, implied creampie, aftercare.

✦ MINORS DNI

════════════════════════

Damian was still for once, looking up at you with feigned patience.

There was something about him being tied up to your vanity chair specifically that got to you; something somewhat primal, possessive to an extent.

Tracing the dips and valleys of his toned body, something you have done countless of times before, felt new this time around that he couldn't touch you back.

You had thought about this before, about what it would feel like to have him at your mercy like he often had you at his.

Damian looked so pretty, gazing at you through his lashes, sighing in pleasure as you touched him. The look suited him, almost everything did.

He shuffled as a reflex, so used to touching you that he forgot he was tied up until the silk around his wrists reminded him so.

But he didn't complain, he liked pleasing you a little too much. And you knew he was curious.

Leaning in, you kissed him just because you missed his lips, hands firm on his shoulders. He twitched; once again reminded that he wasn't in control, that he would have to wait until next time to get his hands on you.

He let out a desperate whimper, boosting your ego and encouraging you to kiss him more firmly, to indulge him by letting your tongue slide past his full lips, purposefully dragging your hands down his chest.

Damian tried to push himself forward, attempting to kiss you just the way he liked to. You couldn't help but giggle against his lips, relishing on his desperation so much that you feared he might have created a monster.

"Stop teasing," he demanded in a poorly-hidden whine.

He sounded delightful. His accent always came out richer when he was aroused, but the lilt of his neediness could easily become your favorite.

"Will you beg me?" you lightheartedly asked against his bottom lip.

Damian shook his head yet didn't dare to remind you that he never begged.

The outline of his cock was clear, straining his underwear. You almost felt bad for him; that was until you remembered every instance he had teased you until you couldn't take it anymore.

You brushed your knuckles against his clothed cock, pressing your lips to his jaw. His cock twitched.

Damian cursed under his breath, nuzzling his face against yours as he tried to get you to kiss him again.

Resting both your hands on his thighs, you pushed your body onto him, lightly pressing your lips against his. He parted his mouth, but you didn't kiss him.

He said your name, attempting a warning tone that came out desperate. It made you giggle which earned you a pout.

Because your intentions weren't to neglect him, only to tease him, you dragged your lips downward, finding compromise on his neck. Damian started grunting the moment your hands started moving up and down his thighs, lingering upward but away from his crotch.

You would have thought it was harder for you than it was for him if it weren't for his squirms and sighs.

Not giving in to the urge to kiss him until his lips were swollen was pure torture when he sounded so desperate, when he looked at you like he needed you.

"Why do you..." he trailed off, exhaling through his mouth as yours licked up his neck.

"Why do I what?" you asked, amused.

Damian didn't answer immediately, prompting you to kiss the shell of his ear down to the earlobe. With a shudder, he gritted his teeth.

Reaching the inside of one of his thighs with your hand, you rubbed up and down as you mouthed at his neck, trying not to smile as Damian wiggled to get you to touch him where he wanted.

“Patience,” you said against his skin. Your voice lacked the command his carried when he demanded patience from you, but you didn’t seem to need it to have an effect on him.

He opened his mouth to say something, you heard —and felt— it in the inhale he took, but you didn’t let him speak as your hand made full contact with his crotch. Palming his cock, you took a couple of steps backward to lower your mouth to his collarbones.

Damian choked out a loud groan, throwing his head back. Just when you thought he would simply let you have your way with him, he canted his hips upward to force more contact.

You kissed his chest, trying not to giddily laugh on his skin as he once again sought for more friction. Trailing kisses down his torso, you slowly caressed him from on top of his boxers, feeling the rumble of his impatient sounds.

Eventually, you kneeled between his legs, hands on his hips as you littered kisses all over his thighs. Damian’s breath grew ragged and it hitched when you gave his clothed cock a kiss.

Parting your lips, you dragged them along his length. He was painfully hard, and you were embarrassingly aroused. You rubbed your face against his cock, bringing a hand down to pet him so you could go back to kiss his thighs.

Damian moaned when your teeth scraped his left thigh, cock pulsating under your touch.

“You sound so good,” you praised without thinking, wet lips almost flush against his strong thigh. A thought occurred to you. “Can I mark you?”

“Fuck,” he growled. “You can,” he consented, breathless.

Your hold on his cock tightened as you attached your mouth to his skin, suckling until you were sure his skin would bruise just to lick the fresh marks. He drove his hips forward, rutting against your touch.

Your name dropped from his lips, strangled, and you felt his cock spasm as he came. You couldn’t stop yourself from looking at him, admiring his mouth parted and brows furrowed.

Damian’s chest heaved up and down as he recovered his breath. It didn’t take him long to go back to his silent inhaling and exhaling.

In a swift motion, he undid the silk rope around his wrists and grabbed you by the face as he stood up.

“Clean up the mess you made,” he softly instructed.

You nodded, bringing your hands up to his hips to pull his boxers down. Damian’s cock slapped free, covered in cum and half-hard.

Tracing your bottom lip with his thumb, he said, “Don’t use your hands.”

You whined.

“It’s only fair,” he reminded you, removing his thumb so you would do what he wanted you to do already.

You swirled your tongue around his tip, mixing his cum with your spit as you did so. Damian hummed in appreciation, moving his hand to the back of your head in encouragement.

His cum coated your mouth as you fully wrapped your lips around his cock. Slowly bobbing your head, you cleaned up every inch, used to the salty taste. You mewled, feeling his fingers slip into your hair, pushing yourself to take him all at once until your eyes became wet with tears and you choked a little.

He was deep in your throat, looking down into your teary eyes as you swallowed around his cock to assure him you were fine. His eyes glazed over, completely gone, unbothered by whatever had been troubling him that morning, fingers lazily massaging your scalp as you leaned backward, then forward, dragging your lips against him just the way he liked.

A part of you expected him to fuck your mouth, remind you of your place. But both of you knew he didn’t need to do such a thing, that your steady pace, his groans, and the sound of his cock hitting the back of your throat were more than enough.

Damian pushed you off his swollen hard cock. You licked your own saliva and his precum off, moving downward to catch his balls into your mouth which you found harder to do without being able to use your hands and without his guidance.

He tugged on your hair once, trying to pry you away from his balls and perineum. You gave his balls small pecks, coming back to his cock to do the same, making him moan loudly and obscenely.

“Enough,” he gritted out. “Unless this is as far as you want to go—”

You didn’t let him finish his sentence, moving away from his cock and gazing up at him.

Damian let out a breathless chuckle, helping you up. You reached for him, and he grabbed your wrists before you could touch him.

“Damian…”

“No touching.”

You pouted, but it didn’t tug at his heartstrings as you hoped it would. Instead, his hold on your wrists tightened.

Damian kissed the corner of your mouth and you hummed, understanding he was trying to ensure you were okay with it. Once sure, he latched his lips onto your neck, letting go of your wrists to explore your body.

“Wearing pretty lingerie just for me,” he mumbled.

You hummed again, this time in confirmation, fiddling with your fingers.

He walked you toward the bed, pushing you onto the mattress. “Hands to yourself,” he reminded you, using his own to part your thighs.

“Just…”

He cut you off by pushing your panties to the side, feeling just how wet you were for him.

“Don’t tease me,” you cried out.

Damian hummed, almost condescendingly so. His fingers explored your labia, up and down as he smeared all your slick.

“Damian,” you whimpered.

“Mmhh?”

“Please.”

He didn’t answer, too busy tracing your inner labia. Midway through his teasing, he changed his mind and pulled your lace panties down your legs, slowly dragging his hands over your skin on his way.

“Please what?” he finally acknowledged.

“Anything.”

He climbed onto the bed, hovering over you, feline-like. You stared into his eyes, awaiting an indication that you would get something other than teasing. He almost smiled.

Running his cock along your folds, smearing your slick all over it, Damian told you, “I’ll stop if you touch me.”

“I won’t,” you said.

He gave you a look that told you he didn’t believe you, but he was kind enough to give you the benefit of the doubt. “Ready?”

“Yes!”

His cock pushed in with ease and he bottomed out so quickly you held out a slither of hope that he would just give you what you wanted. Things were never that easy with Damian, of course.

You had always loved the burn of his cock as he stretched you, and he had always loved knowing he was the only one who got to stretch you out in the first place. In some ways, he had molded you to him and yet this time he started with slow, teasing, strokes that had you hot in the face.

His strong hands grabbed at your sides as they often did. You slightly closed your legs, needing to feel him closer.

Damian’s hips pulled away from you only to slam back in without warning. You hummed, as if he needed any kind of encouragement. It took him a few thrusts to find a rhythm, hands coming down to your thighs as sounds of skin against skin filled your bedroom.

You ground your hips up against his, breath already uneven. You wanted to grab at him, to hold tight so he would fuck you as hard as you both know he wanted to.

He held your legs open, rolling his hips to push even deeper, driving you into the mattress. You cried out, partially in desperation.

“Let me touch you,” you shamelessly begged.

“Later.”

“I need to touch you now.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Please,” you whined, canting your hips up again although with more difficulty as his tight hold on your thighs made it easy for him to keep you in place.

Damian growled. “If you could hear yourself…”

His thrusts got rougher, hammering into you at a fast pace. His eyes were on you, and if you were anybody else you would have thought he was angry, but because you knew him well, you knew he was holding back from going too far.

He drew moans and whines from you like he was born to do that and nothing else, and a string of desperate curses when he slowed down to grind against you, hands kneading your thick thighs as he did so.

Leaning in, Damian pressed his face into your neck and let out moans against you, lips brushing your skin. One of his hands traveled up your body to reach one of your wrists, a reminder that you weren’t to touch him.

You almost cried, frustrated and so fucking close to coming that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. The more you tried to come up with some way to convince him to let you touch him, the less things made sense to you. Not only was it hard to focus with Damian fucking you like the world would end if he stopped, but you could only think, ‘Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop’ yet the only sounds that came from you were intelligible babbles and moans.

He kissed his way up from your neck to your ear. “Touch me,” he breathlessly commanded as he let go of your wrist. Your hands flew to his back, legs wrapping around his waist as he planted his hands on each side of your head. Damian propped himself up, pressing his lips to yours.

You gasped his name into his lips, digging your nails into his back. You were so unbelievably close that your entire torso was tense already, pressure coiling inside you as Damian’s cock throbbed against your clenching walls.

“Let go,” he told you softly.

Something about his tone drove you over the edge. As the tension inside you snapped and you came, he continued to thrust into your pulsing core, fucking you through your orgasm and prompting his.

Damian rested his head on your chest as he caught his breath, slipping a hand between your back and the mattress to hold you. In return, you ran your fingers through his hair.

He trailed soft kisses around the top of your breasts, sighing against your skin. “Blue looks good on you,” he said, in reference to the bra you were still wearing.

“Mhm. Knew you would like it.”

“I like everything you wear.” He shifted as he said it, hips rolling against yours.

“Wait,” you softly told him, “I’m sensitive.”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” he assured you. “We need to change your sheets.”

“Five minutes.”

Damian relented, bringing his other hand up to your face. He caressed your cheek and asked, "Did I hurt you?"

"No. Did I?"

"No."

"Let me see your wrists."

"Beloved, I am fine."

"Then let me see them."

Damian removed his hand from under your back and brought it close to your face.

There was a light burn on his wrist which you had known would happen the moment he had started wiggling. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

"What about your five minutes?"

"I'm just a little sore, honey."

Damian kissed your jaw and pulled away from you. "I'll clean you up first."

#damian wayne x reader #damian wayne smut #damian wayne x plus size reader

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uglypastels · 3 months

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Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward.

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour.

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement.

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment.

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table.

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake.

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when—

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke.

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did.

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment.

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects.

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head.

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with.

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled.

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card.

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor.

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer.

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore.

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you.

Harrington.

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son.

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest.

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page.

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head.

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge.

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door.

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses.

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out.

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity.

Sincerest greetings,

S.H.

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom.

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude?

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce.

‘Miss Byrnwick,’ Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten.

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit.

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance.

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress.

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill.

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself.

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle.

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building.

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way.

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile.

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture.

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear.

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment. ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying.

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer.

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not.

‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it.

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet.

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you.

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings.

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words.

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning.

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise.

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said.

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work.

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance.

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world.

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay.

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination.

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away.

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

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