#There's nothing hotter than consensual lust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kleftiko · 6 months

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❦ THROUGH THE THIN WALLS

“it doesn’t matter that he’s not the man of your affections when he’s watching you touch yourself and pretending it’s his name you’ll be whining tonight”

cw: non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, toys, degradation, dirty talk

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST

He was such a pervert.

Straining his eyes to catch the best glimpse of you with your back arched, vibrator between your legs, and pornographic reactions was just horrible. And yet, he couldn't even feel guilty when he came back night after night, hid behind the door of your closet, and pumped his aching cock.

You were always so vocal, too; you had no reason to stay quiet when you thought no one would hear anyway. And sometimes, he would catch the names that slip from your tongue, making the whole charade even more filthy, cause then he would see you the next day, talk to them, and pretend like he didn't know you fucked yourself to the thought of them. The allure of your uninhibited pleasure was too intoxicating to resist. It became a twisted game of secrecy, where he played the oblivious colleague by day and the voyeuristic participant by night.

More often than not, he'd bite down whatever random item of yours was in reach, relishing the fact that it smelled like you, and came to the thought of his name panting from your lips.

This night was no different; he waited behind the closet door as you prepped yourself. Naked legs spread out just for him as you grabbed your box of toys.

You began by pinching your nipples. The anticipation in the room grew as he watched, his breath quickening with each pinch. He couldn't help but imagine the pleasure he could bring you, longing to be the one to make you moan with ecstasy.

Your body wiggled with anticipation, and the sight of it only fueled his desire further. He imagined the way your hips would sway against his and the way your movements would synchronize in a desperate act of pleasure. The intensity of his longing grew, and he couldn't help but imagine being able to join you in this.

Then one of your fingers crawled down your bare stomach to your thighs, scratching lightly again your soft skin as it reached your pussy. Your lips spread with a disgusting pop, already wet from a bit of teasing, and he loved how sensitive you were. He ached to explore every inch of your body, to taste the sweetness that lingered on your lips, and to feel the warmth of your lust against his own. The dream of finally being able to share in this intimate affair consumed him, lighting a fire within that burned hotter with each passing moment. Shigaraki didn't notice when he started palming himself.

"That's it, baby." You breathed as your fingers traced your clit. "At least you could do one thing right."

He bit his lip at that, wondering who you were degrading tonight.

The room was filled with an intoxicating mix of desire and power as Shigaraki's thoughts were consumed by the twisted pleasure of degradation. His mind raced with anticipation, wondering what dark desires you would unleash upon him tonight. The thrill of surrendering control to you always ignited an unnatural excitement within him, pushing him further into the depths of his own depravity.

His eyes were glued to your sex, straining through the door lock and trying to see it clench around nothing but a finger. He didn't notice when you removed the bullet vibrator, but he quickly undid his pants and removed his throbbing cock, knowing that the first sound you made when it came in contact with you was nothing short of ecstasy. As you pressed the little toy against your clit, his breath hitched and his hand moved faster along his length.

"C-can't even please me by yourself, huh?" You spoke into your room. "Need help from a toy?"

Shigaraki shuddered, watching you run circles over your cunt before dipping it past your lips and coating the vibrator with your slick. You pulled it out with a whimper as you brought it to your mouth, teasingly licking the tip before returning it to its rightful place between your legs. The sight of you pleasuring yourself so shamelessly drove him wild, fueling his desire to hear you scream in pleasure.

You continued your assault, one hand tweaking your tit and the other controlling the vibrator, causing your slick to run down your spread legs to your asshole. As you came for the first time, your body convulsed with waves of ecstasy, your moans filling the room. The intensity of your orgasm left you breathless, but it only fueled your hunger for more. Determined to push yourself further, you increased the speed of the vibrator and overstimulated yourself, eager to experience even greater pleasure.

Shigaraki had to force himself off his cock, knowing you never stopped at one orgasm, and he didn't want to stop the show too soon.

You began to whimper.

"No," you huffed and squirmed. "No more—I can't take anymore!"

You shook violently. Your body trembled uncontrollably as waves of pleasure coursed through every inch of your being. The sensations were overwhelming, pushing you to the brink of ecstasy. Despite your useless pleas for mercy, the desire for more consumed you, tempting you to surrender to the intense pleasure that awaited.

Then you collapsed. As you lay there, panting and spent, a sense of satisfaction washed over you. The overwhelming pleasure had taken its toll, leaving you completely drained. Your body trembled with aftershocks, and a contented smile played on your lips as you relished in the blissful aftermath of your intense climax.

But you still reached for the box.

The dildo you pulled out had him smacking his hand over his mouth to cover his moan. It was way too big for you, and you obviously knew this as Shigaraki saw the excitement in your eyes. It must've been a new one you hadn't used before, because the way you immediately clenched as you pushed it through your sopping lips was both thrilling and intimidating to him. He couldn't help but imagine the stretch and pleasure it would bring you, and the thought of being able to witness it up close made his heart race. As you continued to please yourself, he struggled to contain his own desires, longing to join in and make the experience even more overwhelming for you. The uninhibited whimper that emitted from your tear-stained face as you yanked the pink toy from your cunt was drool-inducing, and the string of your arousal that clung to it as it emerged caused it to gleam as it connected your sex and the dildo. Then you plunged it back in, and Shigaraki saw your back arch like a cat in front of him. You were so masochistic, and he loved it.

Then you picked right back up with your dirty talk, and he let his hand go back to his cock.

"You're such a disgusting pervert," you moaned, your voice filled with desire. "I want you to try and fuck me better. I dare you."

Shigaraki's eyes darkened with lust as he gripped his dick tighter, imagining it's him fulfilling your every wicked desire. Your provocative words were fueling his own appetite, which he could feel growing. With a mischievous grin, he silently accepted your challenge, determined to show just how wicked he could be. As he continued to pleasure himself, the room filled with an electrifying tension, both of you eager to explore the depths of your darkest desires, even if you weren't aware of his presence.

"Fuck, you a virgin, baby?" You asked. "Don't even know how to fuck a girl?"

Your words hung in the air, a mix of curiosity and challenge. Your provocative taunts caused his grin to grow wider. He lowered his voice, dripping with wickedness, as he whispered to himself, "Oh, baby, you have no idea what I can do."

"Bet Dabi can fuck me better." You whined, pumping the dildo in and out of your cunt.

Shigaraki's hands mimicked the motions as he watched you with a predatory gaze.

"What? Can't even defend yourself? You too fucked out already?" you bit.

Shigaraki watched you reach over your shoulder, bringing back the vibrator that was covered in your now-dry cum.

"So pathetic, you can't even get me off with your small dick."

Shigaraki's sadistic grin widened, relishing in the humiliation. "Oh, don't worry. I have plenty of other ways to make you scream my name." He leaned in closer, his forehead touching the door and his voice dripping with wickedness, as he whispered to himself, "Oh, baby, you have no idea what I can do. But trust me, by the time I'm done with you, Dabi will be long gone."

He imagined you underneath him, squirming and whimpering from the combined pleasure of his dick and fingers. His mind was consumed with thoughts of the power he could hold over you, thinking that he could push you to your limits and beyond. Shigaraki revelled in the anticipation of the pleasure and pain he would inflict upon you, relishing in the control he had over your body and mind. His breathing hitched, his hand quickening its assault on his slick cock. The thoughts in his head, sight of you before him, and sounds you made drove him right to the edge., but what you screamed when you pressed the vibrator back against your clit had him coming all over the door in front of him.

"Tomura!" you shouted.

Shigaraki stuttered in realization, his head lost in the throes of his own pleasure. The intensity of the moment had consumed him, leaving him unable to know if what he heard was a mere manifestation of his own desires. The overwhelming sensation of release washed over him, leaving him breathless and trembling. It was a climax unlike any he had experienced before—an explosion of pleasure that seemed to shake his very core. As he slowly regained his senses, Shigaraki couldn't help but feel a newfound sense of triumph, thinking that he was finally the one on your mind in the most intimate sense.

Then you whimpered his name again, arms shaking and body trembling from the double assault of the dildo and vibrator. The intensity of the pleasure surged through his veins, amplifying his satisfaction and fueling his desire for more. In that moment, he realized the power he held over you, knowing that he had brought you to such a state of ecstasy. The realization fueled his confidence, igniting a fire within him to explore even deeper realms of pleasure with you.

Your voice quivered with pure bliss as you uttered his name once more, the sound reverberating in the air as you reached the peak of your pleasure. The intensity of your orgasm mirrored his own, looking like it sent you to another dimension as he watched through the hole.

He couldn't help going back to his abused cock, completely disoriented by the way his name sounded coming from your quivering lips. You babbled his name aimlessly as you came down from your high, vibrator left abandoned atop the covers, still going and spreading your slick along the fabric. The dildo pumped in and out lazily due to your pulsing cunt, and it was mesmerizing.

As you shakingly regained your composure, you let out one last wanton whimper as you pulled the toy out of you and took in the mess you made between your legs.

"Tomura." You sang and looked directly at the closet.

Shigaraki froze. His eyes widened in surprise, and his hand was immobilized on his dick. The name hung in the air, charged with a mix of desire, and he couldn't tell if this was some sick joke.

But the smile you gave him, the haze of post-orgasm bliss, and the grinding of your hips into the bed said otherwise.

You asked, "Wanna come clean me up?"

#kleftiko’s kinktober #mha x reader #mha smut #bnha x reader #bnha smut #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #shigaraki tomura x reader #shigaraki thirst #shimura tenko x reader #shigaraki x y/n #shigaraki x you

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s-brant · 11 months

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Little Dragon

In a the aftermath of a fight sparked by the feud between him and her brother, Lucerys, Aemond and his wife are now trying to fix things between them. (or judas part three)

10k (18+)

Warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, knife play, choking, spitting in mouth, strong language, yandere (so basically canon) aemond, and some of the language used to describe past sex acts could be interpreted as dub-con, but everything is consensual.

Married life is not what she thought it would be.

Everyone told her their days would be spent in honeymoon-induced bliss that seems as though it will never end for the first year or so of marriage, but that wasn't their experience at all. When they weren't fucking, which was about all they did together, Aemond and Y/N were typically fighting for the first four months of being wed to one another. There were good moments, though. They bonded over shared interests that appeared the longer they lived in close proximity, and he began to open himself up to her little by little. It wasn't nearly as much as she wanted, but he still offered her more than he did most other people.

It was evident in the little things, such as how he would feel comfortable enough to take off his eyepatch at certain times when alone in her presence or how he would always, no matter how far apart they were when they fell asleep in his spacious bed, end up with an arm around her by the time they woke. But, then, there were the times when the wall between them would come down again and she was left wondering if her husband would ever speak freely in her presence.

As of late, it seems they are leaning more on the side of fighting rather than fucking.

Her temper has been running hotter than usual, so when she heard of an incident in the training yard between Aemond and Lucerys, who is visiting alongside Rhaenyra after a close call with Viserys' health that thankfully ended without complication, she was out for blood.

"Have you no shame, husband?" she asked as she walked after him, chasing and herding him in the direction of their shared chambers after having to watch her brother be tended to by the maesters. "I asked you to not harm him, and you ignored me at the first opportunity presented to you!"

This led to a screaming match that ended in him storming off to fly on Vhagar for the better half of the night before coming back to their chambers—soaking wet from the rain—ripping the sheets off of her, hiking her shift up around her waist, and fucking her until she was babbling and incoherent for him. It was a vicious fight masked by the actions of lust and passion. Her nails broke skin open on his pale back while his hand squeezed down around her delicate throat, providing her a heady little head rush that made the pleasure of his cock gliding in and out of her intensify.

The rainwater dripped off of him and onto her, turning the mattress damp beneath their writhing bodies. Not that either of them minded. By the time they finished, she was on the verge of passing out again and didn't do much other than sigh as he lifted her into his arms to move her around before setting her back down on the bed. Come morning, she found herself alone, but the bed was not cold or damp. Her side of the mattress was covered with a warm fur hide that had been draped atop the divan, and she couldn't help but smile to herself at that before she remembered their argument.

Aemond was never a cruel husband. If anything, he was the opposite. Their arguments did not mean he mistreated his lady. Yes, they would fight and fuck like animals, but, at the end of the day, she was his. In a world where he was granted nothing, not even a dragon's egg in the cradle as his siblings were, the Maiden had blessed him with her. Every other girl or woman balked in his presence, but not Y/N. She and Vhagar were the only things he ever had to himself, and he would never mistreat either of his dragons.

Hence, the fur hide.

As angry with each other as they were and, he knew, would continue to be on the morrow, his face softened when he came back from the bathing room to find her curled up in fetal position and shivering in her sleep from the wet sheets. She hardly stirred as he lifted her up, one arm under her bent knees and the other holding firm around her naked back, and walked over to the divan to fetch the warm fur hide. It took little effort for him to hold her as he picked it up and spread it out atop the bed, then set her down. It took him searching the room to find another blanket to cover her with, but, once he did, he sighed to himself at the sight of her and tried to resist the urge to reach down to brush her hair out of her face. What had she done to him?

He had little trouble falling asleep on the damp sheets and left early before she woke to avoid the consequences of the things they said to each other the previous night.

Since this morning, they haven't crossed paths much at all. For she was spending what little time she had left of their visit with her mother and brother, trying to conceal the turmoil within her caused by her marriage and, well...

"Are you certain, mother?" Y/N asked. "It is so soon, and I have only missed one of my courses thus far. It was just last month's, I am certain it will come again soon. I always feel sick to my stomach before my blood comes, and I have felt that way for days."

What she didn't want to tell her mother was that she already knew. Deep down, she knew the answer, yet she was too stubborn in their ongoing argument to want to admit to herself. Or him.

Rhaenyra smiled softly at her from where she braided her hair for her, something she would continue to insist on doing for her only daughter no matter how old she grew, and said, "Feeling sick to your stomach is an indication that you may be with child as well. Considering that you told me you missed one of your courses and you winced when Lucerys hugged you too hard upon our arrival"—It was true. When Luc threw his arms around her in a tight embrace, she couldn't help but grimace at the tenderness she felt in her breasts upon impact against him. And, the previous night, with Aemond, her nipples were uncharacteristically sensitive whenever he made contact with them, though she did not say that to her mother—"I do not think it out of the realm of possibility, my love...You should tell Aemond what you suspect."

Having told the handmaidens to leave them to their own devices, they did not have to bother with concealing their conversation from eavesdroppers by speaking in Valyrian. They simply sat together and spoke openly, and honestly, and Y/N was glad for it. It was the type of open communication she found difficult with Aemond due to his closed-off nature. It wasn't for lack of trying, either. She knew he tried as much as she did, but they both have too sensitive of tempers to get very far with civil discussion. Once they misunderstand one another's intentions, they lose control and allow emotion to guide them, not logic. Then, the truly hurtful things are said in the heat of the moment that neither of them means.

Since leaving her mother's rooms, she has wandered around the keep aimlessly to avoid the argument that will reignite once she sees Aemond again. So, she goes to the one place she knew she could flee to to clear her head. The Weirwood tree she once had a tendency to read under.

Yet when she finally sits down and settles into place with her back against the thick trunk, all she can think of is her husband. Although infuriated with him for the training yard incident in which he injured Lucerys, she cannot help but imagine what it would be like. She pictures him with a tiny, newly-born babe in his arms and feels her knees weaken at the thought. Then, her mind conjures images of their child a few years down the line, resting their head on his shoulder with their silver hair falling down his back to blend in with his. He may be perceived as an unfeeling man by most, but she knows he will be a decent father. A better one than her grandsire was to him, she's sure.

As fond as she is of him in the safety of her mind, hearing his voice out of the silence causes her to turn still.

"I thought I might find you here."

There's a brief moment of hesitation before she lifts her gaze to find his eye fixed on her quite intensely. After last night, she cannot blame him. They were two seconds from brawling one another in their chambers before he walked away to blow off steam by flying Vhagar late into the night, and what happened after he returned wasn't much less aggressive than the argument they engaged in hours prior. It did little to solve anything other than stifle their remaining anger.

"You were not there when I woke," she says without greeting him.

The unforgiving tone she takes with him tells him everything he needs to know. Despite their passionate, near-feral fucking last night, she has yet to forgive him for "accidentally" injuring Lucerys. Perhaps he made a mistake. Perhaps he shouldn't have taunted the younger man as they practiced in the training yard together, nor should he have let his retort turn him blind with anger, but it's too late to change that now. All he can do is try to navigate the rough tides of her temper in the aftermath, still shocked that he even cares. Never once would he have thought that he'd be so willing to bend himself to the will of his lady wife when he first spoke of betrothals with his mother years ago.

He doesn't dare to step any closer to her, though. Instead, he holds his hands behind his back and tilts his head as he looks down upon her face in the buttery daylight, fighting the admiration felt in the center of his chest at the sight of her silver hair glowing in the sun. Although he's trying to get back in her good graces, he still refrains from surrendering all of himself to her in order to do so. Sometimes it scares him; the urge he has to allow her to render him pathetic and subservient.

It confused him this morning when he fled to find his mother and sister breaking their fast together. Luckily for him, Helaena was leaving at the very moment he entered, leaving him alone with his mother in the privacy of her secluded rooms.

He paced back and forth in front of where she sat at the table, too distracted by his neurotic movements and ranting to indulge in her poached egg.

"You did not prepare me for this, mother," he said, not with any malice or anger, but honesty. When it came to his mother, he could never find it in himself to be anything but gentle with her. "She is driving me to madness."

A frown crossed Queen Alicent's face at this.

"You know I wanted to betroth you to one of the Baratheon daughters. Y/N may not be a good match for you, but it's far too late for a change of—"

He didn't even need to say a word. No, she was silenced by the look cast in her direction. His features hardened into a mask of impenetrable force and threat as if daring her, his own mother, to finish that sentence before he remembered himself and averted his gaze to the ground. Still, it was too late. She saw everything he fought to keep hidden beneath the surface every time he was in public in the presence of his wife.

"Oh," she said softly.

This wasn't something she thought she had to prepare him for, but he was right. She hadn't properly prepared him for it. Considering her own experiences with marriage, as well as most other royals and aristocrats who wed people for power or alliance, the thought never crossed her mind. But based on the look on his face and the embarrassment that now shows in his flushed cheeks, it should have.

"Aemond," Alicent said, her voice a quiet push of air before speaking up a bit more clearly to ask him, "Do you mean to tell me that you truly love her? Is that what this is about?"

The lack of response and refusal to make eye contact with her spoke every word he refused to say aloud. He simply stared off at the ground as if in amazement, wondering to himself how he ended up there. Although part of it felt wrong, wrong in the sense that he swore to never let his guard down around anyone, least of all the sister of the bastard that maimed him, there was so much of it that felt right. Though he would never have spoken of such crass things in the presence of his mother, he kept thinking back to the previous night—to how every touch, every thrust, every kiss felt so inherently right that he couldn't imagine himself wanting to galavant the Street of Silk as his older brother had. No, he wanted her. He wanted her in a way that consumed him, in a way that scared him, and it crept up on him slowly but surely in the months following the wedding ceremonies.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and said, "We do nothing but argue and...perform our marital duties to produce an heir...yet I find"—The words eluded him at first. Never having spoken about his emotions out loud to many people in his life, he found it difficult to articulate, but to get the advice he sought, he had to—"I cannot bear the thought of her being angry with me."

Those were the types of thoughts that chased him on his aimless stroll, ignoring every member of court who attempted to greet the sullen prince with a wary smile or pleasant few words. They chased him all the way here, to where he walked unconsciously and found the object of his incessant infatuation sitting beneath the tree.

Snapping himself out of the haze of his memories, Aemond straightens his shoulders and offers as explanation, "I left because I did not wish to fight with you again. I needed time to think." He shrugs. "I took a walk."

This silences her for a moment. But it's just that, a moment, before she's summoning the nerve to retort back at him with a snarky tone, "And what did this time to think do for you? Have you realized how much shame you've brought me as a result of your actions yesterday?" Her face then softens, as does her voice. "Everyone saw. It's all that the servants are talking about. Everyone either pities me or thinks I am weak for marrying someone who hurts my own kin."

Although his raging temper and unrelenting pride urge him to say something equally as aggressive back, he wills himself to remain silent and mindful of every word that may leave his mouth. The self-control it takes to restrain himself is immeasurable, but all he hears when he closes his eyes are the words of advice his mother gave earlier.

"I don't blame you for holding a grudge against Lucerys," she said, "but, she is your wife. If she asked you not to harm her brother, the honorable thing to do would be to listen."

His body stiffened at this. At the thought of letting anyone or anything tell him what he can and cannot do, but when he voiced such concerns, he was shut down.

"A wife is meant to obey her husband, yes, but if what you've come here to tell me is true, you must treat your marriage differently." Her eyes never once left him, nor did the intensity in them recede. "In order to receive obedience and respect, you must be willing to give it. Love is a fickle thing, Aemond. If you do not nurture it, it will become resentment."

There's a beat of silence between him and Y/N, then—

"I came here to tell you it will not happen again. I swear this to you."

That was the last thing she expected to hear. Not technically an apology, but, she supposes it's the closest she's ever gotten to one from him. Most of their fights end in them making up after sex or from the healing touch of time gone by. This is a first for them. They're both typically too stubborn to admit defeat, yet here he is.

Her brows furrow at him as if in confusion.

"You will not make any attempts to harm my brother again? Either of my brothers, for that matter."

He nods. Just once.

"Unless he makes the first move, I will not touch him," Aemond says slowly, hating every second of it but forcing himself to proceed for the sake of following his mother's advice. More importantly, for the sake of preventing any resentment from growing between them. "Or Jacaerys. You have my word."

And even though it's the outcome she longed for the whole time, she can't help but feel infuriated with him. How dare he be so...kind. How dare he give her a reason to genuinely admire him in favor of using their near-constant disagreements as reason to keep him at a comfortable distance? She never wanted to account for the fact that he may be more to her than a tolerated presence. She never wanted him to hold such power over her, and still...

Y/N takes in a deep breath, the low-cut neckline of her dress accentuating the rise and fall of her breasts, and looks up at him. What she finds in his gaze is pure honesty.

"Well, good." She chews at the inside of her lip for a second, unsure of how to proceed in light of these unforeseen circumstances. "Thank you for your understanding. I won't forget this kindness."

With that, he turns to leave, assuming she'd like to be left alone after everything they said and did to one another last night. He takes all of three steps before he's halted by the sound of her voice.

"Where are you going?"

He slowly turns back around to face her again and takes note of the hopeful glint in her eyes that he's never seen before. Strange...

"Do you not wish me to leave?"

No, she thinks, I do not wish you to leave. I wish to spend all day and night with you. If I could live beneath your skin, I would.

The obsessive nature of her thoughts startles her a little, but she tries not to judge herself too harshly. After all, she just got confirmation from the maesters after breakfast that she is, in fact, with child as Rhaenyra suspected, and the fluctuation of hormones tends to cause heightened emotions, so it makes sense. Not to mention, there's an added layer of intimacy that makes her feel closer to him now that she knows. A part of him lives within her. It's not something she takes lightly despite her initial trepidation surrounding the idea of childbirth in the weeks after their wedding ceremonies.

Y/N takes her time in responding, allowing herself the opportunity to stand from where she rested on the thick root of the Weirwood tree. Her palms flatten against the back of her dress to dust the dirt off, and it isn't until she's done so that she looks up at him again.

"I did not say that," she says matter of factly. "I was curious what you're doing today because I want to spend time with you. That is unless you have prior commitments to attend to..."

The speed with which he utters, "I don't," verges on the type of embarrassment severe enough to make him flee and hide, but he doesn't. He instead focuses on the fact that she actually wants to be around him after the fight they had, far too preoccupied to think about how pathetic it is that all he has to do today is mope around the Red Keep over her. Although they've had passion and fondness for one another in the months that have passed since they married, this is the first time he's ever felt truly wanted by her in a way other than that of carnal desire.

He prays the overwhelming relief hasn't reached his face by the time he elaborates, "I was only going to see Vhagar. She gets quite restless when she hasn't seen me, so I make a point to visit her every day even if we do not fly." There's a dip of silence. His face softens. "Come see her with me, then. I realize you two haven't been properly introduced."

The only times she got relatively close to Vhagar were when flying beneath her on Vermithor and when she and Aemond arrived at the keep at the same time those months ago before their betrothal. Unfortunately, she hadn't been lucky enough to know Vhagar's last rider, Laena Velaryon. Her father was wed to her, yes, but she never once met Daemon until her funeral at Driftmark, and that very night was when Aemond claimed the ancient war dragon for himself. So, in her eyes, Vhagar has always been intrinsically entwined with her husband.

She smiles at him, saying softly, "Okay."

The journey to the place outside the palace walls where Vhagar rests, too big for being kept inside the dragon pit as the other dragons are, is not too strenuous. Aemond made sure to show her the quicker route to the unoccupied land where they once held Queen Aemma's funeral rather than taking her through the streets of King's Landing, preventing her from being exposed to the indecent things that occur in plain daylight. Not that she hasn't done such things with him before, but for the people of the city to see their future queen anywhere near that type of behavior is not ideal.

The earth is soft beneath her feet as she hikes up the rolling hills with her hand grasped in Aemond's. His hold on her is strong, never allowing a chance for her to trip and fall or slip out of his clutches now that he so clearly has her full attention. A gentle wind blows strands of hair back from her face to cool her amidst the typically sweltering summer air. Back in the city, it's hotter due to the palace walls and droves of people, but, here, it's open and free. It's no wonder that Vhagar prefers to reside out where she can roam as opposed to the confined field outside the Dragonpit where she can hardly fit.

She hears her before she sees her, but once they come up over the crest of the hill, it isn't long before she sees the great beast lounging on the grass in the valley between the rolling hills. A Dragonpit of her own making, Y/N supposes. The closer they get to her, the more enchanted she becomes with the creature. Out of the corner of his remaining eye, Aemond notes the look of awe on her face as they come to a stop roughly ten feet away.

"Nyke maghatan ñuha ābrazȳrys kesīr naejot rhaenagon ao," he says loudly to be heard by her over the sounds of the wind and sea not far off from where they stand. I brought my wife here to meet you. "Sagon sȳz naejot zirȳla." Be kind to her.

The elderly dragon huffs out a sharp breath that Y/N can feel the warmth of reaching her face despite the decent space between them. Apparently, that's her cue, because Aemond is now looking at her expectantly and egging her on, daring her to do what no one else would. No one but them. It's part of what thrills him about their marriage. This is why Targaryen weds Targaryen, he thinks to himself. How else would they share this simple pleasure if she weren't also the blood of the dragon? Vhagar would tolerate her presence, sure, but not in the way she does with those of her own kind.

Having tamed the Bronze Fury herself and knowing her husband's dragon will obey his commands to be kind to her, she takes a few steps forward until she's close enough to reach her hand out and allow her to smell it. The scaled creature's nostrils flare out to inhale and catalog her rider's wife for the first time, but she's surprised at what she finds lingering in the scent. There's a bit of him in there. To her, his scent is the most alluring, the most comfortable since she's been claimed by him, so when she notices his scent clinging to Y/N's, her head tilts a little to get closer.

She sees a certain understanding in the beast's eyes despite the fact that they've never been properly introduced until now. Vhagar looks upon her with a reverence no one but Aemond and her previous riders have received. Your womb shelters a little dragon. You carry him inside of you.

Vhagar dips her head down and nudges her nose against the princess's belly, which, as of right now, is not showing any obvious sign of her delicate condition. This action doesn't seem to stick out to Aemond—thank the Gods—it seems to surprise him. To see his two dragons coexisting and displaying affection for one another is a magical thing, and it's something he will never forget. Not even when he's old and frail and can no longer patrol the skies on her.

The sweet gesture brings a chuckle out of Y/N's throat.

"Iksā sepār iā dōna riña, issi ao daor?" she says, reaching up to rub along the massive bridge of her nose. You are just a sweet girl, are you not? "Issa sȳz naejot rhaenagon ao, Vhagar. Ñuha valzȳrys ēza ivestretan nyke sīr olvie nūmāzma ao." It is good to meet you, Vhagar. My husband has told me so much about you.

Though Y/N cannot see it, Aemond smiles slightly behind her. He tries to fight it, but it's impossible. His lips curl up into a grin against his will at the sight of his wife and his dragon cozying up together much like a mother and child. And though Vhagar is old enough to be a grandmother many times over, she, for reasons Y/N has yet to reveal to him, decides to play the role of the child in this instance.

Before he can wipe the smile from his face, she turns to look at him with her eyes widened in wonder.

"She's beautiful." She then turns back to face her. "Iksā gevie, dōna riña." You are beautiful, sweet girl.

"Are you ready to ride with us? You must climb up first. I will sit behind you."

This time, when she turns around to look at him, her gaze does not stray.

"Are you jesting?"

He just shakes his head, smug at the sign of her hesitation after trying to present herself as bravely as possible to his beloved beast. Silver hair cascades over her shoulders and shimmers, even under a cloudy sky, enough so that he has a hard time finding words in the wake of his longing for her.

"I do not jest about dragons," he says with a sadistic look in his eye. If he were being honest, he'd admit that he hardly jests about anything, least of all Vhagar. "But if you are craven, then I do not mind escorting you back to the keep."

That shocked expression of hers shifts into one of amusement.

"I claimed Vermithor when I was two and ten years old, the same year you claimed her, when he was a wild dragon living in the mountain caverns on Dragonstone. Does that sound like the actions of someone who is craven?"

He inclines his head in the direction of Vhagar as though to say, "Prove it."

It takes no less than five seconds for her to spin around and march right up to the side of the dragon, grabbing the rungs of the rope ladder slung over her back to allow small beings like them to scale the massive creature. The skirt of her dress blows in the wind enough to expose her legs to him but not to expose her entirely as she climbs, thanking the Gods that she opted for a pair of riding boots instead of the heels she wore with her dress originally. Once she has reached the saddle, she feels the rope ladder jolt with movement far below and swings her leg over to straddle the dragon. And when she looks down, she sees Aemond climbing up after her.

The feeling of his hard, lean body settling into place behind her stirs a sudden pulse of arousal in the pit of her abdomen. This is very new to her—marriage, sex, intimacy. To feel her husband's hands grip her hips to tug her into him, her ass pressing against his crotch without an inch of space to spare, is a welcomed but scandalous thing. Still, it pleases her. Even though she was taught to guard her heart and body fiercely from men growing up, she feels safe with him. Riding on any dragon other than Vermithor or Caraxes would be stressful, hence her hesitation when he asked her to ride with him, but now that she's up here, she is at ease. For nothing can frighten her with Aemond at her side.

His lips brush her ear as he reaches around her waist to put his hands over hers on the handles of the saddle and asks, "Are you ready, my lady?"

She turns to look at him and nods.

"Yes."

The grip of his hands over hers tightens, and he shouts, "Sōvēs!" Fly.

Beneath them, the creature they sit on begins to move, a deep rumble purring in the back of her throat as she moves from her lounging position upon the grass and gets a running start to take off. The flapping of her wings is loud enough to stifle the crashing of the waves against the land, isolating them from everything that surrounds them until all she can hear is her husband's voice giving Vhagar commands in Valyrian. The strength of the arms wrapped around her brings her mind back to memories of last night—his biceps flexing as he pinned her hands above her head and rutted into her, groaning at the feeling of tight cunt clamping down around him.

With another flap of her wings and push off the ground from her sturdy legs, they take off. Wind blows cold against her face where it comes in from the shore they swiftly fly over, and Vhagar swoops down to dip her clawed feet into the ocean water, sending up a spray of water that mists over them. The temperature draws a sharp gasp from Y/N's throat. Water soaks her intricately braided hair and the fabric of her dress, both of which things she spent time picking out only to have them tarnished. But, she thinks as she feels Aemond's body jolting from his laughter behind her, she does not truly care.

She laughs with him after a few seconds of processing the surprise, allowing her head to tip back onto his shoulder with the wind plastering her damp hair to her skin. Aemond's hands have since left hers to use the reins to steer Vhagar, but his arms remain tucked around her waist even as he does so. They turn around to fly back in the direction of the city and soar far higher above the ground than they had the sea. Although he does not usually push Vhagar to fly this way for a quick rush of adrenaline due to his care for the old girl, he does today. He knows better than anyone that a person only gets to have their first ride upon Visenya's dragon once in their lives, so he figures it might as well be as exciting for her as it was for him.

He remembers that moment like it was yesterday. The warmth of the fire curling in the back of her throat when he tried to mount her at first and got off with a warning, the stinging abrasion from gripping the reins and saddle for dear life to keep from falling to his death, and the joy of that freshly made bond between him and Vhagar. It isn't too different from what he feels with Y/N now at the beginning of their marriage. A visceral connection that takes hold deep in his soul and refuses to untether from it.

The view from above King's Landing is beautiful to her. With the waves crashing against the cliffs alongside the Red Keep and the clouds converging not far above their heads, she thinks to herself that it would make a fine painting someday and makes sure to save the image in the back of her mind for it.

It isn't until they feel the first drops of rainfall, accompanied by a booming roll of thunder, that Aemond commands Vhagar to return to the hills where she previously rested. The ground itself trembles with her landing, dirt kicking up from beneath the grass where her clawed feet dig into the earth. Although they are damp from the ocean water that sprayed up on them, the rain that is coming down now is fierce. It could chill them to the bone if they remained up in the sky, and while Aemond does not mind, he surely will not subject his lady to such a thing. It matters not that she rides her own dragon, sometimes in the teeth-chattering cold of rainy skies. She is his wife and shall be treated accordingly.

The two of them are quick to climb down the rope ladder as droplets of rain come down harder and harder as the seconds pass, and the moment her feet hit the ground, they both hurry beneath one of Vhagar's outstretched, membranous wings to take shelter from the storm until they can walk back to the city.

Her hand is grabbing onto Aemond's arm for support, allowing him to swing her around under the shade provided by his dragon's wing, and she smiles so brightly, he's shocked it has yet to blind his other eye. Their bodies collide with a soft thump—his arms around her waist, her hands bracing against them—that leaves them both a little breathless. Her chest rises when his falls in a push and pull like that of the tides they flew over in the long span of seconds that pass while they stare at one another.

It's the internal aftermath of this heated stare that sends them rushing forward into a kiss.

His hands hold her face with a sense of ownership too confident to deny, and she allows his tongue to invade her mouth when she feels him lick at her closed lips as if in request. And the moment is quite easy for her to become lost in. Between him kissing her like that and the adrenaline pumping through her from the ride on dragonback, she almost misses how they move together, feet stumbling to lead them further beneath the cover of Vhagar's massive wing so as to not be seen should anyone venture out here. The implication of this action turns her blood hot with desire.

He doesn't want to be seen—he bites down on her lower lip and takes a breath before coming back for more—he wants me—one of his hands slides around the back of her neck to keep her locked into the messy kiss while the other slides down the front of her dress—he has me. Gods, he has me.

The hand descending the front of her body undoes the clasps of her coat with a deft touch so few men ever accomplish until it comes loose around her torso, leaving her to shimmy it down from her shoulders while he tugs at the sleeves to get them off. His other hand drops to catch it, never missing a beat, and tosses it down on the ground presumably for her to lay upon. As if she cares about a little dirt or rain.

Aemond breaks the kiss by a fraction of an inch to whisper the question into her mouth between panting breaths, "Will you have me?" and it's by far the most restraint he has shown in initiating physical intimacy with her. Last night he had stormed in and fucked her like it was a challenge, like she was something to be conquered and broken and willed into submission. This, however, is a far cry from that. It's almost...gentle. That is if anything he does can be considered gentle.

The unspoken continuation of that question is, Will you have me after last night? After everything? And in answer, she kisses him harder and reaches for the buckle of his belt. It is weighed down by the weight of the fine sword and knife he carries in two sheaths attached on either side, but once she gets him free of it, it troubles her no longer. It simply clatters to the ground beside her discarded coat without another thought given to it.

What happens from here on is hazy to her in the way most distant memories are, but the difference is that she finds it hazy as she experiences it, not due to the passing of time. It's likely a combination of everything she's endured for the past forty-eight hours, the knowledge of her pregnancy weighing down upon her shoulders, and the feral lust felt for Aemond deep within her, but there's something about it that addles her brain similarly to when she drinks a cup of wine.

Somehow, they end up on the ground together with him slotted between the legs she opened so willingly for him and her pinned beneath the weight of his body. Her dress is not cut in half as it was on her wedding night seeing that they have to return to the Red Keep on foot. The skirts are pulled up though, and his lips leave kisses along her cleavage as he ruts his clothed cock against her. Feeling how hard he is, feeling what she alone does to him, brings pulsations of need to her already aching cunt.

That was another thing that surprised her about marriage. How little time it takes for him to arouse her beyond reason. Whenever she pleased herself, she had to work to get herself wet enough to lubricate the movement of her fingers, but he gets it done in a matter of seconds. All he has done is kiss her and shed her coat from her body and here she is.

It takes him a despicable amount of time to undo his trousers and shove them down his legs, so much so that she cannot help but move her hips up against nothing and whine, "Kostilus, valzȳrys." Please, husband.

And, fuck, if he claims that sight isn't what it takes to urge him on quicker through the act of undressing, he's a fool and a liar.

Aemond balances his weight on the forearms pressing onto the ground on either side of her when he finally nudges at her entrance with his tip and, once he feels it slip inside of her, presses his hips forward until they are flush with the back of her thighs. At the same time that he groans, she gasps. The blunt edges of her fingernails dig into his shoulders enough that he can feel it through his clothing. Her jaw goes slack at the indescribable feeling of his cock filling her, buried deep enough that she thinks she can feel him in her belly, and she allows her head to tilt back onto her coat as she looks up into his eyes.

He can hardly keep control of himself when she looks at him like that. There's a part of him that wants to pin her arms above her head and take her the way he had last night, but the softness in her gaze gives him pause. It soothes him. Seeing her look upon his face like that makes him take it slower with her, drawing back and thrusting back in at a relaxed pace that is more of a sensuous grinding than it is outright fucking. It's tender, caring, and much different than any time they've done this in the past. While he isn't always rough with her, he also isn't as sensual and sweet as he is now. No, this is new. Wholly new.

He leans down the rest of the way to kiss her, allowing half the weight of his body to keep her in place now that there's no space left between them. The only time he halts their exploration of each other's mouths is to whisper in a hushed slur of strung together words, "Mmm, taking it so well—"

The praise is punctuated with a hard returning thrust. He felt her walls squeezing around his cock from the sound of his voice alone, and there was little he could do to prevent himself from succumbing to what his cunt-struck excuse for a brain wanted him to do. He is, in every other situation, a man who takes pride in his intelligence and well-nurtured education as a member of the royal family, but all of that is scattered to the winds when he's inside of her. Aegon would tease him mercilessly if he were to ever discover that his brother's sole weakness is, despite Aemond's refusal to discuss the topic with him, his wife's pretty cunt.

Y/N wraps her arms around his shoulders and keeps him trapped in the little prison of her own making as she is being ravished by him. The familiar sensation of pleasure building in the pit of her stomach draws a moan out of her, and he can't help but make it harder and faster. But through the haze of this intense gratification, she sees his face above hers and is reminded of the previous night. When they'd taken their anger out on each other as a result of their fight. As a result of what he did to her sweet brother.

Her features harden at the thought, the soft smile vanishing as she takes thrust after thrust with little gasps that escape without her permission, and she can almost sense the fiery spirit that lives within her—the sleeping dragon—rising from its slumber in response to the anger. Suddenly, she remembers who she is. She is the eldest daughter of Rhaenyra and Daemon. She is not so easily placated.

The leg that is wrapped around his hip is used to help her flip him onto his back along with the force of her hips pressing up against his and the hands she placed on his shoulders. Her hands remain there for the first moment she spends perched on top of him like this, gripping hard to give her leverage while she begins to ride him. The surprise is evident in his remaining eye, but he does not stop her or make any discomfort known. If anything, he likes it a little too much. To see her like this...

She takes him even deeper than before with this new change in position. Every time her hips come down on his, the broad tip of his cock brushes the sweet spot inside of her and sparks a kind of pleasure far more overwhelming than the kind she gets when he rubs the overly sensitive nub at the top of her folds. He reaches for her hips reflexively once he realizes why she moved him so suddenly, but she shakes her head and pins his arms down by the wrists above his.

In response to this, there's a strange war that is waged in his mind.

Part of him isn't sure what to think, another part wants to take back control and gain the upper hand as any good fighter would, and the other...Well, the other part is the one currently in control. It's the part of him that cannot think about anything save for the sight and feeling of her fucking him, trembling and moaning like a wanton whore. It isn't long before this haze wears off and he begins to come to his senses though. The wrists pinned against the ground push back against the hands holding them captive as though to test her strength, readying to break free in order for him to pull out and flip her over onto her hands and knees.

He can already feel the words on the tip of his tongue, "If you want to behave like a whore, I will treat you like one."

But he doesn't get to say them. Apparently, his wife is already one step ahead of him, and when she witnessed the muscles in his arms flexing in preparation to take back control, she made her move. All he heard was the sound of steel sliding against steel, the knife that he hadn't thought twice of allowing to fall to the ground being ripped from its scabbard, before the sharp tip of the blade is pointed at his throat. One of her hands keeps holding his wrists down even though they both know he could break free if he pleases while the other is wrapped around the hilt of the blade.

He would open his mouth to speak, but he knows he'll get cut if he does, so he just stares up at her with an incredulous expression.

"Swear on your life," she says, moaning before speaking again from the feeling of cock sliding into her. Her breaths are shallow, her chest heaving, as she cants her hips and rides him harder. "Swear you won't hurt them again. If you don't, I shall let this pierce your throat, and we can be finished with this feud."

Her body leans down enough that her chest brushes his with every exchange of air exhaled and inhaled in the limited space between their mouths.

She croons, "Is it not enough they gave me to you? If you are owed a debt"—another moan—"is it not now paid? It is not an eye for an eye but believe me when I say the idea of you defiling me is worse to my dear brother than being maimed."

The stirring sensation within him begins to crescendo as a result of her brutal pace and everything she says. At this point, his brain is no longer in control of him. The ecstasy he feels is too great for him to string together a coherent thought outside of variations of, "She is utterly divine, she is perfect, she is—"

Once again, he finds himself thinking that this is why it had to be her. This is why it had to be someone as wild as him. All it takes to frighten most other women from noble birth is a sharply edged sentence or harsh glare, but she is the type of person to hold a blade to his throat while performing the most intimate act of devotion that exists, and if being driven to that degree of madness by your feelings for a person isn't love, then he doesn't know what love is.

"Did you never think about it?" Based on the look in his eye, he hadn't considered what she just said to him, and it makes her smirk. "Your distaste for him must not run as deep as you claim if you have never taken pleasure in being the one to claim his sister." She laughs quietly. "They all thought you would be cruel, that you'd be a selfish husband who'd use me to warm your bed and nothing else"—his cock twitches in her—"Little do they know, you are the one they should be worried for. No one is near to witness what I may do to you, and here you are. Trapped beneath me with your own knife to your throat and your cock inside me."

Gods help him. Every word she says is fuel to the fire. What a filthy mouth.

At last, she pulls the tip of the knife back an inch or so to allow him to speak without cutting himself, and he never breaks eye contact with her throughout the process. Not once. All it takes is her raising a brow to spur him into speaking the words she wants to hear. And once the words leave his mouth, she knows they are binding. Unlike his older brother, she knows Aemond to be a man of his word, and if he swears something to her, she can trust him.

"I swear," Aemond says, breathless, although his features are set with a harsh rage to counteract the softness in his voice. "I will not hurt them."

They're both interrupted by their own need to suck down breaths of air to compensate for the exertions of their bodies, but he still refuses to look away. He refuses to surrender and let her think she has frightened him despite his willingness to abide by the promise she requested and allow her to think she's the one in control. And now that he's sworn this to her, she taunts him for the fun of it.

"What do you think Sir Criston would say if he saw his best swordsman in such a vulnerable position?" She makes a tsk sound. "I think he would be quite disappointed to see how you let your—"

In a movement strong and swift enough that she cannot process it until it is done, Aemond twists the knife out of her grasp and has her on her back in a matter of seconds. The blade is pressed to her neck, not quite cutting but pressing in just enough for her to feel the threat of it there, and her throat bobs against the sharp side of the blade when he forces her mouth open with his fingers pressing on her soft cheeks.

He says, only warning her once, "Never say another man's name when I am fucking you," and does not hesitate before spitting in her mouth.

The same fingers that pressed on her cheeks to force her mouth open force it shut again, clamping down over her kiss-swollen lips to make her swallow his spit, and once he sees her do so, he tosses the knife aside and devotes his full attention to worshipping her. His lips smear against hers in a sloppy kiss to match the haphazard, pounding strokes he makes into her now that he can feel himself getting close. With every sharp thrust, she cries out and holds tighter onto him to keep him close.

Aemond continually hits that perfect spot within her and never lets up, groaning and trying his hardest not to come before she does. She is close. He can feel it in how her cunt spasms around him, clenching and unclenching in the way it always does before she is sent over the edge. All she needs is a few more thrusts, so he brings his arms down to rest on either side of her head and cages her in so all she can see is him and him alone, forced to look upon his face as she finds her peak.

"Ossēninna mirre vala qilōni māzigon rȳ īlva. Mirre vala ao qogralbar tolie than nyke morghūlilza. Ao sytilībagon naejot nyke," he says in the language of their ancestors because he does not know if he can be so honest in the common tongue. Valyrian provides an added privacy that is a comfort to them both. His voice is a low hum that runs along her skin like a tender caress, and that is all it takes for her to come undone, hearing what he said over and over in her mind. I will kill any man who comes between us. If you fuck anyone else, they will die. You belong to me.

Y/N's jaw falls open in a gape as it hits her, harsh and unforgiving in its brutality but plentiful in its euphoria. The rush is unlike any other climax she has had with him in the past likely due to everything that preceded it. Although she has thoroughly enjoyed every time she's been with him before, this is on a different dimensional scale. Hearing him say that she belongs to him, that he's willing to kill any man who poses a threat to their marriage...to think that she has brought the great Aemond Targaryen to his knees is intoxicating.

The feeling of her cunt clamping down around his cock like a vice brings him to his end much quicker than he anticipated, and he groans as he spills into her.

All he can think to himself is that he is lucky. He is lucky to have a wife that he formed a connection with, lucky to have a wife that makes him feel things he didn't know he could feel. It's difficult to imagine being bound by blood to anyone but her. Whenever he passes by noble married couples, he can't help but feel pity for them. They do not know what it is to love a person with every part of their soul, even the part that hates them.

Aemond and Y/N are panting for air with their foreheads pressed together once they've begun to come down from their respective climaxes, and she cannot do anything but hold onto him as her heart rate begins to slow down again. She can see in the way he looks at her that it was different for him this time too, that he could feel what she felt between them, and to think that it doesn't scare him off...

He collapses onto her chest with a tired sigh and allows her to cradle his head against her, her hand stroking his hair in a soothing pattern that lulls him into a state of peace.

The flames burning in the fireplace crackle and surge when the servant tending to them for the night adds another log, then bows her head toward where Aemond sits before exiting their rooms. From the room over, he can hear Y/N humming to herself as she prepares herself for a night of rest. They were both so thoroughly worn out from their prior exertions that they slept together beneath the cover of Vhagar's wing for the better part of an hour before heading back to the Red Keep.

Shockingly, neither of them felt the need to talk about what they experienced this afternoon. There was no overly-emotional profession of feelings or official conversation about what shifted between them, but they both recognized it to themselves. By the time they returned, Queen Alicent had already been looking for them for an hour, and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head at the sight of them walking through the halls together with stifled laughter and rain-soaked clothes.

It was when they reached the staircase she was walking down that Aemond met her gaze and gave her a slight nod. That was all the confirmation she received on the state of her youngest child's marriage before they disappeared to clean off and ready themselves for dinner, which they managed to drag themselves out to share with Alicent and Helaena as per the former's request. And when the queen watched them interact at dinner, she couldn't help but smile to herself as she sipped her wine.

Now, it's late at night, and Y/N is brushing out the long strands of silver hair that cascade down her shoulders. The only item of clothing covering her is a thin chemise, and as she sets the brush down on the table beside her, her eyes are drawn to her stomach. A tentative hand slides down the front of it, keeping the white fabric flat against her body, and rubs the imperceptibly small bump residing there that she blamed on natural weight gain or bloating.

Deep down, she supposes she already knew. She can already pinpoint the time she thinks did it—when he woke her up with his head between her thighs before fucking her right there. It was early in the morning before any servants would come knocking, and she was still half-asleep when he spent his seed in her. As she fell back to sleep with his release dripping from her sensitive cunt, she recalls feeling the large palm of his hand settling over her belly to keep her back pressed to his chest. It was almost as if he knew too.

This morning, she couldn't imagine telling him what the maesters confirmed, but now...

She walks out past the bed to the main area of the room where they spend their time either reading, drinking, or talking before it is time to sleep. Her footfalls are quieter than usual, yet he can still hear her approaching from behind, and when she leans down with her arms wrapping around his shoulders to kiss his cheek, he does not flinch in alarm. All he does is offer a hum of approval, eye fluttering shut in appreciation of his wife's gentle touch.

There's a short pause during which she stands and wrings her hands in front of her where he cannot see, then moves around to the front of the chair and sits on his lap. Her legs are bent over the arm of the chair with her side pressed to his chest and her arm draped over his shoulders.

"Aemond?"

He turns his attention from where it had been fixed on the fire onto her. No verbal response is granted to her, but she knows from months of living alongside him that this is his way of telling her to say whatever it is that's on her mind.

Her next exhale trembles a little.

"Um," she stammers, unsure of how to break the news other than coming right out and saying it. "I went to see the maesters this morning..." Her bottom lip is drawn between her teeth as she tries to summon the courage to say it. "Iksan lēda riña." I am with child.

The typically harsh stare set on her face softens with these few words. Just like that, her nerves dissolve into nothing, and she is left to wonder how she had been so scared to tell him this morning. Of course, his reaction would be a pleasant one. He is nothing if not a duty-driven man. Providing his family with more potential heirs is a cause for celebration, even as a second son. Another way to fulfill his duty with his lawful wife, unlike Aegon who has fathered bastards with common whores and neglected his wife. And now that he has discovered a new side to his relationship with her, the idea of her bearing his children is sentimental in a way he hadn't expected it to be in the past.

Aemond's lips curl into a slight smile, his face leaning forward through the space between them to brush her nose with his. The hand not placed against her back comes down to rest upon the barely-there swell of her belly that serves as the only physical evidence of this good news.

"I know."

Her body still atop his. Seconds later, she tries to move to stand up only to be stopped by his strong arms holding her in place.

"You know?" she asks, face flushed with heat.

The emotion present on her face, he notices, is embarrassment. Whatever for, he does not know, but he's quick to settle her down once he notices. His fingers tuck her hair behind her ear, combing through it the same way hers had done with his when he collapsed onto her after their passionate coupling. A wry chuckle escapes him at her shock.

He says, "Did you think I had not noticed when you missed your blood? We share a bed, ñuha jorrāelagon"—My love. Her heart may have skipped a beat—"I would be stupid if I had not known."

Her mind is sent reeling from this.

She missed her blood at the beginning of the last moon, and she would be due for her next bleeding any day now if she were not with child, so...has he known this whole time? Wait, no. More importantly, he cares enough to make note of things like that? He may have said it as though it was obvious, as though every husband would notice, but he is far different from most of the men in this city. She is willing to bet an absurd sum of coin that her grandsire Viserys never paid such attention to the queen, nor does Aegon to Helaena.

He and his brother have vastly different marriages. For one, Aegon and Helaena live separately. She and Aemond do not. They have only consummated their marriage out of necessity for the sake of continuing the bloodline, meanwhile, she has not needed to take Aemond to bed every night. She simply wanted to. And that is the difference. That is the thing she had yet to realize in her denial of his feelings for her. They were wed for the sake of unifying their families, yes, but it is not a marriage that subsists solely on duty. At least, not anymore.

Y/N looks at him like she does not believe he is real.

"You"—she shakes her head as if to dispel her disorganized thoughts and allow her to speak with clarity—"I did not know you paid attention to me that closely."

He is countering back in a matter of seconds, running the tips of his fingers up and down the length of her back, "Nyke daor dohaeragon nykēla." I cannot help myself.

The crackling of the flames not far from where she is perched atop his lap fills the gaps of silence left between them. It allows her to consider the past day or so with the care she was not capable of in the midst of her anger. It was difficult to navigate, and she feels terrible for her brother, but she thinks it may have been a necessary hardship for them to overcome as husband and wife. The issue of their families would not have been settled with them ignoring it as they used to and pushing aside their feelings for the sake of the marriage. It had to be faced at some point, and now that it has, she feels lighter. The weight has been lifted from her shoulders.

Her hand then drops to rest atop the one he has placed over her belly, and she looks down at their entwined fingers with a tender smile blooming on her face.

"Nyke pendagon se rūs iksis riña," she says. I think the babe is a girl. "Skoros gaomagon ao pendagon, valzȳrys?" What do you think, husband?

A/N: let me know what you think :) thanks for reading

Tag List: @m-indkiller, @tinykryptonitewerewolf, @hopebaker, @bcon24, @eleganttravelercloud, @aemond-targaryenx, @the-blue-banshee, @saramayu, @merakiaes, @its-sam-allgood, @grungegrrrl, @singitoutgirl26, @scarlettmoon98, @cicaspair418, @itisjustwhatitis, @cl-0-vr, @d34d-4c1d, @hargrovehoe, @vainillasmil157, @leahjean, @captainweirdo42, @magnificantmermaid, @dark-night-sky-99, @kaicyl, @ladybug0095, @bellaisasleep, @blackravena, @isaxbella749, @reneki, @heylosers06, @izzicle, @bucky-thorin-winchester, @hangmanscoming, @harrypotteranna23-blog, and @shintax-error.

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #fanfiction

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janeykath318 · 1 year

Text

Lines (Shieldshock)

“You’re hotter than a bunsen burner set to full power.”

“You’re like an exothermic reaction: you spread your hotness everywhere!”

“Oh, gosh. Someone kill me now.” Darcy whimpered at her own line and fled the room. Steve’s face was a bright red and currently buried in his hands. They were on the second day of this Steve and Darcy pick up line spree, and it was starting to get weird.

It had all started yesterday when the Avengers returned from a mission and Darcy had been handing out her famous brownies.

When she’d handed hers to Steve she’d said “Are you a compound of beryllium and barium? Because you’re a total Ba-Be.”

Steve’s reply had stunned his friends. “You must be a magnetic monopole, because all I get from you is attraction.”

The scientists among them had burst out laughing and Steve and Darcy had both turned red. When they’d tried to interact at supper, a similar exchange happened and many eyebrows rose.

“Damn, Steve, you’re worse than I used to be.” Bucky had observed with an impish grin.

“You’re a bad influence,” Steve had muttered.

“Don’t stop. This is getting really entertaining,” Tony observed, munching popcorn.

“It would be if we could control it.” Steve sighed. “I physically cannot say anything to Darcy that’s not a pick up line. My brain gets overridden by what comes out of my mouth. And I’m pretty sure it’s happening to her, too.”

“The power of lust, I presume,” Tony theorized. “Clearly, the UST has reached dangerous levels. I’ve seen the way you look at each other.”

“Not helpful, Tony,” Rhodey put in.

“I think Steve is right,” Bucky put in. “You can see their mouths start to form completely different words from what they end up saying. It’s like they’re being overridden.”

Steve’s longtime bestie looked deeply concerned and Tony grimaced at what he was implying.

“I see what you mean,” Natasha put in thoughtfully. “They’re perfect for each other, but it has to be consensual. Something or someone is taking matchmaking too far.”

“Let’s test this theory a bit,” Bruce suggested. “If it checks out, we’ll have to have them both undergo medical exams.”

Steve made a face, but nodded.

“Someone’s gotta find Darcy though,” he sighed. “I think she’s run off to her lair, as she calls it. I’d go get her, but…… you know…” He shrugged helplessly.

“You might accidentally proposition her?” Tony asked gleefully. Steve glared at him.

“Have you tried non-verbal communication?” Suggested Clint. “Writing a note or text her? Find out how far the control goes?”

Steve’s eyes brightened and he eagerly snatched the pen and memo pad thrust at him.

Darcy, meanwhile, was moping in the small break room outside the lab. It had been fitted out with a couch, tv, and vending machines and was a very cozy spot to relax in. She wasn’t feeling very relaxed as she thought about the situation with Steve. Yes, she was crazy about the man, but she sure didn’t like feeling out of control. Steve would probably never want to speak to her again if they couldn’t figure out what was causing the uncontrollable pick up line syndrome.

Right as she was mourning a potentially ruined friendship, There was a knock at the door and she looked up to see Steve silently standing there.

Clapping a hand over her mouth to prevent any more episodes, she shook her head at him vehemently. Steve gave her a knowing grin and silently handed her a note written in elegant cursive.

Darcy,

Can you come back to the meeting room? We want to test a theory and brainstorm solutions. You don’t have to talk to me, but it looks like with writing we still can communicate without hitting on each other. I wrote this myself and didn’t have any issues.

This was hopeful. Scrambling for a pen, Darcy flipped over Steve’s note and wrote on the back.

Thank Goodness. Also, I’m really sorry, Steve. Can we still be friends?

She showed him her response and he quickly added his response.

Nothing to be sorry for. It’s not your fault. Of course we can still be friends. Life would be sad without you in it.

Awww. That’s super sweet. Also, your penmanship is commendable. Forties thing?

Steve chuckled and swiftly replied.

Nope. My mom taught me. Bucky’s is chicken scratch.

Darcy laughed out loud and got up from the couch.

Let’s go, Soldier. I apologize in advance for the inappropriate things I’ll say to you.

Ditto. Steve replied. They shared rueful smiles and headed back to face the music.

“Okay, Steve and Darcy, we’re going to give you each a sentence and then you’re going to say it back to one of us, then again to each other, okay?”

They nodded simultaneously and the test began.

They were both able to repeat back to Bruce the sentence that he had given them, but when they turned to each other what came out was:

“Your angles must be less than 90 degrees, because I think that you are so acute,” Darcy blurted.

“You must be mitochondria, because you’re the powerhouse of my heart,” Steve replied, wincing at himself.

“Not gonna lie, that last one was pretty cheesy,” Bucky commented, grinning again.

Darcy silently agreed, though the look on Steve’s face was so comical, she had to laugh.

“I love how they’re all science themed,” Tony observed. “Very thematic for Darcy.”

“Oh, hush,” Darcy reprimanded him. “This better not be anything you caused.”

“Nope.” Tony denied. “Pepper would slay me.”

“Well, it looks like we’ve established that Steve and Darcy can speak normally to other people, but not to each other,” Bruce summarized. “And they can converse with each other normally via written word. Interesting.”

He thought for a moment, then continued with a question.

“Can either of you two think of any unusual things that happened to you this week? Lab incidents? Mission mishaps?”

Darcy thought hard and she could practically see the gears turning in Steve’s head as he did the same.

“No, nothing I can think of. Mission was routine. They didn’t even get close enough to really cause any issues,” Steve reported.

“Well, Jane and I went out for drinks with Thor and Loki before she left for that conference. Loki was on his best behavior for once, but that doesn’t mean much. I got a little too drunk and might have confessed something to him that I shouldn’t have,” Darcy admitted, with a sinking feeling, not daring to look at Steve.

“Oh, yeah. What do you want to bet that the god of mischief decided to “help” things along?” Clint asked.

“Seems like something he’d do,” Bucky agreed.

“Yup.” Darcy sighed. “I’ll go see if the Big Guy is still around. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

A quick call to Jane revealed that Thor was still on earth and would get there as soon as he could.

In the meantime, Bruce had Steve and Darcy undergo medical checkups and brain scans just to check that there wasn’t anything else causing the issue. Everything came back clear, so Loki was deemed the culprit and all they could do was wait for Thor to track him down.

The wait felt interminable to Darcy, who missed talking/flirting with Steve. Natasha got fed up with seeing them writing on note pads all the time and made sure they were given each other’s phone number. The switch to texting resulted in the sharing of funny memes and Darcy making Steve laugh so hard he grabbed his own chest. She felt very satisfied and also very smitten. Finally, she took matters into her own hands. They were alone in the kitchen, waiting on their coffee to finish brewing when she plucked up her courage to admit the truth.

Hey, Steve,

I wouldn’t be mad if you asked me out for realsies. What I drunkenly confessed to Loki was that I really, really like you.

Her heart was in her throat as she waited for his response, but judging by the way he smiled as he typed, she felt sure it was going to be positive.

Darcy, I would love to take you on a date. I’m ashamed of how chicken I’ve been about it, but I’ve liked you for a while. Insecurities got the better of me. I’m definitely a work in progress, but I do think you’re hotter than a bunsen burner.

Darcy flushed and looked up to meet Steve’s gaze. He gave her the innocent boyish smile he was known for, but followed it up with a suggestive wink. Holy cow.

You’re gonna kill me with your cuteness, aren’t you? She typed.

Not purposely. I’d like to have you around for a long, long time.

“Are you the Higgs-Boson Particle? Because I’ve been colliding and colliding and I finally found you,” Darcy proclaimed, forgetting herself in her delight.

Oops. She typed out, reddening again. What I was trying to say is “I hope you’re around for a long time, too.”

Thor and Loki arrived two days after this monumental conversation and Darcy didn’t have the heart to be very angry with him.

“The mutual pining between the two of you was nauseating and I decided to help things along,” Loki told them haughtily. “The spell will dissipate instantly if you kiss, and will wear off more slowly if you have communicated your feelings for each other.”

“How slowly?” Steve asked.

“No more than three of your measly human days,” Loki answered, looking rather smug as he observed Steve and Darcy.

“That means we have one more day until it wears off,” Steve said. He looked questioningly at Darcy.

Meet me in my lair in one hour. She texted, shooting him a wink. Steve happily obeyed.

“I’m attracted to you so strongly, scientists will have to develop a fifth fundamental force,” he told her just before she kissed him senseless.

“I guess it worked,” Steve breathed breathlessly when he’d finally caught his breath.

“Yeah, it did,” Darcy agreed, glad the words coming out of her mouth were her own again. “But I have one more line for you.”

“Oh? Do tell,” Steve encouraged her, arms still around her.

“You must be from the cosmos because your body is heavenly.” She whispered coquettishly, running her hand down his muscular arm. Steve turned an adorable shade of pink and kissed her again.

#shieldshock #steve rogers #darcy lewis #pick up lines #meddling loki #fluff #take this canon and shove it

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paper-n-ashes · 3 years

Text

sparks and embers - chapter 8

Characters: Poe Dameron x Original Female Character, Kylo Ren x Original Female Character

Story Tags: Explicit (18+), Canon Compliant/Divergent (Set after TLJ), First Person POV, Love Triangle, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Porn with Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Kylo Ren hates Poe Dameron

Chapter 8 - Chaos

Words: 5.8k

Chapter Tags/Warnings: sexual references/scenes (undressing, consensual touching), mentions of medical procedures/injuries, use of canon-based weapons, enemy invasion, enemy fatalities, descriptions of severe injury, taking of a hostage

Read on AO3 or Start from the beginning

I rushed to my quarter’s door, opening and closing it behind me in one swift action, eyes latching onto Poe's shape as he walked across the frame of the hallway. My legs weren’t quick enough as I moved down, impatient, a flurry of sparks in my abdomen beginning to crackle as embers of desire ignited into smoldering flames.

Poe glanced up instantly when he heard my hurried movement, confusion settling into his expression as I came into view.

My thoughts of dashing directly to him were momentarily on hold when I noticed the change in his appearance, wearing the clothes I had set aside for his to return to the Resistance base. Dark trousers, the calves covered by a set of heavy boots that luckily matched his size. A white cotton shirt draped by a mahogany stained leather jacket.

It was so plain, a mundane outfit for everyday wear. And it was driving me insane.

I surged forward, eyes blistering into his. He looked worried, bewildered at my purposeful expression and tense strides. But as soon as I was before him, looking up, his face millimetres from mine, he knew.

He sensed all of it bursting in the energy around me. The desire, the need, the longing I’d been holding back.

Scooping my face into his hands, Poe pressed our lips together, wasting no time with the politeness he'd executed the last instance he attempted to kiss me, slanting his lips over mine, so desperate, so hungry. I responded just as eagerly, massaging our mouths together, slipping one of my palms to his freshly shaved jaw, relishing the luxurious smell that sifted into my nose.

The softness of his lips, the heat of his exhale, it was utterly intoxicating, my fingers coiling into his still slightly dampened hair, wrenching him closer.

I needed more.

As if my thoughts were transferred to him by our connection, he moved his lips away, beginning to trail hot kisses over the line of my jaw and down my neck, as I leaned my head back to give him every ounce of exposure to my skin. His hands slid down to my torso, placed roughly at either side of my ribs, gripping tightly as the delicate touch of his lips at the line of my clavicle pulled a soft moan from my throat, feeling almost lightheaded at the pleasure it rushed through me.

The sound made him frenzied, returning to crush his mouth to mine, slipping his tongue past the boundary of my teeth, completely enraptured, almost greedy. Using his grip on my waist, I felt him begin to push me, guiding me in a haphazard walk until my lower back connected against a hard piece of furniture. The hospital bed.

In a fluid motion, he clutched my hips and hoisted me upwards, my rear perched on the edge of the mattress, a small gasp escaping at his boldness. The tightened material of my skirt held my legs annoyingly close together, impeding his clear desire to keep his body pressed to mine. Fingers snatched at the hem, impatiently pushing the fabric up my thighs, daring to expose my underwear.

Poe immediately shifted to wedge himself in between my legs, and I took the opportunity to wrap them around him, pulling him close. The height of the bed put our hips at a matching angle, allowing me to feel him, all of him, his hard arousal grinding into the thin fabric of my panties.

While our lips continued to caress each other’s with increasing fervour, an impossibly delicious groan left him, relishing the sensation of his cock pressed into me.

Oh maker, that sound is heavenly.

Instinct took control, my fingers moving blindly to find the collar of his jacket, tugging it back over his shoulders, Poe helping me to pull the leather sleeves past his wrists, refusing to let our faces disconnect. My actions weren’t nearly as graceful, scrunching my hands impatiently into the bottom of his shirt, desperate to finally get the chance to trace my fingers over his bare chest. He barely hesitated in pulling back for the second it took to tug the cotton over his head, returning to my lips again like the momentary pause left him starving for them.

I was all fire inside, searing heat lighting up my skin in the most enchanting way, the intensity only getting hotter as I snaked my arms around Poe’s torso, letting my fingers dig into the toned muscles of his back. He growled in between impassioned kisses, his hands sliding from where they had found themselves on my hips, up over my breasts, only lingering briefly. One by one, he begin to unlock the buttons of my blouse, hurriedly wanting to expose my skin to the cold air of night resting around us. Returning his previous favour, I yanked out the material tucked into my skirt, allowing him to finish pulling the last buttons apart and hastily wrench the piece of clothing away.

Feeling his fingertips run up the lengths of my arms, I could have sworn there were marks left in the shape of his movement, a crimson red pleasure burning into my skin at his touch. Our kiss had maintained its intensity, but I could sense his focus drifting towards other parts of me, a hand gliding down my chest, slipping gently into the cup of my bra, fingers squeezing at my breast tenderly before a thumb grazed lightly over the already hardened nipple.

I gasped, my head leaning back in delight, as he continued to tease the nub, his face nuzzling into my neck, brushing his lips just under my ear. The whistle of his breath sent a glittering shiver all through my nerve endings, setting my skin alight with electricity. Nails dug harder into his back, my whole body beginning to pulse with lust, radiating solely from my centre, a wetness extremely noticeable underneath my panties. And somehow, Poe read my mind again, with a hand trailing down, irritatingly slowly. I soon felt his fingers cautiously skim the inside of my thigh, testing me, possibly still waiting for me to flee.

There was no way. My regard for that pointless line I'd been so fearful to traverse was so far behind me in the horizon, I could barely sense it anymore.

I pulled back to meet his face, only to move in to gently bite his lower lip, a way to indicate I was ready, to push him to keep going. His growl was almost fierce as we connected in a kiss once more, fingers now finding their confidence to graze from the bottom of my entrance all the way up.

Even with fabric dulling the exquisite sensation, my hips jerked into his hand, legs clamping around him harder, lungs sucking in an impassioned breath. I could feel him smile under my lips, smugly enjoying the reaction one simple touch produced. Two fingers continued to brush up and down my covered slit, gauging my response as he moved, before landing on the place that made me bite back a moan.

“Don’t hold it back,” he whispered into my ear. “I want to memorise the sound.”

I could have burst into a ball of flames right then, leaving behind nothing but embers and ash. The pleasure that rippled through me at the low rumble of his voice, combined with the increased swirling of his fingers over my sweet spot, was unparalleled to anything I’d experienced before. Completely drowned in the luscious motion, equally enraptured by his touch and warm, panting breath seeping into my ear. I was already so high on the feel of him, the twitching of my thighs signifying a climbing need for release. Yet I was suddenly acutely aware of seconds ticking away too swiftly, worried at any moment this scene could be snatched away by interruption.

“We don’t have much time,” I breathed, slipping my hands to his cheeks, forcing him look at me. His eyes held mine for a single moment before his fingers increased their pace, and I was helpless but to let out a pitiful whimper.

His breath grew heavier at the sound, and when I was able to reclaim enough composure to look back into his eyes again, they were fiery, animalistic.

“I want you,” I all but begged. “I need you, right now.”

A low groan seeped from his throat, eyes clenching shut as he pushed his hardness against me once more, refusing to cease the perfect swirl of his touch. “I need to hear you tip over the edge, at least once, before I leave,” he murmured.

My mouth enveloped his moments after he spoke the words, the strength of his lust radiating harshly into me. I was defenseless against it, wanting nothing more than to give him what he desired, thrusting myself against his hand, ravenously eager for the release he craved.

Finally, he hooked a lone finger into the top of my panties, ready to pull them down.

A shrill tone echoed through the clinic.

They were here.

We were out of time.

We both shot our eyes to the door, Poe’s head whipping around after hearing the familiar sound of my door alarm.

“Frack!” he exclaimed, before snapping his face back to mine.

A longing gaze exchanged between us, shared anguish over the night we could have spent together, as the reality of distance separating our bodies for an unknown time, maybe to never meet again, came crashing down in an instant.

Within the next moment he had his fingers laced through my hair, pulling me into an ardent kiss, intimate and slow, lips moving purposefully over mine.

I tried desperately to savour the feeling of it, the taste, the smell of him, all of it, into my memory. It would never compare to this moment, yet I still grasped onto every little piece and locked the fragments into my mind.

We didn’t have the time to relish in each other anymore, the concealment of our indiscretion now immediately important before I could open the clinic door.

I moved messily to replace my blouse, brain still blurry with the sudden fall of my ascending pleasure, struggling with the buttons under the pressure of seconds ticking by. Poe plucked his shirt and jacket off the floor, shrugging them on one after the other, still looking as effortlessly handsome as before I rushed into his arms.

He held his hand out to help me off the bed and I took it gladly, stepping down with a gentle hop, shimmying down the tight fabric of my skirt as I walked to the door. Poe followed behind me, noticing in my peripheries as he held back to reposition himself, the evidence of our close contact harder for him to hide.

Taking one last moment to flatten the hair Poe had disrupted from my ponytail, I inhaled hard, focusing all my energy on the locked box hidden in the depths of my brain, covering it in as many invisible layers I could muster in the moment before opening the door.

Inquisitive faces greeted me, somehow both familiar and extremely foreign.

Finn, dark skinned and looking every bit of the typical rebel fighter, a tan pocketed jacket emblazoned with the Resistance insignia draping his torso, a blaster discretely holstered to his hip.

Rey was precisely how I imagined a young female Jedi to look, glowing sun-speckled skin with brown hair curled into three distinct buns, roughened white fabric wrapped meticulously around her petite yet strong looking frame, cinched at the waist by a thick brown strap where a silver lightsaber handle hung.

“Dr Jago?” Finn asked suspiciously, eyes narrowed in confusion.

I smiled sweetly, pretending these people hadn’t shown up in perfect time to rip Poe and I from our long-awaited entanglement. “That’s me, but please just call me Alex. You must be Finn.” I held out my hand for him to shake, and he took it strongly, face still contorted in doubt. I ignored it to greet Rey in the same fashion. “And you’re Rey, right? Poe told me you were coming.”

I tried to ignore the burning sensation of my lips, hoping they didn’t seem as swollen as they felt. She smiled just as kindly back at me, a radiance bursting from her expression so bright that I could feel it pulse into the shield I held around my shape.

She’s already so strong.

“It’s so good to meet you,” she greeted. “We’ve been told you’re to thank for saving our Commander’s life.”

“I was just doing my job,” I replied modestly, the itchy feeling of praise scratching me again.

Poe stepped into their view just as my words were spoken, pulling all of their focus with him. I slipped back to allow their joyful reunion to occur without the interruption of a stranger, each entering into an emotional hug, exclaiming how glad they were to see him alive and well. They seemed close, and it warmed me to see Poe so relieved to be in the presence of his friends.

They dived quickly into conversation, Finn and Rey describing their perilous journey here, having to navigate their way around the Indrexu Spiral, an asteroid and comet debris filled nebula separating Raxus from much of the galaxy.

As they spoke, I couldn’t help but study Rey’s face for any recognition, any single trace of suspicion connected to what I had buried away. There was nothing of note, no sliver of energy examining me. She seemed at rest, barely a fragment of attention focused in my direction.

It was towards the end of their conversing I noticed Poe glancing at me, implicating me as their topic of discussion. Finn and Rey had also looked my way, waiting for an answer.

“Sorry what?” I sputtered, broken free of my internal musings.

“The crash?” Finn repeated. “Did you see it happen?”

I shook my head, a memory of the booming sound it had made flashing in my mind. “Only the aftermath. But it was an incredibly hard collision, made the walls shake and everything.”

“And Poe hadn’t performed an emergency ejection, right?” Rey queried, significance weighing her question. It was obvious they were trying to collect some clues to the moments leading up to Poe’s accident.

“That’s right. He’d blown right through the transparisteel and landed not far from the hull. I believe it was that impact that broke his bones. His burns however, definitely occurred before that, since I’d found him in a space that hadn’t caught fire.”

Rey creased her eyebrows together. “So the X-wing was already on fire? Before it crashed?”

“That’s what we can gather,” Poe concurred while nodding to me, reiterating a conversation we’d had during our Sabbac game, when I was detailing the events from the night I found him. “Alex had already gotten me inside the clinic before the whole ship exploded, so there wasn’t really anything left to search over, to see what might have happened before I lost consciousness and crashed here.”

“Well, that pile of rubble won’t be giving us an answer anytime soon,” Finn agreed. His eyes then glanced to Poe, looking over him carefully, absorbed in his own thoughts before speaking up again. “Hey, what kind of bacta do you keep here? This guy barely looks like he’s had a dent put in him.”

Poe and Rey both shot him irritated looks.

“What? I’m just asking,” he huffed back.

I laughed cautiously. “It was decent quality bacta, I guess. I’d show you my stock but Poe’s injuries kinda cleaned me out.”

Hold on to that lie for dear life.

“It mustn’t have been that bad then? I mean, it took me two weeks soaking in a bacta coma to fix the cracks in my back. How come you got him walking within three days?”

“Finn!” Rey hissed.

Poe rolled his eyes. “Trust me. I felt the pain. It was bad,” he murmured. It still troubled him, the memory of it. I could tell in the smallest fluctuation in his voice.

Rather than retort with words I moved to find my data pad at the tech station, flicking the screen to the images of Poe’s X-rays, handing it to Finn. “Those were taken after I managed to pull the bone back under his skin,” I said curtly. I couldn’t help but feel a wash of insult come over me with his questioning. I still might have fixed that break just fine if it hadn’t caused a waterfall of blood to spurt out.

It was then a tendril of what felt like heavy smoke brushed at my skin, invisible, moving slowly over me, searching for an opening inside.

Rey had sensed the shift in my mood and was evidently trying to find the thought that caused it.

The cloud surrounded me in an instant, striving to break into the impenetrable shield.

It was time.

A moment I’d avoided for years, finally staring me in the face, here to test the defenses I'd worked so hard to build. The fog persisted to waft over, and I could feel Rey’s curiosity through the energy field she was secretly emitting. I didn’t dare look to her face, not wanting to seem as though I could sense what was happening, to give any evidence to her suspicion.

Finn had continued to look through my notes on Poe’s progress, his eyes scanning and widening as he read over the intimate details. The facts were there, with a small fabrication as to the method of mending the severed artery. I’d written that I’d managed to patch it with military grade fibrin glue, something I would never be able to afford or even have sent here in a zillion years.

But they wouldn’t know that.

It felt dirty inputting the forgery within Poe's notes, as dirty as I felt every other time I'd been forced to explain how a patient pulled through under my care. It was for their benefit, their life, but it still felt so unethical to lie.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” Finn finally asked, acknowledging the effort I had put into getting Poe back into the picture of health that stood with us.

“Coruscant, and a myriad of other planets I was sent to while stationed on hospital ships for war relief efforts.” Evidently Poe hadn’t gone into too much detail about my past, which I was grateful for.

“Well, you’re damn good, especially being so young,” Finn complimented, finally relaxing his stance. “Maybe if you were with the Resistance I wouldn’t have been in a bacta bubble for so long.”

I let my lips curl into an awkward smile. “I’m sure I would have done no better than the doctors there.”

“You sure? We could really use-”

“Finn,” Poe stopped, chuckling. “Don’t try the spiel on her. She’s not interested.” He gave me a comforting look, and it made me desperately want to turn back time, just to find myself in his arms again once more.

Finn shrugged, and turned to look at Rey, as I used the opportunity to peek at her face. Her head was tilted in subtle confusion, instantly knowing it was due to my shield holding strong against the inquisitive mist that wished to search through my mind. When my eyes drifted to hers it retracted, the intense haze promptly recoiling back into her body.

“Shouldn’t we get going?” Finn posed, raising his hand to pat Poe on the arm. “We’ve got orders to get our Commander back ASAP.”

Rey nodded, focused back onto the current circumstance. “Right,” she agreed, looking to Poe's tense expression. “Let’s get you home. Leia’s waiting for you.”

I felt the blood drain from my face, a cold shock fizzling in my bones. I had no willpower available to prevent myself from fixing my gaze to Poe's face, watching as he immediately glared back, a similar distress glowing in his irises.

“BB-8!” he suddenly yelled. “We can’t leave without him.”

His friends were in agreement, quickly realising the droid had yet to make his entrance.

“Oh! He’s, uh, in my quarters,” I mumbled, recalling I’d closed the door behind me with him still inside. “He barged in while you were in the ‘fresher.”

An immense awareness overcame Poe’s face, realising exactly what his little robot friend had done.

I motioned my head towards the hallway. “Let’s go retrieve him, and we can get your things from the office while we’re at it.”

He was responsive to the hidden meaning behind my request, explaining quickly to Finn and Rey, “We’ll be right back.”

He was at my heels, following me down the hallway, before I turned quickly into the darkened study, both of us slipping behind the door and clicking it shut. I was suddenly pressed against the wall, hands grasping at my waist as Poe’s lips found mine in the shadowed blackness. I kissed him urgently, clawing my fingers into his jacket to pull him closer.

This was it, our secret goodbye.

“He showed you,” Poe said softly after pulling away, forehead leaning into mine. I opened my lids, his eyes only barely visible by the subtle illumination afforded from the rim of the entryway.

“Only the important things,” I smirked. “Nothing confidential about your mission.”

He exhaled, breath brushing my cheeks. “Should have known he was recording, sneaky little droid.” His tone turned grim, a heavy moment hanging in the air between us. “So you understand why I have to leave.”

I brought my hand to his cheek, grazing my fingers on the skin. “I do. In the same way you know why I can’t go with you.”

Poe swallowed hard, his hands tensing their grip on me. “I’ll come back. If I get through this, I’ll come back to you. To finish what we started.”

“Okay,” I breathed. “Please don’t crash on another planet.”

He chuckled lowly before sinking onto my lips again, a kiss sweetened with meaning and... hope.

Hope for another chance to be in each other’s arms again.

I was the first to exit the study, a cold shiver moving through me, trying to grapple with my gloom while maintaining the buffer around my mind in case Rey made another effort to reach out again. Opening the door to my quarters, BB-8 waiting impatiently behind it. I kneeled down to speak to him directly, leaning in close. “Thank you BB,” I whispered.

He beeped expectantly at me, asking a question I somehow knew the answer to. When I nodded back, he wiggled his body gleefully, chattering a cascade of sweetened beeps. My smile was hard to contain, only slightly curious as to why this little droid was so invested in his owner’s love life.

I’d stood back up just as Poe pulled the office door closed, a satchel over his shoulder filled with some of the tools and spare parts I was more than happy to have offloaded, as well as some of the remnant tech of his flight suit that had survived after I’d ripped it to pieces.

He squinted at BB-8. “We’re going to have a stern discussion when we get on the Falcon,” he rumbled.

But BB-8 didn’t seem to care, squealing happily as he whizzed off down the hallway.

Poe and I took one last moment together, alone, in silence. I took his hand, squeezing it. “I’ll be waiting. You know where to find me,” I murmured delicately, motioning for him to lead the way.

There was an obvious turmoil in Poe's eyes, his jaw tense as pupils studied my face, strengthening our grip, before letting his hand slip from mine.

BB-8 was cheerfully enjoying the welcoming scritches of Rey as we entered into the clinic room, Finn bending down to pat the droids head. Both were clearly pleased he had managed to survive the ordeal as intact as Poe. On noticing our return, their postures straightened, an aura of urgency seeming to fill the atmosphere.

“Come on, Chewie’s waiting,” Finn encouraged. Each made their move to exit out the front door of the clinic as I followed slowly behind them, leaning my form against the frame of the door, watching hopelessly as Poe walked away.

I was furiously clutching the impulse to beg for him to stay when Rey veered back to me. Her abrupt turn set me on high alert, bracing my shield against any inquisitive energy. She leaned in close, a gentle kindness set in her demeanour. “Thank you. For what you did. If you ever need anything, the Resistance would be more than willing to help.”

I let go of the breath I was holding, beaming back at her. “Thank you, I appreciate that.”

Suddenly, an invisible pounding force hit my body, rattling every one of my senses. As my view came into focus again, Rey still standing before me, I knew she had felt the same thing.

Our eyes darted to the sky above us, a flickering light emanating from a lone ship only barely visible in the night sky. Reactions were synchronised, stares shooting back to each other, instantly comprehending exactly what was about to happen.

“Come with us,” she pleaded. “We can keep you safe.”

Finn and Poe had already looked back, not sensing the entrance of an enemy force into the atmosphere, only hearing Rey's hushed, imploring tone.

“Get out of here, while you can still do it unnoticed,” I hissed. “I can handle it.”

Poe stormed back over where we stood, already perceiving a rising problem. “What? What’s wrong?”

Rey and I looked to each other, gauging the thoughts showing in our eyes. I recklessly spoke first, regretting it the instant I slipped the words. “Poe, if you want to complete that mission, you need to get on that ship. Now.”

His face became hardened. “They found us, didn’t they?” His fiery stare moved between Rey and I, a heated impatience exploding in his expression when we didn’t answer immediately.

Eventually, Rey spoke calmly. “They’ll make landfall within the minute.”

“Please go,” I begged. “They won’t hurt me as long as you make yourself scarce.”

“No,” he snarled. “I’m not leaving you here to face them.”

Rey rushed to face him, frantic. “She’s right. They’ll see she’s innocent in this. And then we can get far enough away that they won’t be able to track us.”

“You’ve seen how they interrogate people of interest Rey,” he protested. “They won’t just ask some questions and move on.”

“Poe!” Finn hollered, being privy to our conversation. “Stop being heroic for five minutes and let’s go!”

But, the moment for fleeing had passed.

A sleek black transporter ship was careening directly for us, no doubt having already spotted the unmistakable form of the Millennium Falcon. Poe rushed to me in long strides, gripping my wrist and attempting to pull me with him. “You have to come with us! They won’t let you stay here.” His eyes were frantic with fear.

He was right. I was now entangled within their web, simply by being seen fraternising with Resistance fighters. And the First Order wouldn’t take that lightly.

Damn it. Damn it all.

“Get on the Falcon,” Rey instructed, her voice formidable, turning to her comrades. “We’ll need to incapacitate whoever’s on this ship before we have a chance of leaving. She unclipped her lightsaber, looking to Finn with an unspoken message, before calling towards the ship. “Chewie! We need you! And bring an extra blaster!”

The ship had made a swift landing, dust swirling in the harsh white lights that illuminated the scene, hatch opening down in a speedy thunk.

I barely had time to peer at the figures exiting into the earthy fog before Poe had begun to usher me toward the Millennium Falcon, pressing hard on the small of my back, urging me to hurry. I heard the sound of Rey’s lightsaber springing to life with a low hum, before a distressed shout.

“Death troopers!”

I twisted around to face the enemy shapes, at least six of what looked like Stormtroopers, heavily clad in armour as black as the night around us, a green glow at the bottom of their helmets.

“I thought the First Order didn’t use them!” Poe bellowed.

“Well they do now!” Rey hollered, placing herself in a defensive stance.

The world around me erupted into chaos, a mess of blaster fire screeching into the spaces surrounding us. A red bolt shot towards Poe and I, barely allowing time to flee before it struck the ground in a sizzling puff of embers. I’d thrown myself onto my knees, covering my head as if it would be enough to shield me. Hesitantly, I looked up again to see a blaster flying over me, thrown from the looming Wookie storming towards us.

“Run Alex! Run to the ship!” Poe ordered, catching it easily within his grasp, firing directly into the fray of hostile soldiers. I straightened to follow his instruction, adrenaline making my legs feel like static, taking only a few irritatingly slow steps before a shower of blaster fire raced past my leg.

Truly the worst day to be wearing a skirt.

The shots were so close to my skin I could feel the heat sting me, causing a pain that made it even harder to keep my steps moving. I raced past Chewie, who had quickly joined his friends in returning fire on the encroaching Death troopers. Behind me I made out the noise of a lightsaber blade scorching against armour, another pained grunt filling the air amongst the discharge of lasers. The sound burned me, familiar and agonising, guilt uncontrollably surging through my body.

I was almost at the ramp when another Death trooper entered from under the cover of night, blaster raised with threatening intent.

Asshole must have slipped around in the darkness.

I froze immediately, waiting for the pain of burning laser to hit. But the trooper simply moved forward, and instinct caused me to step backward in panic, legs shaking. My hands were quivering just as much, raising them up in a signal of surrender. I wanted to speak, to attempt to explain my lack of allegiance to the group they were hunting, but it occurred to me - I would probably be wasting my words.

The trooper continued to edge me back towards the skirmish playing out behind us, forcing me away from the shelter of the Falcon. He had brought his blaster higher to his helmet, aiming, poised to shoot if I made the slightest move to run again.

The barrage of blaster fire continued to pierce the atmosphere, and I was desperate to turn around, only to see if Poe and his friends were still alive in the midst of it all. But I was forced into submission by the menacing stranger in front of me, now pushing as much distance as they could between me and my escape.

A lone shot then flew past my hip, hitting the Death trooper in an apparent weak spot on his knee, the laser searing through his armour and into the skin beneath. He fell to the ground gasping in pain, the recognisable smell of burnt flesh filtering into my nose.

My head swivelled to the origin of the well-placed shot, seeing Chewie let out a bellowing growl, before returning to the direction where two Death troopers still remained standing. I scanned quickly to find Poe and Finn engaged in combat with a sole trooper, ducking and weaving out of the melee strikes of their opponent, trying to gain an opportunity to use their blasters to break through the thick armour. My attention was suddenly called to the body on the ground next to me, as I made out the crackle of a transmission message. “The rebels were here, including the Jedi,” the distorted voice shouted behind his helmet. “Alert the Supreme Leader. And send assistance.”

“They’re calling for backup!” I yelled, running over to the scene of battle, hoping my voice would carry over the swish of Rey’s lightsaber and countless blaster bolts. “Kylo Ren knows you’re here!”

My shriek sprouted a moment of distraction from the Death troopers, allowing Rey to make a fatal swing into her opponents back, his figure crumbling to the ground in a sizzling heap. Finn was also able to make a daring move to sweep his foot around the ankle of the second trooper, causing him to stagger into the bombardment of shots from Poe’s blaster.

“Everybody on the Falcon, now!” Poe ordered.

Our movements were synchronised as we made a break for the ship from differing points on the field. I wasn’t as quick as the others, the burns on my legs not dulled by adrenaline anymore, limping into a run. Each had already made it up the ramp when I felt two excruciating scalds strike my thigh, making me tumble to the ground, screeching in pain.

“Alex!” I heard Poe shout, the thump of my heartbeat drowning out the sound. I could barely make out his figure on the ramp of the ship, my eyes blurred in agony.

“Go! You don’t have time!” I heaved back, breathless.

“She’s right Poe!” Finn had his hand gripped around his arm, trying to pull him up into the ship’s interior. “We’ll all die if we stay any longer!”

My strength to stay alert was wavering, feeling the wounds already seeping blood onto my skin and into the ground beneath me. Poe wrestled under Finn’s clutch, fighting the truth of his statement. But the logical side of his brain was triumphant, ending his defiance against the pull on his body inside the Falcon.

“I’ll find you! I promise!” he shouted in the moment before the ships ramp retracted and the engines roared into life. It moved swiftly into the sky, disappearing into the night within seconds, a burst of light glinting into a brushed line, zooming into hyperspace before I even took my next breath.

I turned myself onto my back, gasping through the throbbing ache of my leg wound. Using my last whispers of strength, I rose into a seated position, flinching hard at the jolt of pain caused by movement. I then ripped one of my sleeves off from the shoulder stitch, tearing the fabric into two strips. One was folded into a square, placing it over as much of the two blaster wounds as I could. The other I wrapped around my leg, holding the makeshift gauze in place. When the knot was tied I crashed into the ground, energy swiftly dissolving.

Only minutes had passed before I heard the sounds of more transports landing, a cold rush of fear swarming through my chest. I didn’t move, but the crunching steps that exited the ships still made their way directly towards my body. A collection of white Stormtrooper helmets came into view above, circling around my vision.

“Only one rebel in the vicinity. Should we terminate?” one of the masked figures questioned into his headset.

“I’m not with the Resistance,” I huffed, my voice losing power. One of the troopers kicked me, sending a thrill of pain from my wound into the rest of my body, my eyes stinging with tears.

“Bring them back to the Finalizer,” a grizzled voice responded on the comm-system. “Alive.”

Next Chapter

Tag list: @tlcwrites @roanniom @foxilayde @blackberries45 @hopeamarsu @caillea @princessxkenobi @leatherboundbirate @blowthatpieceofjunk @lightsinthedistancee @paterson-blue

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#poe arc 1 officially completed!#it's kylo time baby #let's get this love triangle STARTED #poe dameron x original female character #poe dameron #kylo ren #kylo ren x original female character #star wars #star wars fanfiction #adcu #adcu fanfiction #poe dameron x reader #poe dameron x female reader #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren x female reader

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blackvelvetwriteson · 4 years

Text

𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐑𝐔𝐓

( ~ Takami Keigo (Hawks) x Gender Neutral Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Smut. Filthy, Disgusting, Grimy Smut.

FANDOM: Boku No Hero Academia (My Hero Academia)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: SMUT! This particular fic has tones of CNC (Consensual Non Consent) but it’s KNOWN that both Reader- Chan and Hawks are on the same page when it comes to this sort of thing. This is very aggressive and loving at the same time so just be warned about that. Other than that, I don’t think anything else needs to be reported. PLEASE let me know if anything triggers you and I will be sure to not write anything like this in the future.

SUMMARY: This is a headcanon of Hawks in rut. There’s GOING to be a part 2, so just be aware of that.

WORD COUNT: N/A because this is a headcanon/imagine

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

You both had the same shift that day so of course you both came home together.

You both had seemed exhausted to no end but Hawks was definitely zapped, but he was a little different.

You unlocked the door intending to take a shower, make dinner, and then catch up on anything you needed to, humming softly to yourself as Hawks followed.

You were about to speak before you were stopped and gripped by the neck, pushed into a kiss as he pushed you into the wall.

You grunt softly before it finally clicks and you let him dominate you, gently pushing the door before he grabbed your hand and pinned it against the wall.

The door didn’t close all the way, surprise surprise :|

You open your eyes a little to find his eyes hungrily peering down at you causing your heart to leap in your throat.

You also notice that his wings are high and defined behind him vibrating, a couple of loose feathers falling from the bunch.

The vibration of his wings casted an eerie low whirr around you as he started to bare his teeth a little feeling his cock get hard against you.

You close your eyes a little and look down but he tilts your chin up so you can’t look away, his hips grinding hard into you as he lets out one of those hoarse shaky breaths of his right by your ear.

You, who was already aroused a little before, pressed your thighs together and pressed his bulge in between them which made him arch his back, shudder and thrust into you hard, pulling your hips against him which created a loud mack that elicited a chesty moan from him.

You found his moans to be quite appealing and they made you even more horny every single time you heard them. He, of course, used it against you all the time, especially in the most inappropriate times.

By this point, you’d have figured out that he was in rut and a sly smirk washed over your face.

You knew that during Rut, he loved to indulge on his “bird of prey” instincts. He always loved a fight and you both knew each other’s boundaries so well that nothing had ever really went wrong before.

He leaned in to kiss you and you swiveled your head away from him causing him to growl lowly and take you by the throat, sucking on your earlobe causing your knees to buckle.

“Not so tough now are you, Baby Bird,” he growled, pulling you closer, marking your neck up with his teeth.

You tremble as you feel his teeth teasing your sensitive areas and you took one of his hands, sucking on his finger, rubbing his bulge, your eyes challenging his.

He lets out an airy moan as his eyebrows arch, biting his lip as he started to grind into your hand, his forearm now pressed against the wall, all of his moans spilling out of his mouth right into your ear.

You shudder and push against his bulge, pushing him away, nibbling on his finger as you pull away.

“Come. Here,” he growled out as he bit his lip, licking over the same fingers that were just in your mouth.

“I don’t think I want to,” you lie and walk away, shaking your ass in his direction as you walk away.

Again, there’s that eerie hum of his vibrating wings again his hand loosening his belt a little before his hand disappeared into his boxers, squeezing and stroking at his cock as he leaned against the wall.

“If you make me chase, y-you I’m g-going t-to f-face fuck you s-so g-goddamn ha-hard,” he moaned out as he continued to please himself, his hips bucking into his hand. “Y-You’re not going to be able to t-talk for a f-fucking w-week and a half,” he threatened already looking like he was about to cum, his eyes half lidded and his cheeks reddened.

“Oh no… A good face fucking from my daddy? W-What a tragedy,” you tease more, sitting on the bed, twirling your fingers in your hair as you watch him jerk himself off.

Suddenly you see a spark behind his eyes and you get a little nervous.

“Don’t fucking touch yourself,” he growled out in a small moan before starting to stroke himself faster,

For some reason, watching him with his shirt halfway off of his shoulders and his hands down his pants was a little hotter than if he were to have his cock out in the open for you to see.

His feathers started to fluff up and his breathing hitched as he leaned against the wall, his head tilted up as he broke into a fit of deep, chesty moans, his wings trembling as they became more pronounced.

At his feet, there was a pile of soft red down feathers, but somehow you were a little more focused on his trembling legs, his breathing and his expression sounding like he was about to cum.

Of course, you press your thighs together and groan out softly, grinding against your bed, letting out soft groans.

“I s-said— F-Fuck~ D-Don’t move!” He looked back down at you as he started to slowly thrust into his hand, his strong hips mimicking those deep strokes he gave to you that you loved so much, his teeth clad on the collar of his shirt, even on the brink of release still looking smug.

You suddenly formed an idea of your own that might’ve pissed him off, but you were pissed that he decided to get off without you, making you horny and not being able to do anything about it.

“K-Keigo,” you whimper, a small smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “P-Please! I’m sorry, I’ll be a g-good b-baby bird, please… P-Please f-fuck me…”

You put on the most innocent, needy voice you could and knew that your plan was in motion once he took his hand out of his pants with a soft groan.

You spread your legs for him and he stood in between them pushing you back on the bed, trying *again* to give you a kiss.

You squeak softly when you’re pushed back on the bed and when he tries to kiss you, again you look away and try to push him off of you.

Once again, you both have a safe word and neither of you said it, so he continues.

He pulls your hips against his throbbing bulge and you whimper out loudly as he growls into your ear.

“G-Get off of me!” You tried to squirm and wiggle around, trying to push him off, trying to fight away.

“You’re gonna take me like a good baby bird!” He growled as he thrusted his hips hard against yours causing you to moan and cry out.

You moved to hit him and he just grabbed your wrist pinning you to the bed.

“Tell me how fucking bad you want me, baby,” he moaned into your ear, growling as he slowly rolled his hips into yours, his face looking a bit drunk because of the power he held over you, his eyes dark and malicious while also still loving.

“No! E-Eat shit Keigo,” you cry out trying not to give in to his cock twitching against your sex.

“Don’t make me rip those pants right off of you baby,” he threatened, his hand clenched tight around the top of your pants, pulling at your pants.

“D-Do it then! You’re the b-bird of prey r-right? Hm? So d-do something!”

He did as told with a challenging smirk, plucking one of his own feathers, cutting them off of you.

“W-Wait! Kei-“

He mocked you as he slid his pants and boxers down his legs just enough to be able to thrust deep inside of your tight little hole.

As he did so, you arched your back and all of that fight you held before suddenly melted away into a sea of moans and whimpers watching as his sharp eyes preyed upon you.

“Fuuuccckkk~ How does it feel? H-How does it feel knowing you do this to me, hm? Take responsibility baby bird,” he teases you as he immediately deals you deep strokes, pushing his strong hips into your hole ready for him to use and abuse all night.

Still, you want to be bratty so you slap him which makes him hold you down with one hand, the other hand thrusting hard into you, his wings flapping a little as they stiffened and he gave another throaty moan.

He was usually a sensitive person, but during rut his sensitivity absolutely skyrocketed and you couldn’t do anything but try and hold your resolve not to break.

You could see the pretty light behind his eyes so you dig your nails into his shoulder and he growls quietly as the tips of his wings flutter and quiver by how you squeeze around him.

You grab one of his hands and suck the precum from his fingers making his jaw drop and his eyes roll into the back of his head as his fluid hip thrusts melt into something choppy but still rough and pleasurable.

You knew that his hands were the most sensitive besides his ear and his collarbone.

“F-Fuck baby bird,” he moaned out trying not to cum, his breaths heaving as sweat washed over his forehead.

You smirk and bite on his fingers and then deep throat them causing him to practically yelp out in pleasure, his cock twitching inside of you.

“Like this, daddy,” you ask as he stares down at you with your lustful eyes as the saliva strands connects your lips to his fingers.

“Y-Ye-ah,” he moaned out as he tried to keep from passing out.

He loved how tight you were around him, the way you looked with your fingers down your throat and the way your moans felt around his fingers.

You knew you had the control now, so you push yourself against him and clench down as you nibble on his fingers.

I w-want you to cum inside of m-me! Please daddy,” you tease as you felt him harden more and he was about to cum right then and there.

“I d-don’t w-want t-to-“

And right after that, he came, his eyes widening as he thrusted into you hard, his feathers casting that almost cinematic murmur through the room before standing up pronounced as if he were putting on a show for someone. He looked pronounced, curved over you, his fingers going deeper into his throat, a panting mess, his eyes sleek and slender, his trembling feathers still having that soft hum.

Luckily for him, being the territorial fuck he was, the neighbors COULD see you. All of you. And everything that’d just transpired.

The door wasn’t closed all the way.

The windows were open.

But upon further inspection, however, there was one *neighbor* watching just a little too closely. Your friendly neighborhood villain, Dabi.

#bnha headcanons #bnha smut #bnha x reader #hawks x y/n #pro hero hawks #hawks lemon #hawks imagine #gender neutral imagine #lemon fic #bnha hawks #takami keigo x reader #mha takami keigo #takami keigo smut

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longing-and-heartache-and-lust · 3 years

Text

Prompt: Predator/Prey Relationships (romantic/platonic/etc): Geralt/Jaskier/Coën Rating: Explicit Content Warnings: Pre-discussed and fully consensual non-con Summary: The only thing harder than trying to outrun a witcher is trying to outrun two witchers. And when they catch him, Jaskier knows there’s going to be price to pay.

[This is my last bingo fill and I’ve allowed myself to be completely self-indulgent. I’ve got nothing to say for myself other than these two witchers own my heart.]

@sugar-and-spice-witcher-bingo

Crossposted on ao3 here

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Jaskier runs.

He knows he won't be able to get away, won't be able to outrun his pursuers but he still runs.

Because he has to, because his instincts are stronger than the knowledge that he is just wearing himself out.

If I only get back to the keep, he thinks, If only I last long enough to make it through the forest and to the river.

His lungs burn with the lack of air and the muscles in his legs ache but he doesn't stop.

It's hard to make out his way in the darkness quickly settling over the forest and every time he thinks he can hear the whisper of the river somewhere behind the trees, he loses it behind the sound of his own frantically beating heart.

He stops for only a second, sucking in a desperate breath and trying to find his way to the keep. He knows it's east of the part of the forest he's in but he's been running for so long now that no matter how hard he tries, he doesn't know which direction he's facing.

There's a snap somewhere behind him and his entire body tenses up, knees shaking with exhaustion before he breaks into a run again.

He knows that he won't be able to get away, knows that his scent's already been picked up and now there is no way that he'll be able to save himself but staying in place is not something that his instincts allow him to do.

He makes another sharp turn, finding himself in a small clearing, filled with moonlight. He swallows around the lump in his throat, trying to force himself to keep moving but then, there's another snap, right next to him and before he knows it, he's already on the ground.

"Going far, little bard?"

His head is spinning so hard the world in front of his eyes is but a blur but he doesn't need to look to recognise Coën's voice, the soft teasing purr he's got to it.

The witcher pins him to the ground, intercepting both his wrist to hold them above his head and straddling his hips, leaving Jaskier completely helpless.

He leans down and noses at his neck, taking in a deep breath to inhale his scent.

"You really are something else, songbird," he murmurs, a flash of dangerously sharp teeth to his grin. "I can smell the lust burning through your veins."

He dips his head, leaving a hot, open-mouthed kiss on the bard's neck, and Jaskier flexes his arms, struggling against his grip but they both know he's defenceless against a witcher's strength. His skin seems to burn up where Coën touches his lips to it.

"Let go-" he sniffles, arching into the touch despite his own words when Coën rolls his hips against Jaskier's.

He knows he can stop him, knows that all it takes is a safe-word. But he doesn't want to. The fear is what he'd wanted for years now.

"Let go?" Coën echoes, licking a strip up the bard's neck before sinking his teeth into the tender skin, tearing a broken cry out of Jaskier's chest. "We're only just getting started."

The witcher leans down as if to kiss him but at the last moment, there's a soft rustle of leaves somewhere behind Jaskier's head and he flicks his gaze in the direction, a familiar grin tugs on the corners of his lips.

"Wolf," he acknowledges and Jaskier's heart skips a beat at that sound. "Here to share the prey?"

Coën is way too good with words, Jaskier's learned that on the very first night they've spent together and though it seems like he's got to be used to it by now, he isn't, and there's a shiver that runs down his spine at the sound of the witcher's voice.

Geralt chuckles, low and promising, as he comes closer, but before Jaskier can as much as say something, Coën already shifts, leaving his hips, and gets him up to his knees, making the bard feel like he's no more but a toy in his hands.

More than anything, Jaskier wants to hide his eyes, knowing that they're shining brighter than they're supposed to, darkening with every new touch, but Coën doesn't allow him, wrapping his hand around his neck and pressing his thumb to the sharp of his jaw, making the bard look up.

"So many things we could do to you," Geralt murmurs, deceivingly-soft. "What should we start with?"

He reaches his hand out, brushes a lock of the bard's hair away from his face and Jaskier almost leans into it but the younger witcher keeps him in place, Jaskier's back pressed against his chest. He can hear Coën undo one of the belts of his armour and he's expecting anything but not what follows.

The soft, worn leather of the belt touches his wrists, wraps around them, tightening until it's almost painful, and bounds his arms, making Jaskier bite back a sob. He's helpless like this, and they all know it a little too well.

Jaskier doesn't have a doublet on, only a dark-blue shirt and breeches to match, and he shudders when Coën pulls on the hem of his chemise to untuck it and slip his fingers underneath, running them over the bard's bare skin. His lips are on Jaskier's neck again, leaving painful, bruising kisses on the delicate skin.

Jaskier clenches his jaw to try and stay silent but a whimper still falls from his lips.

"You like it, don't you?" Coën whispers into his ear, burning the sensitive skin with his breath. "Knowing that there is nothing you can do against us."

He does. Never in his life would he tell anyone aside from his two witchers but he does. There aren't many things that he loves more than feeling the sheer power of his lovers' when they choose to show it, and allowing them to do anything they want with him.

He bites his lip, nearly tearing through soft flesh when Coën's hand slips lower, his nails leaving red marks on Jaskier's skin, and cups his hardening cock through the light fabric of his breeches. Without thinking, Jaskier rolls his hips, trying to both lean into the touch and squirm away from it.

He feels trapped, caught in-between two flames, and getting out of this is not a choice that he has.

"Look at me," Geralt orders, making Jaskier's eyes snap back to him as he undoes the buttons of his trousers. "And keep looking."

Coën clenches his fingers tighter, nearly making Jaskier whine, and he can feel his mouth water when Geralt shoves his trousers just a little lower, together with his smallclothes, taking himself in hand and stroking slowly. He's fully hard, and Jaskier barely realises that he licks his lips at the sight.

Before he can say anything, Geralt already gets his hand into his hair and pulls the bard closer, demanding and impatient, making Jaskier arch his back but comply, wrapping his lips around the head. The weight of it on his tongue feels familiar, pleasurable, right. He thinks that one day he's going to talk to both his witchers about what they've turned him into but now that doesn't matter, and he concentrates on his task, moaning breathlessly when Geralt tugs on his hair.

He takes as much time as he can, working the witcher over with his tongue and struggling not to hide his eyes, to keep looking. But Geralt gets tired of that much faster than the bard had hoped and tugs on his hair again, hard and merciless, making Jaskier open his mouth wider and take his cock in deeper.

It's nearly impossible to breathe like this and Jaskier can feel the tears in the corners of his eyes but he can't break away, can't even say anything, just complies, because he's got no other choice. He's fully hard now and every move of Coën's fingers sends a fire-hot wave of pleasure up his spine, making him whimper and lean into every touch despite himself.

"So sensitive," Coën murmurs, letting go of the bard's throat to unlace his breeches and push them down to his knees, running a gloved hand over his bare thigh and hip. "Just the wat I like it."

Jaskier shivers under his touch, and he can feel suffocating blush crawl up his chest and neck from knowing what he looks like right now. He wants to get his clothes back on, to cover himself but his hands are still tied and there is nothing he can do. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks that being only half-naked is somehow hotter than having no clothes at all.

Geralt pushes deeper into his mouth, all the way to the back of his throat, and if Jaskier was less experienced, he would've choked. But they've spent many years together and the bard knows his way around, even though Geralt's size will never fail to overwhelm him.

He moans, equal part pain and pleasure, and makes himself concentrate on breathing, his lips stinging as the witcher fucks into his mouth, spit and precome running down his chin. It's only when he starts suffocating that Geralt lets him go, breathing hard and deep, his cock flush and curving up towards his stomach.

There's a fallen tree - no more than a log by now - right behind the older witcher and suddenly, Jaskier is pushed towards it, hard enough to lose his balance and hit it with his chest, the fall broken by the soft moss. In this position, he's even more helpless, his back arched and knees spread.

"Beautiful, isn't he?" he hears Coën murmur, leaning in to steal a long, sweet kiss from Geralt.

In a way, Jaskier is still getting used to the fact that his two witchers have been sleeping together for decades now.

While he still can, he tries to catch his breath but then he feels Coën's hands slip down his hips, can feel his fingers tease over the crease of his thighs and despite the tears welling up in his eyes, he leans into it.

"Just like that," Coën purrs, hot and intoxicating, running his hot tongue over the line of Jaskier's spine. "You can cry all you want but we all know just how much you want it."

He reaches over and pushes two fingers into Jaskier's mouth, getting them slick with spit as he undoes his own trousers with his free hand and presses closer to the bard, making him moan at the feeling of his hard cock against the swell of his ass.

Jaskier runs his tongue over the witcher's fingers, sucks on them, getting them as wet as he can because he knows that it's for his own good. They've spent a good ha;f of the morning getting him prepared for this game and he's still way looser than usual but it's been hours and he knows it's still going to hurt.

It's hard to keep his head up in this position but Geralt doesn't give him much choice, kneeling next to him and tipping his chin up as soon as the younger witcher takes his fingers out of his mouth.

Geralt's eyes are dark, more black than gold, and that makes Jaskier's head reel even more so than before, until he can't keep quiet anymore.

"Kiss me," he chokes out, mouth falling open in a broken moan when Coën presses two fingers into him, pain and pleasure ripping through his body like fire. "Please, Geralt-"

He knows that he won't, that they've agreed upon it, but he still begs, because it's just too much to take. His dignity is not something that plays a role in this.

Geralt doesn't answer, just chuckles, darting a look at the younger witcher, and runs his hand through Jaskier's hair, soft enough to be considered gentle, before getting a fistful and tugging, hard, until the bard wraps his lips around the head of his cock again, choking on a sob.

"I'm not done with you yet, bard," he says, his other hand coming to grip Jaskier's shoulder, keeping his balance.

His entire body burns, with Coën stretching him open with his fingers, fast and rough, leaving bites and bruising kisses on the bard's back and hips, and Geralt fucking into his mouth, making it nearly impossible to breathe again.

He's painfully hard by now, leaking with precome and more than anything, he wants to be touched. If it wasn't for the belt holding his wrist together, he would've reached down between his legs already to dull the edge of his own lust at least a little. But he's not allowed to.

"You know, little bard," Coën murmurs, brushing against just the right spot inside and making Jaskier buck his hips, helpless. "If I had a little more patience in me, I could've stretched you enough for you to take both of us in."

That thought goes straight to Jaskier's cock, making it twitch almost painfully and he whines at the loss when Coën withdraws his fingers. He arches his back even more, trying to press himself closer to the witcher and if it wasn't for Geralt's grip on his hair, he would've begged.

By the way Geralt's breath hitches, Jaskier knows he's close, and he presses his tongue to the throbbing veins of his cock harder, following every outline until Coën finally pushes into him and the bard suffocates on a moan, tears streaming down his cheeks.

He's not stretched enough and it hurts in what feels like his entire body but it feels so good.

Coën steadies him with one hand on the small of his back and the other one on his hip as he fucks into him, hard and fast, husky moans falling off his lips.

It's overwhelming, unbearable, and Jaskier can feel his shoulders shake with tears as he does his best to try and breathe.

Geralt pushes all the way to the back of his throat again, his cock throbbing on the bard's tongue and Jaskier swallows, hard, pushing the witcher over the edge. He growls, throwing his head back and spilling deep into the bard's throat, nearly making him choke.

Jaskier moans, breathless, and swallows, his head dropping once Geralt lets him go. His throat and lips ache but he can't concentrate on that with Coën fucking into him, hitting just the right spot every time and making his knees shake.

It's agonisingly good, being treated like this, used for his witchers' pleasure, and Jaskier barely lasts another minute before choking on a broken, desperate moan and coming all over his own stomach, painting it with streaks of white. Coën fucks him through it, the grip of his fingers on the bard's hip strong enough to leave bruises, and Jaskier is still shaking when the younger witcher comes, as well, filling him up with his spend.

"Fuck," Coën whispers, laughing quietly as he slowly pulls out, sipping his head to leave a gentle kiss on the bard's back. "You alright, my love?"

Talking is still far beyond him, so Jaskier jut nods, collapsing onto the forest floor when his shaking knees can hold him no longer.

Immediately, Geralt wraps his arms around him and pulls him closer, until Jaskier's head can rest on his broad chest. Through the haze in his mind, Jaskier only partially registers that the younger witcher cleans him off and does up the laces of his breeches, peppering soft, gentle kisses all over his stomach. He only finds it in himself to open his eyes when Coën drapes his cloak around him and settles down by his side, still trying to catch his breath.

"Love you both," Jaskier breathes, eyes fluttering closed again when first Geralt and then Coën lean down to kiss him, sweet and gentle. "So much."

Both his witchers hum something content, their soft, warm touches grounding him, helping him breathe.

"When we go to bed tonight," Jaskier finally says, propping himself up on one elbow and smiling with promise. "We might just try and see how much preparation it will take for me to take both of you in."

#so remember what I was saying about geralt/jaskier/coen?#yeah this is what I meant by that #the witcher #geraskier #geralt/jaskier/coen #jaskier/coen #jaskier/coёn #threesome: M/M/M #can you believe I'm done with this three weeks before the deadline?#calton writes

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bjy-on-ao3 · 3 years

Text

Fic Friday: A Good Mood

(As usual, you can find the AO3 version of all my uploads [and some things I don’t post here to tumblr] via my Masterlist blog page.)

This started out as an attempt at one thing and then just kind of evolved and changed over time. At this point I don’t know exactly what to call it? So we’ll just call it what Adachi’s like in a good mood as the title suggests.

Summary After having a surprisingly good day at work, Adachi gets let off early and arrives home to catch Reader in the perfect moment and take out his good mood on them.

Tags/Warnings

Biting, Consensual Sex, Creampie, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Vague Fluff

A Good Mood (F! Reader/Tohru Adachi)

Living with Tohru Adachi, you were used to his moods, whether fair or foul. Some days he returned home from work exhausted, possessing only the energy to coax you into tending to him before passing out like a light. Other days, work left him simply stressed and grouchy, requiring an outlet for all the boiling emotions and repressed words.Those days left you the most sore the next morning. Far more rare were the days Adachi came home from work with energy to spare, in a cheery mood, relatively speaking, making him almost playful in a teasing way.

Whatever his mood, though, you enjoyed his attentions. Physical attention was often the extent of Adachi’s affections, though. You were used to not hearing much of how he really felt, nor did you expect to hear about it anymore. Getting Adachi to address deeper feelings more than something base and carnal was like pulling teeth, so you didn’t force it. But you didn’t need to try very hard to pick up on the times Adachi was feeling happy or content, despite his best efforts to hide away anything he might consider vaguely vulnerable.

That afternoon was one not unlike any other, tending to chores around the apartment or running small errands. Sometimes you allowed yourself a break here or there, in the form of enjoying the day’s weather or just relaxing. Overall, it was routine and ordinary, what you were accustomed to doing. Much of the day you were alone, left to entertain yourself when your busy work around your home was finished. While it was hard to say when Adachi would arrive home from work, given how wildly late they kept him at the police station some nights, it was a safe bet typically he wouldn’t arrive home before a certain time.

With the afternoon winding down and the apartment otherwise tidy, you found yourself with some spare time before dinner preparation called. You took advantage of the time to clean yourself up with a shower from the grime of the day. Though it was just as relaxing to bask in the hot water for longer than necessary afterward as it was satisfying to wash up. Cutting the water, you clambered out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a towel hung nearby.

The telltale sound of the front door opening suddenly made you freeze in your tracks. Assuming nothing was awry, the sound signalled Adachi had returned home from work. Your brow furrowed while you wonder if you had mistaken the time earlier or had simply been in the shower far longer than you thought. You shook your head to clear the thoughts; whatever the case, he was home, it seemed.

Adjusting your towel, you exited the bathroom, closing the door gently behind you and peering out toward the front door. You caught Adachi still standing just inside the entryway, the front door shut. There was an almost chipper air about him, and he didn’t seem overtired or irritated at first glance. You tried not the smile to widely at the thought maybe Adachi had actually had a good day at work for once in a while.

“Tohru, what are you doing home already?” you asked, curious but happy to see him all the same. “Never thought I’d see the day they let you off early,” you added cheerfully.

Adachi laughed softly at your addition, his attention shifting to fixate entirely on you. A sharpness crept into his gray eyes as he noted your state of undress, and his lopsided smile got a little wider. It was easy to see where his intent gaze lingered, tracing over the bits of bare skin or the droplets of water clinging stubbornly to to it. Under his stare you felt much more aware of your nudity beneath your towel, how very exposed it left you.

“Me neither, but I’m sure glad they did,” he quipped. “Looks like I’ve got perfect timing.” his words dipped into a lower tone, the hunger you were familiar with and had already seen in his eyes seeping into his voice.

Before you could say another word, he moved smoothly from the entryway to where you stood. He stepped in close, pressing a flat palm to the wall behind you and placing the other on your hip over the towel. He stayed like that for a moment, his crooked grin growing more as he took in the sight of you up closed. You followed his line of sight as it slipped down, drinking in the lines of your jaw and the curve of your neck. His pupils swallowed more of the stormy gray of his eyes when they reached the swell of your chest peeking out from beneath the fluffy fabric.His hand on your hip joined his hungry, wandering gaze, sweeping up and down, feeling out the curves of your waist and hip and outer thigh, all hidden from his view.

Seeing the intensity of his desire, especially up close, never failed to shake you in the best possible way. It made your heart speed up, thumping a wild rhythm against the inside of your chest. Your breath stalled in your throat, lips parting as you searched for something to say. You licked dry lips, trying to stop yourself from squeezing your thighs together to address the burgeoning thrum of heat between them that his desirous gaze created.

“Tohru, hold on, I need to get dressed and get stuff started for dinner,” you protested, though the words were half-hearted.

He hushed you, leaning in until his nose was brushing yours and his breath tickled your skin. It wasn’t often Adachi’s pace was so languid, nor did he often quiet you gently like that. It left you more time to be flustered, time to appreciate his closeness and his lusty gaze boring into you. You obeyed his silencing, catching your bottom lip between your teeth unconsciously in anticipation

“It can wait,” he insisted, his hand smoothing over your lower body shifting up and ghosting over your chest through the cloth. “Right now I’d rather eat you instead,” he said, trailing his lips over your jaw.

“T-Tohru!” you balked, your scolding as half-hearted as your earlier protests. Not that it would server any purpose if it wasn’t wasn’t. There was little dissuading Adachi when he was was in the mood, especially when you were already nearly naked.

Adachi quashed any further protests, tilting his head and claiming your lips hungrily. Though he didn’t stay at your lips for long, indulging only in a short, lustful but lazy kiss before moving away and back to the line of your jaws and down your neck. He left sharp bites in his wake, stopping only to latch onto a spot here or there that made you squirm and gasp, leaving behind light marks that would surely darken. He worked his way down one, pausing at your collarbone, unhidden by the towel, before shifting to the other side and lavishing it with equally feral attention.

Your already weak will to convince him there were things that needed doing faded with each nip and kiss to your skin, your chest already rising and falling more heavily. At first, you had instinctively clutched at the top of your towel, ensuring it didn’t slip away, but abandoned it for a fistful of Adachi’s crinkled dress shirt, something more solid to ground you while Adachi ravaged your skin. With a small thud, your head rested back against the wall beside his hand and you let yourself surrender to the rough scrape of his teeth and the warmth of his mouth.

“So soft,” Adachi breathed against your skin. The adventurous hand that had been mapping out your curves moved to clutch at the towel, languidly beginning to peel it away. “And so noisy.”

Your face felt hot at his comments, hotter than the pleasant flush that had already settled in from his attention. You made no move to stop him from undoing the last covering hiding your body. Instead, you were content to reach with your other hand and weave your fingers into his messy hair, encouraging him to go on.

When Adachi tugged the towel down past your chest, the fabric hanging loosely to your form around your waist, he wasted no time moving to his next target. Taking his hand from the wall, he cupped both of the breasts fully revealed to him, rising and falling with your lightly panting breath and gasps. He squeezed them, looking delighted as he bent his head from your neck to the swell of your chest. He gave the soft skin the same treatment as your jaw and throat, alternately fondling your chest and leaving short, rough bites.

Your fingered curled tighter in Adachi’s hair and shirt, and you couldn’t help the soft cry of his name that fell from your mouth. Adachi chuckled against your skin, the sound low and amused. Lifting his head from your skin, he spoke again, torturously slowly working your pebbled nipples between the pads of his thumbs and forefingers.

“Did you miss me, baby?” As if on cue, he elicited another sinful sound from you, louder than the others. He laughed again. “Sure seems like it, sounding like that.”

As if unsatisfied by only your moans and whimpers and gasps to answer him, Adachi returned to your skin, digging his teeth into it hard enough to another moan halfway into a yelp of pain. “Well?” he prompted, and in it you could hear a hint of the hardness you were used to when he was in his less relaxed moods.

“Yes, yes, Tohru, I missed you,” you answered breathless, opening eyes that had fallen shut to meet expectant gray ones peering up at your face. “H-how could I not?” you added, the word wavering as he resumed his ministrations, pleased with your initial answer.

“I thought so,” he said, sounding almost cheeky. “I bet me coming is the highlight of your day,” he drawled in between more bites, though he didn’t press you to confirm his words this time. One hand slid down further, its twin continuing to busy itself with your chest, and he fumbled with the towel again. “Why don’t we get this out of the way?” he suggested, pulling more firmly until the soft fabric unbound completely. “There, that’s better.”

A fresh surge of heat struck you while you watched him appraise your form again, wholly nude, his attention to your skin halting. It consumed you, warming your cheeks more intensely, swirling in your gut and pooling between your thighs. A growing slickness joined the warmth between your legs and you swallowed thickly at his wordless appreciation.

The moment of inaction was shattered, and Adachi moved back to your skin again. His lips remained level with your breasts, tongue and teeth taking up the place of his fingertips. One hand resumed roaming your body, exploring the curves of your side he already knew well. The other hand, more shameless, dipped lower, dancing past your mound and easing between your legs. He rubbed lightly, gingerly, almost, at your slick lips, until his fingers slipped easily through them and ran along your seam.

“You’re practically dripping. Did you miss me that much?” Adachi teased, while still gliding his fingers along your slit and gathering the wetness he found.

You moaned indecently at his mocking tone, something Adachi took as confirmation of his question and further incentive. He moved fingers more insistently, dipping one shallowly into your opening. You tried to buck your hips into the too-slight intrusion, craving more, but his other hand pinned them back against the wall, stopping you.

“C’mon, sweetheart, fess up. Were you having some fun in the shower without me? Just couldn’t wait a little longer, could you?”

It didn’t seem as if he was looking for an answer to his latest questions, inserting his finger smoothly, and then a second, until they were buried to the knuckles in your head. You whined pitifully, and your eyes fluttered shut again. Despite the weight of his hand, you tried to rock your hips against Adachi’s hand as he drew his fingers in and out, the noise they made lewd and wet. The heel of his hand ground fleetingly against your clit, and you protested weakly at being kept in place.

“Mm, it’s like you’re practically begging for my cock and you’ve barely said a word,” Adachi purred, thrusting his fingers faster, hooking them at the tips.

The curl of his fingers added to the wetness growing between your thighs, kindling a coil of tension that mounted slowly but steadily with each blissful stroke. It was a tantalizing and torturous sensation, leaving your craving more, your breath coming out more heavily by the second.

“Aah, fuck, Tohru,” you groaned. Your hand had abandoned its grasp on Adachi’s shirt, though the other remained tightly tangled in his hair. Though the tight grip didn’t seem to obstruct nor bother him.

“Aren’t my fingers so much better? Bet it doesn’t compare,” Adachi claimed, and your cunt tightened unbidden in response.

“So, so much better,” you moaned hazily, the words broken and slow from the panting that interrupted them.

“Do you want something even better, sweetheart?” he offered. The speed of his fingers slowed, and you whimpered at the loss of the mounting tension and heat.

“Yes, fuck yes, please, Tohru,” you agreed eagerly, futilely trying again to roll your hips to meet his touch.

With your admission, Adachi withdrew his fingers from your core, and the heat there ebbed down to an aching throb that demanded a replacement. Wiping his fingers on the inside of your thigh, Adachi shifted, hooking an arm behind your knees and another behind your back. You let out a startled shout of shock when Adachi hoisted you off your feet, and you instinctively clung to him while he made his way to the bedroom.

Surprising you even more, Adachi didn’t unceremoniously dump you onto the bedsheets, though, nor was how he set you down especially caring or tender. Once he had settled you onto the bed, he went to work on his clothing. You sat up on your knees, turning halfway to watch him strip, appreciating the view even if you weren’t allowed to idly look for long.

Rounding on the bed, Adachi climbed onto it, situating him over and behind you. His knees splayed on either side of your own, trapping close to him. At first, you tried to twist your neck back to see what he was doing, but stopped when he took a hold of your hips and ground against you. You hummed, low and erotic, at the hard feel of him pressed against your backside, and you pushed back to meet him.

The head of his erection slipped between your thighs and through your thoroughly wet and slippery lips, teasing your entrance for an instant, before sliding past it. It brushed your clit, already sensitive from your arousal and his previous touch, and you groaned, letting your head loll back. Adachi’s teeth found your neck again, scraping against your skin, his hair tickling your jaw. He rolled his hips in a lazy rhythm for a few thrusts, each one equals parts bliss and torment as the hot length of him stroked along your center.

Adachi groaned against your neck, the sound only heightening your desire, accompanied by his hot breath on your neck. “Feels so nice and I’m not even inside your pussy yet,” he growled filthily in your ear, punctuating his words with a sharp nip to your earlobe. “How about you, baby, does it feel good?”

You whimpered and nodded vigorously, your hands finding his on your hips and grasping at them to anchor you among the sensations.

“But you’re so greedy, I bet you want more, don’t you?” He insisted coyly, and you nodded again without hesitation. “C’mon, I wanna hear you say it,” he pushed, giving a hard buck of his hips and bumping your clit more roughly.

Adachi was right. In that moment, you were greedy for more, so much more. Greedy for more of his touch, his voice, his teasing, all of him. And you would say whatever he wanted to make him indulge that greed.

“Tohru, I need more,” you claimed. “Fuck, I need you. Now.” the last worded bordered on being a desperate demand.

But it was a demand for once that Adachi was glad to oblige, shifting his hips back and into position, before bucking forward again and spearing you on his length in one quick, hard thrust that made you cry out. He rolled his hips several times, pumping in and out, relishing the feeling of your over excited cunt already clenching around him.

“Fuck, I’ve been thinking about this all morning,” he confessed in your ear huskily, his hands escaping yours and sliding from your hips to your breasts, squeezing greedily.

He thrust harder, deeper into your heat, mouthing at your throat again while he kneaded your chest. You turned to putty in his hands, more and more with each thrust, the angle and position making for a tight fit that made you feel full, almost achingly so. Each time his dick slowly sank back into you, it easily caressed your most sensitive spots inside, compounding the slickness between your legs and the relentless flames and tight coil stirring in your gut.

“Is this what you want, too, sweetheart?” Adachi asked, though his speech was noticeably more strained and thick. “Just waiting all day for me to come and give you a good fucking?”

It was a struggle to compose yourself long enough to answer him. Though even with the effort, moans broke through your speech. “Yes, yes, Tohru… yes, all day, every day.”

Adachi bit more harshly at your skin, sucking even more marks that would be angry and sore later on. His thrusts remained slow, but their force increased, and one hand groping your chest drifted away, splaying across your belly, pulling you tighter against him. He was rewarded with an even louder chorus of bawdy noises, gasps and weak breaths, and breathless croons of his name. It all incited him to pound into you more roughly.

“Fuck, that’s my good little slut. Make more noise for me,” he commanded between marking your neck and shoulders. You obeyed without question, letting your mouth hang open and allowing each little sound to escape, airy and clear. “Shit, just like that,” he praised, words complemented by sound of his skin slapping against yours.

He was close. You could tell even with the mounting tension and fire in your abdomen distracting you and threatening to burst, drowning any thoughts. You reached down, past the hand holding you possessively close to him, and slipped it between your legs. You rubbed furiously at your clit, adding more stimulation, pushing you toward the tipping point of the explosive feeling building inside you.

You came with a shout and a more wanton string of moans than before, reflexively grinding back against Adachi. Your walls seized him tightly, craving every inch of him as deep inside as possible. Electric ripples of pleasure webbed out from your core, and you continued to stroke yourself until it was too much, even though the sound of Adachi so very close to following you excited you even more.

“Such a good girl.” the words were mumbled into your neck, and between that and your keening, you nearly missed them. “I’ve been wanting to fill you with my cum all day,” he lewdly confessed, his pace stuttering against your backside.

The primal groans that burst past Adachi’s lips when he finished inside of you in several hot spurts were enough to make you considering touching yourself all over again, but you held back, still oversensitive. You settled for whimpering and pressing harder back into him, focusing on the waves of pleasure as they died away and the hot, wet sensation of his cum filling you up.

Neither of you moved or said a word for a few minutes, still both sitting up on your knees, back to front. Hot and slick with sweat, exhausted and sated, panting while you regained the breath your ardour had stolen away. When Adachi pulled out, he lay back onto the bed. He surprised you yet again, though, when he pulled you down with him, trapping you against him, your back pressed to his chest like before, his limbs getting tangled among yours.

You were almost confused at the rare display, but decided just to enjoy it rather than question it. You listened to his breathing as it slowed back to normal, soothed by the beat of his heart as it relaxed along with your own. Though after indulging this rare mood for a while, you remembered you still had things to do.

“Tohru, I can’t go get dinner started if you don’t let go of me…” you tried softly, craning your head to glance at him and judge his reaction.

“Forget about it,” he grumbled. You noted both of his eyes had been closed, with him cracking one open to meet your questioning gaze. “We’ll order something. I’m in a good mood and I’m not done with you yet.”

You were about to protest again, but thought twice, settling for shaking your head lightly and letting yourself relax, though already feeling the ache from the thorough fucking you’d received. You would enjoy his alleged ‘good mood’ for as long it lasted then.

#writing #fanfiction #tohru adachi #persona 4 #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom #nsft #n/s/f/w #fic friday #biweekly upload

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letitrainathousandflames-archive · 5 years

Note

It’s probably just me having been on tumblr too long, but whenever I read interactions between maul and obi, I imagine a session of very angry hate sex following, not gentle, not positive, they just know that If they fight again, they’d be so evenly matched that they’d both end up dead, so this is how they get the aggression out

Me? Receiving a headcanon and making a 4k long fanfic over it? It’s more likely than you think.

tw for canon-typical violence, hate sex, dubcon elements (although the whole thing is consensual), humiliation, mecha-dicks, self-loathing, force-choking etc etc don’t like don’t read, for the love of god this is why trigger warnings exist in the first place

If you like my writing, please buy a coffee to your local starving artist!

Kenobi wouldn’t tell anyone of the message, deciding to go on his own to meet Maul instead. He wouldn’t risk putting anyone else in harm’s way; Maul was too dangerous and too skilled, and he was Kenobi’s problem to be dealt with – he had failed to kill him inTatooine, he had failed to foresee his return in Mandalore and to stop him from killing innocents, from slaying Duchess Satine in front of him. This was his battle, and no one else’s.

Kenobi lands at Saleucami, a once Separatist-alligned planet of the outer rim later liberated by the Republic. It was a good place for anyone looking for peace and quiet, and it was easy enough to blend in while he followed the coordinates given by Maul.

There was nothing up there, a local had said when he asked for directions, no one wants to build or plant anything there because of the rocky soil. It’s a beautiful place for a walk if that’s what you’re looking for, sir, but there’s nothing around those parts.

That sounded about right. Kenobi keeps walking, and when he finally arrives on the place, pocketing his datapad, he sees the rocky formations ahead. A strange place in a usually plain land. He takes a few more steps, walking past rock arcs and large boulders. There seems to be a cave ahead, descending lower and lower until it’s under the ground level. Kenobi feels a shiver down his spine, something… strange within the force. He reaches for his lightsaber, powering it up and rising his guard as he walks into the cave.

“We’ve had enough of chasing one another, don’t you think so?” he says out loud, feeling the disturbance in the force humming at the back of his head as he looks around at the stone walls, hears the soft dripping of water somewhere in the back of the cave

Kenobi walks past stalactites and stalagmites that make the inside of the cave resemble a beast’s mouth with sharp stone fangs, ready to devour him. He thinks of all the innocents slayed by Maul. Thinks of Satine. Of his master Qui-Gon. He allows the grieving and anger to run past him like water running down a path, never staying in place. He draws a deep breath and stops at a chamber in the cave where there’s a small cube of light making the stalactites project long, menacing shadows on the uneven walls.

“I don’t want to fight you, Maul.”

“Then you will die complacent.”

The hissed voice comes with a sudden push of the force that presses Kenobi against the wall, making him grunt out at the taller bit where his left ribcage hits, and Kenobi has less than a split second to raise his saber to block Maul’s attack.

Their fight is not elegant, nor by any means does it follow any rule other than focusing all of their beings into surviving. Kenobi can feel Maul’s hatred through the force. It sizzles in the back of his mind, and the jedi lets it pass through, unperturbed. His balance remains, untainted, and it only increases Maul’s bloodlust.

They attack and block each other and attack again, Maul still fast as ever despite the weight of his prosthetic legs, showing his undying skill with the aggressive juyo style, his moves too hard to predict making Kenobi constantly wary, his strikes always sharp and focused even for the experienced former sith lord.

Time flows like the dripping watter that marks a constant beat that echoes in the cave along with their grunts and snarls and the sizzling noise of their blades crossing on occasion. They’re both growing weary, fixing their grip with sweaty palms, breath shallow and teeth grinding.

They have got to a point where one matches the other perfectly and their only way out of this duel is to kill one another or for them both to collapse with exhaustion. Neither have ever been taught to give up.

Kenobi sports a black eye and a bad lightsaber burn to his leg that could’ve split it off of the Jedi’s body had he been just a bit slower, and Maul’s nose bleeds profusely while he fixes its bridge in place with a nasty snapping noise. They’re both filthy with blood and sweat beads trickle down their foreheads; after another sequence of sharp blows, Kenobi manages to push Maul to the ground with the force, lightsaber inches from his throat.

He hesitates. Maul can’t understand why, but with a sharp push of the force and his own arm he manages to flip them up, sitting on top of Kenobi’s injured thigh and pressing his arm against the Jedi’s throat. Kenobi keens at the pain on his injured leg, and Maul bares his teet in a victorious grin.

He wanted to kill the Jedi. He did. More than anything in the world. But his eyes… the way his blue eyes reflected sheer anger and even hatred… Maul doesn’t understand what wicked impulse gets hold of him, but he leans down, still pinning Kenobi in place, and kisses him. Kenobi cringes and bites his lower lip hard, but the pain and anger along with the taste of blood only makes Maul hotter, eager to take Kenobi, mark him, hurt him. It’s like they’re still fighting, in a way, and when he bites down on Kenobi’s lower lip just as hard, he relishes in the muffled scream the Jedi lets out.

Kenobi’s struggle would’ve been more convincing if Maul couldn’t feel his arousal in the force. He had been caught up in the moment just as Maul, but the whole thing made as much sense to him as it did to Maul – to be taken by his enemy, a sith no less, this was the punishment he had been seeking for his own personal failures; and to Maul, to spare his prey, to not only let him live but mate with him, after all the pain the Jedi had caused him… this would be humiliating enough. It would have to suffice.

Because he couldn’t really kill Kenobi, but he would never dare to admit it. So he would blame it in his mating instincts, in his lust, in Kenobi’s magnificent blue eyes if he had to.

Kenobi stares at the zabrak with wide eyes, lips still smeared with blood, light purple coloring the skin over his eye socket where he had been struck with the hilt of Maul’s lightsaber earlier.

“What are you…?”

Maul smashes his lips against Kenobi’s, kissing him deeply, tongue pushing into his mouth and pressing against Kenobi’s own. Kenobi lies completely still for a moment before letting his eyes fall shut and returning the kiss.

Maul pulled back and Kenobi just stared at him, still wide-eyed and breathless, staring at the abyss of the zabrak’s yellow, red-rimmed eyes.

“Get up and run.” Maul snarls between gritted teeth “Run, and I’ll let you live.”

Kenobi just stares him back in defiance, not moving an inch. Maul just sneers, shifting some and pressing his knee against Kenobi’s recent wound, prying a scream out of the jedi. Maul leans closer, hissing at Kenobi’s ear.

“You won’t enjoy this. I’ll make sure you don’t.”

Kenobi breathes out sharply to then speak, voice strained:

“Is that a promise?”

That is all it takes. Maul snarls again, rising and grabbing Kenobi by the front of his robes to unceremoniously force him on his side and then on his stomach, straddling him from behind and pressing his cock against Kenobi’s ass over both of their clothes. He hears Kenobi gasp and smirks.

“I’ve had time since we last met.”

It had taken some time indeed, but he managed to engineer the perfect prosthetics made to replace everything he had lost during their first encounter in Tatooine. The new appendage, although not perfectly functional in every way – he would never be able to procreate, for instance – would work in sync with his neural impulses and the force within him, making him able to feel through it as if it were the real thing. He was able to please himself, that much he knew, but he was yet to try fucking someone with it, and he was glad that the defeated jedi would be the first he would take with his new cock. It made perfect sense.

Maul tears Kenobi’s robes down his shoulders, entertained by the show Kenobi makes out of squirming and protesting despite the way he raises his ass to meet Maul’s hips. He can feel Kenobi’s arousal in the force, can feel his aching need.

Maul undresses Kenobi hastily, pausing to enjoy the view for a few seconds. Kenobi wasn’t a bad looking human by any standards, and the training had changed him from the small young man Maul had met on Tatooine into a fine looking Jedi. Maul shifts lower, licking a long stripe over Kenobi’s spine, watching the way he shivers with a hissed breath, tensed-up muscles dancing under his skin. Maul takes his own hand to his lips, spitting on it and spreading the slickness over his fingers. He forces Kenobi’s legs apart with a sharp push of his knee, bringing his other hand over his ass to spread it open, pushing his spit-slick finger inside Kenobi’s hole.

Kenobi gasps, instinctively tensing up at the sudden intrusion, hands clenching into fists.

“What- ah!” he gasps again “What are you… no…��

“Tell me to stop.” Maul demands with a sneer, pushing his middle finger halfway inside and letting his eyes fall shut for a moment; moons, he was tight as a sweet virgin “Tell me to stop, I’ll let you go with whatever’s left of your dignity.”

Kenobi lies completely still for a moment, hesitates, tries to support himself on his elbows. He considers the offer – believing, for some absurd reason, that Maul would keep his word – but he allows himself to slump down instead. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand it, but he wants this. Needs this. Maul lets out a rich laugh that chills Kenobi to the bone.

“Good.” Maul pushes his finger all the way up to his knuckles, and Kenobi clamps his fist over his own lips to stifle a moan “Relax, or else it’ll hurt more than you can endure.”

There’s a veiled threat in the sentence that would be taken as concern in any other context. Kenobi draws a breath once, twice, before grumbling:

“You’d be surprised with what I can endure.”

Maul sneers, pulling his finger almost all the way out to then force another finger inside with it, baring his teeth at the way Kenobi gasps and lets out a loud, pained moan; Kenobi hisses out a curse, muffling his words against his fist again. Maul doesn’t spare him a moment, pulling his fingers halfway out and shoving them back in down to his knuckles. Kenobi tenses up, muscles pulled taut and Maul doesn’t take mercy, fingering him with sharp, unrelenting thrusts to then scissor his fingers apart. He knows he won’t be able to get his cock inside the jedi if he doesn’t relax at least to some extent, and it makes him more impatient, more eager to claim him.

“Open up.” he orders with a low growl

Kenobi doesn’t look back at him, voice defiant albeit strained.

“Fuck you.”

“I said open. Up.”

And when Maul pushes Kenobi’s walls apart with the force, Kenobi lets out a keening sound, the muscles of his back tensing up before he slumps down, pressing his forehead to the ground. The jedi gives, accepting the pressure and easing up some of his tension although he still clenches his backside instinctively at the intrusion of a third finger. Kenobi feels something wet land over his ass, trickling down the cleft of it and easing the penetration, and he can only imagine Maul is most likely letting more his spit down his tongue and over his ass. He squeezes his eyes shut at the thought, still trying to understand why he’s allowing this, why does he want this.

When Maul finally retrieves his fingers from his ass, his hole twitches involuntarily, and Kenobi feels Maul get off of him, standing up. He wonders if it’s over, if they can both go their separate ways and pretend none of this ever happened. He hears the shuffling of fabric, wonders if Maul is redressing himself, and if he can just get to his feet and reach for his robes also, but soon enough Maul is over him again, and Kenobi can feel his warmth, his now naked thighs touching the back of his own and making him shiver.

He shouldn’t feel relieved to know it isn’t over. Why does he? Maul sniffs along the side of his neck, exhales, hot breath against Kenobi’s skin. He runs his wet lips along Kenobi’s shoulder, pleased purr vibrating in his throat, and he grabs at Maul’s hips in a bruising grip, forcing them up, his knee pushing Kenobi’s own apart. Maul presses his cock against the cleft of Kenobi’s ass, enjoying his warmth and offering an appreciating hum to the way Kenobi allows himself to be handled and positioned as the zabrak wishes to. Maul pulls back some, spreading Kenobi’s cheeks open and sticking his tongue out over them, letting his spit down his tongue and into the jedi’s entrance. Kenobi shivers, spewing curses again, Maul ignores him, forcing him open with the force so that he can get Kenobi as close to properly lubed as their limited means will allow. Despite his efforts, he knew it would still hurt nonetheless.

Good.

When he straightens himself up he can hear Kenobi draw a deep breath. He reaches down for his own cock, lining it up with Kenobi’s hole, pushing it inside. Kenobi gasps loudly, tensed up thighs shaking. When Maul grunts, pushing himself deeper inside, the jedi lets out a loud, pained scream, nails dragging on the ground and knees trying to give way. Maul gives a final thrust, pressing himself flush to Kenobi’s ass and that’s when the jedi pulls away from Maul’s touch, dropping down on his stomach and hands scrambling madly…

Maul quickly recovers, pinning the jedi under his weight as he straddles him from behind, spreading him open once again and mercilessly shoving himself back inside in a single thrust. There was something primal in the way Kenobi howled in pain, instinctively trying to elbow Maul but the zabrak takes the opportunity to grab the fold of Kenobi’s arm, his free hand pressing Kenobi’s head down over his face.

Maul could see the left side of Kenobi’s face, hateful blue eye between Maul’s splayed fingers, and he grinned with a snarl at it, pulling halfway back to then slam back in, watching Kenobi squirm under his grasp, a pained moan out of the jedi’s lips. Kenobi feels deliciously tight, and the way he tries to fight back is almost convincing.

His right hand shifts from Kenobi’s arm to his hip and then reaching for his pelvis and lower, raspy laugh of surprise at the feeling of the Jedi’s hard cock under his fingers.

Maul strokes him once, squeezing him tight as he tugs upwards, and Kenobi lets out a strained breath. Maul strokes Kenobi again, slower but just as tightly. Kenobi shudders, raspy noise out of his throat. He lets out a broken moan when Maul strokes him again, in sync with his thrust this time, and again. This isn’t the first time the Jedi’s been fucked, Maul muses, noticing the way the Jedi lines himself up to accommodate the curve of Maul’s cock. All the better. He can be rougher.

Maul keeps up his pace, sharp, deep thrusts matching his own strokes on Kenobi’s cock. He can feel Kenobi’s arousal, his need to hurt and his shame of it. The zabrak licks his lips, thumb moving over the head of Kenobi’s cock, spreading the slickness there.

They don’t exchange words. No witty sarcasm, no angry threats, just their grunts and groans and the noise of their bodies smacking together. Maul rakes his nails down Kenobi’s back, angry red lines left on his wake over and over until they start bleeding, the sharp pain making Kenobi hiss, the blunt cock thrusting in and out of the jedi making him shiver, heartbeat pulsing all over his body, ringing in his ears. Maul groans at the way Kenobi’s insides twitch around him, squeezing him.

“You’re close.” it’s a dry statement in Maul’s strained voice “Come.”

“Fuck you.” Kenobi swears for the second time between clenched teeth, eyes screwed shut

Maul picks up his pace with a sigh that is almost annoyed, aiming particularly for the rugged nub of skin deep inside Kenobi, pressing the head of his cock over and over against it. Kenobi lets out a broken sound, something between a moan and a sob.

Maul snarls, fingers digging into the flesh of Kenobi’s hip, watching as the jedi slowly unravels, hips meeting Maul’s thrusts and his touch until he cries out loudly, come spilling over his stomach and Maul’s fingers; the zabrak strokes him through his orgasm, basking in this small victory, pleasure to unbearable to be stifled any longer and he lets his eyes fall shut, shuddering when the intense orgasm washes over him as well. Maul leans forward, pressing his horns to Kenobi’s back, hot breath against the jedi’s skin. They stay like this for a few moments, trying to settle their breathing, Kenobi’s legs spasming, his entire body shaking under Maul’s.

Maul presses a kiss to Kenobi’s spine, frontal horn pressing painfully over the jedi’s shoulder blade. Kenobi stands still, breath more or less settled, mind too hazy and focused on blocking away whatever the hell he had just done.

“Need to… get dressed…”

What else is he supposed to say, anyway? He wouldn’t thank maul and certainly wouldn’t expect the zabrak to thank him; this had been consensual, wicked and strange as it was, he had to admit that Maul had given him plenty of chances to deny him or leave. The fact that Kenobi had allowed it to happen made the last throes of pleasure make him scowl, disgust blossoming in his chest. Even if he got up, got dressed and walked back to his ship, there was no erasing this.

Maul hummed, hands moving down to Kenobi’s ass, spreading him open; he pulled almost all the way back out of him up to the rim of his head before plunging back inside. Kenobi gasped, insides clenching in discomfort. Had the zabrak not have enough?

Maul shifts some, pushing his knee under Kenobi’s thigh and maneuvering Kenobi’s legs until the Jedi is lying on his side; he pulls out of him briefly to push Kenobi on his back, ignoring the jedi half-words of protest as he reaches over Kenobi’s stomach, slicking his fingers with Kenobi’s come and spreading it over his cock before entering him again.

Kenobi grunts, the slickness very welcome after what had been a nearly dry fuck – he believes the only reason he isn’t bleeding badly now is that Maul must’ve eased him open with the force while he penetrated him. It’s a heady thing, being fucked by the second time in a row with barely any reprieve at all, stomack still more or less sticky with his own semen, the zabrak towering over him and pushing all the way inside him until their bodies meet.

Maul supports his hands on either side of Kenobi’s waist, and Kenobi wraps his fingers around Maul’s wrists to steady himself, groaning loudly when Maul thrusts sharply into him, cock slick with his come buried to the hilt inside him. Maul fucks him hard and fast, not sparing Kenobi even when he screams out, face scrunched in pain, helpless blue eyes swimming and gazing into merciless yellow ones.

He fucks him like he means to hurt, and Kenobi wraps his legs around Maul’s waist, heels digging into Maul’s lower back. Maul snarls and reaches down for Kenobi’s flaccid cock, pumping him a couple of times and smirking at the way Kenobi responds to his touch, cock filling in his grasp fully hard with no more than a few more strokes.

“Look at you” he sneers to then grunt with another vigorous thrust, teasing the wet slit over the head of Kenobi’s cock “Your master would be so proud.”

And that’s when Kenobi clenches painfully tight around him, eyes filled with nothing but rage and spite, and Maul fucks harder into him, sharp staccato thrusts that push the air out of Kenobi’s lungs in pained sobs that turn into gasping when Maul constricts his windpipe with the force. Kenobi’s eyes are lost, pupils blown wide, cock throbbing in Maul’s skilled hand and his hole clenching so tight it almost hurts Maul.

Maul licks his lips, grining, the unmatched feeling of conquering his prey and taking it, hateful eyes yellow like a burning flame watching Kenobi’s eyes rolling back, the jedi’s face reddened, mouth dropped open. When he ceases the pressure on Kenobi’s neck, it takes a split second before he takes in a large gulp of air, cock throbbing even harder in Maul’s hand as the zabrak strokes it still, come shooting out of his slit and drawing an arc in the air before landing on his chest and stomach, spurting over and over with less force afterward as his ass tightens repeatedly around Maul.

Maul climaxes almost simultaneously, letting out a feral growl as every muscle in his body tenses up, the beating of his twin hearts matching every shiver running down his spine, pleasure drowning his synapses, numbing his entire being. He slumps forward, chest pressed to Kenobi’s as he rides the last waves of his pleasure, slickness of Kenobi’s release staining his stomach, Kenobi’s facial hair brushing against his cheek.

Kenobi turns his face to look at Maul, their lips brush together; Kenobi presses a kiss to Maul’s lips tentatively, almost tenderly. Maul kisses him back, eyes fluttering shut, rush of hormones taking the best of him. They stay like this for a few instants, both trying to understand what had just happened. Maul is the first to move, rolling off of Kenobi and sitting up, stretching his neck.

He doesn’t look at Kenobi, getting up to his feet and walking up to where his clothes are, shoving his feet one after the other into his pants and pulling them up. Good thing his orgasms are dry now – not that much of a mess to clean up afterwards. He wipes what’s left of Kenobi’s come off his cock, doesn’t miss the small bloodstains here and there. He hadn’t been gentle after all. Still, it’s not enough blood for Kenobi to be concerned. It would hurt for him to walk for a while, but Maul isn’t concerned about this. He grabs his robes, putting them on and tying his belt over them. The moment he puls his lightsaber into his hand with the force, is the only one where he notices Kenobi move in the corner of his eye.

He looks at the jedi, watches him grunt and wince as he tries to sit down. Maul looks at the weapon in his hand, powering it up. He can easily kill Kenobi the way he is now – vulnerable and injured in more than one way – his revenge is so close he can almost taste it.

Kenobi pulls his own lightsaber to himself, wincing and grimacing as he more or less kneels up, eyes trained on Maul. The zabrak and the jedi stare at one another for a moment, and Maul sighs, powering down his lightsaber.

He walks towards Kenobi, and the jedi keeps his guard up high, waiting, lightsaber humming. Maul walks past the jedi and makes his way for the cave entrance where the last rays of sunlight still shine, bathing the rocks in a pale orange light; he feels his eyes on his back with every step he takes.

Kenobi watches Maul walking away, and he keeps his guard up until he sees his shadow disappear in the horizon. When he finally feels safe, he powers down the weapon, letting it drop from his shaking fingers. He takes a long instant considering sinking down to the floor again, and the decision of getting up instead convinces him with the argument that he should at least have medical care soon. Not the healers, however, maybe Still, one of the 212th medics could see him. He was a good man, one of the best in Cody’s battalion, and he would certainly keep quiet if his general requested it.

He gets to his feet with a hiss, the dull throbbing in his ass turned into a sharp stabbing pain. He can’t bear to lean down to get his robes, so he pulls them into his hand with the force, getting dressed as slowly as he can manage to, cursing Maul’s pointed nails for the wreck they left on his back. When he’s finally dressed, he clips his lightsaber to his belt and tries not to look at the stain on the floor where Maul had made him come. He touches his neck, thinking of the unrelenting pressure and shakes his head. Whatever this had been, it wouldn’t happen again. The next time he met Maul, he would defeat him.

Maul keeps walking without looking back until he’s back on his ship and flying past the stratosphere and above, the scent of Kenobi still on his skin and his clothes. He sets the course of his ship and watches the stars stretching into lines as he goes into hyperspace, wondering when will they meet again so that they can settle their scores once and for all.

#lemon

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