Obito X You - Tumblr Posts

𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘰𝘥;; 𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 𝘰𝘯𝘦

[ 🌸 ] uchiha version

characters: itachi uchiha; obito uchiha; madara uchiha; sasuke uchiha; shisui uchiha

genre: fluff

warnings: none, fem!reader, umm mentions of the word v*gina i guess?, also mentions of menstrual pads annnd colics

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itachi uchiha

* oh boy

* itachi is a genius

*He really is

* But being a genius doesn't mean he knows what he should do with you sometimes

* Especially these days

*Fortunately, Itachi had the fortune to work with women in the past when he was in ANBU so you could say he has experience

* Are you experiencing mood swings because you don't like something? Itachi will take care of it right now, don't worry. Are you cold? “Come here my dear, I'll keep you warm until you feel better”

* He is a good cook, so he will make you something delicious for you to eat

* "Love? This is good?". "Yes, but... isn't that a lot of food?" "Not at all my love, I want you to feel good"

* Sometimes you think that he just wants to fatten you up with the large amount of food that he prepares for you

* Did you say chocolates? Do you want chocolates? Then just tell him the Brand and the flavor you want or any type of sweet you want

* Do you want ice cream?, Right now you gonna have it (it brings you ten different boats of ice cream in case you want a different flavor every day that you are in your days)

* Oh no, did the compress get cold? And the pain doesn't go away? Don't worry, he'll take care of it

"Hmm?, what are you doing Itachi?"

"Heh, don't worry love, it's just a little jutsu" said your beloved boyfriend as he put his big hand on your aching belly

"But what is it...? oh-", Just at that moment Itachi's hand began to heat up, apparently the compress would no longer be necessary ;)

- - -

obito uchiha

*huh?

* Day of the month?

* Is today??

* Poor of you ;(

* No, but seriously, sweet boy who doesn't like to see his princess suffer ❤️

* "Hey love, I'm at the store to buy your menstrual pads, but what is the size of your vagina?"

* Innocent boy, please guide him

*He wants to help, but he doesn't know what to do

* "Does your belly hurt? What can I do?", “Can I hug you?”, “Are you sure I won't hurt you if I hug you?”

* Do you suffer from mood swings? Don't know what to do?, Don't worry!... he doesn't know what to do either :D

* Fortunately, this only happened the first time you had your period together.

* "Honey, I brought you chocolates and compresses.". “Thank you Obito”

* The boy does his best to take care of you and although he may not have known what to do the first time, he learns quickly.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you!"

"... you are too good, what did I do to deserve you?"

- - -

madara uchiha

* “So… blood is coming out of your vagina. How it feels?”

* Another guy who doesn't know what to do with you

* Being raised in a clan where only strength and power mattered, and being raised in times of war... it's not like he had time to learn anything about this.

* Fortunately, he is willing to learn how to take care of you and treat you at this time of the month

* Do you want chocolate? You got it, do you want soft blankets? Right away

* He is giving orders to the servants from left to right to treat you like a queen

* He is hardly at home, unfortunately. Well, being the leader of the clan is not an easy task and unfortunately that keeps him away from you, but that's not why he's going to neglect you.

* He was very graphic about what he would do to himself if he neglected you or worse if someone did something to you

* "I'll beat myself up if you're not okay at the end of the day because of me." "Madara, darling... that's very cruel"

* He will make sure you are well and you assure him that it was more than enough ❤️

"Are you sure that blanket is okay?"

"Yes, Madara they are comfortable"

“Are you Sure? because I can tell the servants to bring you softer ones…”

"Madara just hug me"

- - -

sasuke uchiha

*Knows something from the talk about the male and female body due to the academy, but still...

* "My belly hurts a lot..."

* -Sasuke having a mental breakdown internally- "what am I supposed to do?"

* You are patient? God bless you because he needs you to guide him

* the poor man is confused, why are there so many menstrual pads for different occasions? And why do you use tampons?

* "Sasuke, can you buy me tampons?". “Wouldn't that be rape? Why not a night pad instead? They are more comfortable and extra large”. “…”

* Yes, no… he's not the best at this, bUT he's doing his best

* The last thing he wants is for you to feel uncomfortable

* After a full 3 hour explanation of tampons and your needs, he already knows what to do

* Oh, do you want a compress? Sure, just don't move, he doesn't want colic to attack you.

* Do you feel dirty?, he will accompany you to bathe

* Sasuke is a good boyfriend, he will take care of you and protect you, but he is still secretly afraid of tampons, he is afraid that tampons will hurt you.

"Sasuke, we've already talked about this..."

"I know."

"Tampons won't hurt me."

"I trust you, but still... I don't like the idea." calm your man's fears, please 😂

- - -

shisui uchiha

* funny boy

* It will actually keep you happy during the day

* Had a bad time and now you're grumpy? Don't worry, he will tell you as many jokes as necessary along with lots of pampering

* “Do you feel bad, beloved? Where it hurts?"

* He buys you a lot of ice cream for you to eat

* Oh, do you want to watch your favorite movie? Now? No problem, you find the movie and Shisui will find the blankets and food

* He has some experience due to the fact that like Itachi he has had female teammates

* But that doesn't mean that he understands what your body is going through

* Even so he will do his best to treat you well

“Y/NNNN!, I brought ice cream”

"Oh my- Shisui thank you, can we watch my favorite movie again while we snuggle together?"

"Of course my love"

* In any case; I imagine that if their S/O asked them for a massage they would gladly give it to them lmao. also, i think im gonna do a part 2 with konoha boys mmm

This is probably the best fic i've ever read. MUST give this a look!!! 🩷🩷🩷🩷🩷

art by the amazing @vita-divata <3

Princess!Reader x Knight!Obito

Summary: Damned for being born royalty, your father ensured you'd have no distractions while learning to be the perfect wife by isolating you behind the castle's walls, locking you away from your only citizen friend. Obito's feelings were too obvious. They jeopardized your future. Forcing him to knighthood wasn't enough, the king wanted him dead.

Words: 23.8k

NSFW

jealous obito, smut, porn with plot, forbidden romance, breeding kink, oral (giving and receiving), talk of patricide/murder

Read: AO3 / FFnet

Once Upon a Coronation

The train of your violet gown swept the rug of the throne room as you crossed your legs. Silver thread caught the light on your bell sleeves, twinkling and shimmering the same as the gems adorning the embroidered foliage along the hem of your skirt; exotic fruits and vines that have not been witnessed in your kingdom for some time, recreated from paintings in books documenting their existence.

The Nine--your father’s hand-picked courtier of nine exemplary knights chosen to act as an Order to serve him and protect you--knelt before you, returning from their two seasons long journey across three territories to defeat a particularly dubious foe.

In their V-formation, they occupied the length of the room, stretching from your throne to the grand cobblestone doorway framing their bowed heads and bloodied brandished swords. Other evidence of their victory lay bolstered on an iron tray. You looked away from the dull, blank eyeball to the knight giving his report.

Sir Pein’s auburn hair, a matted blaze, displayed itself as he kept his head down to address you with all the trained discipline of a chivalric Commander Knight, though he did not hold the astute title of one. “Your royal highness, the dragon has been slain.” As much was clear from the head on the tray, their mauled armor, and the dirt blemishing your velvet rug. Their bruised and battered faces regarded you, waiting for further instructions.

All but one. Tobi, their leader. He who did not remove his helmet in the company of others outside the group.

Your father would have by no means tolerated such disrespect, but you’ve known Tobi since childhood, when he went by his birth name, Obito.

In a charitable act every year your father chose an orphan to bring in to serve the family. It was a tradition started by your late mother; however, servitude did not sit right with you. As princess you had say over the acts of charity on behalf of your kingdom, but once your father noticed the dwindling coffers, he put an end to your reign over them.

Many times you begged your father, reasoned to him as a benevolent and gentle king, to reinstate you so you could preserve your promise to Obito to build better orphanages and lend out your teachers at the castle to educate the children and, in turn, provide the estate with refined medicine women and scholars, inflating the intelligence of all citizens of the kingdom, not just within the castle walls. Better schooling would lead to less poverty and the ability for one to help thy neighbor not be forever indentured to the royal family.

He did not listen beyond the first sentence.

But all of that would change in the coming month.

When the red of your lips would stain your hands. The king would fall and you would rise as queen regnant. Through it all, Obito secured your position the best he could.

Past the visor of his helmet, his eyes bored into yours. Dots of color from the stained glass windows danced across his dulled armor.

The two of you had been inseparable since youth. He was near you in age, and from that first day of literacy classes together, he was your shadow.

When he was old enough, he started his knighthood. Working in the afternoon after studies commenced for the day. Running errands for the king. Fetching books from the library for you. Cleaning the horse stables before jousts.

Back then, he was your best friend.

Simply put.

Long nights spent huddled in front of the fireplace reading fairy tales. Sneaking down the stone halls to the kitchen with a single candlelight to satisfy his sweet tooth. Escaping the walls of the castle when you were too amiable to deny his spontaneous vagaries. Growing older, things changed. Daydreams seized your focus; your attention forever on the young man sat beside you, and your teachers noticed. And when your teachers noticed, they told your father. And when your father noticed, he scolded you for associating with a lesser citizen for the umpteenth time. He separated you.

Four years ago, after Obito proved himself in a sanctioned tournament, he was appointed as the leader of The Nine.

That was the true start of his servility.

Obito sacrificed to keep you safe, that much was obvious in the scars marking his body. His once toothy grin stayed locked away behind bars. Sealed behind his mask. The few times he visited you without his helmet his brooding, handsome face was downturned, erasing your past and drawing a new line in your roles. You were a princess and he was a lowly knight. Nothing more.

The one exception being when he delivered flora to you from other realms on his expeditions. Not as pretty gifts, but for extracting the poisons they harbored. Currently, no medicine woman could decipher why your father slept for days on end.

“See to it they are welcomed appropriately,” you announced to the room, sweeping a hand to the staff lining the walls in wait for their command to bring food and hot water to The Nine’s seldom used quarters. “Dismissed.”

Your voice rang to the sound of metal armor creaking in relief as The Nine rose on their sore muscles. Obito stayed on his knee longer than he should have. His hesitation earned him the silent threat of one of your personal guards shifting his polearm.

“Tobi,” you called at his retreating back. He halted his step in the doorway. Pauldrons rising on bated breath. “You are to be summoned to my study.” Stiffly, he squared his shoulders to you and bowed, knowing what you truly meant.

~~~

Obito nodded to the guards outside your door, his helmet’s loose visor tinking with the tilt. They uncrossed their weapons and opened the door to a hairline of a crack. A power play to make Obito squeeze his way in, reminding him of his position as a lesser knight despite being a leader in his own right. Personal guards were touted as the greatest with their cushy jobs inside the warmed castle. Ironic considering they lacked the exalt of a true warrior like Obito.

The doors banged closed. He kept his footfalls light as a feather, undeterred by the encumbering weight of his armor. At the flax linen curtains partitioning your bed from your bathroom, he waited for the sound of your maids; the hustle of their aprons swishing as they attended to your bath, or the bustle of hard bristled brushes buffing your nails. However, he was met with not one sign of the helpers your father assigned to watch over you. No movement at all except for the twist of your beckoning hand.

“Where are your maidens?” he asked, voice reverberating in his helmet.

You lifted your arm from the bath to watch the oil on your skin propel water off your elbow and to the side of the hammered copper tub, where it slid to its clawed feet.

Obito stopped in the doorway, unsure of what to do except take in the shelf of your clavicle leading to the soft curve of your shoulders and your face, bare of powders and rouge.

“They were sent home for the evening. Come, join me.”

“I hadn’t the time to undress before your summons. My armor will soil your floors, my lady.”

“Would you stop with the polite nonsense,” you groused and pointed to the short stool next to the tub. His huff of a laugh goaded a slant of your lips. A tentative smile lacking mirth, sensing the foreboding of his sagging body.

“Should I address you as your next title then, my queen?” The metal joints of his armor squeaked as he sat on your stool. Mud tinted the polished marble tile. His scabbard's chape scraped the floor behind him. He turned his back to you. Hunched with his arms folded on his legs. Head hung. A world of tension between his shoulders.

The poison was taking too long to kill your father. When he woke from his slumber, your orders fell on deaf ears compared to his. Your original plan to assassinate him had changed again and again, and now, your wedding date could no longer be ignored. Married off to a prince you had three courting dates with from another kingdom as a peace treaty. Your father’s idea while Obito was away.

All that was left was the last hope. The plan you swore you wouldn’t use unless it came to it. One Obito loathed the most. The one he heard and refused to speak to you, nary a goodbye when he left to defeat the dragon invading an allies’ castle..

Marry the prince to certify his wealth, bare heirs to inherit his fortune, armies, and land, then become queen when the poison takes its last breath from your father’s watery lungs. The prince could go with him; he wasn’t much of a bother. The man had no spine.

“I told you to stop calling me by titles years ago.”

“I have to maintain appearances, my lady.”

You rolled your eyes. Obito was formal, strict, since the announcement of your impending betrothal. Driving a wedge in your relationship as he continued to impress upon you your difference in status, making them apparent lest you forget he was not an equal no matter how much you disparaged this notion.

“If you insist on being so stringent, you can take off your helmet in my presence.”

Obito shrank under the order. His broad back expanded, filling his chest cavity with a heavy breath, then raised his hands and grasped it as if the small gesture necessitated more strength than was required. Leather fingerpads ran over dusty, once polished sheets of steel. He lifted it. Brown hair tumbled out. Short, but longer since you last saw him. Brunette waves fanned out like wind through fields of wheat.

The metal mask clunked to the floor and you stared at the dried sweat and dirt necklacing his nape. Pressing your chest to the side of the tub to get a better look, you sloshed the water to bring his attention from unfocused elsewhere to your playful smile.

Taking one sneaky glance over his shoulder was all it took to pinken his cheeks.

“Why don’t you have a bath?” Obito nearly choked on his tongue trying to respond, sending you into a fit of giggles. “I’m finished bathing. You can have the tub.. Unless you prefer I-”

“I don’t-! I’m fine. I’ll go to the knight’s quarters and-”

Drawing yourself up to your full height, the water lapped your calves, dripped from your breasts and slithered down your stomach. Obito steeled himself from looking.

It hurt. Everything hurt. Distancing himself from you for his own good. Accepting grueling missions to keep him away. Coming back to you and knowing he couldn’t change fate. Knowing it was his fault he was in this position.

And having to smell the oils you laced in your water. Flowers from the meadows outside the city's walls. Nostalgia. Heart wrenching scents of a better time, caging his chest in a prison of memories he could never experience again. A loss he didn’t know he could lose.

You stepped out of the tub--planting one foot in a puddle of water, then the other. He turned his head away as you crossed the room for your towel. Further suppressing his desires by closing his eyes, not trusting himself to comply with the voices of reason in his head.

“Obito,” you recited his name like a cheery tune on a warm summer night during the Solstice festival, “I’m dressed.”

He peeled his eyes open to the understatement of the century. He squinted through the beams of sunset silhouetting your body against your pink negligee. A single layer made of the finest spun silks. It left little to the imagination, especially the ribbons down the front from your bosom to your belly button, leaving scant peeks of your skin through the seam. Those, you could admit, could’ve been tied tighter.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair, using his arm to block his view of your nipples poking through the delicate fabric.

You dipped your fingers in the bath water. Swirling them around the leftover bubbles, testing the heat. Eyeing his timid state, you encouraged him, “It’s warm.”

Not a single muscle moved. Not a blink, breath, sign he heard you. He stayed perched on the edge of the stool. Your soft feet padded over the cool tile and you bent over to run a manicured nail down the muck on his gauntlet.

“Don’t,” he whispered, turning his face to shroud it in the shadows of the botanicals lining the window framed in bronze. The effervescent glass panes created a mesmerizing pattern on the floor, giving it an undersea quality. You had not borne witness to the ocean several mountain ranges away, but Obito had, and he could vouch for the artists’ accuracy in the rendition of the mermaid lounging on rocks in the corner.

“Why not?” You settled your hand on top of his, cold armor like blades on your palm. His leather glove groaned under the restraint of his fingernails digging into his thigh.

“Because.” He paused to ground his bearings and coerce his heart to stop pounding in the hollow of his armor. “You’re not mine and if you don’t stop this..” His gaze skimmed from your hand, to your flimsy lingerie, up the sensitive flesh pebbled in goosebumps under your ear, to your eyes. Without his mask, his emotions were uncloaked; along with the battle scars running the length of the right side of his body from his first order to protect your kingdom. A big bad wolf in the enchanted woods. He was merely a boy then.

“If you don’t stop this..” he enunciated the low warning, “I don’t think I can, either.”

The hunger in his eyes bloomed black. In those pupils, you were another beast to conquer. One who eluded him all his life. Forever fearing retaliation from your father. The two of you could never be.

Instead of heeding his warning, you swam in its depths. Floated on the surface of a bottomless well.

He stared, dumbstruck at your lack of self preservation. You knelt before him, between his thighs. Testing him. Blatantly disregarding the ramifications if he were to enact upon wiles he could not ignore if pushed.

You traced the greave protecting his shin and dutifully reached around his calf to pull the worn leather strap through the buckle that held it in place, unlatched it, and set it on the floor. Soot powdered your hands.

His forehead wrinkled. “You don’t have to-”

“I want to,” you said, taking off the other greave before moving on to his thigh plate.

More grateful than ever to be wearing a chainmaille skirt to hide his carnal desires, Obito moved his hands from the underside of his knees to grip the stool, committing the scene before him to memory. A fresh one not yet tainted: you tending to his aching body.

Three straps per leg. The maille underneath shifted. You took hold of the ties securing the cuisses to his arming jacket. You checked his face for objections, he gave none, and you untied the knot like a present during Yuletide.

Unaccustomed to the weight, you fumbled with the armor. It twisted and slumped under gravity before falling to the side, clanking and clattering and piling on top of the greave. Heat darkened your cheeks at your lack of poise. He winced at the new dent where it landed, but he could forgive you. You rarely unraveled in public; carefully crafting a stoic princess persona, so the fact you revealed a brief lack of grace reminded him of your history.

Familiarity warmed his chest.

You scooted back to place his foot in your lap, untying the metal armor there and unlacing his leather shoes. Blisters greeted you through the holes around his toes and heel. Tossing the cobbled shoes aside, you noted them on the mental list of things to commission when you gift him with the news you’d been holding secret.

“Careful, you could get hurt!” He pitched forward to help you remove the heavy maille leg sleeve, but you fixed him with a stern expression and he tossed his arms up in defeat, folded them across his chest and slumped back on the tub. It wasn’t worth fighting you on these things.

Dewy sweat dotted your forehead. Only one leg was done.

Working hastily, you repeated the actions to his other leg, and after a softly spoken curse here and there, the arduous armor crumpled to the floor. In the corner of the room, the last embers in your furnace sputtered and tumbled as well.

His legs shook from the absence of weight. You ran your hands up his taut muscles feeling them tighten and bulge under your palm and his knees encroached on either side of your shoulders once your thumbs were approaching his swelling heat. A silent plea to not tempt him and enact his warning. It was proving difficult as it were to keep the imagery you conjured out of his mind.

“You seem tense,” you mused, picking at specs of dirt on his clothed thighs. “I can bathe you and work out your muscles.”

“Stop!” he bellowed. “Don’t.. speak that way!” He curved his body over yours. Menacing. A looming presence above you, glaring as you rested your elbows on his thighs and laced your fingers. Not one bit afraid of his intimidation tactics.

“Perhaps I want what you warn me of.”

“Don’t tease me when we cannot be.” Years of torture enunciated each consonant. In pain, but without a wound.

You weren’t teasing him without reason. Obito was easy to rile, and the resulting frustration pushed him to communicate with you. He had no idea how many nights you sobbed yourself to sleep when he so much as refused to give you a single courtesy nod before he left to slay a dragon that had ended the countless lives of Orders from other kingdoms.

There was a high chance that would be the last time you saw him, and he was fine with that all because you told him you were considering marrying the prince and having his children.

“You’ll commit high treason with me, but associating with me in a friendly manor is too far?”

“You don’t want me.” The phrase lacked the conviction it previously held when he denied your advances; a hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“And why wouldn't I?”

He scrunched his face, sputtering bitterness at your deliberate obtuseness, “B-Because. I’m not some royal prince with jewels and money. I have nothing to offer you.”

“Do you think an exchange of goods is required to be friends? Or perhaps you are referring to an exchange of goods to lay with me? I do not require jewels or money for either.” You gave a half-hearted snort at his gaped mouth response and schooled your features before he could spout a lame rebuff about that not being what he meant. “Need I jostle your memory that you were the one to warn me of your intentions first,” you said coyly.

No denial.

“If your father finds me in here..”

“He’s been unresponsive for eight days, counting. His body has been withering away the longer he goes without food and water.” You leaned in to keep your voice down to an excited whisper, eyes wide from the thrill of killing the man destroying your life. “He’ll wake soon according to my calculations, but I’m close, I’m so close to figuring out the right ratios with what I have left.”

Obito’s equally wide eyes gleamed with hope. He spoke quickly in a single breath, “Sasori has more plants for you. He’s suspicious about why I wanted them, but he doesn’t care for the king, either. He swore to me he’s interested in the poisons and your research, and perhaps trading information with you from his birth town.”

“Okay,” you breathed out and nodded. “Okay!” You smiled and leaned in, searching his face for the same reaction, unwittingly intruding on the wall he put up between you. Your faces were as close as a flame to its wick. The fierce curl of his eyelashes batted, breaking the ardent eye contact shyly. His gaze roamed. Down. Down to your parted lips, and he opened his instinctively.

“Now how about that bath before I vomit from your stench.”

He closed his mouth.

No objections.

Next was the maille skirt slung around his hips.

You bowed your face to see the buckles and Obito squirmed at your proximity. Your nimble fingers so close to.. him. All of him. Indecent thoughts raced. He licked his chapped lips, hoping you were less observant of the bulk under his pants.

The skirt jangled. A final click and it coiled on the floor. He jerked his chin away at the sound. Anticipating the teasing remarks about his blatant lust when he wasn’t sure how serious you were about being on the receiving end of his warning--nor how serious he was about fucking his best friend who happened to be a princess who was engaged to another.

But his prayers were answered as far as he could tell. You carried on, blackening your hands with grease, silent in concentration.

Starting on his arms, you grabbed his gauntlet, and for a moment. A shared moment of understanding, his hand grasped yours back. Chafed leather creasing around your fingers. It conveyed much without being unnecessarily spoken. You tugged, and the gauntlet joined the pile strewn about his feet.

He forced his bare hand into a fist.

Switching to the other gauntlet; this one had more scratches and nicks over the knuckles from blocking blows in your namesake. Keeping you safe was hard work. An oath he’d carry for the rest of his life. The eternal punishment of being by your side the only way he was permitted.

He wasn’t worthy of more. It wasn’t in the cards to be more, for it was unlawful for you to wed a commoner. His indenture was served to The Nine, and as their leader, he knew his place in your kingdom. Make advances all you want, give him glimpses into your lavish lifestyle; he’d never be your consort, your husband. That place would be taken in a week's time.

“What’s the sullen look for?” you asked while pulling the chainmaille shirt over his head, cautious not to catch his hair. At what point you removed his pauldrons, vambraces, and chest plate during his existential trance, he wasn’t sure. “Not happy to be home?”

“I’m always happy to be here.” He avoided the word ‘home’. He wished your quarters were his home. Your bed his.

“Obito?” you called his name again.

“Hm?”

“Move your arm.” He flattened it to his side, unaware he had it cutting across his chest to rub at a scar near his ribs. It was his favorite scar, if there was such a thing, because you gave it to him when you were first learning to duel with a sword. He taunted you one too many times, too confident in his towering height and svelte muscles he earned over the summer.

On long, restless nights, he swore it panged.

You were no longer sitting on your heels; you had pushed yourself up to your knees.

He was exposed. No more wall of metal to put between you. No way to protect himself from your roving admiration. And you were equally subjugated to his.

In his time away, Obito outgrew his arming jacket. The ties down the front were strained over his chest. Tanned abs pressed where the battered fabric was joined. The bunny-eared loops threatened to come undone at the steady rise and fall of his breaths. Broken strings from seams hung loose to make room for his bulging shoulders. His biceps stretched the material to its limits.

Inching closer to attain the first tie at his throat, his sudden inhale stilled your movement. Your shuddering exhale chilled his heated skin.

You pinched the end of the strings taut at the same time he reached out. A simple gesture, rolling the fabric of your fluttery sleeve between his index and thumb.

His interest in your night dress brought his lips to hover over your temple. He noticed the position too, when your eyes locked.

Obito jerked away from the intimacy and grappled the underside of his thighs. His eye twitched and you raised a brow at him. Of course he stammered out some pathetic excuse instead of saying what was on his mind.

The first tie unfurled. His Adam’s apple bobbed with a gulp. A swath of trimmed black hairs followed the movement. It amused you more than it should have that he managed the time to shave before returning to the castle. Always finding little ways to charm you.

“Are you laughing at me?”

“Only because I’ve seen prey more relaxed than you.”

He clicked his tongue and tried to abide by your advice. Divert the tension bunching his shoulders. Breathe with some regularity. But it was increasingly difficult the lower your attention traveled.

At the last tie over his naval, your fingers dove, sweeping over his torso, opening the jacket to the full display. It dropped to the floor in a cloud of dust.

Your heart skipped a beat for the excess scaring you were ignorant to.

You belly fluttered at the raw infatuation radiating in your core.

Your blood pumped sensing his eyes were on you.

Your mouth watered for the agile frame draped in muscle honed from use. It served him well.

Obito posed to handle his pants alone, and what a fine suggestion you were happy to accede to so you could turn your back on him and stop your drooling.

Grabbing a clay bowl decorated in paintings of roses from the castle’s perennial garden, you carried it to the furnace and filled it with what was left of the hot water simmering on on the flattop while your tub sloshed water over the side, displaced by a man who commanded more room than you. At your vanity, you contemplated your various amber bottles and wellness tinctures, adding them at random to encourage things like healing his wounds and boosting his immune system. The other oils swimming on top were for perfume purposes.

Obito tried his best to hide it, but it was no secret he smelled your hair any chance he got.

You grabbed a clean washcloth and pulled the stool to the side of the tub, bowl in your lap, and dipped the rag in the concoction. Using one of your more luxurious soaps, you rubbed it on the knitted cotton and held it to his face.

Obito made it his sole responsibility to keep the few unpopped bubbles over his modesty. “You don’t have to clean me.”

The cloth blurred in front of his face as you asserted yourself, “I want to.”

He grumbled and surrendered, craning his head as you attacked the filth behind his ears. You dunked the cloth in the bath water near the line dividing the muscles of his pecs, and wrung it out, moving on to his scarred forehead, his nose, his cheeks. All the while he glared at you. At least, that was until you demanded he wash the soap off or else you’d do it for him.

Obito complied. Water dripped from his glower, annoyed you insisted on cleaning every part of him. Ignoring his scorn, you frowned at the state of his hair and considered the translucent layer of soap covering your hands. It wasn’t enough for this filthy man. You squelched the bar right into his scalp.

He sneered at your primping and prodding. But he’d tolerate it because your nails raking through his hair was awfully intoxicating. Euphoric after his long journey. Ceasing his mind of concerns about the future.

Obito’s eyes fluttered closed and his body gave up its fight. He rested his neck against the cold rim of the tub and let you do your thing, work your magic, put him under your hex. Have your fingers search his recollections for the other times you held his head like this.

Like the time he was just a boy and he tripped and fell in the courtyard while playing, scraping his palms, and you ran your fingers through his hair to soothe his crying.

Then as youths when he snuck you down the alleyways of the town’s square so you could observe what life was like outside the castle walls--until you saw one of your father’s guards and forced Obito to duck behind a barrel outside a tavern; your hand on his head to keep him from peeking, waiting out the guard’s snooping.

As teenagers he orchestrated your escape to bring you to the rolling meadows, letting you bask in the sun and fields of flowers for once instead of only appreciating them after they were cut and presented in vases, or boiled and used as oils in your hair. Unfortunately, one of the kingdom’s nurses was there to pick some for medicinal purposes and if she saw you, it would be disastrous.

You had to hide.

Before she could turn, you pushed Obito to the ground and crawled alongside him. Tall grass swayed above your heads. Wind swept loose petals away. You listened. He listened. No sounds of the nurse stomping over to scream at you for leaving the castle. The makeshift refuge worked.

You sighed and rolled onto your back, and he did the same, overlapping your two bodies. After watching the clouds lazily drift across the blue sky, you turned to face him. And he did the same.

His nose brushed yours. Never had you been this close. Never had he been this dauntless to remain steady and not jerk away at the first sign of accidental intimacy.

You didn’t pull away, and neither did he. With half-closed eyes, he watched your hand raise to run your fingers through his hair, ridding him of clumps of pollen. Sunshine highlighted your merriment as the motes scattered to the dark earth around him.

A lingering touch.

A gentle smile.

That’s when the nurse found you.

And Obito was forced to fight in a tournament until he was the last man standing.

“Dunk.”

“What?” Obito broke apart his brain fog to witness an entirely different scene.

“The soap’s about to get in your eyes,” you admonished.

You hovered over him and Obito was vaguely aware you were telling him to do something. Your chiding did nothing but hypnotize him into a stupor, for with every pop of your lips your lackluster clothing left nothing to guess. The bounce of your tits timed with each syllable out of your mouth. Your hardened nipples arrested his thoughts.

Once or twice in the past he helped you lace up a dress. Once or twice he passed by the washing room in your maidens quarters--on the opposite side of the estate from his--to gander at your undergarments. And once or twice.. maybe more than that, a part of him responded to the visions presenting themselves in his head and he touched that part of him. Taking care of a need to rid himself of the pictures so he could concentrate on other tasks, that’s all. That’s all.

Never before today did he think he’d be this close to his temptations, with your tits enticing his lips and your robe slipping forth to grant him an eyeful down the front. This would fuel his lewd fantasies for years to come.

A fascinating contrast of what he imagined you looked like under your layers of dresses, and how you actually did, flaws and all.

It was during his more lascivious ponderings he was jolted from his dreams and his mouth was filled with water.

Bubbles broke the surface. Then his hands shot up, grabbing, splashing, finding purchase on your wrists and digging in until your laughs turned to cries of mercy.

His ire encapsulated the months, months, of being away from you. His bones broken for you. His muscles torn down and reconstructed with each swing of his sword. His anguish at hearing you utter another man’s name.

“You- Gah!” He wiped the stinging water from his eyes using the back of his hand. Yours remained in his firm grip. Droplets clung to the edges of his lashes, glimmering pink from the setting sun. Highlighting his full lips in gold.

You cooed a reply and sank your hands behind his neck. He permitted the unexpected contact, his fingers uncoiling from around your wrists to leave wet trails up your arms, skirting under the fluttery sleeve of your gown to feel your soft, unblemished skin.

He forgot his reason for being upset.

Beads of water crept from his forehead, around his brow bone to his cheek, down to his square jaw, and dripped to his chest. Pecs expanding the width of his frame. Welcoming your head to use them as a pillow.

His strong arms made to hold you. Protect you.

Arms covered in grime.

You snagged the washcloth from where it was stuck behind his shoulder blade and resumed cleaning the displeased man.

Incensed, and so annoyingly turned on by your ruse, Obito folded his legs in the cramped space to help conceal himself. Seeing your drenched negligee due to his accidental--yes, accidental--thrashing wasn’t helping matters.

His night-black eyes examined the creases of your face. The twist of your mouth when you forced his arm up to wash his armpit. Your nostrils flaring at the work. The duty of cleaning his body when he could do it just as well, but you insisted just the same as he insisted on defending you and your kingdom.

Your gaze softened. Doting on him, scrubbing his chest and stomach clean until your soap was whittled to a sliver and he lessened the tension in his muscles resisting you. Finally, he was becoming comfortable around you.

With grace, you kicked the stool to the other end of the tub and tapped his knee, prompting his long, hairy leg out of the water to prop it up on the rim. The assertive move was blessed with a smug grin from him, explicit in his presentation informing you of his ambitions with you here tonight.

Never had he been this stupidly brash. Slaying dragons was one thing, taming you would be another.

His chest swelled with pride, his ego burned his heart, and his eyes narrowed. Watching you. Waiting to see how low you’d go for him. Daring you to feast on the part of him emerging from the water.

He could do it. He could give in for one night. Reconnect with you before your father wakes and the prince takes your hand. If your words were true, you wanted him. And he wanted you.

But a brief ambush of insecurity marred his mood. Turned his smile into a morose flat line. “Have you done this to the prince?”

Your clamant disgust was an easy objection. “No! I haven’t touched him.”

His jaw pulsed. Laying his arms along the curled edge of the bathtub, he gripped the underside, bruising his joints on the unfinished edge. His parched throat squeezed. “Has he touched you?”

The question sparked deep inside your very being. Roaring odious flames to life at the implication. Of not only his wonderment, but the distaste of spitting those words at you.

“No,” you said evenly, “I don’t let him touch me.”

“What about when you are wedded? What will stop a man more powerful than you?”

You arched an eyebrow. “You will.” He inclined his head in confusion and that’s when you sprung the news on him. “I’m promoting you to my personal guard. An order my father can’t revoke once he sees one of them has been sent to the dungeons for insubordination.” He wrestled his leg from your grasp and sat up. Water lapped the walls of the tub.

“What?” he exclaimed, face full of awe. “You’re personal guard,” he repeated the words, quieter, testing them. “You want me by your side.”

“Yes, so you can keep close to me at all times. I’ve been waiting for your arrival to commission you a new set of armor. Gilded, obviously. Paid for by me.”

“I see.” Watch over you in servitude. Not by your side in the way he wished. Your differences crashed around him. A more significant wall barred his entrance. He’d have to guard your door while you produced an heir with a prince. And you had the gall to continue bathing him like this knowledge wouldn’t fucking destroy him. “Is this how you treat someone sworn to protect you? By washing between their toes?”

Your disappointment in his reaction drew a pensive look. “This is how I treat my best friend.”

“Mmm.” The winter breeze was sucked out of the room leaving only the awkward silence to permeate. “Best friend. Favorite guard. Any more charitable titles you wish to grant me, your royal highness?”

“Obito,” you sighed, “would you like me to kill the prince alongside my father? Will that appease you?”

“If he touches you, I’ll kill him myself. My hands around his neck.”

What would normally be an empty threat sounded very real with his deep rasp and brow drawn to obscure his face in inscrutability.

You let the sentiment go. He offered no alternative when you first ran the plan by him, nor did he offer any now. Only his distaste for it. What an infuriating man.

You dipped the rag into the rapidly cooling water in your basin, lathered it, and held it above the only dirty area of him left. A line you left to cross last. Parts of a man you had never seen up close.

The washcloth crinkled with suds. The milky, opaque pink water rippled. You attempted to close the distance.

The little bit of nerve he worked up convincing himself you and him could be a possibility faded at the first sign of your intention, aware it wasn’t a single night he wanted, and partaking in a fling would only end in bloodshed if he had to listen to you moan another man’s name outside your door. “I-I can do it.”

You plopped the rag in his hand and swiveled on your stool, turning your back on him to think over his threat.

Tepid water curled in waves around his moving body. Reaching and cleaning all the nooks and crannies, then going over them again. Lifting his hips to run the washcloth on his underside, making his cock spear forth. It in the foreground, you in the background.

Holding his breath, moving so subtly the water stilled, he sat up and inched closer to you. Your perfect posture. Provoking him to ruin it. Your perfect portrait of poise: shoulders back, chest out, rigid spine, feet crossed and tucked to the side of the stool. And worst of all, your ass spilling over the small seat.

If he were caught right now..

Digit by digit he wrapped his hand around his cock and angled the tip at your maddening hair. Twisted into place with hair pins worth far more than his life.

Once, twice. His fingers slid to the end of his tip.

He had to keep his touches light to preserve his release until he was alone. A brazen taste while you were here and your breasts were present in his mind.

His jaw hung loose; his exhale and inhale a ghost of a thing to keep himself from being noticed. Skin gliding over skin. His core lurching for more. More contact. Your mouth, your hands, your naked body meeting his. A few more. Just a few more pumps of his hand and then he’ll stop-

A desperate grunt of pleasure escaped his dry throat.

You wound your finger in a loose curl hung by your ear. “Do you require assistance?”

Awash in shame, Obito slapped the rag over his cock to weigh it down and slammed his back against the tub--which only worked to draw more attention to himself as water overflowed to the floor and he winced at his sore muscles seizing from the contact.

You raised a suspicious eyebrow at the reddened man. His embarrassment worsened as he followed your line of sight to his hand wrangling the rag over his lap as it fought back, trying to drift away.

He opened his mouth to say anything, lords, anything to dissuade your smirk, but you spoke first.

“You seem tense,” you recited your words from earlier. “Want me to work out your muscles?” The splotchy blush on his chest was the cutest thing.

Not requiring a verbal answer beyond the curt nod of his head, you rose and sauntered to the end of the tub. Tracing the rim as you went, walking your fingers over his shoulder covered in goosebumps. You knelt behind him and he shivered at the amused puff of air from your nose chilling his flushed neck.

“Not so arrogant anymore, hm?” you whispered to the shell of his ear. His muscles jumped, constricted. Not realizing your face was so close. Hairs on his nape stood on end.

You settled your hands on the jutting muscle between his neck and brawny shoulders. “Hard as a rock,” you purred as you dug your thumbs in.

Obito slid his tongue across his teeth in a vain attempt to steer his thoughts elsewhere, and not of his twitching cock. It too was begging for your hands.

In due time, he found himself relaxing into your massage. Rolling his head from side to side, dropping it forward. Instructing you where to touch him.

When he first started his knightly duties, you did niceties such as this for him on occasion. Mostly as an excuse to catch up after he was away from the kingdom, but not in this compromising of a position.

Slowly, his bravery returned. A constantly changing thing around you. One moment he felt desired, the next he reminded himself he could never have you. Then you would all but vocalize your attraction to him and he fought against accepting such an outlandish claim. You said so yourself: Obito was your best friend.

Nothing more.

But he had to admit he hadn’t felt this good in years.

He placed his hand on top of yours to slow your movements and brought them to his chest. His way of testing the waters.

You smoothed yourself to him, draping your arms over his neck, drawing lines on his drying skin. The cold metal tub excited your nipples. Though fleshy sensations paled in comparison to perceptions of the heart.

Ridges of scars tickled your palms.

Tickled your lips.

Obito clamped his jaw tight, smothering his gasp to a hiss. He had half a mind to question you. The other half was occupied.

As you cast your eyes downward to the trail of hair leading to the washcloth, jealousy stung your stomach. Had anyone else seen him this way? He pried into your private life; why not pry into his?

“Do you know a woman’s touch?”

Curse your palm over his heart. The rapid beat increased to concerning levels. Your question settled under his skin. Coursed in his veins.

“No,” he confessed, watching your hands become animated again, massaging the planes of his chest. “The men of The Nine talk, but I’ve never experienced.. that.” A rush, a dumb rush of idiocy overtook him and he was blurting out his knowledge before you judged him, “But Hidan runs his mouth! Really, never shuts up about women, so, I know- stuff about.. that.”

Could a stray arrow put him out of his misery? He didn’t even have anything to prove! You were inexperienced as well.

“And what do you know?” you teased. Your hands went on their own journey over his sensitive flesh, as did your lips. Running your fingernails down his front enjoying the way he squirmed the lower you went. Nipping below his jawbone, savoring his taste, humming over the pulse drumming against your lips.

“Nothing.” The way his voice strained sounded near tears. “I would disappoint you.”

You pulled back to see his pursed lips over his grinding teeth and his eyes pinched closed. Withdrawing your hand from his irresistible muscles, you turned his face to yours. He inhaled sharply and shied from your touch, the creases between his brows deepening. “Why do you deny me?”

“Because I want you.”

“I’m yours.”

“No.” He opened his eyes, brimming with hot rage. “You’re not. You’re promised to a prince and expected to bear his heirs. I’m no one. I’m not worthy of marrying you. I’m expected to guard your door and listen to you shout another man’s name.” He fisted his shaking hands, then unclenched them to pry yours off his face. “My unremarkable birth would sully your name.”

“I’m only marrying the prince to guarantee safety to the kingdom!” you appealed. “As the only child of the king I have to provide an heir to rule after me. What do you suppose I do?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I just don’t want him touching you.”

It seemed you two were at an impasse.

You wiggled out of his grasp and placed your hands on the tub in a huff; looking away from one another, blushing at the silent implications churning in your heads. He sighed, long and hard. You sighed as well.

Were your two pasts so entwined, so haunted, you couldn’t exist together anymore, friendly or otherwise?

And why did his possessiveness over you irk you and excite you all the same?

Your direct question hardly produced a result; you needed a better tactic. One that could end horribly. Or end with you under him. “So, in reference to me screaming his name and having his children and the like, care to teach me how to please a man?”

His throat was painted red in an instant. He was no longer slouching and moping in the tub. No. In a quickfire flash of brilliant showmanship of his agility, your face was stalled between his large palms. His eyes were hardened rocks forged from volcanoes. His tongue was lava, spilling forth to lick his lips. The dangerous flick of a reptile gaining the scent of its prey.

Switched positions. The man craning your neck to hold your gaze was not the shy teenager too afraid to be caught staring at you, too cowardly to hold your hand without an excuse for doing so, too gutless to profess his real feelings for you, loud and clear.

“I will be the only one to touch you.” Observing you, flitting his eyes between yours, he dug his fingers into your jaw and brought your forehead to his. “And you will be the only one to touch me. That’s the deal,” he said with finality.

“A deal?” you whispered, quivering lips being introduced to his for the first time.

Obito stepped out of the tub; your body was guided back. Water spattered the tops of your feet. At your first instinct, he snapped your hips together, keeping your bodies sealed, not allowing you to look lower than his eyes. The shadows stretching across the floor were joined as one.

“I’ll guard your damn door,” he growled. “I’ll guard your fucking door so he can’t enter. Only I can bed you.” His chest heaved, monopolizing the oxygen in the room. He stepped to you and you stepped back. Again. And again. Over and over. Until your ass bumped the edge of your four poster bed. The delicate canopy, made of the same fabric as your negligee, buckled under your weight as he bent you backwards.

Obito swiped the canopy to the side like a feral animal on the hunt for his next meal.

At some point during his advance you had gripped his naked waist, and let go to lift yourself onto the mattress, making your way to the overabundance of pillows as he crawled over you. Stalking you. Caging you in.

You were bewitched by the thirst in his gaze. He was spellbound by yours. And his next words were an incantation you’d abide after years of wistful daydreaming.

“You want heirs?” Your pathetic whimper answered him. He relinquished his reign over your mouth to twist his fingers in your hair, knocking a gold hair pin loose. Bejeweled; the ruby in the rose’s center glinted in the candlelight above your bed. Tugging your hair, he angled your ear to his mouth. His breath, the ragged pant of a predator. His voice, gravelly with lust. He didn’t want either of you to misunderstand or misinterpret the other any longer. “I’ll provide the kingdom with heirs. As many as you want. But they’ll all be mine.”

“Take me,” you pleaded, stroking his upper arms, persuading him closer to hear you all the better. The heat of his torso warmed your front, a blanket of protection. His sworn duty to take care of you. Your body yearned to be taken care of in a different way. “Make me yours.” Eyes fluttering closed, you whispered to the only one who could inspire such vigorous pulses of blood ringing in your ears. “I’ve been waiting.”

The revelation was not lost on Obito. It validated his loyalty to you, and only you.

Irrelevant worries left his body, and you accepted him, enveloping him in a shroud of placid adoration, spreading your fingers in long caresses down his scarred back while he rubbed your scalp in gentle circles with his thumb.

He kissed you with all the care of a best friend exploring a new aspect of their relationship.

It was slow. Tender, patient.

Restrained.

He pursed his lips and kept his mouth closed. A few pecks to test the connection. His tongue, his throbbing cock tucked between your thighs--delicious though it was when you opened your agreeable legs to allow his body between them--that union could wait, for he was reeling with the overflow of endorphins provided by your requited lust.

Visions of the past few years flipped through his head; ones where he yearned for your comfort, and now had the confirmation you did the same.

All the times he was badly injured in battle and your smiling face in his mind’s eye replenished his life force, giving him the stamina needed to take down foes. When his body was covered in mixes of blood and gore and your cheers resonated above all others, telling him he won the tournament.

The few instances he was allowed to escort you in public and your chin was held high in pride, pretending your eyes didn’t slide to his and your girlish giggle wasn’t for him. The way you smoothed your hands down your dress to keep yourself from reaching out to run your knuckles over his shoulder in the presence of your father.

How he knows you’ll be in the astronomy tower’s window when he comes home from quests because it’s the tallest building in the castle and the vantage point to the gates below were equal to no other.

Home.

He came home to you.

Obito broke away to grunt at what was trapping his hand from feeling up your breasts. “Why is this still on?”

“You didn’t take it off,” you replied, shrugging.

“Can I rip it off?”

“No!” You clutched your negligee closed and curled your shoulders in to hide your precious nightgown from the maniac. “It was expensive! And finely tailored! And dyed from last year’s roses!”

“Okay, okay,” he sighed. He mumbled other choice words under his breath while untangling his hand from it and easing your death grip on the thing so he could untie it himself. “I don’t know what I like more. When you lose your eloquence and abandon your snobby accent around me, or when you get so flustered you start sweating and refuse to look me in the eye.”

You wiped your palms on your quilt. “I’m not looking at you because you’re a rude man.” You harrumphed and tried to cross your arms; vexed, realizing he was still occupying the space by undressing you, and griped at the ceiling, splaying yourself like the starfish on your bathroom’s window.

Your exasperation did not last long as his low chuckle flapped the seam of the hand-woven lace over your nipple. The longer he took, the more hyper aware you became of the tiniest sensations that sent an ache between your legs.

The cool silk shifting across your chest as he pulled at the ties. The strings falling and the almost mute sound when they thumped on your sternum. Ghost touches of his fingers. His rapid breath. The weight of his stomach levering your legs open; dampening your garment from the pressure that sent you writhing, bucking your hips to grind on him with all the elegance of.. well, with all the elegance of a woman who has been having orgasms over the thought of this man since she discovered what the bundle of nerves down there could do given some time on a quiet evening.

Obito took the ends of the last tie and pinched it between his fingers and looked at you through his lashes. You nodded. It pulled taut, then loose.

The calm before the storm.

He pushed himself up to his knees and hastened them inward, right up to your ass. Being the singular object of his intense cravings made you greedy. You squeezed your legs around his torso; to which he ran his large hands up your calves, down your thighs, over the pitiful fabric of your nightgown bunched around your hips, and up to the opening he created. The negligee parted in halves. But, frustratingly enough, it still covered you. It was impeding his mouth on your flesh. It needed to be gone.

Groping your ribs, he gathered the negligee tight over your body to reveal your outline. Granting him a chaste peek at your nipples covered in lace. Your innocent face, demure and begging to be ravaged by his cock wrapped in the fabric between your thighs. His grin widened as you bit your lip.

Fed up with his ogling while you laid there a sopping mess, you made to undress yourself, but he stopped you.

“It’s so sheer, there was really no reason for you to wear it in the first place.”

“Hmm.” You pouted your plump bottom lip. “Are you suggesting I should’ve been naked from the start?”

“I am suggesting there is no need to be dressed around me.”

He swooped his hands under the gown and stretched it out to its limits. Your gasp hitched in your throat--he drove his hands upwards, the scalding white hot heat of his touch bringing your blood to a boil; he breezed past your breasts to turn your gulp of air into a pleasurable sputter of his name, and pushed the sleeves from your shoulders.

You were intent on paying attention to the way his body responded to such rampant sexual desire, but you were a bit distraught at his incessant tugging of your lingerie until you arched your back to release the part stuck under you and, suddenly, he was losing his mind, yanking the damned dress from around your ass and tossing it to the floor in a heap while your legs were stuck up straight in the air.

“It’s wet,” you murmured at his leaking tip saluting you.

“For you,” he said faintly.

You looked away from it to glare at his face framed by your feet. “If you broke a single stitch on my nightgown, you’ll-”

He shut you up.

He pushed your legs to the bed, dug his knees in on either side of one, cocksure in his conquest to surprise you, and collapsed on top of you. Leaning on his hip, he shifted his weight to the arm snaked around your head and used his free hand to tip your jaw. Your indignation was smothered by his need.

This kiss was different. Fierce, bruising.

Expelling pent up passion poured from within.

Your lips were coerced open by his teeth nipping for entry. Elation spilled into your mouth. Vibrant jubilation teemed every curl of his tongue on yours. He was hungry. You were a meal.

He deepened it with fond caresses of his thumb along your cheek and fingers combing through your hair. Repeating the motion as his anxiety rose from being touch starved. He pined for you for so long he felt dizzy recognizing this was reality and not a dream when your hand discovered what was prodding you so painfully.

Parting, then reconsidering, you both leaned in to kiss away the string of spit linking you two together; sharing a small laugh at the automatic mirroring, and he stopped lovingly tracing your smile to show you how he touched himself when thinking about you.

“Like this,” he instructed. He guided you over the ridge of scars and muscle that was his abs, letting you relish their sleek lines, down to his cock. Harder than the gemstones in your diadem. Warmer than the blush on your cheeks. “Here.” His hand engulfed yours. One by one, he curled your fingers over his shaft, and moved them up and down.

It twitched in your palm, ecstatic.

He coached you through the pumps. Squeezing your fingers tighter when you reached the head. Using the beads of anticipation swelling from the tip to slick your fingers. He increased the pace, and let go, watching you work him. Watching your hand stoke the heat in his stomach to his chest.

The sounds of you caring for him filled the space between you. Your dainty hand stroking him, his deep breaths, his praises.

He raised his head to fix you with a dark look, brown hair falling to his eyes. A lustful gaze to ensure you knew you were the only woman he wanted. You stared, transfixed, as your thumb slipped over the lipped edge of his cock, coaxing him to his release.

“That feels so.. so fucking good when you do it,” he rasped.

Obito lunged for your mouth. A single lick of your bottom lip and he was in. Deepening it. His thumb prodded your cheek harshly. More. More. He needed more.

An aggressive, dominating kiss.

Making sure your mouth was open, and pliant, and willing to have his tongue make its home there, he moved his hand down. Down. Down to your pathetic grinding against his thigh, seeking any friction to recreate the depraved scenarios in your head.

A firm palm on your mound calmed your fevered state, commanding you into the mattress.

It was time Obito indulged you as you did him.

Where your touches down his chest were refined flutters, his were unskilled pawing at your curves with his calloused hands. Rough skin tickling you as he explored your stomach and hips without sight. Ready to demonstrate he knew how to make you feel good.

He slipped his fingers down your slit and marveled at the strength of your inner thighs.

“So wet,” he murmured on your lips.

“For you,” you responded faintly.

He cracked a smile and you giggled. That giggle soon melted away to pants as he rubbed over your clit to your dripping entrance, and inserted two fingers--quite the experience to slide them in so easily--into you. Two long, dexterous fingers used to gripping swords. Fingers used to dictating others. Now he ruled you into a babbling, submissive, sorry example of a princess.

Rocking his thigh between your legs to open wider and grant him entry, he tested the flesh welcoming his fingers. Hot, pulsing around his digits, begging for him to thrust harder, faster. Or perhaps that was your needy voice keening for more.

“Deep- Ah, deeper!” Your handjob went sloppy as you tried to form coherent sentences and he had the gall to laugh at you. But he did as he was told. He crooked his fingers and continued to match your pace on his cock. Fucking you with his fingers, giving them a preview of what was to come. Coating his hand in your arousal; inserting a third.

It was building the fire, but it was not razing cities to the ground.

“Did Hidan- Did Hidan teach you this?” A tiny bleat in between huffs.

“Uh, well,” he stammered, hummed, and admitted, “yes.” Bravado dissipated from his movements. His thrusts slowed. His ego crumbled, understanding now he knew very little of you, and talked very much.

“This feels good,” you complimented him, kissing the corner of his frown, “but I prefer it here.” You let go of his cock to guide his hand as he did yours. Removing his fingers, leaving you feeling oddly empty, and tracing them up your wet cunt to the pleasure point. “Like this.” It was your turn to instruct him.

Attentive, he watched you circle his fingers on the outside, above where he knew his cock belonged. A part of you so small and unassuming he didn’t feel bad about missing it. And from your mouth-gaping moans and the way your body chased the little swirls it was clear you still wanted him.

“This is how I touch myself when you’re gone,” you whined, then bit your lip.

Hidan didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about.

“Fuck-” He cut off his cry due to you using your own lube to ease your fingers over his sensitive red head. Levels of eroticism he didn’t know could be reached. Something he didn’t know was an option.

His mouth hovered over yours, moans conveying the information he couldn’t. His hips jerked. Thrusting his cock in your fist. A few pumps down his shaft, then the head. Unbearable, insane bliss tingled his nerves.

“Oh, Goddesses,” you sighed when he applied more pressure to your clit, circling two fingers on either side of it.

“They’re not here. Only me.”

“Obito.” You waited until he looked at the annoyed twist of your mouth. “Your tongue would be better served- here-” you croaked out the last part. He attempted to quiet you with increased attention on your clit, but you persevered, arching your back to bring your tits to his focus.

No need to indicate further. He descended, mouth open, and tongue wicked.

It was unfair how he used the same technique as his fingers to swirl his tongue over your nipple.

And it was unfair how seeing you tremble under him in ecstasy brought him to the edge when he’d hardly started.

“Sorry, I..” Obito stopped his affections like a cold splash of water. He wrested his cock from you to save himself and sat up, scrambling between your legs to glare at it in his hand as if it betrayed him. “Can I, well,” he fought for the right words, “move you how I like?”

Eyes wide in shock and a bit wary at his heel-turn, you nodded once. “Sure?” As long as it wasn’t something akin to the braided loaves served at dinner, you’d be fine.

He grabbed your ankles and hiked your legs up in the air, situated them around his shoulders, and widened his stance to line himself up. “I kind of liked this earlier..”

“I liked it too,” you said, smiling up at his tanned body towering above you, glancing at his fingertips probing dimples in the soft flesh of your legs in an effort to hold himself back.

Confident he stopped himself seconds from busting on you instead of in you, he smiled back and urged his tip in, looking to you for assurance. The emptiness he left behind welcomed his warm length, stretching you.

“Slower,” you grimaced.

He listened. Easing into you. Filling you. Until there was nothing left but the throb of his cock and the clench of your pussy. Soaking, hot.

His exhale came as a whistle. “Fawning over your Knight Commander for years when you knew you were not allowed to lay with him, only a prince, and now you accept him so docilely.” He kissed your ankle with a crooked slant of his lips and judgemental, narrowed eyes. “Unacceptable for royalty.”

“Are you reciting a report or are you bestowing me a son?” you retorted weakly. Through his mindless diatribe, he’d begun his rutting. The quilt in your grip went damp. A mist of sweat dotted your brow. Taking him, all of him, was difficult.

“Slower,” you gritted out again, unaccustomed to his girth.

Locking his gaze on your pinched face, he drew his hips back, trembling at the sensation of his tip dragging along your walls, then sealed your bodies together. Each thrust took seconds off your life. It was too slow. Agonizing. He had to have been doing this on purpose to annoy you.

You sank your head to the pillows and lamented to the ceiling about not meaning to go that slow. He clicked his tongue at your dramatics. Then he viewed it a different way.

...Obito loved a challenge.

Hooking his hands under your knees, he took a moment to admire your heaving chest before folding you in half, pinning your knees to your shoulders. His broad, ominous shadow doused your instigation. A positively sinister smirk stretched to his ears at your distraught gulp of air.

“The princess doesn’t like it when I go slow? She wants her heirs now, huh?” Harder, ramming into you; fast but choppy, refusing his cock the opportunity to slip out. No, he was close and you needed all of his seed. His balls ached to fulfill your every wish.

Seeing stars, the little that you could articulate was interrupted cries requesting he fuck you with everything he had. “F-Fill me!” As if he wasn’t after you baited each other for years.

You wanted his cock this badly?

You earned it.

Sputtering variations of his name he didn’t know were possible to sound so alluring, your breaths were reduced to huffs at his punishing pace. Relentless; pounding you into the mattress. The candle flickered strips of umbra on his scars, highlighting his prideful visage mocking your disheveled state.

Try as he might to come across as a dominating and detached bastard; he kept his hands on you lax, and eyes soft, attentive in case he hurt you. Details that bespoke of the man you always knew. The ruggedly handsome knight, teetering on the edge of laughing at the comical clap of your skin when he slammed his hips to your ass while simultaneously forfeiting cognitive function due to the way your eyebrows rose in delight and your hair pins fanned about your pillows.

Elated that he was ruining his princess. Overcome with joy at defiling his queen.

“You’re mine,” he rasped. “Only mine. Do you hear me?” You nodded, your fingernails puncturing his sculpted thighs. “My children.” He thrusted. “My kingdom,” he gasped. “My legacy.”

His composure shattered.

Crashing, clumsy in his way of letting your legs fall away as he broke; the need to have his arms around you, under your head, to hold you still while he fucked you dizzy overwhelmed him.

Unchained, uncontrolled.

Rocking his hips like the thunderous gallop of a wild stallion. Fingers wringing the decorative tassels on your pillows. Biting back the growl arising in his throat. Coalescing all the tension and stress in his body into one lightning strike of exhilarating release.

Like ocean waves curling at their apex to collide on the sandy shore; his throbbing cock spilled into you.

Echoes droned in your ear. Exquisite groans of your name over the sound of you praising his.

It was unbecoming of a man how he whined when you constricted your legs around his back, compelling him to bottom out and push his oversensitive cock to its very limit. Draining him. Overflowing your pussy with a final quiver.

“You take my cock so well, princess.” His breath caressed your neck with more affirmations. You were his perfect girl, able to take his shameless passion and make him feel so cherished with his name on your lips as you lost your doe-eyed innocence to him

Obito nuzzled his nose along your jaw and ran his knuckles over your cheek while you wound your fingers through his hair to massage his scalp. Holding each other, keeping his cock buried in you, making certain you got every last drop of cum before pulling out.

Eyes sliding closed in his languid condition, he rolled to his side and heaved a grunt not unlike when he was the victor in combat and gestured, “Come here.” Giggling, you obliged, and laid your cheek on his sticky chest. Joining your legs in a long tangle. Listening to his heart beat for you as the sweat dried on your bodies.

The ritualistic act didn’t last long, not nearly as long as the adults in your life fluffed it up to be--the way they spoke of it painted it in a light of a rite of passage meant for your husband while you laid there and muttered platitudes, niceties about fuck knows what, with a stranger. Telling you you had to dress and lay a particular way to maximize his attraction to you, to keep him interested. A mere barren womb presented to him on your wedding night.

They didn’t warn you it would sting at first.

Nor did they warn you about the palpable energy radiating between you when he pressed his forehead to yours and kissed your palm cupping his jaw.

The intensity of his gaze zeroing in on you, and the clawing in your core when he could no longer keep his eyes open due to the endorphins you caused him. The pure bliss of his hands on you, charged with an undercurrent of long-sought comfort, burrowing himself in the emptiness he left in your heart when he forsook you and your future to the prince.

Those hands having their way with you. That a man would care about pleasuring you before the act started. And that during, it was mechanically possible for his thrusts to coast over your clit, and along with his cock hitting spots inside you you’ve never reached, it was heartrending your teachers would deny such a connection existed.

You were a barren womb.

And yet, it was different when Obito announced his intent to fill it. He held you to the high esteem of rare valuables. He touched you with the trained caution of testing a sword’s sharpened edge. Years of agonizing over multitudes of unspoken feelings rushed into you at his climax.

“Touch me, please.” You looked up at him, startled at the weakness in his voice. Battle-hardened, rigorous, and cold--that was how you knew Obito the last four years.

But laying in your bed, your body cocooning his, he let down his guard. The vulnerability in his stare, open for you to read and appreciate. This was how you knew him prior to The Nine. When he was too young to think better of expressing himself. Before the harsh world lashed him and then humiliated him for licking his wounds.

“No one’s ever touched me like this, and now that I know it, I fear I won’t be able to give it up.”

Empathetic at the tremble underlining his words and the urgency of his frantic search of your face; you assuaged his panic by giving him what he wanted. Touches, glory, a throne, the world. Whatever he requested in content sighs or complete silence. It was his. You would spoil this man and his unyielding devotion to you. “There’s nothing to fear,” you whispered. “Until the end of time, there is nothing to fear.”

One of your arms was trapped between your chests, only granting you the ability to fan your fingers and brush them across his ribs, while your other roamed to the crown of his head. You worked your fingers in rows, circling them with more purpose, deeper, determined to rid him of the averse glint in his eyes to rather one of cautious optimism.

A long silence followed. Another hour, minute, second of ignoring the deep-seated hurt of your pending betrothal and his subsequent desertion festered.

For Obito, he was unsure if he had a right to your friendship after all the trouble he caused you. Did he deserve such luxuries? Even as your childhood friend he brought your father’s fury upon you by sneaking you out of the kingdom, and not once--never a single time--did you give him Obito’s name. Never did you blame him. But it wasn’t enough.

Obito couldn’t stop himself from overstepping his boundaries. And his intentions were not as discreet as he hoped.

It wasn’t until he was caught in the meadow with you did your father have his suspicions confirmed.

Obito’s bicep flexed under your neck and his hips turned to bring your head to the crook of his shoulder so he could wrap his arms around you and complete your lover’s embrace.

Tucking your nose to the warmth of his throat, you favored his collarbone in light kisses. Your knuckles outlined his temple, swept the length of his jaw to his chin, rubbing your thumb over his cheek, and tracing his bottom lip. Chapped, yes, but luscious and wanted it to be yours.

He leaned into your touches. Your body cuddled around him. Safe. Exactly the conditions he needed to let go.

Pressing harder, emitting a rumble in his chest not unlike the purr of a fat, lazy cat; Obito let down the last wall. Reveling in his best, and worst, memory. He put his nose to your hair and inhaled.

The meadow.

On the cusp of adulthood, during a dim evening at the start of Spring four years ago, Obito returned from a quest. Your father was healthy then, so his only glimpse of you was a wisp of a wave in the window of the astronomy tower and a sly grin when passing one of the dark halls on the way to the king’s throne room. He wasn’t sure if you could tell he was smiling under his helmet, but you beamed when he looked in your direction.

The quest was meager. Hardly worth sending a knight for the task, but as of the last year or so, he was sent away from the kingdom more often than not. He didn’t need you to tell him it was because your father had a watchful eye on his only daughter and heard whispers of her wandering attention and lovesick gazes. It was apparent in his hatred as he looked down upon Obito and sentenced him to mind-numbing tasks to keep him away from you, a week here, a week there.

Bored out of his mind, Obito gave his report, and waited for his next summons to work in the crop fields, or fix a wheel on a broken carriage for an elderly lady somewhere, or truly, whatever the king could bullshit his way through to send him off.

Then he was sucker punched. Blindsided by the king’s cruelty.

Obito slammed his helmet over his head, bowed, and strode out the room, appearing stoic and put together. The armor worked to protect his bones as much as it concealed the seething rage straining his muscles and wetting his eyes. His newest quest would send him away for the next year at best.

An entire fucking year.

An entire fucking year without you.

He marched past the guards of the grand entry doors of the castle out to the midnight blue sky casting the world in bleak blackness despite the star’s shine.

Sharp rocks slid under his boots, stabbed at his feet through the hole in the heel. He didn’t care. He couldn’t care. A singular goal drove him to the road leading out the gates and he turned, hope burning streaks down his cheeks, crushing the air from his lungs. Praying to any entity. Willing a sign from you would await him.

In the astronomy tower an oil lamp dimmed and reignited once, twice, thrice. Obito nodded to himself and resumed his heavy tread to the barracks.

For tonight, he could bathe, clean his armor, sharpen his sword, eat, puke up his food from anxiety, and stare at the wall while his consciousness warred.

Three bells past morning prayer, he found himself weaving through the castle’s unlit corridors, favoring the secret passages he knew as well as the stale bread in his hand he pilfered from the breakfast table. Or the actual back of his hand. Or the hole in his sleeve.

He ran his fingertips along the wall, tracing the chipped stones, and took a left. At the end of the tunnel was your oil lamp, raised and growing in strength to unveil your happy face when he neared.

“Obito!” you whisper-cheered his name and deposed the lamp on an empty sconce to throw your arms around him.

Under his tunic, his muscles went rigid at the expected affection. The hug was granted to him easily, your fondness leading you to his body without a second thought, and he did his best to copy your enthusiasm.

He processed everything sluggishly. When he blinked, his dry eyes stung. His arms didn’t match your strength, limply curling around your waist. His mouth, dehydrated from the bread. It was your hair tickling his stubble that roused him from his languor.

He ducked his chin to rest atop your head. The floral scent brought him some life, and some wit. “I don’t have much time. I have to leave by the sixth bell tonight.”

You slanted back and faltered, “Not even a full day’s rest?”

“Afraid not, my lady.” Obito overcame his weakness of being near you to move his hands from your back to your elbows and stepped away to put some distance between you two.

His misery slackened his features while yours were scrunched in confusion. “Are you for certain? I can ask my father to..” Meekly, you tapered off and muttered, “Nevermind.. Best not to worry him about you.”

Obito hummed a chastising agreement through his nose at your momentary naivety. “Want me to take you out while I’m here? I know a way we can leave the walls of the town this time.”

You brightened; your squeal of excitement echoing down the hall. “I dressed down in case you’d suggest it!” You twirled in your least festive gown. A flowing white dress with a bodice dyed solid red and stitched to perfection.

“Dressing down,” he repeated, his despondent mood for a fleeting wink at your silliness, allowing him to offer you a small smile not reaching his far-away gaze. “Off to it, then.”

You shot your hand out, awaiting for him to take it. To lead you. To feel your fingers entwine. But it was left suspended in the air. He didn’t take it. The passageway swallowed his trudging footsteps.

Affronted, you wiped it on your dress and extinguished the light, hurrying your pace to fall in line behind him. Silent. Ignorant to the quandaries fatiguing his mind, body, and spirit.

The meadow.

A harbinger of peace too beautiful to corrupt.

A waving sea of lush grass speckled in prismatic wild flowers. Pastures housing the first butterfly hatchlings of the season. Hills of meandering rogue cows ignoring the high pitched whistle of the farmer boy trying to corral them. A field of imagination for the small group of girls picking yellow buttercups.

And a medicine woman dressed in black dredging through the lanky weeds for a particular strain.

“Shit,” Obito breathed. Your hand was already on his, your grip becoming death to his wrist when you yanked his paralyzed body to the grass. He didn’t speak up, nor protest. You both held your breath until you couldn’t and deflated to the ground.

“That was close,”

“Mhm,” you said, nodding your cheek into the soil. “How long until she leaves, you think?”

Obito surveyed their hiding spot. Flowers swayed in the wind above your heads. The blue dome of the sky stretched further than you were permitted to venture. Clouds sailed the wide expanse. “This will do,” he mumbled under his breath, then added, “It’s not frolicking, but we can enjoy our time here, nevertheless.”

Concurring, you rolled over.

That is, until your shoulder bumped something. Feeling out, you laid your arm along his. He turned his knee to better accommodate your leg resting between his legs.

Giddy embarrassment widened your eyes--which were trained on the clouds, rejecting the modicum burst of curiosity to look over at him--and he did the same. Rebuking the idea of doing as little as talking to you. Not until his heart unclogged itself from his throat.

To pass the time, you pointed out insects climbing the flowers surrounding you, giving their scientific names while butterflies passed in search of nectar, all in order to impress Obito. A fruitless endeavor. He acknowledged you in hums and grunts to show he was listening, though not thoroughly engaged.

Most of his focus was on other aspects of your first date. Your fingers tracing the edge of his long sleeve, tucking them inside the hem to absentmindedly run them over the thin skin on his wrist above his pulse. The micro adjustments of your thigh, flexing on top his occasionally. Your voice lulling him into a state of solace. The oils in your hair mingling with their inspirations.

He was ready.

He was prepared to say it out loud.

Obito faced you at the same time you faced him, grazing your noses. Your instantaneous toothy grin convinced him there was no evil in this world. Or perhaps, nothing else at all. Only you, and only him. No meadow. No cattle, no farmer boy, no nurse, no gaggle of girls chanting rhymes while linking arms and skipping in circles. Only you. Only him.

Acting in a way that came natural to you; you took care of him, dusting the motes of pollen out of his hair.

He was sure they should all be gone by now, but you kept stroking your nails against his scalp. Beholding him through half-closed eyes. Lashes fluttering like the orange butterfly’s wings beating on the pink snapdragon just over yonder.

Obito was ready.

Seared for the rest of eternity was the scene where his adrenaline raced from the pit of his stomach to detain his heart. Each beat was a careful cultivation of fear of rejection, knowing he wasn’t qualified to play the part, and the young optimism of dreaming you saw him for who he was and would accept him, regardless of the laws of the land.

His hand came up to your cheek and brushed the dirt away; his thumb kept moving, kept caressing, cupping your jaw, running it to your chin and leaving it there for his finger to hook under and lift your face up. His forehead nudged your temple, and he traced your lips with his eyes.

On a shaky breath, he tried, but nothing came out. Patiently, you waited, eyebrows rising the longer he struggled to speak.

He switched his fixation from your lips to meet your kind gaze and swallowed thickly. His self-worth was riding on this one admittance, this one confession that could change his life. Nothing would be the same after he uttered those words.

Obito squeezed his eyes closed so he wouldn't see your disappointment. Grit his teeth so the pain concentrated there. Fisted your hair so he could smash his skull against yours, keeping you from viewing his hurt. Let the blood rush to his ears so your denial would have to fight to be heard.

His lips parted. At the junction of yours. Chapped on silk.

Breathe in, hold it. And out.

“I love you-”

“-Found you!”

Ripped away, reeled from the safety of the flushed grass shaped from two human bodies, you were torn from him like a field mouse in the claws of a hawk. The nurse’s strangle hold on your arm twisted backwards, wracking your body in bouts of agony at the sickening crack from your shoulder. Flowers were crushed in her stead and from under your bare feet as she dragged you in the direction of the castle; the hulking gray tribulation.

The girls stopped their playing and cowered.

Obito scrambled, tripped. His arm outstretched to you. His fingers spread wide, the figures of you clutching your head and the snarling nurse heaving you by your hair waving through slanted shafts of sunset.

He gave up.

He was useless.

He could feel your warmth on his hand from seconds ago. He retracted it, placing his palm over his heart, and his body slumped to the earth.

A daisy in the forefront, your screams in the background.

It was that night Obito was summoned to the throne room and given his fate worse than a year away from you. To duel in the tournament.

Expected to bleed out in the mud of the arena while you watched.

Or die in the line of duty by being thrusted into the position of leader of The Nine, premature and inexperienced.

“..ito?”

Obito recoiled at your touch, a gentle shake of his shoulder. You jerked back, wary of his darting eyes and panting, and asked him if he was alright while he pried his clammy hands off you.

“Did you fall asleep?”

“I.. Yes, a nightmare,” he spoke over his hammering heart. “Recoverable.” He wiped the cold sweat from his brow on your decorative pillow. The candles above your bed lit your coy expression.

“Dreams tend to be temporary afflictions, yes.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Looked, stared, considered something in his head. The tightness around his eyes lessened. The downturn of his mouth lifted. You blinked.

In that blink you were tucked safely into his palms. He was kissing you. Hard. Making up for the years he couldn’t be there for you. Apologizing for all the trouble his affinity for you caused.

His thumbs worked on your cheeks to soothe the wrinkles around your mouth from concern. Fingers brushed your jaw. The smell of your hair reminded him this wasn’t a dream.

This is what you did for Obito, take care of him without trying. Your natural ability. It was always you who drove him to win. Pushed him to achieve. Rotating nights between sleep and awake because the fantasies of a small wedding and a modest family deluded him to where he was today.

Grueling days spent hacking away at enemies only to set up a campfire for the night and pretend the heat belonged to your arms around him. Survival meant some day he’d feel the real thing. Hallucinations of meager hugs between friends kept him alive.

The desperation in his rough kisses reminded you why you risked your livelihood to meet him in secret. The catalyst for why you defied your father and risked a sentence of Hysteria to make Obito happy. Anything to make him smile so freely like he did when you were children.

“I apologize for worrying you, my lady.”

“I accept apologies in the form of dresses, jewels, or groveling at my feet.” You smirked. “Which will you present to me?”

“I thought you disliked the idea of extravagances in exchange for your favor?” he asked. “I’ll offer you something else in its stead. A long life of doting on you, that is what I’ll give you. Does that sound reasonable for my princess?”

Absorbed by his offer, nerves fluttering in delight, you channeled your glee into running a knuckle along the soft tissue under his chin, down the length of his neck to his Adam’s apple, and the sultry moan he released had you nibbling at his bottom lip for more. “That sounds perfect,” you gushed.

The last bell of the night tolled as you shared several fervorous kisses. Flowing from gallant wantonness to fulfilling a yearning present since you were of age to learn what you felt for each other was inappropriate given your positions.

Laying proclaim to your favorite feather-stuffed pillow, you declared your intent to sleep and turned over, curving your body to fit in the hollow of his. His growing chest pushed against your shoulder blades, his stomach filled the dip in your lower back, unabashedly putting his nose to your hair.

“Poor smitten man,” you laughed. “I put the same oils in your water. You smell like me too, you know.”

“It’s different when it’s on you.” He inhaled deep. “Let me have my vices, woman.”

The winter night had little effect on your exposed nude self. His warmth was inescapable, stronger than a pyre. Rendering your quilt useless.

“Can you be my finest knight in waiting- Ow.” You rubbed the spot he pinched on your arm. “-and blow out the candles for me?”

Lumbering to a seated position, regretful at the profound pang when he left your side, he stretched his body thin to hook his hand on the shelf and pull himself up to blow the pillar candle out. Night wrapped its spindly fingers around his torso. Creating sharp cuts of pebbled flesh calling out for body heat, a comfort new to him and old all the same. He reached for the next one in the line, but a distraction presented itself.

Your body. Glowing radiant under the diminutive light. Curve after curve. Peaks of your breasts down to your ass, a tantalizing presentation of femininity. Hills and valleys surely made for him, he fit in them so well.

The sway of your stomach at each breath.

His fingers went numb. Arm tingling. Paused in its extension for the candle.

The flame was forgotten.

Obito’s arm slipped under your neck, his knees nestled into the vacancy behind yours, draping himself over your curves. Running his hand over your waist. Rubbing circles. Entranced at the possibilities of his future.

He put his face to the crook of your neck, lips grazing your salty skin, yearning croaking his words, “Can’t wait for your belly to swell with my child.” Gathering you in his palm he could almost picture it.

“Looking forward to it as well,” you drawled from the inbetween stages of consciousness, mind escaping to planes of melatonin abyss. Swimming through scenes of the past, present, visions of eventuality. You curled your fingers around his index tracing over your womb and squeezed, then let go once he squeezed back, mumbling about the late night.

His indulgences couldn’t be dissuaded so easily. He wanted it to happen now. For his child to be here. To meet them. To become what he never knew.. a father. He encompassed your belly in one hand. Buried his face in your hair. Closed his eyes. Invoking his imagination to scenarios he didn’t divulge in over the last four years.

“My child.. When you’re pregnant with my child, I’ll wait on you hand and foot. Give you whatever I can. Treat you well..” His throat cinched tight. Possibilities that ran amuck in his head prior to the meadow. “Seeing your body change. Gods.. Growing something we created.”

“Obito,” you crooned. “There’s my soft Obito.” You searched behind you and found his temple to console him in long, lethargic swipes of your thumb to the best of your drowsy ability. “You’ll be a wonderful father.”

Overcome with emotion. Your words a thoughtful gesture. So easy for you to utter them. To grace him with his idyllic fantasy. Granting his wishes, one after the other. His next moves were instinct; to scoop you up into him, his exploring moving upwards, originally with the intent to eliminate the minuscule distance between you two--a hairsbreadth--but his compulsions lead his hands over your breasts. Rough fingertips skimming your nipples.

Suddenly, the eight bells signifying your bedtime were inconsequential.

Your hard nipples gave him a second wind.

“The evidence of my climax resides within you, but I didn’t give you the same reaction, did I?”

“Are you asking if I had an orgasm?” you guessed, twisting your upper body and arching your back. Giving him access to your breasts while temping his cock between your ass cheeks. Eyes still half-closed in lust and sleep.

His ears reddened and he stammered at your candor, “Yes.. The evidence of me having one of those is obvious, so, I’m.. just asking..”

“My sweet Obito,” you mocked, taking the opportunity to appear kittenish and run a finger over the pale scar cutting across his cheek, as rosy as a freshly budded poppy. “I didn’t have one.. but I could.”

Scarcely had you seen his personality switch in the snap of your fingers, or a suggestion on your lips. From a mask of indifference to free-feeling joy. Joy you’d seen once a year, perchance, when you were still juveniles during Yuletide; when his earthly woes evanesced like a steam on a hot drink during winter. He wasn’t an orphan, a guard, a knight, leader of The Nine, and you weren’t a princess, nor your father the king. On this one day you were all equals under the eye of the solstice God. A night of freedom to wander the streets and find Obito in an empty alleyway and gift him a homemade present. It didn’t matter how small, elaborate, or expensive it was to make that year, or when you burnt the cookies you worked on all day. He feasted on them as if he’d been starving for weeks.

The same ferocity he used to attack your neck now.

Suckling on the tender flesh under your ear, running his teeth over it, nipping. You craned away to afford him all the room to satisfy his appetite. Presenting yourself as he mounted you, his weight inhibiting your wriggling, his hips constraining his erection to rest on your clit, but forbade you from seeking relief.

“Obi-” you groaned. A small hum buzzing your skin against his viscous mouth answered. He traveled lower. Lines of his kisses left rapidly bruising marks. Those sinful teeth experimented with pressure, sharp canines dining, and then a cooling lap of his tongue as an apology to the tears in the corner of your eyes.

Your limbs captured him. Your arms secure over the packed muscles shifting on his back. Your hands in his hair. Your legs hooking around his in effort to catch him unawares and reap the length of his cock while you arched your hips in the infinitesimal room he granted you.

Obito put an end to your rebellion. “You are always in charge,” he said, lips grazing the hollow of your clavicle. “I’m taking control.” More beautiful words had not been spoken. No language more sensual than that rolling off his tongue.

The warmth of him slid away, permitting your clit an enviable respite and the resilience to keep going.

“These will swell with milk too,” Obito purred, cupping your breasts and bouncing them lightly. Subject to his complete attention, his complete arousal, his innate human desire to create another lended itself into a shared myotopic rush of adrenaline, passing an agreeable nature into your veins. An alacrity to do anything for him. His amenability to do anything for you.

Bless the Goddesses listening to the obscene lapping of Obito’s immoral tongue on your breast.

“Ahh,” a long, drawn out, airy moan flowed forth, weaving between your ample cleavage pushed together by his palms. He nipped once at the thin skin above your areola, smiling impishly. Then he honored your whines.

Born a forgotten bastard with a hidden virility in his stare. Decades of yearning kept quiet. He licked his ignoble lips and sealed his mouth to your nipple and sucked. Curling the tip of his tongue around the accumulation of nerve endings, aroused, erect, responding to his advances. Oh, how he wanted to know all the pleasure points on your body. To play with them all at once and have your moans be heard by the guards outside your room.

At such a raunchy thought, Obito had another grand idea.

“Open.” You peeked an eye open to see what he was talking about. His fingers.. hovering over your lips. Two. The two that were in you earlier. “Open,” he commanded, harsher, air cooling the spit on your nipple.

Dry lips. Parched. Saliva thick. Dry as the dirt your floor-length skirts kicked up when teaching Obito how to dance in the storage closet next to the kitchen one summer when you were children.

Your dry lips hesitated to part, then submitted at the behest of his smooth nails gliding across them. Prodding them. Hinging your mouth open.

“Wet them for me, princess.”

You detested most of the men who spoke to you, but this one could ask you to bend over backwards and shoot an apple off a pig’s head if it meant he would ultimately desecrate you.

No order was too big an ask. You’d perform them all.

You curled your tongue around, over, under, learning his finger prints. The thickened skin from use, the scars, the twitch of his tendons when you separated them to suck on his fingers one at a time as he did your nipples.

Sated, he receded. Fingers shining wet, aglow in the red candle flaming above your bed.

Having only one mouth, he trailed his fingers down your chest, leaving slick lines, and taunted your lonely nipple with a single brush, still suckling the other flushed and swollen at his perversions. Tingling flesh anticipating the dual motions.

Then he surprised you.

He stuffed his fingers in his mouth and added to the wetness. Cupping your unattended breast to lift the lonesome nipple to his lips, he raised his face to watch you closely.

He wedged his arm between your bodies. Flattened his palm to your mound. Fingers seeking the warm flesh tucked between the apex of your thighs. He caved in and gave you what you wanted.

Your hips jerked. His fingers traced your cunt. Your hands had left his hair ages ago to snatch the quilt in your death grip to allay your crass bays of approval. And yet, he circled, circled, circled around your clit. Teasing the pool of want coating your legs. Need lacing your whimpers. The cry in your steeled muscles, aching for it.

“My princess requests my fingers, does she? My cock as well?”

“Yes!” you bellowed. “Please give me- Give me both!”

“So greedy and high maintenance, clamoring for all of me.”

“Please,” you whined, breathless, for all the air dashed from your lungs as the single fingerpad edged over your hood to the bundle of nerves. Pulled it back. Two fingers ran the length on either side. Closing in. Rubbing in patterns at his laggard pace.

“So gorgeous when you say my name.”

You weren’t aware you were talking--or rather, babbling--nor releasing sounds of pleasure whilst fidgeting with the quilt. Arching, convulsing, grinding his hand and surging forth under his tongue. The orchestra of sensations wore on every fiber of your being, rendering them threadbare. Unraveling you. Entertaining the man who dipped his fingers to cover them in your mix of fluids and use it to stir the pressure in your core to unrelenting pulses.

Obito’s face lustered with sweat, but no task was too laborious, especially if it ended with you coming for him.

Your breathing changed, short and sweet pants, and Obito noticed this along with your thighs tensing around his hand. Fuel for another devilish act.

“I’m going to move you how I like.” He didn’t ask permission this time, instead leaving you cold and confused at the abrupt loss of his body. You waited, motionless, while he switched to laying on his side next to you and rolled you to your side, but away from him.

He grasped your inner thigh and tossed your leg over his hip, opening you wide, your needy cunt chilly in the night air. The arm under your neck crooked up and your back curved--you the bow, him the arrow--bringing your nipple to his clever hand. After roaming the dip in your waist, he dove down to what was pressed against your entrance.

“So wet for your knight’s cock,” he mused in your ear, lightly pinching your nipple and plunging forth his hips to coat himself in the mess between your legs.

“You know I’ve wanted you.. wanted you for so long,” you said between huffs, cheek pressed to the pillow. He thrusted, guiding his slick head over your clit. “Give it to me! Make me come,” you begged.

He would never want to disobey his future queen.

Obito sank into you, pushing himself to his limit, and stopped. Your pussy embraced him. Twitching along his shaft. Even more so when his fingers returned to their rightful place; your clit. Such a wonderful feeling, when you tightened around him. The involuntary shudders massaging him.

The lovebites, mixed with praise and degradation, continued while he bent you to his will. Tweaking your nipple. Kneading your clit. And lazily rocking his hips into you, swaying your bodies in tandem. “My perfect girl, taking me like that.”

His murmurs in your ear. Goosebumps prickling your flushed body, overloading on senses, feeling the faintest brush of the canopy at your feet. The harsh quilt on your overworked skin, rubbing back and forth as he fucked you slowly. The delicious pressure on your clit. The grunt of effort at your shoulder followed by harsh kisses.

“I..!” The clench of your pussy around his cock stole your words. He picked up his pace, pumping gently at first, keeping himself under control. Barely. “I’m-” you gasped, “just-” You let go of your pillow--not sure when you started clutching onto it for dear life--and placed your hand over his, adjusting his fingers, straining yours over his, rubbing up and down. Faster. Faster. Gushing on his cock.

His palm eclipsed your breast, latching on, unable to keep himself back. A swift cant of his hips. Plowing deeper, deeper. Fucking you with all his strength from the sideways position. Groaning as you gripped him. Tighter. Tighter.

You bit your lip to stifle your moans.

Then the pressure in your core piqued.

You let go of every social grace you knew.

You screamed his name, putting vigor behind something you’ve said hundreds of times, and thought thousands more.

“Please, Obito!”

A single stroke, that’s all it took for you to erupt. Your body seized, jerked, quaked under his touch. Lustful curses raced past your devout lips. Crying his name to your pillow as you both administered your pleasure, overstimulating you through your climax until you could have no more; shivering, curling to his nefarious fingers, knowing he was smirking as you came for him.

“Oh, fuck-” he said suddenly, hunkering his forehead to your shoulder.

“Oh, Gods-” you said due to his frantic pounding shoving you.

He snatched his hand away from your cunt to clamp onto your hip, keeping you steady. Rocking you away and snapping you in, his hold painful. You wove your fingers through his hair, tugging it lightly, and moaning for him to fill you with his cum.

The last of your orgasm fluttered around his aching cock. The swollen head throbbed.

Two shaky thrusts later, he poured his offering into you like a deity in a single prolonged shuddering breath down your spine.

As his body went limp, he adjusted his softening cock out of the way, and you stayed snuggled together, eyes closed. Resting in the hushed calm of midnight. Bodies fit together as you left them; legs interlaced, him draped over you protectively, one of your hands clasped to his meaty forearm covering your breasts, the other fanning his hair. He kissed your shoulder in a laxed manner and grounded himself by cherishing your stomach in sleepy strokes. A smug smile carved his face at the prospect of having an heir on your father’s throne.

You broke his self-important daydreaming to question him, “Where did you learn this position? I don’t recall reading it in a book nor seeing it in a painting.”

His smirk against your neck vanished. “Hidan,” he muttered.

“Hidan!” you guffawed. “Hidan spoke of this position, with the woman’s orgasm and all?”

“No, only the man’s pleasure.” You ‘ahh’d. “The rest was improvised by me.”

“Hmm,” you approved. “So it seems you learned something from Hidan, afterall.”

Obito’s ire was at your ear, “If you dare tell him I took his advice..”

“I know not what you speak of,” you said, inspecting your chipped nail in the candlelight--presumed from removing his armor earlier, and continued, “I have no relations with The Nine.”

“I know you sneak down there looking for me and stay to trade words with Konan.”

“How did you-? Did she-” Your agitation was interrupted.

A heavy knock at your door, four times. Plated knuckles on solid wood.

“Your lady!” the voice paused. The sound of feet shuffling on the cobblestone outside, then he rapped his knuckles again. “Your lady, I have come to escort you to your father’s study!” The wheezing instancy in his words led you to believe he ran here across the length of the castle to summon you. Concluding what you predicted is coming to pass a few days ahead of schedule.

Dreading the worst, you tapped Obito’s arm. With difficulty, he fought against the automatic reflex to cover your body with his and demand you stay with him.. to not leave him after all he suffered to get here.. but he stripped himself away and watched you sit up, hissing about the cold floor.

It was empty again. His chest, an amalgamation of naive illusions convincing himself that this would have lasted longer than a single night. That he could be more than your guard.

Obito thought he had what he wanted, enough to tide himself over until a violent death would relieve him, but he was left unfulfilled.

The shelter of your room subsided and the bitter loneliness accepted him, familiar and frightening.

“Can you help me dress?”

“I can, my lady.”

You sneered at him for using titles again, but snuffed the downturn of your mouth once you saw the cast of forlorn dismay in his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

He pushed himself off the mattress and padded over to your armoire, opening the shutter doors, surprised they were swift and uncreaking unlike his in the The Nine’s quarters, and he groped at the clothing.

“Obito?” you prompted when the stab of anxiety in your chest pained too much to ignore at his refusal to look at you.

“We both know why you’re being summoned.”

“It doesn’t change anything.” He tilted an ear to you. “It doesn’t change anything between us.” You joined him at your wardrobe in graceful, floating footfalls so catlike you could sneak up on a hound. Nudging him aside, you withdrew a hidden key and further unlocked more keys in more drawers, a plethora of confusing puzzles fit together in the darkness where no one would guess, and you held up a single vial. A swish of red liquid flashed in the low light. “The color of his wine tonight, surely. I’ll slip it in, listen to him drone on about whichever war he wants to start with whichever kingdom, then I’ll return to you and he’ll be none the wiser.” You kissed Obito on his scarred cheek and smiled. “If he asks, I’ll inform him you slayed the dragon, and that the creature fell by your sword alone.”

Expressing indifference erring on the side of trepidation, Obito shrugged. His expression remained impassive as he tore his gaze from the vial to your white linen chemise, pulling it off the hanger and scrunching it in his hands, gesturing for you to bow your head so he can slip it over you. “A dose that insignificant will only last ‘til your wedding,” he reminded you sullenly.

“Which means nothing to me,” you reminded him with a hard glare, conviction deepening your voice. You smoothed out a crinkle in your underdress and tried to fill in his leaps of logic, “I’ll brew more poisons with Sasori’s help. Promise him whatever he wishes, to keep his mouth shut. We’ll get it right this time. Kill the king, marry the prince, you do away with the prince, and I’ll birth your heir and grant you your rightful place next to me,” you finished with a hopeful flourish.

“Oh, is that all?” he asked less than impressed. Downright miserable. Like your solutions were childish idealism, unable to be completed. Unobtainable.

“Are we discussing this again?” It wasn’t your fault the first step encountered hiccups; your father was taking to the poison less than expected, but it would work! Eventually. His death was a rock at the top of a hill. Soon it would start rolling and the other problems would be squashed effortlessly in its wake.

“I dislike sharing you.”

“It is not sharing! It’s only lending my hand, temporarily.. Pick one with a high neck.”

Obito sighed at your pointless wordsmithing and chose an emerald base gown with simple ties in the front paired with an opulent high collared back-laced evening bodice. “So rarely in my life have I had anything of my own, something that truly belongs to me, and I.. I get so angry thinking about him.. and you.”

You stuck your arms straight up and he tugged down the dress until your jaded face emerged from the folds of fabric. “One kiss to solidify our papers in front of the council, that’s all. Then you can burn his lips off for all I care and toss him down the river.”

Hope was an awful thing. Readily handed out to plebeians who believed their prayers would be heard, resolute their ineffective sentences running laps in their heads could flip their woes to fortune if only invisible beings heard them.

Hope was devastating. Heralding the fall of men to their knees in battle, telling their moneyless families they would return with sacks upon sacks of gold from warring kingdoms. And being offered a burlap bag of rice at their funeral in their stead.

Hope was hope. Reassuring words passing by in the form of your lips on his, only to be striked down, not by the hand of a God, but by truth itself. Insufferable truth. What was said, and what could not be. Your promises were not truth. It was against the law for you two could not be together in the capacity he wanted, and such cruelty on your part for embarking those words into his psyche stung water to his eyes.

Why would you disgrace him with hope?

Clapping you by the shoulders, he spun you around to cinch down the bodice before you could question the cropping of tears, the sniffle in his nose, or the sinister twist of shadows across his face. “I’ll do more than that,” he swore, speaking from the corner of his mouth as he ground his teeth. “I’ll do more than that to the prince.”

“So be it.”

Devising a plan in his head, he jerked the lacing taut and you gasped. “Did I hurt you?” He stared at the cream colored ribbons coiled in his palms, recalling the times your waist appeared smaller than it was currently.

“No, no, uhm..” you stalled. “It’s.. well, you are dripping out of me when you pull it tight like that.”

A mirthless snort broached the frizzy curls tickling your earlobe. You should’ve known he would be merciless. Obito bound the ribbons around his fist and whipped them tight over your waist. The high pitched whirr of fabric-on-fabric tunneling through the holes and being knotted in a lovely bow above the crest of your ass spurred new resentment for your loyal knight. The result of his smarmy aid gushed between your thighs. “Obito! Ugh.” You hung your head and grimaced. “Shouldn’t you want it in me, not out of me?”

“I can provide more, later.”

Your lecture on chivalry was put to an end by a rattling at your door. “A moment, please!” you yelled, then whipped around to stab a finger at Obito’s chest. “Hurry, or else you’re being demoted to court jester.”

“Yes, my lady,” he said. “Do you prefer the juggling variety or the bard kind?”

“Whichever one stays silent.”

“Juggler it is.” He placed a hand on your lower back and guided you to your vanity where you selected a different set of hair pins and handed them over your shoulder one at a time.

You picked up your small mirror and tsked, curling some longer strands to frame your face, and patting them to cover your neck. “This collar doesn’t cover them,” you sneered at the lovebites and their adjacent lovebruises.

Though, through the looking glass, you surmised this was his way of claiming you the only way he could.

Obito twisted your hair and pinned it into place, and reached around you to angle the mirror so it reflected the mocking lift of his brow. “My apologies, princess. I got carried away.” You flipped the mirror back to you and acted more bothered than you were by rolling your eyes.

More knocks, increasing in frequency and lessening in patience.

“Right,” you whispered to yourself, slipping on your shoes. Halfway to the door, you aboutfaced to Obito’s stark nakedness standing at your vanity with your mirror in hand, peering at himself. “Did you eat before coming here?”

“No.” He ran a few fingers over the scars carving the length from his cheek to his chest, almost like he was realizing they were there for the first time.

“I’ll send some food for you.”

“Thank you.” His voice was lost in the creak of your door, the swish of your skirts, and the pressure of his prodding at a gnarled puckering of skin on the column of his neck.

You walked--waddled--with your escort leading you and your two guard knights flocking to your sides.

“Can I be of any assistance, my lady?” the knight who threatened Obito asked, eyeing your mismatched slippers. “Fetch you new shoes, perhaps?”

You dismissed him with a terse “no.”

~~~

The meeting went swimmingly by your standards, foretold by your hands trembling from the rush of endorphins as you clutched the handle of your chamber’s doors. Grandiose in your entrance and of your bolting them in the faces of your guards.

Wafts of heat greeted your frigid skin. On the wall opposite of your bed, your fireplace roared, bathing the room in streaks of orange and dusk. You ditched your shoes; one heeled, one not, and made your way over to the set of plush velvet chairs facing the fire, housing a man much too large for them.

Obito sat, legs sprawled, an arm thrown over the intricate mahogany wood frame, swirling a goblet of wine and smirking at the flames dancing in his eyes. Anchoring your hands on either side of his shoulders, you leaned over in curiosity. A silver tray covered his bare lap, displaying an arrangement of sliced fruits and nuts.

He stroked his knuckles on your gown above your thigh and you watched his chest swell as he expanded his lungs with the scent of wine, and sipped. Pitching the nearly empty goblet to his mouth. Rolling the liquid over his tongue. Mesmerizing you with the bob of his throat. Thus far, he neglected to acknowledge your presence aside from those knuckles running over the fabric of your dress in his entranced state. He stared into the void, smirk affixed, swishing the wine around the cup. Lounging his bare ass on your chair.

You announced your return needlessly.

“I have decided what I am going to do to your prince.” His canines glimmered in the light.

“And that is?” you said, bending at the waist, ruffling the velvet atop the chair, then you turned your hands on him. Sliding them across the bulk of his shoulders and running them down his chest. Smoothing the coarse black hair present at the center of his pecs and sternum, holding yourself back from going lower.

Slowly, he faced you. Wine straining his lips, doling out soothing kisses on your cheekbone. His nose, flushed red, teased your eyelashes. “Open,” he commanded not for the first time that night. You obeyed without question.

The cold rim of the goblet pressed to your mouth and you craned your head, giggling when he poured too much. Overflowing, it dripped over your chin. Plum red droplets splattered, splashing a mottled red and yellow apple. Trickling over the harsh cut of his adonis belt muscles, steering your attention to a well endowed gift hidden under the tray, not ready to be unwrapped just yet.

He swiped his thumb along your chin, collecting the dribble of wine and bringing it to his mouth. You looked on, eyes flitting from his thumb to his seductive tongue brushing past his darkened lips to clean the spill. A long moment spent enrapturing you in his movements, beholding you with half-closed eyes, as he licked the length of his finger. Sending a fresh wave of lust to your core.

Your clit throbbed at the sight. And he knew. He curled his tongue at the end and flicked it up, wine wetting his palate, and soon, you would be too.

He would’ve laughed at your needy whine if it weren’t for you crushing him. During his show, your arms had worked on their own to close over his chest in an airtight hug, and your lips smashed against his, kissing him as hard as he kissed you. Forthcoming in your passion equal to his. Tasting the wine on his tongue. The beat of his heart in your palm. Smelling your oils on him.

You controlled his mouth with yours until your light-headedness faded and you remembered he was trying to tell you something. “What were you doing about the prince?” Transferring your fevered kisses to his neck, you bruised him as he did you.

“Do about? Nothing. Do to? Now, that’s what I’ve been planning.” His answer tingled every nerve in your body, curled your toes, hardened your nipples rubbing against the carved wood of the chair’s back in secret.

“Semantics.”

“No, I want to be precise. I want you to hear me.” He drained the goblet of its swig of wine and placed it on the tray with a hard clang. “First, I will cut his tongue so he can never speak of our child.” You paused your kisses and creased your brows. “I look nothing like him. He’ll know as soon as he sees our child’s hair, much less when they grow and adorn my features.”

“Ah, I see.”

“After that, I’ll gouge his eyes so he cannot see you. Then, I’ll sever his hands so he cannot touch you.” You hummed along, nipping at the thick skin on his shoulder, hands exploring his abs. He wrenched a grape free from the vine on the tray and held it to you. His index and thumb rolled it, enticing you. Halting your devouring of him, you opened your mouth and he plopped it in. You accepted it graciously, popping the grape’s skin, moaning at the juices flowing forth.

Obito grappled at the tilting tray as blood surged elsewhere, and nodded approvingly at your salaciousness, plucking the seed from between your plump lips and flicking it away. He filled your mouth with another succulent grape. “I’ll hack off his legs so he cannot climb into your bed. His dick? You don’t want to know,” he said, chuckling darkly. Then he lifted his head at a trivial thought. “Or maybe I’ll do that first.

“Either way,” he groaned as your fingers parted the hair below his navel, “the prince’s will death will be my consolation prize.”

“A wonderful plan, my dear knight,” you cheered in earnest. The sooner the prince was dead, the quicker you could forget the torpid waste that will be your one and only wedding day.

“Wonderful, indeed,” he commended himself.

No more dawdling. Obito needed stimulation, lest he be teased to the point of pain.

Grasping the handles of the tray in a white-knuckled display of refrained self-control, he lifted it off his lap. The shadows grew thin. He freed himself from your hold to lean over and place it on the table before you could ogle at the results of your teasing. Though, doing so, gave you a glimpse of his round ass--just as delectable.

When he returned to his sitting position, legs sprawled and an arm thrown over the frame of the chair, he observed your change in demeanor. Flirtatious to outright mouth-watering lust at his hardened cock inches from your hands.

“You want me to touch you, hm?” you baited him with a childish lilt and puckered lips. “You want me to service you, my knight?”

Obito gandered at you, rocking his head side to side, sizing you up as you two passed the torch of domination round and round in your relationship. “I’ve had a long day, you see, journeying on horseback.” He drove his thumbs over his hip crease to squeeze his inner thigh, accentuating his twitching cock. “I am very tired and sore from my travels. I heard there was a princess in this kingdom who could alleviate my stress. I traversed many realms in search of her.”

“And where is it you are hurt again?” you asked, wrapping your fingers around his cock and pumping him after his weary day. “Here?”

He kicked his feet out and slumped to rest his head on the back of the chair. “Right there,” he moaned.

Before, the pressure of the tray over his lap provided a scant consolation. Merely giving his engorged tip a surface to rub against. Now, your hand; a palm free of calluses, a slick thumb spreading his precum over the head, the edge of your curled fingers, your arm hugging him from behind and your kisses tracing his square jaw. These were true relief.

“Does it feel good, my love?”

Arguably simple words cleansed the stress from his body. Asking him the world’s most asinine question, yet they ruled his focus away from the building heat in his core to your lips; not for what they were doing to his earlobe, but what they called him. Love. And you didn’t shy away nor try to excuse it as a slip of the tongue. They weren’t a mistake uttered in the throws of passion. You were taking care of him and loving him.

When you were met with stark silence, you suggested a different act, supposing your hand was inadequate. An act more lewd and serving. “I can get on my knees and pleasure you with my mouth, if you prefer.”

Your wet, warm, supple mouth. A pliant tongue around his already straining erection.

“You don’t have to do that..” he whispered to your retreating body, your sticky hand leaving him to trace the peaks of his arm as you walked around the side of the chair.

Obito had his eyes locked on you as you traced down to his knuckles, standing in front of him. He grasped your hand, but you slipped away from his hold, your nimble fingers gliding over his to bundle the front of your dress. The air fluffed up your skirts as you knelt before him on the loomed lambswool rug, intruding on the space between his thighs. From his point of view, the keyhole cutout of your bodice lined your cleavage up with his cock magnificently.

He was the center of your attention.

Your chair a throne.

The veins in his arms protruded, ensnaring the armrests of the chair and sinking his fingernails into the wood. Cool to the touch and rigid. Your mouth was the opposite.

You teased his swollen tip. Tempting him into submissiveness by gripping the base and taming it to your lips, wetting both in a quick lick. “Did you picture this when I was undressing you?”

“Yes,” he admitted so quietly his voice cracked.

It seemed where it concerned him and decision making, great restraint came with great regrets, but Obito had to say, just in case you were doing this just to appease him, “You do not have to dirty your mouth on me..”

Foreplay and sex could be enjoyed by both. This was a pure act of love husbands begged their wives for.. or paid paid wenches for. One where you did not receive equal pleasure; and here you were, volunteering to exceed your role like you always did. For him, and only him.

“I want to,” you repeated. “Besides, you are not filthy.”

“I’m a lowlife scoundrel who charmed him way into this castle.

“And never once have I regretted falling for you.”

The descent. Your mouth around his cock. A haze of endearing lust. Swallowing him. His mind, ravished. The weight of his woes falling away. Ceasing all input not concentrated on the tingling of your licks on his tip, tasting him with your lips stretched over his length, your hand pumping pleasure into his shaft; your moans vibrating him.

Obito lifted a trembling hand to adore your hollowed cheek, stunned into admiration at the beauty of your eyes staring into his. He felt every swirl, flick, every soothing caress of your tongue.

The hand not on his cock reached around to clasp him on the ass, tugging him to the edge of the chair while you wiggled closer to his lap, experimenting with how much of him you could take.

He inhaled, your sharp claws in his backside.

You choked on his cock.

Tears dotted the corner of your eyes. Ever the gentleman, he wiped them away and combed your hair out of your face, moving it to one side of your head to illuminate your tender sucking. You recovered from your embarrassment and were determined to go lower, past where you left off. Below the point of your spit wetting his shaft. You pumped faster, opened wider, evened out your breathing, and bobbed your head, maintaining eye contact.

Low grunts of satisfaction mingled with the crackling of the fire warming your backside.

Splotchy primal arousal darkened his chest, crept up his neck, tinted his ears, and flushed his face to match his reddened cockhead. “You’re doing so well, my love.”

His gravelly voice was the personification of sex.

Blushing, you released your hold on him to brag, brushing your lips on his swollen tip threatening to burst, “I can do more.”

The eagerness in your voice. The fast paced heave of his abs and their hitch with a held breath. You tested your tenacity, taking him until he hit the back of your throat. Then deeper. Letting his cock grow accustomed to its new home, spoiling him with your tongue. You hand stroked what you couldn’t handle--for now.

Obito performed a whole body sigh, then tensed when you jerked him off, hand and mouth working in tandem. A wall of immovable muscle. Scooping up any unsavory memory in his mind to keep him from coming in your mouth; they fell through his fingers like dregs in the bottom of a teacup.

A pooling tingle at his spine foretold of his impending ruin.

Your lips slickened with saliva and precum, leaving him with hardly enough strength to keep his hand fisting your hair. Urging you further. To take more. More. More. His hips jumped at their own rhythm. His thighs clenched. You whined pitifully as he fucked your mouth, but he didn’t notice, too lost in paradise. His gaped-mouth groans repressed yours, calling you his special girl, how proud he was of you, how much he loved you.

“I-I’m going.. I need!” he snapped, jerking his hips from you in distress, and thus freeing his cock from your mouth. It flopped to the left of your face with no one daring to grab it, fearing he would come on the spot. “We can’t waste it,” he implored, hoping you understood.

..His worry turned dark once his blood cycled its way back to his brain and he took inventory of your face. Swollen lips, a line of drool on your chin, your puffy eyes watering.

He went too far. He hurt you for his own sexual gratification. He gave in to the desires that haunted him since he was old enough to learn why his cock went hard at the sight of you.

Then..

You grinned. A goofy smile accompanied by a girlish giggle; the apples of your cheeks brushed his thumbs wiping away your tears. You weren’t hurt. You were loving it.

Spry, a playful twinkle in your glassy eyes, you stood and spun around. Gathered, gathered, gathered all your layers of skirts and dresses in your arms. Obito didn’t wait. Couldn’t wait. He bent you over the table and his hard cock was at your aching entrance, the back of your thighs covered in previous lovemaking.

He didn’t stop to admire his work. He needed you. Now.

Brutish, animalistic rutting. Fucking your moans to desperate gasps. Forcing you to duel with the tray of fruit and nuts to steady yourself, and ultimately swiping it from the low table altogether. It clattered to the floor and his viscous pounding conjured another object: the empty vial exhumed from its spot between your cleavage, clinking to the floor and rolling to the iron wrought gate of your fireplace.

Guttural hiccups of your name over and over, his voice skipping syllables in favor of each slam of his hips to your round ass. He circled a cheek and slapped it, feeling the bounce against his shaft, drawing his hips back one last time. His cockhead could take no more. Your pussy tightened around him. Your moans led him to the precipice. But during those final strokes of his cock in your chambers, you felt too far away.

He wrapped you up in his arms and closed the distance, keeping up with his short, quick thrusts while you groped his hands over your clothed breasts, guiding his fingers in circles over your nipples.

Spurts of cum sent a sweltering pang to your blushing cheeks. His sloppy kisses heated your neck. The fireplace burned molten lust on your bare cunt.

Obito prolonged his orgasm, rolling his hips in tenuous, long drags while he lifted your dress, skimming over your mound. Rippling anticipation struck goosebumps across your flesh. A single finger dipped lower, separating your lips, grazing over your clit.

“I understand now.”

“Understand what?” you groaned, legs shaking in your odd stance, keeping him and his cum inside while also lurching for that single finger rubbing back and forth over the hood of your clit.

“Why you wanted to use your mouth when it does not bring you any pleasure.”

“No pleasure? But it does, Obito, I love making you come.”

“Right,” he agreed. “And now all I can think about is doing the same to you.”

A flurry of seconds passed in the batting of eyelashes and flattery fanning your cheeks. You were in the chair. Most of your dress was stuffed behind you in a cocoon of pillowy fabrics or strained across your lap, pulled taut in your damp hands over your hips to give him access. Your bodice was discarded on the floor and the short drawcord of the front of your gown laid undone and pried open. Your chemise ripped down the center to put your tits on display, gleaming from his masterful tongue.

And you were about to find out how many awards you could bestow upon that skilled tongue.

Slouched, bare ass on velvet, your legs over his shoulders, exposed to his widening grin. You fidgeted with the dress in your hands and waited, brows tucked in and lifting at the cool puff of air from his nose torturing you. A meager plea started in your throat, begging him to worship you. Your whine elevating to a cry when he parted his lips--and yours--and his tongue treasured you.

A quick lick at first. Flicking at the end, getting to know what he discovered hours ago. Your flesh; your clit hidden by a swollen hood, not yet tired from the assault of his fingers, no, it craved his attention.

He would never want to disappoint his future queen.

He brought his mouth to the bundle of nerves, kissed his lips around it, and lapped the length of his tongue over the tiny thing that had you quivering.

“Oh, fuck, Obi,” you whimpered, resisting the urge to drop your head from the oncoming bristle of excitement. At war with yourself; the need to keep your eyelids open to learn the image of your best friend’s all-loving gaze beholding you during his lecherous deed, and the want to close your eyes as your body brimmed with flashes of anticipation.

The longer you watched, the quicker your heartbeat thrummed. Beads of sweat clung to your neck. Your thighs jumped, tightened around his face.

To relieve some of the pressure you put on his shoulders from your vice, he brought one of his hands up to your spilling pussy; your leg falling to the wayside and your shameless moans approaching new levels. He coated two fingers and slid them in, crooking them, tailoring them to maximize the pleasure in your cunt.

Simultaneously, he fucked his cum back into you and suckled on your clit, using the tip of his tongue to caress the hood. The pressure, the absolute bliss of him tending to all your demands while you let go of your dress to pinch your nipples had you rocking, arching, writhing, fucking his mouth and fingers while he ran his other hand up the curve of your ass, valuing every bit of you.

As hectic as it was, he didn’t blame your thrashing.

Something in his soul stirred at the visual of you bowing your head to show your love with your mouth, and it had him coming quicker than he ever had before, and now he was wizened to the feel of a tongue on the most delicate part of his body.

Thrash all you want, grind his face, roll your hips to his knuckles, scream his name until the guards break down your door in concern.

Obito had never been more in love.

Searing euphoria had you forgetting about your breasts--yours hands in general. They made their way to your knight’s hair, fisting it, tugging his mouth to your clit.

Shivering and sweating all at once.

Your legs crushed him. Your thighs quaked. The personal fire in your core blazed flames to your throat, sending the sweetest shout of his name to the dead of night.

Obito held you through your climax, and you had never been more in love.

Shaking muscles cooled to pricking nerves to tranquil post-orgasm spasms as your body went slack. Only becoming active again when he removed his fingers and pressed his lips to your clit in a sorrowful farewell.

He took his time appreciating your come down. The twitch in your inner thigh when he kissed you there. The warmth of your skin where he massaged. Whispers of what an amazing man he was, complimenting his technique, telling him how much you adored him for doing that for you.

He waited, cheek to your hip, eyes cast up in a host of confusing emotions. “Is this the last time we can be together in this form? Maybe once more before the end of the next week?” He hoped.

“Hm?” You scrunched your face and pouted your lips to the side, mulling over his reluctance to sleep in your bed for the rest of eternity. “Why not after you murder the prince?”

“Because I cannot be your husband and the pain will be too much.”

“Why can you not be my husband?”

Obito rolled his head as if to shake it at your senselessness. “Against the law,” he muttered to your skin.

“So I’ll change the law?”

“What?”

You threw up your hands in a shrug, stating the obviousness that simmered below the surface the entire evening; a conclusion, “I will write new decrees. Ones where I can marry whomever I want. Fairly simple, don’t you think?”

“Your council would never let them come to pass,” he intoned like you were an unruly child who had to be told the rules one too many times.

“You say that like we haven’t killed before,” you replied, tracing a lithe finger around his jaw, tipping his chin to you. It worked to further his frustration at you.

“We haven’t.”

“Not yet,” you amended. “But I will have the heads of any man who disagrees with my proposition to marry you.” Shadows advanced up the walls, masking your face until the extinguishing red flames beating their fists on the fireplace’s iron wrought screen reflected in the gloss of your pupils. “No one will come between us.”

Obito’s tense jaw relaxed and he became aware of your finger holding it in place. He held your hand, turning it to present the back of it to him, and he placed a kiss there, then pressed his forehead to it in a bow.

Kill anyone who stood in their way. Revise laws until it suited their needs, and modify the rest to free the people indebted to the kingdom. A prominent solution.

A truth Obito didn’t know he could believe in: your readiness to sacrifice yourself for him, and others like him.

Hope.

“You know I’ve loved you for years, right?” he asked, pushing himself up to your welcoming arms, falling into their easy embrace, your body cradling his in the chair and your fingers trailing the scars on his back.

“I’ve known, and I’ve known I loved you since we met,” you spoke, nuzzling your nose to his scalp to smell your oils. “That’s why I trained myself to sneak around the castle. To meet up with you, to read the forbidden books in the library, to concoct this plan of killing my father without evidence. You were never meant to be anything other than my husband, Obito.”

He lifted his head, eyes wide and, if the dwindling flames weren’t playing tricks on you, water lined his bottom lashes. The brooding man had returned to his youthful self, not afraid to show emotions in front of you. You kissed the itchy hairs bordering his jawline and smiled at him. He smiled back, as he should, without fear of witnesses splitting you apart.

“I’m so fortunate to have met you, my princess.. my love.”

“I’m the fortunate one, my handsome knight. My second decree after our marriage; you will not be known as the Queen’s consort, Prince, or Duke. No, I will call you my king.”

Obito’s gusto laugh rang off the metal in your room, your own mirth joining in. “I don’t think the citizens will take kindly to me ranking above you, my lovely queen regnant,” he turned coy, “but you are more than welcome to call me king in bed.”

“Oh, hush. You’re letting your status go to your head, already.” He shushed you by crashing his lips on yours, and you pinched his bicep, both giggling, tickling each other, and wrestling to exert the onset energy decades of suppressed happiness created.

The candescent popping logs in your fireplace ebbed to glowing embers. Crisp winter air rolled in like a dreamy fog.

Your chair laid turned over during your romp, its gangly legs pointing at the disarray of fruit on the floor. Layers of your dresses were disposed in ripped heaps. Hair pins would take ages to find, lost in the tumble to un-lit corners of the room, under furniture, poking your hip.

The fuzzy woolen rug lulled your tired eyes to serene darkness, Obito blinked away sleep to look at you a moment longer.

~~~

Unripe orange edged the horizon, a peek of a sunrise battling the ink clinging onto its dominion of the sky. Early birds whistled the first tunes of the songs for their loved ones. Nocturnal creatures closed their lamplike eyes. Flowers turned their blooms eastward. The start of a new day.

Obito snuggled the quilt higher and rocked you closer, if possible. Cuddled since white stars twinkled on midnight blue twilight; your bodies were caught in each other’s arms, legs, hearts, everything. Twisted and twined and braided to create a stronger bond.

He ran his hands over your belly and exposed his neck for you to tuck your face there. You humored him, proclaiming your love in sighs and kisses along his throat, as if you hadn’t made it known time, after time, after time again this past night.

You kept your hand on his chest, enamored at each heartbeat keeping this sappy, greedy man by your side.

“Am I worth the trouble I’ve caused you?” Obito asked.

“You’re in luck,” you said. “You’re worth the exact amount of trouble I’m willing to endure.”

Defying the odds, your father, and society’s rules.

You’d live a long life ruling your kingdom into a revolution of joy. Where citizens could thrive making a living for themselves, not indentured to the castle or becoming fodder in battles in the name of conquest.

All with Obito’s help.. Or not help, when he’d abscond you to a dark corridor to satiate his urges after watching you grant new homes to those in the outskirts of town who lacked resources to patch the holes in their thatched roofs your father left behind after a disastrous paper lantern show during your wedding to the late prince, just before your father’s own passing.

More than once your fleet of new guardian knights had to think up quick-footed responses for turning people away from certain hallways where one of you would be gripping the wall to keep upright while the other was serving on their knees and knuckles were bitten to quiet moans.

Through many days, many years, you ensured a throne for your wealth of heirs to instill your changes towards a better future for everyone.

The meadow remained a sanctuary for the wildlife, never to be turned to farmland.

Most evenings, you could be found there, laying amongst the flowers. Holding hands with your beloved king.