#tongues of serpents | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

checkoutmybookshelf · 1 year

Text

Naomi Novik Has Never Written a Bad Book in Her Life. Let's Talk Temeraire.

*THIS POST HAS SPOILERS. BE WARNED*

I think at this point, it's very, very clear that in this blog, we stan Naomi Novik--and the personal and professional levels of jealousy that she has never written a bad book in her life are real, but do not stop us from celebrating the absolute majesty that is the Temeraire books. If you love a good ensemble cast, then I promise you that the ensemble that Novik builds in these nine books exceeds any other. Yes, even that one. *ducks literally every ensemble fandom yeeting things at my head*

For anyone who hasn't encountered these books before, the tagline is basically "A Napoleonic Wars Travelogue With Dragons," but that does not do justice to the geopolitical, interpersonal, and institutional tour de force that are the different threads of this series. I'll try to avoid mega spoilers, but I'm talking about an entire series, so tread with caution. There MAY BE SPOILERS here.

I belive I was an undergrad when I first discovered this series--as you can perhaps tell from the very, very loved trade paperback copy of His Majesty's Dragon. This first book opens with Captain William Laurence, rising star in his majesty's navy, beating the tar out of a French man-of-war. Except whoops, there is a dragon egg on board, and most inopportunely, it's about to hatch. The aerial corp is...looked down on at best at this point in Novik's alternate fantasy history, and having to harness a dragon means the complete and utter destruction of a naval officer's career. When Temeraire hatches, Laurence ends up harnessing him while trying extremely hard not to think about what he's doing and what the implications for his personal and professional life will be.

This first book is very much all about Temeraire and Laurence finding their footing in the aerial corps and with each other. Laurence has to learn to let the navy go, and yet is in the unenviable position of being just enough of an outsider int he aerial corps to question things the other aviators take for granted. This is gonna be a theme.

Then there is Temeraire. It's easy, so so easy, to forget how young Temeraire is throughout this series. He's just a baby, really, in this book, but is nevertheless yeeted into the Napoleonic wars, where he is entirely unafraid to demand both fair treatment and answers to questions. This will also become a theme.

We also meet the formation of dragons and captains in this book that we will follow throughout the rest of the series, and the sheer amount of personality Novik packs into them makes this world and ensemble absolutely rich. There are--thankfully--not as many named characters in these books as there are in The Wheel of Time or Game of Thrones, but in many ways, these captains and dragons are more fully human the secondary characters in those worlds. *ducks the WoT and Jordan fans' rage*

His Majesty's Dragon is the smallest scale book of the series, and really spends time immersing you in the covert and the aerial corps. This is the smallest the world ever feels in the series, and it doesn't feel small.

The world and dragon lore expand rapidly in Throne of Jade, which is unequivocally my favorite book in the series, despite my favorite dragon of the series not appearing in it. This book's catalyst is the consequences of Naval Captain William Laurence defeating a French ship and taking a Chinese dragon egg--which turned out to be a Celestial, or Lung Tien--as a prize. Turns out, the Emperor of China and his former heir don't love that Temeraire was not only harnessed but also subjected to the brutalities of war. In China, Celestials are first and foremost scholars. Oh, and China and England have diametrically opposed philosophies on dragons as indidivuals and their rights. So in chapter one of this book, we are already dealing with global politics, philosophies of personhood, civil rights (or lack thereof) for dragons, and themes of nationalism, imperialism, colonialism, and isolationism. And that's just the plot.

Interpersonally, we have Temeraire learning to live with both his love for and partnership with Laurence and the heritage and birthright that would offer him an education, civil rights, rank, and possibly the chance to make real changes to how his friends and colleagues in England are treated. Mix that with Laurence, who has the curse of having an open enough mind to be a realistic match for Temeriare's exuberance and idealism and who is dealing with turning his entire life on its head for the second time in less than two years. Then, just to twist the knife, Novik gives us an entire angsty subplot about Laurence freeling giving Temeraire the choice to stay in China, and having to decide if he will stay or not, in the face of massive personal and political pressures. You guys, I love this book so much.

We also meet Lung Tien Lien in this book, and y'all need to remember that name, because this albino Celestial--considered bad luck in China--defects to Napoleon after her companion is killed and that has ramifications through to the final book in the series. Lien and Temeraire honestly do not get along, although this book sees Laurence collect the first two of what will become a freaking rolodex of international connections. De Guinges, the French ambassador to China, has an absolutely delightful amicable sparring relationship with Laurence, and he pops up throughout the series like that dickhead friend who is fantastic for a night out, but would grate if he stuck around much longer than that. The other connection is Prince Mianning, who becomes Laurence's brother when the Emperor adopts Laurence to sever a political Gordian knot. That's also going to have some ramifications down the road.

Black Powder War is essentially the consequences of Laurence's decision to haul ass to Istanbul via a land route to take custody of three dragon eggs England has purchased from the Ottoman Empire. For the geographically savvy of you, yes, this means a desert trek. It also means a guide, who is rapidly but reluctantly added to Laurence's rolodex of connections: Tenzing Tharkey. Tharkey is in and of himself absolutely freaking fascinating--he could be his own post. The son of an English officer and a Nepali woman who was educated but literally always on the margins of every society he interacted with, Tharkey is savvy about basically everything, and SUS AF in this book. I'm going to put a pin in this, however, because Tharkey will absolutely return in the series and literally never fail to be a complete BAMF.

Generally speaking, Black Powder War is my least favorite of the series. It's by no means a bad book, and we meet characters who become crucial and some of my favorites, but the desert trek and brief stay in Istanbul are the bits of the book I tend to forget because with the exception of the introductions of Tharkey, Arkady, and Dragon Queen of the Series Iskierka, it doesn't have the lasting consequences that their time in Austria in the latter sections of the book does.

Prussian dragon treatment is--it's rough, you guys. And the fact that Temeraire and Laurence STILL end up single-handedly evacuating the Prussian royal family and the entire garrison at Danzig as Napoleon's army is literally banging at the fort door and the book ends as a fully-loaded Temeraire is hauling ass into the sky as the defeat turns into a rout means that the last third of the book is the most memorable.

Empire of Ivory picks right up on that frantic flight from Austria, and they make it back to England where Laurence is rightfully furious that their screams for help on their horrifically dangerous aerial channel crossing went entirely unanswered. Poor Temeraire is too exhausted to be anything more than confused as to why his friends didn't come when he called. The heartbreaking truth? There was no one to send.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have ourselves a plague book.

Let me back up for a second. In Throne of Jade, Temeraire briefly runs into his formation, and they're all a bit coldy. Temeraire catches the cold too, but is dosed with a mushroom acquired by the dragon doctor as they passed Africa on the way to China. Temeraire recovers, and literally nobody thinks twice about getting a cold on the long journey to China. It's a ship, people get colds.

It's only once Temeraire and Laurence return home that the trifling cold has turned into a wasting disease that the aerial corps has no way to cure and really no way to treat. Once the dragon surgeons get together and theorize that whatever that mushroom Temeraire ate was a cure, Temeraire and his entire formation are loaded onto a dragon transport with their captains and crews to find the cure. This bit is genuinely heartbreaking guys, because the entire vibe of Maximus getting on the ship is that they either find a cure or they bury him in Africa. Berkeley so desperately needs a hug for like two thirds of this book.

This is quite possibly my favorite book after Throne of Jade, because I am here for a good plague book--and I know that might be a weird take in the year of our lord 2022--but especially a good plague book that shoves English officers' noses in the consequences of colonialism and the slave trade and actually includes the yeeting of slavers and colonizers from their settlements with the help of Kefentse and the other dragons. Seriously, this book is SO GOOD.

The best part of it though, is the last couple of chapters. Laurence, Temeraire, and co. make it back to England with the cure only to find that England has sent a plague carrier into France to infect Napoleon's aerial corps. Laurence--and the crucial thing is that this is Laurence's idea, from start to finish, he wasn't prompted by Temeraire--commits full-on bald-faced treason by taking a tub of cultivated mushrooms to Napoleon himself. An entirely floored but immensely grateful Napoleon offers Laurence and Temeraire asylum in France, but the final chapter of the book is Laurence and Temeraire taking a quiet moment before they cross the channel back to England to face the music. Y'all, I cried so hard finishing this book. I was just grateful that I caught the series at a point where I didn't have to wait a year or more to read the next book.

Victory of Eagles, of all the books in this series, is for the dragons. Laurence is so deep in self-loathing and probably actual depression that he briefly ends up as Wellington's personal dirty job doer, which just exacerbates the problem, because what Laurence is truly deeply wrestling with is the clash between his honor and the whole "I would do treason again because it was the right thing to do" thing.

We spend most of this book with Temeraire though, as he single-handedly empties the breeding grounds of dragons and wrangles them into a massively effective army. He then proceeds to strong arm Wellington into paying the dragons, feeding them, and granting them civil rights. It's not a perfect system by any means, and it's deeply influenced by the Chinese perspective on dragons, so it's a hard sell for Temeraire, but he pulls it off. The other thing Temeraire pulls off is showing Laurence that he can reconcile seeming oppositional worldviews and come to an equilibrium with himself. It's messy as hell, and you bet your ass it has consequences, but this is a real turning point in Laurence and Temeraire's relationship, and their own personal journeys. This book is absurdly well executed.

The consequences of Laurence reconciling his honor and personal philosophy are explored in Tongues of Serpents or Laurence and Temeraire Take Australia or Iskierka Wants an Egg From Temeraire and Really Can't Believe Everyone Isn't Automatically on Board. This is another book for the dragons, really. We get to meet Caesar and Kulingile, and if y'all thought Maximus was the ultimate dragon himbo, my big regal copper baby is about to get dethroned by our Cheequered Nettle/Parnassian hybrid. Regal Coppers in general have himbo vibes, but they're also adorably grouchy old men. Kulingile is basically Kronk in dragon form, with none of the grumpy old man that Regal Coppers have.

What kills me about this book is that Laurence was *THAT CLOSE* to successfully breaking up a smuggling ring and disappearing into the outback for a quiet retirement with Temeraire on their own land in Australia, where they could be left alone and happy.

Then Crucible of Gold starts. Arthur Hammond, who Laurence added to his rolodex way back in Throne of Jade, shows up to Laurence's half-built dragon pavilion and house in the Australian outback to drag him back into global politics. Laurence was *SO CLOSE* to being left alone. He had a BEARD, for crying out loud. He was HAPPY. He and Temeraire were building something. But Hammond manages to talk them into running off to Brazil--by way of a shipwreck and psuedo rescue by the French and a subsequent marooning--to stop them from allying with Napoleon. That mission ends up being a hideous failure because of a combination of the consequences of colonialism, Iskierka being an objectively terrible matchmaker, and Napoleon showing up to put a ring on it.

And to top off the whole ill-fated mission, Gong Su, Laurence's trusted cook, turns out to be working for Prince Mianning, which Hammond wastes zero time leveraging to drag Laurence and Temeraire back to China.

Before we manage to get back to China, however, Blood of Tyrants opens with another shipwreck and Laurence waking up in Japan missing about eight years of memory. And guys, let me tell you, watching Naval Captain William Laurence get suuuuuuuuuper traumatized by everything aerial corps Captain Laurence has done is both hilarious and heartwrenching. The other captains in the formation literally have a "do we tell him about the treason?" conversation that is just on point. And in the background of all of this, Iskierka finally gets the egg she has been frankly harassing Temeraire for for the last like three books. So they're dealing with Laurence/Temeraire drama, geopolitical drama, and Iskierka egg drama.

At that point, finally getting to China and uncovering a false-flag rebellion orchestrated by the conservative party to smuggle just *so much* opium and discredit Mianning felt pretty darn straightforward. Then it all got complicated again, because somewhere along the line, 300 Chinese dragons were promised to support the Russians against Napoleon, and Laurence and Temeraire end this book literally trying to stop Napoleon from conquering Russia in winter. None of this is actually *good* for the character, but I was hanging on each setback and just going "WHAT HAPPENS THEN?"

Well, what happens next in League of Dragons is that Laurence does the most emotionally constipated British Officer thing I have EVER seen and challenges a Russian officer who had a little too much to drink because both his adopted and biological fathers died in the span of like a month or two, and Laurence cannot deal with feelings that big. That duel goes exactly as well as you'd expect, and both men end up very shot, but they also manage to survive, barely. Then we spend the rest of the book wrapping up the plot threads from the preceding eight books, and watching Iskierka and Temeraire realize why the two of them making an egg was both the best and worst possible idea.

This series is just supremely well plotted and well executed, and there will never be any other dragons in the world with this much personality.

31 notes · View notes

starrierknight · 5 months

Text

𝟎𝟐𝟐. 𝐥𝐢𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐬𝐞

“Each of us is born with a box of matches inside us, but we can't strike them all by ourselves.” ― Laura Esquivel, Like Water for Chocolate

KINKTOBER 23' | 𝟏𝐬𝐭 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓* | AO3

*this fic is in media res

wc— 6.3k

pairing— yandere!dom!gn!reader x defected!sub!getou

cws/tags— dead dove: do not eat, yandere/darling dynamic, erotomania, dubcon, mind break, restraints (ropes — shibari), death threats, bodily harm threats, gaslighting/manipulation, heavy sadism/masochism, knife play, manhandling, pain play (scratching + hair pulling), humiliation, dacryphilia + drool, spit as lube, handjob, edging, suguru fantasises about fucking you, frottage, cumming untouched, praise, pet names: “(my) darling” + “good boy”, dialogue-heavy

You stalked over to Suguru, taking the knife out of the back of your shoe, the embodiment of jealous fervour. Your fingers tightened around the knot of ropes at the centre of his shoulder blades, tugging him upright. He heaved and gasped, his face contorting in a mix of fear and confusion when he spotted the gleaming blade in your hand.

"What?! W-What are you doing?!" Panic laced his voice, evident in the wide-eyed terror that flickered across his expression.

Who would protect his loved ones? His body tensed, arms and legs twitching, desperate to escape the impending threat. What would happen to them if he couldn't endure whatever ordeal awaited him? Imminent danger materialised with the knife in your hand. Some type of torture? Did that mean you were going to kill him? The room closed in. He had people to save, damn it!

"Where the fuck is it, Suguru?"

“I don’t understand,” he muttered, shaking his head.

Your initial chuckle morphed into a peal of chilling laughter, your head swaying on your shoulders. Your lip trembled as you screeched, "Where the hell is it, my one and only?!"

Your chest heaved and your blood coursed hotly through your veins like lit gasoline, fueling your temper. The air, hot and suffocating, rushed in and out of your lungs, each exhale a smouldering release.

Where could it be? The words, the tattoo, the declaration? Was the man before you truly your one and only? Was he the illustrious figure you had adored from the shadows all these years? The questions echoed in the caverns of your mind, each reverberation stoking the flames of your incendiary anger.

Inhale. The air, thick and acrid, seared your throat as it surged through you. Your chest expanded with the intensity of a furnace.

No, there had to be a reasonable explanation. Suguru would never willingly choose this. He loved you; he had always loved you. Conviction burned in your thoughts, a desperate attempt to anchor yourself in the belief. The man bound before you was your cherished one. He had to be.

Exhale. A low growl escaped your lips, flames licking at the edges of your composure. Beads formed on your brow and palms, glistening like molten droplets.

It was probably that damned cult of his, wasn’t it? They were jealous, coveting him for themselves. They had stolen him from you, tearing him away from the love and devotion he owed you.

Yet, like fire, jealousy can both illuminate and destroy.

Your fingers trembled uncontrollably as they clutched the knife, the cold steel vibrating. The hilt felt slick in your grasp. The cool reality of the blade danced with the reflected light of the candles in the room, an undulating promise of searing pain.

Kneeling directly in front of Suguru, your armed hand reached around him, the knife a menacing punctuation madness. Your gaze bore into his eyes with a ferocious intensity, a frenzied stare.

His face contorted. Wide eyes were saucers of panic, pupils dilated to the brink as if attempting to swallow the horror of it all. Sweat adorned his furrowed forehead, shining like dew. His complexion drained of colour, leaving behind a pallor that starkly contrasted with the usual warmth of his skin. The lines of his face, once familiar and composed, now distorted into a twisted mask.

His mouth hung agape, a silent scream frozen on his lips. Tremors shook his body, his jaw clenched, muscles poised to flee—though you both knew he couldn’t. Every nerve was on edge, a single touch could shatter the fragile equilibrium that barely held him together.

As you held the knife, its cold blade a chilling presence, you gently dragged the back of it along his left forearm, tracing a path of distress up to his elbow. The metallic edge left a faint trail against his skin.

"I can't let anyone else have you, Suguru," you murmured.

It sent a chill down Suguru's spine, the sensation racing through his veins, setting his pulse ablaze. The soft touch, though hauntingly gentle, was enough to provoke his Adam’s apple to bob nervously. A cold sweat broke out down his back, beads of anxiety clinging to his skin, as your blade traced a perilous path, a few inches away from the delicate network of his veins.

"Don't..." he managed to whisper, his voice trembling, a plea that hung in the air like a fragile thread. Tears brimmed at the edges, and an involuntary stillness overcame his legs.

His mind raced, an anxious torrent of thoughts attempting to strategise, to find a way to escape the impending threat. The ropes, however, proved an insurmountable obstacle, binding him in cruel proximity.

“I love you.”

"Please..." he begged softly, his voice a desperate entreaty. His eyes remained fixed on the glinting blade.

The flat of the blade dragged along Suguru's bicep, a chilling sensation that sent shivers through his entire being. As you continued, the cool metal skimmed his collarbones, leaving a trail of cold dread in its wake.

"Ah, ah, hah..." he bit down on his lip at the acute discomfort of the blade.

Goosebumps erupted across his flesh. With each touch, his body reacted as if the very air around him had turned icy. His trembling and shivering became more pronounced under the merciless blade. Suguru's instincts begged him to scream, to resist, but his body, held captive by the ropes and paralysed by fear, fought against the primal urge. His eyes met yours with an expression of utter helplessness. He felt a desperate yearning for release, a desire to break free from the nightmarish reality that enveloped him.

"You're mine, okay? Maybe I'll make you match with me right... here," you murmured—a haunting promise.

The blade traced a perilous path, inching towards the area where his heart rested beneath his left pec. His heaving chest forced itself to still, a desperate attempt to avoid any accidental harm as the blade hovered over the epicentre of his being—his heart.

A helpless horror painted his features as he stared at your hand, left frozen in shock, a captive audience to the cruel drama. His body remained unnaturally still. He couldn't move. He couldn't say a word. He couldn't do a damn thing. Any motion, even the slightest twitch, threatened to turn this nightmarish ordeal into a self-inflicted tragedy.

"Or maybe..."

As you moved the blade with deliberate intent, dragging it inches from his skin and his pounding heart, Suguru's body betrayed him. The tip traced a sinister path along Suguru's abdomen, the cold steel scratching his skin but not breaking it. Shiny with sweat, his abdominal muscles twitched involuntarily in response to the metal.

A gasp of distress escaped his lips as the blade brushed against his skin, tickling every nerve ending and sending a sharp pang shooting up to his stomach. The heat emanating from the spot where the blade had touched created an acute awareness of the vulnerability of his soft, pale skin. A thin red line marked the path of the shallow scratch, not even enough to bleed. If he bled, would you be satisfied?

Down his hip bone you pressed the entirety of the flat, cold steel against the plushness of his thigh.

"Maybe here."

His body, already fraught with tension, tensed further at the sensation. The flat against his thigh felt like an icy brand. Suguru's hands shook uncontrollably, his entire being trembling in response to the cruel caress. Eyes, fearful and pleading, darted between your face and the blade. He waited for the anticipated moment of pain that never came.

"You... Please..." he whispered, on the precipice of breaking.

You, however, continued to stroke the inside of his thigh with the blade, a cruel tease. "It would look good carved right here.”

A sharp gasp escaped him as he felt the tingle of the blade running across the sensitive skin of his inner thigh. The sensation, a mix of fear and an unexpected wave of arousal, caught him off guard. He pressed his lips together, attempting to stifle any involuntary sounds that might betray the tumult within; but a soft moan escaped Suguru.

"Please…” he begged again, a fragile thread holding on to the remnants of composure, of pride.

You licked your lips, your gaze fixed on the spot where the blade of the knife pressed against his inner thigh, a visual of the precarious balance between torment and perverse desire.

"You want me to be yours... permanently, right? You want me to be your soulmate, your forever—right?" he began, his voice a delicate balance of persuasion and vulnerability. His mind raced with the urgency of finding a way out of this hell.

He glanced at you out of the corner of his eyes, his gaze anxious as it fixated on the weapon pressed against his thigh.

"What if you can have me in a—in a different way? What if we can have something no other sorcere—no other couple can have?" he whispered, the desperation palpable in his voice. The air seemed charged with the weight of his plea as he attempted to navigate a fragile path between surrender and a desperate attempt at negotiation.

"And that is?" you inquired, a sudden brightness in your eyes catching Suguru off guard. He gave you a wobbly smile, his heart racing in his chest.

"I'll let you have me. In every way possible.”

"Have you?" a shiver ran down his spine, his eyes on yours, searching for any sign of mercy or understanding. "I wanted to take my time with you, Suguru..." you sighed, your gaze dropping to the knife.

"Please... I-I want you to have me," Suguru said, an unsettling desire that clouded his thoughts. "Please."

His body, restrained by ropes and paralyzed by fear, yearned to move, to escape the impending danger, but it remained frozen in place. A darker desire rendered him powerless.

"Please! I'll be good for you. I'll be good for you, I swear..." Suguru's desperate entreaty hung in the air.

You hummed contemplatively, your gaze appraising Suguru as he desperately sought a way out of the impending torment. "How?"

A flicker of realisation brightened Suguru's eyes, a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. "There's a way you can keep me without having to—that," he began, his voice shaking but now laced with a newfound confidence. "You can mark me as your own. You can mark me as yours and keep me by your side..." he whispered, his eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of his plea echoing in the room.

“How?”

He remained silent for a moment, pride warring with desperation. Suguru bit down on his lip, his mind a chaotic whirlwind of words he yearned to say but hesitated to voice. The weight of the unspoken hung in the air, an unrelenting pressure pushing him toward disclosure.

"Touch me.”

For a moment, Suguru was left breathless, his admission hanging in the air like a cloud of uncertainty. He had said anything to make you drop the knife, to replace the impending pain with a different kind of surrender.

"Isn't it too soon? You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for the moment to make you… I wanted it to be perfect.”

In response, Suguru laughed—a genuine sound that echoed in the room, a laughter he hadn't experienced in a long time. A laughter that betrayed the nervous undercurrent beneath the surface, a way to mask uncertainty. The thought of it being a nervous laughter didn't cross your mind, the genuine tone seemingly validating the moment.

That laughter quickly transformed into a smile, the genuine expression playing on his features. Your eyebrows raised inquisitively, observing the way he spoke convincingly about being ready for you.

"Not at all," he whispered, his voice carrying a confidence that contradicted the vulnerability in his eyes. A millionaire smile adorned his face, a façade—the world was, indeed, perfect in that moment.

The handle of the knife in your grip felt unyielding, your knuckles pale from the force with which you held it. Slowly, you leaned your face toward Suguru, your gaze fixated on his lips. A slight tremor ran through you.

Suguru's eyes widened as he observed your approach, the blade pressed against him momentarily slipping from his consciousness. You were so close now, the minimal space between you diminishing further. His eyes fluttered shut, lips parting as his breath caught in his throat.

"Kiss me," he whispered.

The kiss was hesitant and nervous on your end, the palpable tension between you vibrating with adrenaline and a barely suppressed need. As you went to pull away, Suguru deepened the kiss. A quiet moan escaped you into his mouth, and in that moment, the knife slipped from your grip, clattering with relief to the floor. Pleasure swept through him, and any fear he had of the blade was momentarily forgotten. Seizing the opportunity, he took advantage of your distraction, deepening the kiss again with an eager moan.

Your lips met his, tongues finding their place together as the two of you kissed with abandon. Pleasure surged through Suguru as your arms went around his neck, holding him close in a passionate embrace. You cradled his cheeks in your hands instead, even as he stayed tied up. You pushed your tongue greedily into his mouth, and one of your hands laced into his hair, tugging it by the roots gently.

When your tongue entered his mouth, his eyes rolled to the back of his head in pleasure. His body tensed and flexed against the ropes, instinctively rebelling to try and reach you. He moaned softly into your mouth, his hands shaking against the ropes that keep him restrained.

The kiss left both of you panting and trembling, desire and anticipation thick in the air. You broke the kiss, pressing your forehead against Suguru's, locking eyes with him. His gaze, hungry with longing, met yours.

"You..." you started, and Suguru swallowed thickly.

"You look so... Beautiful..." he murmured, his voice breathless and sincere, even if the sincerity was part of the act.

You chuckled airily. Open-mouthed kisses peppered his skin, and he responded with a breathy groan. Starting near his chin and making your way to the base where his ear met his neck, you bit down lightly, running your tongue over the sensitive skin. Suguru gasped, his head angled by the tug of his hair, your other hand gripping the ropes on his chest.

Straining against the ropes, his back arched like a taut bowstring, the bindings leaving indents that promised to bloom into bruises with the back-and-forth torment. With his hair pulled at a different angle, his gaze turned upward to meet yours, the height difference accentuated in this vulnerable state. Hungry eyes watched your every move, his mouth half-open, each inhale catching in his throat.

Your kisses and marks trailed along his neck, the tugs on his hair and the scratches of your nails against his scalp sending shivers down his spine. The hand on his chest ventured down his abdomen, tracing circles against one of his Adonis lines, a teasing touch that further heightened his arousal.

The familiar ache between his thighs pulsed with intensity, a relentless reminder of the desire that simmered. A yearning plea lingered in the air as he pressed himself closer to you, the heat of his breath mingling with the anticipation of your every exhale. He took a deep breath, his racing thoughts hidden behind closed eyes. A silent prayer echoed in the quiet recesses of his mind, a fervent hope that you would attend to the ever-hardening cock that strained to feel you.

Shivers ran through his body as your nails scratched against his skin, a hint of pain mingling with the pleasure to keep him hooked. The ropes dug deeper into his skin, leaving red, painful marks across his back, chest, and shoulder blades. He squirmed, his skin begging for more.

"Ah…!" Suguru let out a half-moan, half-gasp. "T-That... That feels good..."

"You're mine," you mumbled against Suguru's throat before lightly biting it.

A whimper escaped him, his body writhing against the bindings that held him captive. His arms were securely tied, leaving him unable to touch himself or you, but the sensation of your teeth against his skin, against his neck, was enough to elicit a response.

"Fuck... I'm yours..." Suguru mumbled, his eyes closed. There was no room for any other response; he was yours, willingly or not.

"You're safe with me," you reassured, kissing along his collarbones.

His eyes flickered open briefly, only to close again as he noticed the tight grip of your hand in his hair. The pain, a sharp contrast to the pleasure, mingled in a way that seemed to deepen his surrender. The hand massaging his thighs made him squirm, his back arching to intensify the sensation of the ropes against his skin.

"W-Woah, easy on the hair," he muttered out of breath, a plea laced with both discomfort and a desperate need for your touch.

You pulled back, narrowing your eyes and arching a brow. "What was that?"

Suguru whimpered softly, the fear rushing back as your fingers remained entwined in his hair, the tightness starting to border on pain. Swallowing thickly, his eyes opened slowly, his heart pounding with the resurgence of apprehension.

"N-Nothing... Nothing at all," he stammered, nervously avoiding your gaze. "I like it when you pull my hair... I like it really—really hard," he added.

A smirk played on your lips as you tugged his hair, bringing his face closer. "Good boy. I know you can take it, because you're strong, aren't you?" you cooed.

"Y-Yes... I'm strong..." Suguru whispered, gritting his teeth, attempting to hide the pain behind those words. He tried to muster a confident smile. Swallowing thickly, he nodded, lying. "I can take it," he whispered, his expression a mosaic of hurt, arousal, fear. "Yeah... I'm a good boy..." he continued, the words laced with a plea for reassurance. "I can take it... I-I can..."

You smiled approvingly and leaned in, kissing Suguru so softly that a moan escaped him, his eyes closing in bliss. The kisses were sweet and tender, carrying an addictive quality that seemed to erase the pain in his hair, replacing it with pure, unbridled pleasure.

In contrast to the softness of your kisses, your hand in his hair maintained its tight grip, a silent assertion of control. The other hand on his thigh sank its nails into the plush flesh, a sensation that brought a sharp intake of breath. The pain, though evident, seemed to intertwine seamlessly with the pleasure of your kisses. Suguru hesitated to voice any discomfort, reluctant to ask you to stop when the pleasure seemed to outweigh the pain.

Suguru was acutely aware of the pre-cum, a testament to the relentless ache that pulsed through his throbbing dick. The warm, wet stickiness coated him, and his fingers twitched to wrap around it just for some relief. His mind painted vivid fantasies where it wasn't his own skin but yours, where the pre-cum painted your skin with the rawness of his desire. The yearning for a deeper physicality clawed at him—your skin flushed against his.

A need that pulsed through him, a need that he found challenging to express: he needed you—needed you desperately, damn it.

A whimper escaped him as your touch lingered on his thigh, the pressure from your fingernails digging deeper. "Oh, God..." he whispered softly, his lips trembling slightly but still yearning for more of your touch.

You pulled back, allowing your hand to fall from Suguru's hair, and instead, you tucked some of his long, silky black strands behind his ears, your hand lingering around the rope on his shoulder. Both of you were breathing heavily, and as you sat back a little, you admired the sight before you.

"You're gorgeous like this, darling,” you remarked, your voice laced with a mix of satisfaction and admiration.

A shiver rolled down Suguru's spine when you pulled away, his eyes slowly opening. He stared back at you with admiration, his gaze flickering down to your hand around the rope as you tucked your hair behind his ears. His breathing stilled, chest slowly rising and falling as he absorbed the sight of you appreciating him. The moment, however, took a sharp turn when your hand pulled away, and his expression shifted from admiration to fear as you drew close to the rope.

"P-Please!"

"Please?" you teased, a smile playing on your lips. Your nails dug into his thigh again, and you pulled, leaving deep, raw scratches.

He yelped and whimpered at the sharp sting, his whole body shivering at the feeling of your fingernails digging into his thigh and pulling. He whined and squirmed in his constraints, the ropes biting into his wrists, torso, and legs. Despite the discomfort, he had no choice but to endure.

"Please, I'll do anything!" he begged, his eyes wide and breath catching in his throat.

You raised your eyebrows, a playful smile on your lips. "Oh, I'm sure you will. Because you love me, don't you?"

Your hand on his thigh gently stroked the fresh scratches, a soothing touch that blurred the lines between pain and pleasure. Suguru's breath hitched, and his mind, clouded by desire, struggled to discern whether he wanted to run away.

"Yeah..." he whispered, closing his eyes once more. "I do... I do."

A part of him still yearned to break free, but the fear and anxiety of losing your touch overrode that desire. It was less about escaping and more about staying by your side, ensnared.

You lifted your hand off his thigh, wetting your lips before spitting into your palm. The sudden shock of your spit-slicked hand wrapping around his needy dick made Suguru's body stiffen. Despite the initial shock, the sensation felt undeniably good, and the movement of your fingers made him squirm in both fear and pleasure. His eyes darted between your face and your hand, his breath catching in his throat. Each stroke and pull like a drug, addictive and consuming. Biting his lips furiously, Suguru's face flushed crimson. His face twitched with anxiety, yet his entire body trembled with pleasure.

As the pace of your hand quickened, he keened and whimpered, unable to articulate a coherent response. "Is that how you like it, darling?"

Suguru attempted to form words, but all that escaped were high-pitched whines. His teeth seemed practically glued together as another whimper slipped from his throat, his bound hands pulling on the ropes in a desperate attempt to get closer to you.

"Does that feel good? Yeah?" you teased, chuckling and watching his expressions in awe. “Aw, cute… I can feel it twitching.”

"It's so... M’so… Hah, fuck…"

His words failed him. He couldn't even form a sentence. The touch of your hand between his thigh was pure pleasure, and he was unable to keep himself composed. His hands were still pulling on the ropes against his arms, wanting more—so much more. His hips, driven by his muscles flexing and tensing in fervent and rhythmic thirst, pressed against you insistently. Suguru's breath, once controlled, now grew increasingly irregular, as he whined between gasps.

"Please... S-so good," he groaned in frustration. "Oh, please, fuck, I need to… Need to–"

“Yeah? What is it, darling?”

He nodded frantically, his ability to articulate lost in the whirlwind of moans and whines escaping his lips. The sensations between his thighs, guided expertly by your hand, were undeniably addictive. His hips rocked in response, a desperate rhythm that mirrored the instinctive urgency of his body, pushing into your touch with fervent desire.

As your lips met his, Suguru melted into the kiss, every nerve in his body ablaze by the sensation. The rhythmic movements of his hips intensified, a testament to the depth of his longing. Each kiss drew out desperate whimpers, his body writhing in pleasure. Yet, beneath the surface, a palpable tension hinted at the intense need he harboured.

He could envision it—the way he would fill every inch of you, the intoxicating stretch that would make your body slick with sweat. The sounds—the hitch in your breath, the loud moans escaping your lips as pleasure surged through both of you. Your legs would wrap around his waist, craving him closer, more deeply. He would moan, his cock twitching inside you, a testament to the exquisite torture of the denial. Yet even in fantasy, you would smile at him wickedly, using him all for yourself.

You felt the rhythm of his movements, the desperation evident in how roughly he fucked your hand, and you knew the depth of his arousal. Breaking the kiss, you murmured, "You close?" into his mouth.

A wave of pleasure swept through Suguru's body as your whispered words hung in the air. His attempts to speak were stifled by the overwhelming sensations, reduced to a series of groans and gasps. His eyes remained tightly shut, lips trembling, and his chest heaved with each shallow breath.

His hips, driven by instinctive urgency, pushed into the air, need pulsing through him. His cock stood flushed, dripping, and achingly hard, the anticipation etched into every twitch.

Your actions, guided by a blend of desire and control, only deepened his yearning. The precum drooled from his slit, messy and exactly how you liked it. Your saliva-slicked hand teased and pumped him, each movement accompanied by an embarrassingly loud wet sound that resonated with his whimpers.

Just before he could cum, you withdrew your hand, and his body quivered in response, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. The abrupt absence of your touch left him gasping for breath, words caught in the throes of long-gone ecstasy. His eyes fluttered open as you pulled away, panic contorting his face.

"No, no, please…! Please don't..." he whispered, his plea hanging in the air as he longed for the return of the sensation that had brought him so close to release.

As you pressed your lips against his, a surge of warmth radiated through the touch, your fingers coiled around the taut rope of his shoulder, the lit fuses of lust. The conflict made him beautiful—a part of him, a mere whisper amid the cacophony, yearned to resist, to reclaim control. Yet, that struggle was seared away by the overwhelming touch, by the overwhelming you, making resistance a distant and feeble notion. The texture of the rough fibres kept him tethered to the intensity of the kiss, a dance of lips and tongues that became him.

Your teeth sank into his bottom lip; his response was visceral—a loud, involuntary moan—the sound of surrender. His lower lip quivered beneath the sharp pressure, a tangible sign of the white-hot desire surging through his veins. His surrender, the white flag, was taken into your heated hands and scorched to black, to lust. With closed eyes, his world narrowed to the victor, to you.

Breaking the kiss, a glistening strand of saliva lingered, connecting your parted mouths. With a mischievous smile, your hand rose, and your thumb found its place in his parted lips. The wet heat enveloped your digit, his tongue swirling sensuously around it. His eyes, heavy-lidded with arousal, met yours. A groan hung in the air, caught in the rawness of his throat as he eagerly sucked on your offered digit, his tongue curling around it.

"I wanna… Mmmf…! I wanna..." His voice, laced with restrained desire, faltered as he bit down on your thumb, the words teetering on the edge of a plea. "More, more..."

You leaned in, your face tantalisingly close to his, a playful smile dancing on your lips. "More, huh?"

Withdrawing your thumb from his heated mouth, you directed your attention lower, teasingly inching it between his legs once again. The soft pad of your thumb, a gentle torment, caressed the sensitive contours of his length, drawing circles on the leaking head, smearing pre from the slit along the prominent vein of his shaft. He let out a strangled moan, his hips involuntarily frotting into your hand as he gasped for air, unable to respond beyond the primal sounds escaping him. His body shook and his hips bucked desperately.

The hand wrapped around the ropes tugged him nearer, and you rested your forehead against his, the candlelight flickering in the inky black depths of his eyes like a torch in the night.

"You're beautiful," you whispered, “You’re mine.”

Blushing under the weight of your words, his eyes widened. Your breath, a sweet and intoxicating scent, mingled with his. He shuddered, a soft whimper escaping him. Desperate to contain the rising chorus of pleasure, he bit down on his lower lip, the delicate dance of pleasure and restraint evident in the way his hips instinctively rocked. His body trembled under the tender torment of your touch.

"Please," he begged, soft and needy.

"Tell me that I'm the only one for you, the only one to make you feel this way," you murmured, a sly smile playing on your lips.

His brow furrowed with the exertion of pleasure. Your words, a catalyst of praise and affection, wielded a power that rendered resistance incapable. His attempt to deny, to resist your influence, was a futile battle:

"You're... You're the only one," he whispered, surrendering to the truth.

His eyes fluttered shut, teeth gritted, and his hips moved with an urgency that betrayed the depth of his craving. Each thrust forward sought the contact that momentarily eluded him, and a plaintive whine escaped when your touch lingered just out of reach.

“Tell me you want me."

"I... Oh, God, I want you. I want you so much right now. Need you so fucking badly right now."

His admission trembled through the charged air, a declaration of desire that hung heavy between you. His body quivered, and he clamped down on his lips, a valiant effort to withhold further vulnerability. Yet, the pull of your tease and touch unfurled the neediest corners of his soul, a rekindled lust that had nearly withered in the grip of isolation.

"Please…! Please touch me... Please, please touch me again..."

Your question hung in the air, a subtle challenge:

"You feel this?"

The room echoed with a ravenous moan as your hand reached down, cupping Suguru's balls. If the intensity wasn't overwhelming enough, you chose that precise moment to massage his ballsack between your fingers—swollen and heavy with cum, aching to be released. The sudden, deliberate contact jolted him into a realm of heightened sensations, his eyes snapping open to reveal the surrender etched across his face under the spell of your grip.

No words found refuge on his tongue, eclipsed by a primal symphony of moans and the hungry, needy whispers that escaped his parted lips in response to your touch.

"Please..." A quiet whimper, a plea, an admission of craving.

"This is mine now, alright?" you declared, asserting yourself with a subtle squeeze.

Wide-eyed, breath caught in his throat, he found himself ensnared in a web of possession. Your grip, both firm and tight, elicited a soft whimper, his hips instinctively pushing into the touch, yearning for more. The declaration wrapped around him,the reply spilt from him, a desperate cascade of surrender and longing—a willing captive to the depths of your lust:

"Y-Yeah... Y-Yours, fuck…! Oh, God, yours. Your touch is mine, yours... Just yours... Only yours, I want you, need you..."

Your words, a melodic coo, dripped with a seductive assurance. "So obedient, you're learning.”

As your touch found a firm rhythm, a seismic shift surged through him. His body, a canvas for the symphony of pleasure, responded with unrestrained fervour. Fingers curled tightly around the ropes, a desperate attempt to anchor himself amidst the rising tide of need. A guttural moan escaped him, his tongue lolling out involuntarily as breath hitched in his throat.

Rocking forward, every movement strained against the constricting bonds, ropes carving into his skin, a painful reminder of desire, control, captivity. Pleasure, a white-hot current, coiled in the pit of his stomach, setting his nerves ablaze with an intensity that bordered on exquisite agony. But your words, a cascade of praise and affection, were the one craving of his you satiated. He needed you now. He needed you.

You.

A cry, raw and hoarse, reverberated through the room. Tears, involuntary witnesses to the overwhelming ecstasy, streamed from his eyes. His legs tensed, a quiver coursing through them, and his whimpers escalated into squeals. But as you withdrew your touch, a pang of longing seized him, a hurt he hadn't anticipated. Fervent pleas spilt from him, his body squirming in your grip.

"Please…! Oh, fuck… No, no, please…! Please touch me again..." His words, infused with desperation, hung in the air, a plea for the return of the exquisite torment you provided.

"You wanna feel more? Do it yourself," you drawled, a burst of mocking laughter accompanying your words.

Suguru's sob, a raw expression of frustration, mirrored the internal turmoil. Tears blurred his vision, but the silhouette of your smug grin etched itself in his mind. A blend of desire and frustration mingled in his plea, "Please-please-please-please... Please touch me..." The imploring gaze sought your hands for solace.

"Please, darling. For me,” you taunted.

Eyes pleaded, and his body trembled once more as he reluctantly began to move, the tight grip of the ropes emphasising the solitary nature of the act. Sweet, pearlescent tears gathered on his lashes, welling up in those gorgeous eyes, and rolled down his flushed cheeks. They shimmered, streaking his face, as baby hairs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Brows knitted together, frustration etched across his features—what a sight he was for you.

Each thrust into the air was met with a loud whine, but despite the physical effort, it could never replicate you. You were incomparable. Another cascade of tears leaked from his eyes, tracing damp trails down his cheeks. A hot ache coursed through him—that familiar aching bliss.

"It doesn't, ah, feel like you... Like you..." The room hung heavy with the echoes of Suguru's whines.

"Oh, my darling. C'mon, keep going. You're so close now, aren't you?"

His eyes opened, a flush of embarrassment painting his face as he met your gaze. Head shaking in protest, he struggled with the solitary act, his voice trembling, and breaths shallow. The effort, while valiant, felt insufficient, a stark reminder of the absence of your touch.

"I'm... I'm fucking trying…!" he whispered. More whimpers escaped him, the absence of your touch haunting the moment of indulgence.

A groan emerged, lips parting in surrender to pleasure. Your encouragement became his guiding force, pushing him closer. Moans echoed, his eyes rolled back, and his back arched in response to the steady grip of the ropes on his shoulders. Pleasure consumed him, his body wracked with its intoxicating embrace, yet the struggle to contain the sounds persisted.

You seized his jaw, holding his mouth open, a witness to his contorted face—shame, pleasure, fear—those uninvited guests. His body writhed, torn between the desire to escape the situation and the undeniable arousal that tethered him to your command. Feeble protests echoed in the room, his resolve crumbling beneath the weight of your influence..

As his hips accelerated in their erratic movement, a violent shudder seized his entire body. Streams of thanks spilt from his bitten lips, a testament to the overwhelming release that surged through him. Suguru's orgasm, a crescendo of heat and pleasure, shook him violently, the length of his cock now coated in warm, sticky evidence of his climax, thrusting into the air with feverish need.

"There you go, my darling. Good boy, you've done so well," you said affectionately, creating a momentary reprieve, a gentle acknowledgement of his surrender.

The room held the lingering echoes of Suguru's release, his body still trembling as he kneeled there, caught in the aftermath of the fireworks that had set every nerve ablaze. A pyre to pleasure, his chest heaving with each laboured breath—a testament to intensity.

Blissful heat.

As his eyes stayed closed, fingers wrapping around the ropes that bound him, he grappled with the profound impact of the experience. A spectrum of feelings—humiliation, frustration, repulsion—warred within him. Yet, an undeniable satisfaction lingered, a product of the attention you had lavished upon him.

“How many people will do anything for the one they love?”

The weariness clung to Suguru's teary eyes as he fought against the heaviness, attempting to blink away the exhaustion. The world blurred with each slow blink, his eyelids closing reluctantly, weighed down by the fatigue that permeated his entire being. Your hands released the ropes, the final tethers of his consciousness, and he teetered.

"Honestly, Suguru, you’re lucky to have me," you chirped.

The metallic scrape of the knife being lifted off the floor, a sound that would have sparked alertness in any other circumstance, barely registered in his fading awareness.

"If it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have been so lenient."

Eyelashes, once vibrant, seemed burdened by the weight of exhaustion. Each blink, a futile attempt to stave off sleep, betrayed the struggle.

"Then again, you’re my one and only, and I’ll do anything for you, ‘cause I love you. Anything."

Lines deepened on his forehead as the battle against fatigue intensified. Finally, his eyes fluttered open, meeting your smiling face.

"Even when you don't know what's best for yourself. Don't scream, okay?" you murmured gently.

He felt the cold press of the knife.

a/n: well. there we are, then. lol. this was a really fun thing to write icl... i should do more yandere stuff in the future :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

300 notes · View notes