OMG HI STOP IVE BEEN UR FAN FOR SO LONG!! and yes ur THE peridot artist and i jump for joy when i see ur posts and youre highkey converting me into an amedot shipper..
youre actually such a big inspo so hopefully ill do something with amedot soon!! :D
YAYYY!!!! I HAD NO IDEA THIS IS SO COOL AND IM SO HAPPY HEHEHE THANK YOUUU heres some amedot to maybe convert u even more fr
warnings ༄ minors: please do not interact! i will block you. non-consensual voyeurism, masturbation, stalking, religious imagery, a bit of blood, and generally toxic behavior. reader wears a dress and some lacy underwear and has a vagina, but is only referred to as “you.” this gets icky, so please heed these warnings before reading.
word count ༄ 1311
notes ༄ this work is for the lovely @tired-biscuit! manda didn’t ask for this, but she is the reason why dark naru has infected my brain, so she must accept this creepy lil fic as a token of my gratitude <3 it was fun to write the sunshine boy as…well…a freak. please keep in mind that our narrator is unreliable and filters reality through naruto’s skewed worldview. anyway, please enjoy!
his eyes are an unfathomable ocean of blue, wide and limitless as the horizon. his gaze holds a palpable warmth, as if dipped in golden sunlight, glowing with inhuman kindness and charisma.
only a god, or perhaps a fellow monster, could see past the carefully constructed façade of his eyes. the veil of sincerity is mere gossamer, but appears too natural to be false. it’s intended to attract and allure—the ruse of a predator so beautiful his prey doesn’t perceive danger until after poison is thrumming through their bloodstream.
you are just a human. perhaps your mediocrity is what initially drew those moonless eyes. why else would they turn to you? it’s a secret he will never divulge to another soul; not until you are wholly his, anyway.
he will forever remember the first time he stumbled upon you at the market on a sun-drenched saturday. he was out of eggs and on a quick mission to grab a dozen so he could cook and eat breakfast. there weren’t many people out since it was early, dewdrops clinging to shaded blades of grass and shivering leaves, so he easily traversed the market without much of the idle chit chat that comes with being a public figure.
but there you were: sorting through oranges as vibrant as his jacket. the breeze rustled your hair into what looked like a luminous halo in the morning light. his quick pace came to a lurching halt when he saw you, lithe body slightly swaying as his feet rooted in place.
he was fixated on your handling and inspection of the citrus, fingertips delicately dancing along the skin of each fruit. you plucked up one orange at a time, rolling it in your hands to test the firmness, holding it close to your thoughtful face to check for spots, then placing it in your produce bag. you were too immersed in your methodical fruit selection to notice that the hokage was only a few feet from you, slack-jawed in wonder.
from a single glance he could tell you were a civilian. your movements were too fluid, too carefree; you had none of the mechanical sharpness that marked a shinobi. and if you were a shinobi he would have recognized you instantly. he has met every ninja in the village at least a handful of times.
no, you were a rare breed in konoha: one of the ungifted few.
his mind grew dizzy with questions: was anyone in your family a shinobi? were your parents disappointed that you couldn’t use ninjutsu? were you bullied growing up by more talented and popular peers? he certainly understood the pain of an isolated upbringing.
he thought of your plainness, your innocence, your naïveté to the horrors of his world—to the horrors his bloodstained palms have wrought and rent. in a village of expert spies and killers, you were a lone lamb ripe for the picking. it was painfully apparent that you needed protection. who better than the hokage to be your protector?
his dick twitched at the thought.
he followed you home for the first time that day, his empty stomach a forgotten memory. his deep eyes consumed you: the sway of your hips as you strolled down the sidewalk, the hem of your sundress swishing around your plush thighs, the swing of the produce bag draped over your shoulder. he hungrily watched you bend over to marvel at blooms along your route, peek into colorful shop windows, and kneel down to pet a friendly calico cat.
bitter jealousy seized his gut when you waved at a neighbor, offering a bright “hello!” and flashing the man a disarming smile. his jaw ticked and nostrils flared. the caged beast within him growled in disgust at the man’s audacity to leer at you as you bounded up the steps of your apartment building.
he had to shield you from those who would take advantage of your vulnerability.
༄
moonbeams peak through the gaps in your cheap blinds at this hour, illuminating your slumbering form, limbs curled up beneath a mass of soft bedsheets and cozy blankets. the whir of the fan reverberates through your cold bedroom and masks any noise that the stranger in your apartment might make.
naruto has watched you for days, for weeks, for months. in truth, time has been a blur of your tender laugh and saccharine gaze and supple flesh. since he fell for you, his love has been a hazy dream he can’t seem to wake from. all he can think of is you.
this is the first time he has been brazen enough to visit your apartment while you’re home. his heart was aching for an unobstructed view of you; tracking your figure through windows and computer screens doesn’t do your beauty justice, he determines as he looks down at your angelic face. the rush he feels being so close to you is pure ecstasy. he devours the sight of your sleeping silhouette. he knows that you’re nude under the sheets—he knows everything about you, after all.
he knows that you’re on your period, and that your cycle makes you especially needy. he knows that you masturbated this evening right after your hot shower. he knows that you wore a slinky pair of blue panties while you were getting in the mood. he knows that you didn’t touch yourself until your arousal soaked through the gusset and dripped down into the swell of your ass, proceeding to tease your clothed clit until it throbbed. he knows that you peeled off the soiled lace, lazily tossing the garment on the floor before you spread your puffy lips and fucked yourself with three fingers, rubbing tight circles on your clit until you cried out as you climaxed.
he wishes he could trace the curves of your soft skin, your heavenly body untainted by war and violence unlike his own. to see your eyes flutter open as he worships you with gentle kisses and prayerful praises. to adore your most sacred parts as your sole disciple. to bring you divine pleasure with his cursed lips, tongue, hands, and cock.
he picks your underwear up from where you carelessly dropped it. his calloused forefinger and thumb rub the delicate lace—the same color as his lustful irises—with reverence. he unfurls the fabric, the pearly moonlight highlighting an intimate gift: streaks of your essence and dribbled blood staining the gusset. he buries his nose in the garment, inhaling your musky scent with a shudder. he’s addicted.
he’s painfully hard as his tongue darts out to graze the remnants of your desire and ichor, tentative licks yielding to ravenous laps as he decides there is no sweeter taste. he has to stifle a whimper as he fishes his aching cock out of his wet trousers and smears a mess of precum down his shaft. he pumps his length to the sight of your dreamy face and the overwhelming smell and taste of your arousal, panties flat against his tongue. he should be worried about the schlick schlick schlick of his jerking cock rousing you from slumber, but all he can focus on is quelling the animal urge to blow his load all over your face, to officially mark you as his.
it doesn’t take him long to cum. he rips your underwear out of his mouth and shoots creamy white ropes all over the fabric with a rumbling groan, his fluids mixing with your own. naruto shoves the sodden garment into his pocket and takes a final look at you before disappearing into the velvet night.
the next day you search high and low for your missing pair of underwear; it seems to have vanished into thin air. your confusion only mounts when you find it a few days later, freshly laundered and neatly folded in the top drawer of your dresser.
