#ao3 original fiction

[kazik-bitch-ass-motherfucker]

CHAPTER UPDATE!!! 24!!!

GO READ IT!!! MATTHEW DISCOVERS NEW MAGICK!!!

All my followers! @feministthembot @kylokirenly @fonfabrefan,@yaoihancock @starbound-jupiter @lezpanic420 @honeyfrost @thiswillbetheusername @redemption-under-constructi-blog @magicalcollector @jonathan-greer @21panda-cakes @viobagetke1988-blog

Surely, I'll get at least 3 rb's right!?!!

[elijahstwink]

i also have the fantasy of fucking elijah in red door mode yooo 😳 ... but if you ever feel inspired and want to write smut abt it , Im interested in reading it ofc,, and there is also just so few red door elijah shit out there 💔

𝓛𝓮𝓽 𝓖𝓸

(I’d let him punch me holy this gif is hot)

Your boyfriend is going through a rough time. You help him feel better ;)

Thank you for the request anon! I always feel like writing dark!Elijah smut so this was so fun! It’s also the freakiest thing I’ve written lol. I hope you enjoy - Dex

Warnings: Blood play, Spitting, Choking, Slapping, Oral F!receiving, Dom!Elijah, Sub!reader, Elijah’s pretty mean, overstimulation, blood drinking, degradation, use of slut, whore etc

Seperate warning for this one. This has CNC! (Aka Reader consents for Elijah not to stop when she asks him too)

Your white dress billows behind you as you sprint down the hallway and towards the red door. Your bare feet burn at each step on ragged tile. You glance back to see Elijah turn the corner. His stone cold face and bare chest are covered in blood, all emotion void from his expression. Desperation fuels your speed, your legs burning and your lungs screaming as adrenaline courses through you. Elijah follows at a steady pace, his deliberate steps echoing, his breathing animalistic. He could catch you in an instant, but he prefers the thrill of the chase. He wants to savor your fear, your pain.

His footsteps are unnervingly close as you near the door. Just a little farther…

You slam into the red wood, pain shooting through your arm as you grasp the brass doorknob. It’s locked. You pound on the door, scream, and glance back in terror as Elijah approaches.

“Elijah, please!” you plead, but he keeps coming. This isn’t your Elijah, the kind and noble man you loved. This is a monster.

You turn back to the door, pounding and screaming for help, but it’s too late. Elijah’s hand clamps onto your upper arm, yanking you toward him. You struggle, but his grip is unbreakable. His eyes darken, veins pulsing as he opens his mouth, revealing sharp fangs glinting in the darkness.

Elijah jolts upright in bed, his body drenched in sweat and trembling. Nightmares of hurting you plague him every night since the incident with his mother. The red door haunts his mind, and he can no longer ignore it.

Breathing deeply, Elijah clutches his hair and turns to watch you sleep. Usually, this sight calms him, reminding him that he isn’t the blood-covered man in his dreams. That red door Elijah is just a fragment of himself, a dark fraction everyone has.

But tonight is different. The dreams are more vivid, leaving him feeling feral and dangerous. Every small sound or touch threatens to make him lose control. He needs blood.

Elijah carefully slips out of bed, pulling on grey sweatpants. He moves silently through the dark compound, descending the staircase to the large kitchen. He rounds the island, opens the blood fridge, and light floods the dark space. He grabs three blood bags and rips into one.

As the blood overtakes his senses, veins web below his eyes. He grips the marble countertop harder, ripping open the second bag, anger rising. The taste of blood makes red door Elijah creep to the surface.

“Lijah?” you call from the doorway, wrapped in a silk nightgown. Elijah’s head snaps up, his red eyes meeting yours as the marble edge crumbles in his hand. You rush to him, but before you can reach him, he grabs you by the neck, pinning you against the wall.

Despite his aggressive state, you’re not scared. You’ve been worried for him since he returned, his personality flipping randomly between normal and red door Elijah. The worst was on Bourbon Street, when he tried to rip out a man's heart for bumping into you. Red door Elijah is possessive, never letting you out of his sight, fearing that if you walk away, he’ll start chasing you like in his dreams.

Elijah's grip on your neck is firm but not painful, and you see the conflict in his eyes.

“Hey, it’s okay, my love,” you say softly, cupping his cheeks and tracing the veins with your fingertips until they fade.

Elijah’s eyes return to their regular onyx shade, guilt washing over him as he releases your neck and drops the empty blood bag.

“Shh, you’re alright, I’m alright,” you comfort him, wrapping your arms around him as he breathes heavily into the crook of your neck.

“I- I don’t know what to do, I crave you,” Elijah growls into your skin, his fangs gently scratching along your pulse point. Your eyes shut at the contact, but an idea pops into your head. A crazy, probably stupid idea... but an idea nonetheless.

“Perhaps you need to release all the pent up anger.” You suggest carefully. Elijah pulls away from your neck and stares at you in confusion.

“What do you mean?” He places his hands on the wall either side of your head, keeping you trapped against him. You can tell by the look in his eye that he definitely knows what you mean.

“I mean,” You rest your hand flat on Elijah’s bare chest, sliding it down to cup him over his sweatpants. “Let go, take it all out on me.” You gaze up at him innocently, something you know drives him nuts. Elijah swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement.

“No y/n. I wouldn’t be myself, I could hurt you.” Elijah shakes his head, already feeling his alternate personality taking control as his cock thickens under your touch.

“That’s the thing, you won’t hurt me. And as soon as you prove that to yourself, you can start to move past this.” You explain, slipping your hand under his waistband and taking hold of his erection, his length warm in you grasp.

You completely believe what you’re telling him. You know that he would never hurt you if not for pleasure, but that doesn’t stop you feeling like this may be a mistake. After all, Elijah is pretty dominant in bed already. If normal Elijah can edge you for hours or make you cum so much you’re begging for him to stop. Who knows what red door Elijah will do.

“Do you kn-“ Elijah interrupts himself with a deep groan as you push his pants to his feet and bring your unoccupied hand down to play with his balls, rolling them between your fingers. You can’t tear your gaze from his swollen cock and the bead of arousal gathering at the tip as wetness builds between your legs. You could mentally pat yourself on the back right now for not dropping to your knees and licking it up.

He suddenly grips your wrist, rough enough to leave a mark, making you gasp in surprise and release your hold on him. When you look up, you see that his eyes have returned to that crimson shade with veins underneath them. He grabs your neck with his free hand and leans down till your faces are inches apart.

“Do you know what you are asking for?” He breaths against your lips, tightening his hold when you nod. “Words.” He commands sternly.

“Yes, Elijah.” You squeak. He smirks at you, the veins flowing under his eyes.

“And you are aware that if you say stop, I won’t.” Elijah growls. You can tell he’s holding back, needing your consent before doing anything more.

“I know. I want you…” You murmur, bravely grabbing at his crotch again before whispering in his ear, “to ruin me.”

You can visibly see when red door Elijah fully takes over, any apprehension within him vanishes as he suddenly rips your night gown off your body and steps out of his pants, leaving you both naked.

“I didn’t mean here!” You whisper, looking around anxiously. The kitchen is one of the main rooms of the compound. If anyone were to wake up it’s highly likely they’d come to this room.

You squeak as Elijah lifts you onto the centre island and pushes you to lay flat on it. The cold marble countertop against your back sends chills down your spine as Elijah stands between your legs. His eyes are clouded,

“What if someone walks in?” You ask as Elijah bends your knees so that your feet are on the counter and your core is exposed. Elijah doesn’t respond, instead grabbing the last blood bag and holding it over you with a smirk.

You don’t have time to even question what the hell he’s planning before he rips the plastic in half with his hands, drenching you in blood. God this man is lucky you love him because no other human would still be turned on while covered in blood. Elijah leans down so you are face to face, his chest is getting covered in blood now as well.

“If anyone walks in here,” Elijah dips a finger between your breasts, “I’ll snap their neck.” He growls, sucking on his now bloody finger, moaning at the taste.

Red door Elijah doesn’t seem to be the slow and steady type. His movements are rough and almost crazed as he grips your thighs and pulls your legs over his shoulders. Now eye level with your blood covered cunt, Elijah doesn’t hesitate to practically devour you. The filthy sound of his mouth slurping up the mix of blood and arousal between your folds echoes throughout the kitchen. You release a choked moan as he sucks harshly on your sensitive bundle of nerves.

Normal Elijah usually starts soft and gradually builds your pleasure to its peak. So this unfamiliar pace fills you with an uncomfortable sensitivity, causing you to grip his hair in both your hands and try to push his head away. Elijah releases a disapproving grunt at your actions. He moves his grip from your thighs to your wrists and pins them straight down at your sides. Your hands clench helplessly at the sleek countertop in an attempt to find something to grip as you squirm with oversensitivity.

When your wrists are tugged on slightly, you lift your head for the first time to watch the man between your legs. Elijah’s face is coloured crimson and veins are moving beneath his skin. A whimper passes your lips when his tongue thrusts inside you and his red eyes meet yours. His gaze is intense and demanding, practically shouting ‘behave’. You throw your head back against the marble with a loud moan as Elijah starts fucking you with his tongue. The feeling of the pointed muscle curling against your sweet spot has you arching your back. Sharp stabs of overstimulation are turning into waves of pleasure, causing you to clench your thighs around his head.

“E-Elijah I’m so close.” You wail, all your pleasure knotting together, building up in your lower stomach. Elijah hums in approval, his tongue working faster. and his nose nudging against your clit. Your moans increase in pitch as you’re brought closer to the edge, your hips jerking and your legs starting to shake. It doesn’t take more then a few thrusts of Elijah’s tongue against the spongy spot inside you before you’re coming, wailing in pleasure and practically grinding on your boyfriends face as you get lost in the euphoric feeling. Your legs are almost vibrating with the intensity of their shaking and your walls are pulsating around Elijah’s tongue as you come down from your orgasm.

Elijah pulls away quite suddenly, releasing his bruising grip on your wrists and dropping your legs from his shoulders. “Stand up.” He orders, taking a step backwards. You would have given him a ‘are your serious right now?’ type of look, if you weren’t too out of it. Instead you stay lying across the counter, trembling as you come down from your high. After a moment of silence you manage to speak out, “Elijah, Can’t.”.

“I said,” he grabs you under your arms and hauls you upwards so you are standing on shaking legs, all your weight being supported by him, “stand up.” He seethes, releasing his grip.

Your knees instantly buckle underneath you and you fall into Elijah’s chest. You would have hit the ground if not for him wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you against his chest and smirking at your feeble state.

“My naughty girl,” Elijah tugs your hair so that your head swings back, your eyes meeting his, “can’t even follow a simple task, hm?” He taunts.

His face has returned to normal, and he seems to have wiped the blood from around his mouth at some point. Elijah’s eyes are clouded with more than lust and you can see the red door version of him staring back at you. He usually talks much more during sex, and you can’t deny that you miss the comforting praise.

That thought is literally smacked away as Elijah’s palm meets your cheek in a light slap. You probably look like an idiot for a split second as you process what he just did.. and how much you liked it. You release a drawn out moan as he repeats the action before grabbing your jaw, holding your head up to his and smirking.

“Do you like that?” Elijah chuckles as you flush in embarrassment.

“If you wish to act like a slut, then I will treat you as such. Open.” He growls, pulling at your jaw as you open your mouth. Red Door Elijah is seemingly full of surprises, as he lines up his mouth with yours and spits. The feeling of someone else’s spit in your mouth would likely make you throw up. But this was Elijah, your boyfriend and the love of your life so of course it feels good. A rush of arousal wets your spent cunt as you gurgle slightly.

Elijah clamps your mouth shut, grinning like a maniac as he instructs you “Swallow,” The slide of his spit down your throat makes you moan, absolutely loving the filthiness of his actions, “Good girl.” He praises you for the first time, giving your jaw a light squeeze before releasing it.

The praise is gone as quickly as it came when Elijah spins you around, bending you over the counter. You gasp at the coldness against your sensitive nipples. He holds your hip with one hand, the other guiding his erect cock through your shiny folds. The pleasure of Elijah nudging your clit with every upstroke distracts you from the feeling on blood slowly drying on your skin.

Your mouth drops in surprise, screaming out as Elijah suddenly enters you in one bruising thrust and with no warning. The stretch is painful, but you’re wet enough that he slides in easily. Your hand shoots behind you on reflex, pushing hard against his torso. Elijah only chuckles at your pathetic attempt of pushing him away, grabbing your wrist and holding it behind your back.

“Too much Elijah, please just wait!” You plead when you feel him starting to move inside you, blood smearing the whit marble underneath you.

“Shh, take it.” Elijah shushes, not waiting for you to adjust before slamming into you again, his tip pressing against your cervix and causing you to sob out a moan. With every battering thrust of his hips, the loud clap of skin meeting skin fills the room.

It doesn’t take more than a minute before the pain dulls into a numbing ache and the pleasure overwhelms you. You’re moaning like a whore, taking every inch of his thick cock inside you, your walls fluttering around him. The way his shaft glides across your g spot makes you jerk with pleasure.

“That’s it, such a sweet little slut falling apart on my cock.” He coos, releasing your hand and pulling you up till your back meets his chest. He wraps his arm around your neck so your chin rests on his bicep and keeps working his hips back and forth, fucking into you in long, brutal strokes. The base of his cock throbs every time he bottoms out, and his balls slap against your slit with wet, filthy noises. His animalistic grunts mix with your cries of pleasure.

“Still too much for you?” He teases, laughing when his only response is a gurgle of incoherent words that you didn’t even notice came from your mouth. “Yeah?” He murmurs, pounding into you at an inhuman speed.

Elijah rests his other hand on your blood stained lower stomach, sending a jolt of warmth through you.

“Who do you belong to?” Elijah whispers, his breath tickling your ear. “Who owns this cunt, y/n?” He runs the tips of his fingers over your clit.

“Y-you Elijah!” You sob, tears forming in your eyes from the intense pleasure this man is giving you.

“That’s my girl.” Elijah praises before bringing his hand down hard on your clit. Surprisingly it wasn’t painful at all. You heard the smack before you felt it and suddenly you were gushing around his cock, the mix of his cock rubbing at your walls and the sharp pleasure to your clit plummeting you into an unexpected orgasm. Your eyes go blurry from tears as you squirt all over the counter and floor. Euphoria runs through you in a single wave as your walls uncontrollably pulsate around Elijah.

“Look at you, cumming on my cock like a good little girl. Making such a mess.” Elijah’s groans, pulling out of you suddenly. You whine at the loss, feeling your slick cunt clench at the air. Elijah turns you to face him before bending down and hooking his arms under your legs. You squeal as he lifts you up, essentially folding you in half as your knees touch your shoulders. Elijah’s hands cup your arse, and you wrap your own around his neck. He shows no strain as he holds you in mid air, turning you both so he can lean slightly against the counter.

You throw your head back and clench your eyes shut as Elijah pushes inside you again, the sensitivity of having just cum causing you to claw harshly at his back.

“Elijah, stop!” You call out, the overstimulation feeling like too much. He doesn’t listen, not that you were expecting him too.

You’re absolutely helpless as he starts moving you up and down his length, using you like some type of fuck doll. You fidget and squirm relentlessly in an attempt to make him stop.

“Look at me!” Elijah barks. You use the little strength you have to lift your head, meeting his intense and feral gaze. “You are going to shut up, take my cock and you’re going to fucking enjoy it. Do you understand?” He sneers, slowing down so you can catch your breath and come up with a coherent sentence. You’ve never heard Elijah speak so vulgar before and it strangely turns you on.

You know that if you put up enough of a fight, your Elijah would come back and stop immediately. He’d probably beat himself up with guilt while he holds you and apologises way too many times. But you don’t want Elijah to feel bad, you asked him to do this in the first place.

“I understand, wanna take it.” You rush out before crashing your lips onto his, you can feel his grin as you try to shove your tongue into his mouth. He parts his lips for you and you whimper when he sucks heavily on your tongue.

Elijah thrusts his hips up erratically, his thrusts reaching vampire speed as his climax steadily approaches. You break the kiss to bury your face in his neck when you feel your own rising in your gut.

Elijah lifts one hand to grip your hair and pull your head back to present your neck. Searing pain rushes through you as his fangs pierce your skin, mixing with the pleasure of his thrusts. Your vision goes black as your third orgasm of the night crushes you. The feeling of Elijah’s cum filling your tight cunt only prolongs your pleasure. You feel Elijah retreat from your neck as his moans fill the air, mixing with what you realise is your own screams.

Elijah slips out of you when his cock stops spurting, feeling the aggressive, lust filled haze of red door Elijah dissolving with every passing moment. He sits you on the counter momentarily to unhook his arms from underneath your legs. Then he lifts your trembling form back into his embrace, one hand holding your bum for support and the other cradling your head into his neck. Your grip around him loosens as you continue riding the waves of pleasure, shaking like a leaf in his hold.

Elijah chuckles endearingly as you moan into his neck. “Still coming baby?” He grins, kissing the top of your head. You manage a small whimper of agreement as you feel him start to walk somewhere.

Thank god for vampire speed, because Elijah has you in a warm shower within the minute. You rest against him, half asleep, as he washes the dried blood off your skin. After you are both clean and dry, you settle under the covers of your bed, cuddled up to the love of your life.

“Please tell me you don’t regret it.” Elijah mumbles into your hair. You release a tired laugh, your face pressed against his chest.

“No my love, I don’t regret it at all. Did it help?” You yawn, cuddling further into his comforting embrace.

“Definitely.” Elijah sighed, his mind feeling a lot calmer and his body tired. You tilt your head up, capturing his lips in a sweet kiss.

“Love you lijah.” You smile into the kiss as you speak. Elijah copies your grin as he responds, “Love you so much baby.”. He gives you one last peck before leaning back into the pillow and closing his eyes, waiting till he hears your cute snores before drifting into a dreamless sleep.

The couple are passed out cold by morning, still recovering from their late night. Klaus however, is very much awake as he stumbles into the living room, where Freya and Kol are engaged in an intense game of chess.

“Do not go into the kitchen!” Klaus gags, collapsing onto the couch in a dramatic heap. “And remind me to kill both Elijah and Y/N.”.

T A G L I S T (msg or comment to be on it)

@b1tchy

[starbase777]

When you have the desire to write four paragraphs of deep lore about your OC's history including a fine combination of angst and character progression but have no energy to do it

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️ONE

CHAPTER ONE TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾️TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

A chance encounter under the strobe light. Hips swaying to the thumping bass. Dark eyes following her every move. Gazes meeting through the crowd. She came to him. He took her away. Changing her life forever, guiding her into submission.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Noncon/dubcon elements. Roofies. Abduction. Dom/sub dynamic. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 3.9k

A/N: Please remember: This is fiction! As much as I enjoy writing fucked-up characters, this is not real. I do not condone this behavior! Men, be nicer to women! Girls, always check your drinks! Be mindful of strangers, no matter how nice they seem and how hot they look. And be careful what you wish for! So, technically this is a modern AU of my original story Innocence Lost, picks up on some themes, but it's basically just a fucked-up man abducting a girl (it's not stated in the beginning, but she's over 18!) and having fun with her (and then things may escalate a little!). Be mindful of the tags! This may be my darkest piece yet. (Dead dove, do not eat, as they say, right?) Also pretty self-indulgent, but there is some plot between all the filthy smut that is to come, I swear. > There are no names, no physical descriptions other than a size and age difference, so you can imagine any character here! <

ONE 🟥 TWO

Innocent.

She's been innocent, the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Laughing with her friends, oblivious to her own beauty, blind to the leering stares of every single male around her. And he's been one of them, staring, watching her, looking her up and down as she moved her fragile little body to the beat of the thumping bass, motions contorted and jerky in the strobe light, hair swinging, hips shaking, lips curling into happy smiles.

So innocent.

Probably just a mask, an act. Or maybe she's really been as pure as she looked back then, he'll never know. Because as soon as he's laid his eyes on her, she's been corrupted, tainted by his dark desires. He wanted to corrupt her, ruin her, and he always got what he wanted. He lured her in, kept watching her until she noticed his stares, the darkness in his gaze, the hunger within him. And she came to him, drawn to his mystique, his persistence.

Curious little thing, clueless to the monsters around her.

He smiles at her, rakes his eyes over her body, over that outfit she chose to impress without realizing what might happen, whose attention she might attract. The tight top, squishing those small breasts (pert little nipples standing proud under the shifting breeze of the AC), showing off the flat of her stomach, the flutter of her belly after she's danced her heart out, chest heaving, sweat on her brow, beads rolling down her pale, untouched skin. Slim naked arms holding the drink between her fingers, the soft rattle of cheap jewelry on her wrists, around her neck.

Girly, cute, pure.

And that skirt, mid-thigh, tame when she's standing still, scandalous when she's moving, the fabric flowing around her legs, bending down (bending over), accidentally showing off those cute little panties beneath. Giggling when she realizes her mistake, small hands trying to cover up, but people already saw, and she's aware. She's been aware he saw everything of her. Eager eyes, big and fucking innocent, following his every move.

He takes the drink from her, stares down at her, no longer smiling, and she looks up, chin tilted, so tiny in front of him, innocent, expectant, excited. Putting the glass down, he grabs her wrist, frail cheap jewelry bending under his grip. For a small moment she's hesitant, notices the strength in his fingers, the determination behind the gesture. But she still follows him as he pulls her away from the bar, into the shadows.

How do you break an innocent girl? Show her what's what? What may happen if she steps into the lion's den wearing that skimpy top and maybe-scandalous skirt? So naive. Swinging her hips to the blasting music, bouncing those tiny tits, laughing like nothing else matters, enjoying herself. A little light in the moving darkness. A light he wants to savor before he'll let her burn out.

If she'd be any other girl, he'd have her pinned to the wall, skirt flipped up, panties ripped down, his belt open in seconds before he'd sink his cock into her tight little cunt, to ravage her, ruin her, use her like she's supposed to be used. But she's too pure to be railed against a wall, in the dimly-lit club, for everyone to see.

He still pushes her against the wall, inhaling that little gasp she issues when she hits it, looking up at him, lips parted, eyes wide, gaze blurry, pupils already dilated, the thrill of the encounter and adrenaline of the night (and possibly some drinks she was mysteriously gifted) pumping through her body. Grabbing her face with his big hands, he holds her firmly when he leans closer, takes his time, gives her time to push him away (what a rare treat, girl), but she just stands there, looking at him, a little glint in her eyes, her lips curving up ever so slightly.

She wants this.

And he gives it to her. His lips meet hers, one hand holds her cheek, thumb guiding her chin, while the other hand slips into her hair, fisting it, a tight grip to hold her as he kisses her, a soft beginning, quickly turning rougher, more hungry, desperate. And she kisses him back in the same way, mirrors his motions perfectly. Such a quick learner. Their tongues slide against each other before he pushes deeper, tastes the inside of her mouth, that sweet taste, of some sugary drink and her, so much of her, and it's intoxicating.

So sweet. Innocence oozing from every pore.

He cages her in, pushes her against the wall, feet on either side of hers, knees around her legs, and she's that tiny thing in front of him, standing there, kissing him back, but her body seems frozen, hands at her sides, immobile. Petrified? A doe-eyed thing caught in the headlights? Not for long. His hand moves down to her waist, fingers digging into soft skin, warm and smooth, slipping up under the hem of her shirt, teasing at the little mound beneath.

No bra. Too innocent (and small) to need one.

Her hand comes up then, closing around his wrist, but she's not pulling him away, she's pushing his hand higher until his rough palm closes around her breast. Tiny tits, usually not his preference, but it's cute, that little squishy flesh under his big hand, warm and soft, and the longer he kneads it, the harder her nipple pokes into his palm.

And then she moans into his mouth. His eyelids flutter, and he stares at her, lips hovering over hers, heavy breaths mingling, head spinning, the tension in his stomach making it so hard to keep his composure, to stick to his decision to spare her his usual treatment. He gropes her small tit once more before he pulls his hand back, sliding it down her side, watching her closely.

He grabs her ass cheek harder than intended and leans in to capture her mouth when she yelps quietly in response, swallowing her noises, the thump of the music vibrating through his tense body. In his mind he's already ripped her clothes off, run his hands all over her smooth, untouched skin, fingers pinching her nipples, teasing between her legs, slipping deeper, into her tight innocent warmth –

A grunt escapes him. She's gripping the front of his shirt, her small hands clinging to him while she kisses him back, eagerly, completely lost in the unexpected encounter. Eyes closed, humming against him, body inching closer, searching for his warmth. The hand on her ass pulls her against him, a little thud that makes her mewl into his mouth, before it slips lower, cups her rear, pushes her up, fingers brushing against that little damp piece of fabric, and it's enough to make him hoist her up onto his hip.

Her hands claw at the collar of his shirt while her legs wrap around him almost automatically, conditioned, programmed to submit. A deep-rooted thing she isn't aware of yet. Her pelvis presses into his hipbone as he balances her, back pressed to the wall, both of his hands now on her plump cheeks, holding, groping. He can feel her warmth, that hint of wetness, arousal she's probably confused by.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he rasps into her neck as he leans in to shower her soft skin with hungry kisses, lips closing around her fluttering pulse, sucking the blood to the surface with a determination that surprises himself.

“What?” she breathes against his cheek, a sweet little sound in his ears, so pure, a soft hum in the atmosphere.

“Don't worry about it,” he mumbles, licking over the bruise he's created on her neck. She shivers in his hold, chest moving against him. He leans back, licking his lips, meeting her curious gaze. “You need another drink,” he says with a smirk. It's not a question.

He sets her down again, grabbing her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her temple until she looks up at him. Then his other hand is on her chin, holding her as he crashes his mouth against hers for another searing kiss. A little whimper escapes her. She's confused, he can tell, overwhelmed by whatever is happening.

Pulling her towards the bar, he nods to the barkeeper, a gesture often used. She's leaning against him, caged between his hard body and the counter, looking up at him with those big eyes. He smiles down at her, caressing her soft cheek with the back of his finger. He's got her, he knows. She doesn't even care about her friends anymore (and they seem to have forgotten about her too, he can see them dancing on the other side of the room). All she does is look at him, mesmerized.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bartender sliding the drinks over the counter top. He takes the prepared drink (something sugary with a special ingredient) and hands it to her, then takes the little vodka shot for himself, eyes fixed on her as he clinks the glasses together. She smiles shyly and takes a cautious sip, while he downs the shot in one go, feeling the liquid burning down his throat. The music thumps around them, the air thick and heavy with alcohol and sweat, and a tension that's just between them.

The innocent girl, sipping her drink, staring up at the man, who watches her with a predatory smirk. His hand is heavy on her hip, warm and comforting, holding her in place, thumb rubbing over her fluttering stomach. She finishes the sugary concoction and wipes her mouth, glass empty on the bar. He leans down and brushes his lips against her ear.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and she shivers, her hand finding the front of his shirt again. He steps back, his hands running along her arms until they close around her slim wrists. The bass sits low in his guts, and he can't help but move his body slightly to the music as he leads her backwards. She laughs softly, a little sway to her hips as she follows him. But they leave the dance floor and walk back into the shadows.

He watches her closely, she blinks more, eyelids heavy, lips parted, that cute little tongue out to lick them, once, twice, again, almost obsessively. He takes her to the back, past the office, the music becoming that thick beat in the distance, a deep thrum in the air, through the walls, muffled as if the world was made of cotton. He leans her against the wall, a body too easy to move by now, his hands on her shoulders as he leans down to rub his nose against hers.

“Be a good girl and stay right here,” he tells her, waiting for her to understand.

She nods slowly, licking her lips again, and he presses his mouth to hers, capturing that sweet little tongue, sucks on it, kisses her deeply, tastes the sugar and her and more. Dangerous move, but he can't help himself. He leans back, moves his lips down her jaw, along her neck, swipes his tongue in a broad stroke over that soft skin. She mewls in response, and he grins against her before leaning back.

“I'll be right back,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, making sure she does what he tells her. She nods again, biting her swollen lip.

He hasn't planned to take her, but he'll adapt, as always. It's a risky move, but he somehow knows it's going to be fine. He has an eye for these things, knows what to do if situations (opportunities) like this present themselves. Just a few calls, some more ominous nods to his employees, no problem, just a few minutes of his time to sort things out. Somewhat. He doesn't even know why he's taking her away, it just feels right. The temptation is too strong to ignore.

He shouldn't have left her.

When he returns, they are there, crowding her, two guys, frat boys probably, drunk out of their minds, slurring and stumbling, but determined to take what is now his. He's on them in no time, hand ripping them away from the frightened but still confused girl, frozen in place as hands gripped and groped her, slipping under her clothes, going places that are reserved to him.

His fist lands hard against a jaw, one of them tumbling to the floor with a howl, the other, too drunk to react, just stares at him, and he doesn't wait for him to realize what is happening. There's blood on his knuckles when the second guy goes down as well, two crumpled guys on the floor, holding their bloody faces. He grabs the girl with his left hand, carefully pulling her against him. She's swaying, legs trembling, arms wrapping around his waist helplessly.

One of the boys stirs, and he steps on his hand and kicks him back, another howl swallowed by the distant thump of the music. He takes a few steps, raps his fist against the door. A bouncer opens it, and he tilts his head towards the mess behind him. “Take care of this,” he orders, and the burly man nods, slipping into the club while he maneuvers the girl out of it.

The night is cold, semi-fresh air, but the noises are no longer muffled. The city breathes around them as he guides her to his car, parked in the back. She clings to him, barely able to function on her own anymore, eyes heavy, lips parted. He leans her against the trunk, hands holding her soft face, looks her over. She looks at him from under her lashes, too out of it to realize anything anymore. He gives her a soft kiss to her warm cheek, a little giggle escapes her.

She falls into the passenger seat, a frail little body unable to move on its own. He leans over to buckle her in, feeling her deep breaths on his chin. A short side glance shows him she has her eyes closed, chest rising and falling, head lolled to the side. His hand is on her cheek as he kisses her gently, savoring the warmth, already imagining what he could use her for. But he has to be patient.

When he rounds the car to get behind the wheel, his morals flare up, a rare occurrence, but the sight of her slumped into the seat, helpless and fucking innocent, makes him wonder how it's come to this. He's seen her dancing, in that tight top and short skirt, a laughing little light in the darkness around her. Pure. Ready to be soiled. He inhales the cold night air and slips into the driver seat, shaking his head to get rid of those damn doubts, flexing his bloodied knuckles on the steering wheel as he turns his head towards her small form.

In the end she is just another body to be used, like she should be.

They arrive at his place, and it's a blur for him to get her into the elevator, a little breathing bundle in his arms, so light and heavy at the same time. Temptation. He puts her down on the bed, watches her, how she curls up into a ball of limbs and hair, breathing softly, skirt bunched up around her hips, that sweet round butt on display, cute panties he wants to rip off her immediately. But he refrains, sighs, turns away to wash the blood off his hands.

Unbuttoning his shirt as he returns, his eyes are on her, taking in every detail. He keeps his pants on, keeps his hard erection in place for now, no matter how difficult it is to hold back. The urge to just take her is strong, push those panties aside and impale her on his thick cock. It'd be so easy. She wouldn't even feel anything, wouldn't remember a single thing. And there's the problem. He doesn't want to fuck a lifeless body, no matter how cute she looks.

He wants to see the fear in her eyes, the pain when he penetrates her, stretches her, deflowers her, possibly. Maybe even the lust growing in her pupils, that dilated look of pure bliss. Who knows, she might be into this. She followed him so willingly, she came to him, after all, approached the monster that kept staring at her. She made the first step. He just watched.

She stirs on the bed, soft little noises tumbling past her lips. He leans over her, rolls her onto her back, turns her head to the side so she won't choke on her own spit. There are other things he wants her to choke on. Later. It's almost caring how he brushes her hair out of her face, caresses her cheek, flushed and warm from sleep. Thumb finding the contours of her lips, soft and wet, pushing between them, into her mouth, searching for that sweet little tongue.

He pulls back with a deep sigh. Watching her for another moment, he decides to undress her after all. At least the skirt has to go, so he moves his hands under her body and fumbles for the zipper, then pulls it off her slim legs, nudges her shoes and socks off in the same move. He even removes her cheap jewelry, the soft clanging sounds of the thin metal filling the quiet room. She stirs slightly, smacks her lips, but doesn't wake. Not that she could, not yet. He folds the skirt and puts it on the nightstand, the sneakers he leaves under the bed, socks tucked into them, then turns his attention back to her sleeping form.

So fucking innocent in her tight top and those cute panties. A soft pink with little white bows on it. Childish almost, a girl caught in that awkward phase between adulthood and innocence, right on the verge. He doesn't know how old she is, but he trusts his bouncers to only let in girls of age. They're experts in finding fake IDs, good judges of character also. To be honest, though, it wouldn't change anything anyway. She is here now, on his bed, ready to be used, soiled, ravaged. He can't fucking wait.

But he has to, so he leans back and inhales deeply, ignoring the strain in his pants. His hands are itching to touch her, feel that warm smooth skin, pure and untouched. Almost. He can see the bruise on her neck that he worked into her. His mark. The beginning of many more, he's sure. He leans in, braced on one arm, one knee denting the mattress, his other hand tracing her jaw until he feels the little thump of her heartbeat in her jugular. His fingers curl around her neck, thumb pressed to her throat, as he stares down at her.

His mind floods with images of soft lips strained around his cock as he forces it down her throat, the tears in her eyes, the desperate grip of her fingers, trying to push him away as she struggles to breathe, spit and cum on her face, dripping down her chin, down between her tiny tits, chest heaving, throat bulging, a small body shuddering under the assault. He leans back with a groan, his stomach tensing in anticipation.

His hand trails down her side, teases those soft mounds under the top, scrapes over the hem of her panties, down her inner thigh, a little nudge and her legs open, a body to move how he wants to, so pliant. He's tempted to throw his plans overboard, the urge growing to just take her and relieve the throbbing need in his pants. His fingers are shaking as he brushes them between her legs, over the soft, slightly damp fabric of her underwear.

He can't help himself any longer, he slips a finger under the hem, feels her warm skin and the slick gathering between her soft folds. Biting his lip, he traces her slit, from the little hidden nub down to her entrance, and he can already tell she's never been touched here before, tight and pure. Maybe she's had her own little fingers in there, but she'll soon find out that it won't compare to anything he's planning to do to her.

A grunt escapes him when he pushes the tip of his finger into her hole, a little squelching sound accompanied by a little whimper. He looks up, but she's still gone, head turned to the side, drool gathering in the corner of her parted lips. He watches her as he dips his finger deeper, feels the tight grip of her cute little cunt, so warm and squishy, barely able to accommodate one of his digits. This will take some work if he wants to keep her.

He's used virgins before, broke them, ravaged them until their blood mixed with his cum, their pained screams like music in his ears, but this girl... she's too innocent to be treated like that. It's a strange feeling he's never had before. It's warm and somewhat comforting, as smooth as her tight little pussy. He pumps his finger slowly in and out, noticing the wetness gathering around it. Her mind may be clouded, but her body reacts nonetheless.

Why not start her training while she's unconscious? Might make it easier for her once she comes to. He settles next to her, pushing her panties aside more to allow his thumb to find her clit. Pumping his finger, he rubs it gently, draws tight circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves, feels it pulsing under his touch. His cock twitches against the fabric of his pants, and he grits his teeth to ignore it.

Her body shudders, little uncontrollable twitches in her thighs, her stomach fluttering, her soft breaths slightly faster as he keeps working his finger into her tight warmth. His eyes on her face, relaxed in sleep, but there's still a little twitch to her eyebrows, a little furrow, a quiet whimper falling from those plump lips. He fingers her faster, thumb pushing harder on her nub, those sweet squelching sounds making his head spin.

A tiny moan erupts from her throat, a quiet “Ah...” humming in the atmosphere, and he feels her tensing up, her walls gripping his finger, but he works it in and out still, knuckles-deep, thumb assaulting her clit. He wants to lean in and taste her so bad, but somehow he holds himself back, another trait he's new to. Instead he watches her small body convulsing under his touch, hips jerking against his hand, cunt clamping down on his digit, and when he pulls it out, her wetness seeps out of the tiny hole, trailing down to the other, dripping onto the sheets.

He inhales deeply, takes in that sweet scent of her orgasm, and wipes his hand on her inner thigh, spreading her release on her warm skin, before he leans back and brings his finger to his lips, unable to fight the urge to taste her after all. He prefers to have his face between soft thighs, drinking directly from that intoxicating fountain, but for now it'll do. His tongue laps around his fingertip, and he closes his eyes, taking her in, that sweet, sweet taste.

Before he leaves her be, he adjusts her panties and throws the blanket over her sleeping form. Then it's a short trip to the bathroom, shower turned on, clothes discarded on the floor, and he's barely in there when his right hand closes around his angrily throbbing cock.

Fuck. This girl will be a challenge. An exercise in restraint.

🟥 TWO

End notes: So, I guess the slow burn of Innocence Lost got to me, big time. I have no idea from what dark and ugly depths I pulled this story, but it is here, at least the first 10 chapters of it, the first season if you will. (And there will be more!) I'll upload a new chapter every Monday!

I hope the tags didn't put you off too much, but if you are reading this, maybe you pulled through, and I thank you for it! Thank you for joining me on this wild ride! I appreciate you very much!

By the way, this all came to be, somehow, because I've been listening to a lot of Electric Callboy recently (strangely enough, iykyk) and their video to Hate/Love kinda brought this all down. Or at least started it all. Sometimes inspiration strucks in the weirdest forms.

Thanks again for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE ◾️TEN

ELEVEN◾️TWELVE ◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[klaroveins]

Was it casual when he allowed her to drink his blood straight from the vein while she was dying?

Was it casual when he came all the way from New Orleans for her graduation in Mystic Falls?

Was it casual when he allowed Tyler Lockwood to come back to Mystic Falls even though he was in love with Caroline but understood she was in love with Tyler and only wanted her to be happy?

Was it casual when Tyler was her first love but he intended to be her last?

Was it casual when he offered to show her anywhere around the world, Paris, Rome and Tokyo?

Was it casual when he drew a beautiful picture of her even after she insulted him and didn’t give in to his charms easily?

Was it casual when he let his guard down with her considering he was a paranoid person and she hated him?

Was it casual when he constantly pursued her even when she hated him?

Was it casual when he sacrificed one of his Hybrids that he’d spent centuries working to create, just for a single date with her?

Was it casual when before his death, they shared one final kiss?

Was it casual when she believed he was worth being saved?

Was it casual when she always knew he was never the villain in her story?

NOTHING ABOUT KLAROLINE WAS CASUAL.

[wholoveseggs]

~Your local egg carton~

{masterlist}

18+

THANK YOU so much for all your love and support; it truly means the world to me.

lets get cracking!

Warnings: Its all mostly smut

(or soon to be published smut)

~Elijah Mikaelson♡~

~Daemon Targaryen♡~

~Kinktober 2024♡~

hi :) my name is Lissa ♡♡

I started this blog in November of 2023, mostly as an outlet for my own personal Elijah Mikaelson-based thirst. ♡ It has since become so much more. I love my engaging and passionate followers, I love writing for them, and I love being part of the community. I hope you'll join us, and find something that makes you smile {or gets you hot~ hehe} ♡♡♡

❀❀ Tag-list ❀❀

☆☆Smut writing tips☆☆

♡♡ One-Hundred Followers Celebration ♡♡

♡♡ One-Thousand Followers Celebration ♡♡

-- Check out #lissa celebrates 1000 for my AMA

-- Check out #lissa responds for all my replies

If you rather read on Ao3- Link is here

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

fanfic writers, reblog with your age (or age range if you’re not comfortable telling your exact age)

[animasola86]

F o r g e t f u l 🎀 1 / 4

Your roommate has a dirty secret - you. The only problem is: you can't remember anything about that. And there might be even more problems when you realize just what kind of relationship you have with her.

a dominant woman X a submissive girl with a memory problem

WARNINGS: F!Reader-insert! NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Mistress/pet. Domme/sub. Memory loss. Manipulation. Gaslighting. Praise kink. Dubcon elements. Fingering. Sex toys. Object insertion. Bondage. (More tags on AO3.) WORDS: 5.5k

A/N: Remember: if these tags are not for you, you better turn back now! If you know my other stories, you may be used to my very explicit writing style, but this is still some of the darker stuff, somewhat. It's rough, but there is an actual wlw story buried beneath the depravity, I swear! And: THIS IS FICTION! Nobody got hurt in the making of this series. (By the way, the header is just for aesthetics, it's up to you to decide how Mistress looks like and obviously Reader looks however you want to insert her. I tried my best to keep her neutral.) Another note on the fandom tags: I write characters who could be anyone, so I thought about some kick-ass ladies who may fit the role here. I'm sorry this is not about your favorite character, but maybe it can still somewhat fit? Give it a try :)

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

You're staring at the pictures with your lips parted and trembling, your cheeks warm, a strange tingle in your nape. Your hands are shaking as you file through the prints. They look weirdly professional, good lighting, even better angles, the background is blurry while the focus lies directly on...

You.

It's you in those photographs, you in various positions, you in different outfits... or with nothing at all hiding your curves. Some pictures are just showing certain body parts, some angles you've never seen of yourself, some more flattering than others.

But whatever you see, you can't hide the fact that it arouses you. It's not the subject, you're usually quite self-conscious about taking nudes of yourself (even though you gotta admit that these look quite well made, so surreal that you feel almost proud of yourself), it's actually two things that make your core throb:

One: you are in clearly compromising positions, bent over with your legs spread wide, on your back, bound to the bed with cuffs around your wrists and ankles, or tied up with soft-looking rope in intricate patterns, your body composed in ways you haven't thought possible (or comfortable).

And two: you are always stuffed. There are various objects sticking out of both your cunt and your ass, sometimes there's even something in your mouth that's held open by a spider gag. It varies too, not all holes are occupied all the time, all at once, in some pictures it's just one and it's particularly stuffed and stretched (is that an eggplant?).

Your body reacts more and more as you flip through the thick printed paper. The worst thing about it all:

You can't remember a goddamn thing!

Shame and arousal course through you as you stare at yourself. But you can't put them down, can't stop. In this photo, you're wearing a black leather harness that accentuates your breasts. You're standing, with wide legs, a spreader bar attached to your ankles. You're blindfolded, your arms tied behind your back. It's a series of pictures, you realize.

First from the front, then from the back (your ass cheeks look great with how they're pushed up by the leather straps). You notice something shiny between them: a butt plug with a sparkly diamond base. It's glowing, or blinking as you see in the next picture where the light is gone.

Your insides convulse a little, your muscles clenching around nothing. It's like looking at porn, but you can't ignore the familiarity about the body portrayed. It is undoubtedly yours.

But then again: you've never had anything up your ass, not in your conscious state at least. But here (and in those other pics) you have, and the next print even shows a close-up of the plug in your ass. It's a strangely aesthetic photo considering the unflattering motif and angle, but it certainly does things to you. Though you can't be sure if the tension in your stomach comes from embarrassment, excitement or sheer terror at the revelation that somebody took these pictures of you – and you can't even remember it.

Swallowing hard, you pry your eyes from the prints, your hands still shaking, as you look around the room. Somebody can only be one person. Your gaze scrapes over the shelves around you, full of camera equipment, old-fashioned film containers next to a plastic box full of SD-cards, various lenses and other extras, and then the cameras themselves, three at least, behind glass doors, kept away, like the pictures you found in a large brown envelope hiding in a drawer.

You've been looking for some hair ties, an innocent search, knowing your roommate wouldn't mind, but now you feel as if you've stepped into a different world, uncovering secrets you should have never known about. Even if they are about you.

Taking a shuddering breath, you look back at the pictures in your hands, your cheeks positively aflame now as you trace the blurry lines of your body before the focus shifts to a close-up of your cunt, shiny and reddened, your clit swollen, with black clamps attached to your pussy lips, thin metal chains disappearing off to the sides, holding your folds open while something black and girthy vanishes into your body.

The next pictures show a white-gloved hand gripping the base of the dildo, and you flip quicker through the sheets to create the motion, seeing the toy going in and out of your cunt, guided by the anonymous hand, spreading your core, diving in to retreat with an extra layer of shine before disappearing again, and as you stare at the prints, you can almost feel it moving inside you, a faint memory as your muscles clench and unclench, your arousal building up before it drips into your underwear.

You are torn between being very horny upon seeing these pictures and utterly disturbed. If you could only remember these scenes, then it wouldn't be as bad. But you can't. There's nothing, only fog that slips through your mind's imaginary fingers as you try to catch it, as you try to make sense of this. You feel your heart beating faster while your eyes tear up from staring unblinkingly at the prints in your hands.

This can't be real. Confusion merges with betrayal, your belly feels tense, your heart clenches in rhythm with your walls, your throat closes up as the first tear spills from your lashes.

You let go of the pictures, watching them scatter over the desk and down to the floor, every angle of your body on display, every inch captured in embarrassing detail, your holes filled or gaping, your mouth gagged or stuffed or open, there's drool, there are tears, there's wetness glistening on your skin in almost every shot. Your eyes may be the scariest part staring up at you. They're either glazed over, unfocused, or rolled back and hooded, some bloodshot, some watery, and some look almost defiant, a moment captured in time where you seemingly fought back?

The ones where you're blindfolded are the least terrifying, those are the ones where you can dissociate, where you can imagine somebody else being tied to whatever surfaces there are, tables, benches, beds, chairs, artfully presented, where it's just a body, clad in sexy lingerie and high heels, or adorned with ropes, or in the moments after where the skin is dented by the intricate patterns left behind by the ties.

The close-ups are also getting to you. You've never seen your own cunt or ass up close like this, so again, it could be anyone's holes filled and spread and used by various objects. The sheer amount and variety of them is quite concerning. But it's the unconventional ones that make you shiver, that create that tension in your stomach. The cucumber pushed deep into your ass so only its thinner stalk or whatever its called pokes out. The wide eggplant parting your labia in an obscene fashion, its entire body stuffed into your cunt, creating a slight bulge in your lower stomach.

There's another stack of photos atop a large envelope (the whole drawer seems to be dedicated to just you), and your curiosity gets the better of you after all. It's a series of pictures showing different round objects pushed into your holes. From marbles to ping pong balls to actual tennis balls, they're all shown vanishing into either your ass or your cunt, pushed by a delicate finger clad in a white glove, one after the other, and you can only assume how many would actually fit. It's not a video, you can't be sure, but you can imagine whoever did this to you didn't stop at just one.

Indeed they didn't, as the next photo shows. Another set of hands, also wearing white gloves, is grabbing your ass cheeks and pulling them apart, making your sphincter wink at the camera, before, in the next shot, your hole is gaping, allowing a strange view inside, rosy flesh stuffed with white little balls (you can see at least three, but more are hinted at behind them). You feel a little sick looking at the rest of the series of pictures, where they come back out as your hole puckers, pushing and pushing.

Your body reacts in earnest, your muscles clenching around nothing, deep shivers crashing down your spine. You flip past more of these kinds of photos, until you stop when you see white-gloved fingers poking at your cunt, spreading your lips, gathering your slick that glistens on the surface of the latex gloves, and you let out an audible gasp when the next picture doesn't show them push in, but shows only a wrist (attached to a slender arm) poking out of your stretched hole, gripped by tight skin, suggesting the entire hand is stuck inside you.

Your stomach gives a nervous growl at the sight, your breath hitching in your throat. You swallow thickly, your nostrils flaring as you force yourself to breathe through your nose to calm yourself. The stack of pictures shakes in your hands as you flip through more extreme insertions, more vegetables, some fruits, an entire apple made it up your cunt apparently, while they went from using one cucumber in your ass to at least three, stretching your rim impossibly wide. The sight alone makes your asshole clench violently, and you wonder why you never felt sore after being stuffed so full and spread so wide.

But your body seemingly adjusted, returned to its former state, unharmed, giving no hints at what actually happened to you. Strange. It's almost as if this happened to somebody else after all. But it didn't. It is your body. You may not know your cunt or ass up close, but you recognize the rest, your boobs, your arms, your belly, your legs, your feet, the birthmarks that make you you. It is you in these pictures, in every single one.

Only you.

A strangled sob escapes you as you look over the desk, seeing more and more envelopes, hiding in plain sight, more prints, some smaller, some bigger, all filled with motifs of your body being used in various fashions, one more degrading than the next. Shame settles low in your stomach, like a heavy weight that makes it hard to breathe. Your head is spinning, blood rushing in your ears so loudly you are startled back into reality as you suddenly hear the creaking of the door.

Footsteps follow, before someone clears their throat.

You whip around, dropping the last pictures you were holding, more shots of your stuffed cunt, wet and glistening as it's assaulted by more household items. Your eyes widen when you see your roommate in the door frame, a smug smile on her beautiful face as she crosses her arms over her chest.

“Oh hi,” she says in a nonchalant tone, tilting her head. “What are you doing here, pet?” she adds, and you frown at the nickname, a strange sensation crashing through your nerves.

“I... uh... I was looking for...” you stammer, taking a step away from the desk and the mess you made by dropping all those prints. “A hair tie,” you whisper breathlessly, curling your shaking hands into fists as you stare at her. “What... what are these? Did you take them?” you then ask, your voice trembling as much as your shoulders while you look from her back to the discriminating evidence you found by accident.

Your roommate sighs, unfolding her arms as she walks towards you. She's taller than you, slender and still curvy in the right places, her long hair falling over her slim shoulders. You force yourself to look into her eyes and not get distracted by the cleavage her tight dress creates or how close she is. She stops right in front of you, looking down, a softer looking smile curling her full lips.

“You know I did,” she says quietly, reaching up a hand to caress your cheek with the back of her finger. You shiver under the touch, but don't flinch away. “You agreed to this, remember?”

“No,” you breathe out, blinking quickly as you feel tears welling up in your eyes.

She clicks her tongue, shaking her head. “Shh, it's okay, pet, don't worry. You did. I would never do anything to harm you,” she whispers, leaning closer until you feel her hot breath on your lips. “You wanted to be my muse, you begged me for it,” she adds, biting her lip sensually before leaning in to press her warm mouth to the corner of yours.

You stiffen, eyes widening, your heart nearly exploding in your chest. You can't remember any of this. Why is she saying that? She is just your roommate!

You moved in only a few months ago, replying to an ad you saw on the bulletin board of your college dorm. A cheap room in a good neighborhood, your own room, away from the distractions of having to live with people you don't like or know that well, it sounded too good to be true. But it was true, and the woman looking for roommates was so nice, so enticing. You met her at a neutral place, to get to know her (fall for her charm), before she showed you the apartment, and you moved in later that week.

It was perfect. Until it wasn't. Not that you noticed it right away. You just never saw her. Now that you thought about it, you can only (barely) remember going to your classes (you are still going to your classes, right?), while the rest of the day is somewhat of a blur. You can't, however, remember going to your job at the coffee shop (do you still have a job? How are you paying for this place?), and the more you try to remember, the more holes come up, black and all-consuming.

You frown as you stare at her. She leans back slowly, watching you. Her hand is on your face, the pointy nail of her thump scraping over your bottom lip as her long fingers caress the shell of your ear.

“No need to worry, pet,” she says quietly, her voice a low soft thrum, rich like honey, that tickles something inside you that you've fought all your life. Why does she keep calling you 'pet'? And why does it affect you so much? “Everything is just fine. And I'm not even mad that you just went into my room like this. I told you you shouldn't, didn't I?”

You swallow as she lowers her hand and closes it around your throat, giving it a gentle squeeze. You feel your pulse throbbing against her palm. “I'm sorry,” you gasp out.

She smiles at you, moving her hand even lower, teasing her fingertips along the neckline of your shirt. “It's okay. You know the consequences. It'll be fine.” You furrow your eyebrows, breathing harder, not understanding anything. “Not the first time, hm?” she adds, giving you a wink. Her words make no sense, your head is hurting with how tight you pull your eyebrows together, and with all the thoughts and questions whirling about in a wild dance of confusion.

“I... I don't –”

“Shh,” she shushes you, her hand gripping your chin. You freeze. “Be a good pet and go back to your room. I'll clean this up. Put on the clothes I chose for you. Wait for me when you're done. Do you understand?”

You stare at her, your body tensing up, your cunt clenching hard around nothing. Her words, the cadence of her voice, the dominant tone, it all brings you to do one thing, your mind emptying as words spill from your trembling lips. “Yes, Mistress.”

You don't even know where these came from. Mistress? Pet? What is going on? But your body moves on auto-pilot, your mind swirling, still fighting the confusion, but also easing into a strange void, triggered by words you've heard before, or so it feels, commands you've answered many times in the past.

She lets go of your chin, giving you a warm smile, even though her eyes are dark and somewhat cold, and you nod, bow your head and shuffle out of the room, your legs trembling as you make your way back into your bedroom across the hall.

For a moment you're wondering how you got here, why you're here, but then your gaze falls onto a pile of clothes on your bed. You walk closer, picking up item after item. A short black skirt, pleated, barely long enough to not be considered a belt. A tight tank top, white and almost see-through. A set of fancy black underwear, a lace bra with an intricate flower pattern, a thong of similar design. There's also a pair of sheer black stockings, a garter belt and straps to attach each piece together.

Your stomach tenses at the sight. You've seen these pieces before, in the photos you shouldn't have seen. It's a blur how you put them on, your head spinning, your hands shaking, but you still somehow manage to dress in time before you hear footsteps on the floorboards outside your room. Your heart beats faster, your chest heaving, tight in the bra and top, straining, something cold crashing down your spine before it gathers hot and pulsing right between your legs.

Before the creaking of the door announces your roommate, you suddenly fall to your knees, your feet tucked under your rear, your hands automatically finding purchase in your lap, folded neatly as you stretch your back and square your shoulders, breathing deep as you train your eyes straight ahead, waiting for the door to open. You have no idea what made you assume this position, why it feels so familiar, so safe in a way.

Your roommate (your Mistress) enters your bedroom, her high heels thudding over the carpet as she walks up to you, tilting her head as she watches you closely. “Stand,” she says, and you do, your legs moving seemingly on their own. Once you stand, stiff with your arms pressed to your sides, chest pushed out, your neck straight, eyes wandering over the tall frame in front of you, she nods. “See? You haven't forgotten. Good girl,” she says, and the praise shoots through you like a pistol shot, straight into your clit, making it throb and ache, your heart beating in the same hurried rhythm.

She walks around you then, her long fingers brushing over your bare arms, around your shoulders, down your spine, until she gives your ass a soft slap, making you gasp quietly. She repeats the motion, but this time, she leaves her hand on your cheek for a moment, squeezing it, her fingernails digging into your soft skin. You stiffen, breathing a little harder.

“You're so beautiful,” she whispers as she leans into you, looming behind you, her breath ghosting your jaw. “My perfect little muse.”

You feel her lips brushing against the soft spot behind your ear, a hot kiss that makes you shiver, while her hand gropes your ass, fingertips teasing at the thin fabric of your thong tucked between your cheeks.

Suddenly she leans back, lets go of you, and you hear her walking a few steps before she stops, a deep sigh echoing through the room. You turn around slowly, unsure if you should, but when you do, you freeze as you watch her pick up the glass of water on your bedside table.

“Baby, I told you to drink more,” she says with a tilt of her head. “You always forget, hm? So busy, head always in the clouds...” She walks back to you, holding the glass in front of you, her eyes boring into yours as she waits for you to grab it. You do, your hands shaking. “Drink up, pretty girl. You know you need it.”

She's so caring, you think as you bring the water to your lips, holding her gaze, but as soon as you feel the cold liquid running down your tight throat, an image flickers before your eyes. Your roommate (Mistress) sitting on your bed, moving a clear glass straw in a stirring motion, swirling the water, making a faint sheen of powder disappear. You feel as if you've watched her do that many times. What is that? What did she put in here? Vitamins? Or something else?

But you can't even question it further, can't find the courage to ask, when you realize you've drank the whole thing, every drop of water (and whatever else was in there) now in your stomach. “Good girl,” she praises and smiles at you, before she takes the glass from your clammy fingers and puts it back on your bedside table. “Now let's get you ready for our big night out, yeah?”

You frown, another faint memory peeking through the fog in your head. It seems to be getting thicker now. Strange. But this image, you still see somewhat clearly before you. You had plans tonight, you remember now, you wanted to go out. Where? No idea. But you needed a hair tie. Yeah. That's why you went into your roommate's room in the first place. Some details are blurry (were you supposed to go out with her? Have you done that before? Why would you? You barely know the woman...), but somehow they don't matter anymore.

She steps back in front of you, her fingers vanishing in the cleavage of her dress before she pulls something from between her breasts. You blink in confusion as you recognize the shape. It's a metal butt plug. And she stored it between her boobs? Interesting.

“Open wide, pet,” she tells you, and without even questioning it, you part your lips and let your tongue roll out. She looks pleased as she puts the rounded object into your mouth. It's warm, and the taste triggers something else in you. Another familiar sensation. It's her, you know without knowing, her taste, sweet and a bit salty, exploding on your tongue, sinking deep, causing soft shivers to crash down your spine, something hot gathering low in your gut.

You've had your face on her chest before, huh? Must be. Your cheeks burn up badly, your breaths loud through your nose as you suckle on the butt plug between your lips, your eyes scanning the pretty face looking down at you. She keeps her fingers on the base, pushing the object in and out, and you find yourself licking around it, coating it in your saliva. Like you've done before. You think.

She watches you before she lets go of the plug and puts her palm over your mouth. “Keep it nice and warm for me, okay?” she says, leaning closer until her nose brushes against yours. You give a jerking nod, tightening your lips around the narrowest part of the plug while its body rests hard and heavy on your tongue. “Good.”

You feel saliva pooling in your mouth, and the urge to swallow becomes stronger. But you focus on the woman in front of you as she straightens up again, her hands on her hips. Her whole presence, her aura, has you in its grip, you feel, it's impossible to fight it, to protest, to do anything except the things she demands of you. All it takes is a look, a word, her voice driving through you like an electric current that controls your every limb.

And so you move when she tells you to turn around and bend over, and as you rest on your forearms on the edge of your bed, she nudges your legs apart and steps between them, her hands sliding under your skirt and pushing it up. You stiffen slightly, breathing harder, your heart thundering inside your chest, but you can't object, you don't want to. You just endure.

And a tiny part of you, through the fog in your head, lights up, a growing heat that creeps down your spine, tenses in your stomach, seeps lower until it gathers in your core, scorching, wet, and it's all you feel when she pushes your thong aside and moves her fingers along your slit, dipping gently between your puffy lips and into your slick, the loud squelching noise making your ears burn.

She prods at your entrance, teases your clit, but then she moves up again, and without warning or command or reassuring words pokes right against your puckered hole, and as you gasp around the plug in your mouth, flinching slightly, she stretches your rim and pushes into your ass, a slim finger, a pointy fingernail, digging against your tense muscles. In and out it goes until there are two fingers, then three, and it burns, the friction too much, like little daggers poking at your nerves.

“Come on, pet, relax,” she says from behind you, moving her fingers deeper, curling them, pushing and prodding against protesting muscles. “You've done this before. You're a pro at this, remember?”

Her words bring up the hazy memories of the pictures you saw, of the various items wedged into your tight ass, and some just don't make sense. Three cucumbers? Really? While it already feels like too much when she 'only' has three slim fingers inside you? How did you manage that? Your stomach gives a distant growl as drool slips past your tight lips and onto your bed.

“Fine, I'll lube you up this time,” she sighs and removes her fingers with a strangely wet pop. This time? She doesn't usually? It's almost as if you can remember the pain of the dry friction, but then why can you never remember any soreness afterwards? Confusion lingers on your mind as you hear her footsteps leaving the room.

You remain in your bent-over position, your hands clawing at the sheets as you suckle mindlessly on the metal plug in your mouth, trying to make sense of it all. You come to no conclusion whatsoever when she eventually returns, and you hear the squirt of some liquid before you can feel it. Large dollops of something cold pressing against your tight hole. You groan against the object between your lips as she pushes deeper, her fingers, slick and cold, sliding in and out again.

This time she stretches your hole by scissoring her fingers, knuckles digging into your tense muscles, and you hear another squirt and something cold lands on your hot skin, slipping right into you. You shiver, goosebumps breaking out on your exposed skin. She keeps doing that, filling you up with more and more lube, you assume, her fingers pushing it deep, coating your insides. It's a strange sensation, but again, this feels somewhat familiar, and triggers more memories you seem to have suppressed before, or forgotten.

You see yourself strapped to a reclining chair, your legs raised up in some sort of stirrups, ankles tied and wrists bound to the armrests. You're naked, and she is kneeling between your wide open legs in front of a large plastic bucket or something like it, and there's a tube inside your ass, something cold (water?) pressing through it and into you, and you see and feel it filling you up, your stomach bulging, and you feel sick, your insides cramping, but you can't say anything, there's a gag in your mouth, so all you can do is squirm in your restraints, until you feel a different sort of pain as she slaps your mound with a force that makes you cry out, makes you flinch remembering it, and she keeps at it, hitting your clit with precise blows until it's all puffy and throbbing badly, and you throw your head back and whine helplessly, your belly still bulging, filling up, while her voice coos into your ear:

“You want to be clean, pet, don't you? So we gotta clean you up properly. You don't want to be dirty for our guests, now do you?”

You frown deeply as those words echo in your cloudy head. Guests? But the question vanishes slowly, replaced by the sensation of her fingers digging deep into your ass, spreading more lube, and in the back of your mind you're just glad she isn't giving you another enema. A strange thought to have, but it makes sense in the dizziness that holds you hostage. Breathing harder, you press your forehead into the bed, swallowing hard around the plug in your mouth.

As she works on (in) your ass, you start to feel a tingle in your neglected pussy, a spasm deep within, a little clench, a needy little urge, and instead of holding still, you find yourself grinding your rear into her hand. She stops immediately, a deep sigh escaping her as she pulls her fingers out of your ass and grips your nape with her wet hand. You shiver and stiffen, holding your breath as she pulls you into a standing position.

Her free hand grabs the base of the plug and pulls it out of your mouth where it clangs against your teeth, causing you to flinch. You swallow the excess spit and take a shuddering breath as you feel the warm metal pressing between your ass cheeks. With how she worked you open, it slips in easily enough, and your muscles clench slightly around its narrow neck, but it's only after she smacks your soft cheek a few times in rapid succession, making you whine and shudder as your skin tightens, that you're tensing up enough to hold it in place.

She lets go of you and spins you around, then holds out her hand to you, her fingers glistening in lube and your own wetness. “Clean,” she says, and even though your stomach makes a loud grumble of protest, you find yourself leaning in and closing your lips around her slim fingers. A strange taste of artificial strawberry and something else, something tangy and your own, floods your senses, but you close your eyes and flick your tongue around her digits, focusing on the task and not on the taste and the origin of it.

Eventually she pulls her hand away and pats your cheek, leaving a trail of saliva on your warm skin. Your eyes flutter open as she leans around you and adjusts your thong, pulling it back in place, then pushes your skirt down again. Her eyes meet yours, the gaze intense, creating another soothing wave of heat that rolls over you gently, that makes you clench around the plug in your butt. A smile grazes her full lips, and you find yourself smiling back.

“Alright, now put your hair up, get your shoes and your coat, and wait by the front door,” she tells you as she steps away, holding your gaze until you nod obediently. Your mind is reeling at this point, confusion and arousal warring inside of you. What is happening?

You don't know, and you don't seem to care too much either as you start moving, following her orders. You end up on your knees again, right by the door, waiting like a dog, and the image couldn't have been more fitting when you see her approaching with a strange leather band in her hands. You blink when she crouches down before you and fixes what you can only assume is a collar around your neck. It sits tight enough to notice it, but you can still breathe freely and swallow against it without it restricting you in any way.

You're still confused why you need this (and why you accept it so easily). Your roommate (Mistress) cups your face and looks at you with a warm gaze that makes you bite your lip, her hands rubbing over your cheeks before she tugs her thumbs under your chin and lifts it so she can lean in and press her lips to yours. Your eyes flutter shut as you part your lips and meet her tongue, the kiss deep and soft, gentle gliding of tongues and lips, a warm gesture, sending sparks through your nerves that make you throb with a need that feels both familiar and eerily unknown, frightening.

A single thought ricochets through your empty head: You would do anything for this woman.

“My beautiful pet,” she whispers against your tingling lips, the tip of her tongue tracing the corner of your mouth. “Are you ready?”

Without thinking, without wondering what for, you nod eagerly, a breathless “Yes, Mistress.” leaving your swollen lips. She gives you another peck and stands up then, snapping her fingers in a way that leaves no room for interpretation. You stand immediately, swaying slightly on the high heels you were told to wear. You're still smaller than her, but having to look up only amplifies the sensation coursing through you. Your devotion for her.

She grabs a large bag and shoves it into your hands, and you know by the weight and feel of it, that it holds camera equipment. A distant memory shimmers behind your glassy eyes, of stumbling into her room, finding those envelopes in the drawer of her desk, of flipping through countless pictures of your naked body, of your holes being stuffed and stretched, of being tied down, of letting her do with you whatever she wants. What has disturbed you earlier is barely worth a flinch now.

It's what you do. It's what you are. Her muse. Her pet. She chose you and you obey. It's what you do, it's what she does. She's your Mistress, after all.

1 🎀 2 🎀 3 🎀 4

End notes: Yes, our dominant lady here is indeed inspired by a character from my other (m/f) Dom/sub story: Infatuated: Mistress.

By the way, a little disclaimer at the end here as we go to the next (heavier) chapters: I am not a BDSM professional or expert, I am a writer with a dirty mind and access to the Internet. This is fiction, gaslighting people is bad, consent is very important, but when a hot lady tells you to do something, you gotta do it, that's the law (jk). Please see this as what it is: a fantasy and nothing more.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Saturday!

MASTERLIST // AO3 // ORIGINAL WORKS

[theus-what-are-you-doing]

DAY 29: FEAR

So this is my addition to @cinderellaboyincorectquotes Last week of October Challenge and their anonymous submitter. I thank you both for the prompts!

Unfortunately, I wasn't aware of it until now, so I'm just doing the latter days before Halloween while I can. This entry comes with an angsty short story too, the first fic I've actually written for Cinderella Boy, so I hope you all enjoy~

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FOUND THE BOY

Cinderella Boy OneShot || 850 Words

It was just one of those nights... another book closed, another day wasted, spent chasing after two boys as they tried to awkwardly stumble their way through a narrative that should have been simple to follow. Yet…

It went as well as it usually did, chaos with a twinkle of misbehaving antics and comedics. Not that Buddy minded all of these changes, mind you. It was getting him out of the shackles back in his cell after all, and he even found each experience to become a little more enjoyable than the last. But as the two left the book as they always did, Buddy could already feel the weight of the harsh metal pressing down on his wrists and neck once again, his key starting to glow, signifying it was also his time to go. He heard the faintest voice upon his ears, telling him that they shouldn't go back, almost begging, and yet he knew they had no choice, they never did. Buddy tried his best to comfort both the voice and himself as he breathed out shakily, bringing a purple key from around his neck, the one once hidden under his flamboyant costume, and held it close in the palms of his hands. A vibrant violet hue lit his eyes up from the glowing gem in the centre, soon snuffed out as he muttered those important words

“Send me back, please, Violet...”

With that, he was thrown backwards, even with Violet’s gentle attempts to not be so harsh when pushing him from the book, a flash of white and then a sinking heaviness soon following. The book dropped down before him just as someone’s hands clamped around his sore wrists and pulled him from the table, being quick to snatch the key hanging from around his neck and keeping it from him. A shadowy figure, all too familiar, stood before him, cane in one hand as the other lifted Violet to their face, eyes lit up while their face remained in shadow. Their rough voice pierced the panting silence.

“Hmm, that was more than last time… You seem to be rather enjoying yourself, Two.”

Buddy didn’t dare lift his head, rather making a noise akin to an affirmation. It still felt so weird to hear himself being referred to in such a way, growing a little too used to being called “Buddy” by the blonde starlight he had grown so fond of over the past year or so. ‘Two’ just didn't fit him any more, even if it had been all he had ever known

“Ah well, more for me to use when they are rightfully returned to us. Have you got any updates on your search?”

His shaking head was met with a subtle grimace, the other’s nose scrunching momentarily with their eyebrows knitting together, yet it was soon replaced with a snarky smirk, lips pulled up in a way that didn't seem quite humanly possible.

“Nevermind, despite your lack of verbal information, You have still managed to help us.”

That’s when Buddy’s eyes finally flickered up, staring through the parting strands of his dark hair, eyebrows furrowing in a mix of confusion and concern. What did he mean, help them? He didn’t want to help them! His confused look didn't go missed by the looming figure, giving them some sense of satisfaction. So they were right…

“Ah well… Thanks to you, number two…"

An insufferable pause followed, like the figure was dragging the revealing information out in some sadistic game of withholding, clearly taking some sick pleasure from the pained look on their prisoner's face. They finally spoke with a casual tone, almost treating it as if the information was nothing to be regarded, when it was quite the opposite to Buddy.

“We’ve finally found the one boy holding three of our beloved keys.”

Buddy's face fell and his hand reached up to grasp his increasingly beating heart, feeling it slowly race more as he started to comprehend the words. A gentle ‘What..’ almost left his lips as the other approached, reaching out and forcing his head upwards to face them in a snapped motion. He lip quivered with anxious fear as the other continued.

“I must thank you, truly, dear Two… I can not wait to have my precious keys back in my possession… nor to punish the one who has stolen them from me. Perhaps I will even reward you for your efforts.”

A loud and horrid laugh passed their lips, abrupt, as if they couldn't hold it in any longer, an unreadable glint behind their eyes. They dropped Buddy's face in disregard, wiping their hands on their waistcoat with a twinge of disgust lining their features. It wasn't long before they started to walk over to the reinforced door to the furthest side of the room, picking up the book Buddy had previously left as they did. They flicked through the pages idly, shutting the book with a slam once done.

“Perhaps I will let him visit you before he meets his punishment… Wouldn't that be a bittersweet ending to this chapter?”

[daddiesdrarryy]

Me when I write about my character(s):

[hotchsreader]

Small Things

Word Count: 1.5k

Quick little fic about jjxreader

You're having a bad day, and JJ notices. She brings you into her office for a quick talk, a talk happens but so does a kiss...

Link on ao3

Today had been a clusterfuck. Everything you thought you had all planned out for the day started unraveling the minute you stepped through the doors of the BAU. JJ had gone over the case you guys were taking the night before, but since the need to travel wasn't needed due to the case taking place so close to home, the team was able to go home to sleep and get there early to plan the way they were going to handle everything. The problem arose when a new victim had turned up, even though they had gone over everything related to the case and never saw something like this happening. you started to feel like there was something you had missed, and that this girl dying had somehow been your fault. 

“Are you okay?” You heard Spencer behind you, not getting too close to protect you from the others noticing something was wrong.

“Yeah… yeah I’ll be fine Spence. Thanks for asking.” You didn’t even look up at him, you just rearranged a few things on your desk hoping that he would get the hint and leave you alone. You wanted to desperately to be left alone and to deal with things on your own. You were never one to ask for help, and today was not the day you were going to start. 

“Hey.” You heard a softer voice speak behind you. You wanted to turn around and yell in anger but you knew who was there, and you never wanted to hurt her. She meant well and was just checking on you. 

You turned around, with tears in your eyes, and looked at her. She didn’t say another word. She came up to you, grabbed your hand, and led you up the stairs to her office. That was how the two of you worked most of the time, words were no longer needed, and all it took was a second to see how the other was acting to gauge what was needed. JJ knew if you were out there for any longer, you would have a meltdown, and it would absolutely embarrass you to the point of no return if that were to happen. 

As soon as you both entered her office, she set you down in a chair and she sat in the one opposite you. She held your hand and looked up at you, her face a mix of concern and empathy. You hated when people looked at you with concern, you wanted to be the person no one had to worry about, you could handle everything on your own, and JJ knew that. But here she was, worrying about you because no matter how hard you tried to prove to her that you didn’t need anyone to care about you, she refused to listen to you. You wanted to keep your head down and to look at your legs instead of up at JJ but you knew she wouldn’t let you do that. You forced yourself to crane your neck up and look at her, and as soon as you did a tear rolled out of your eye and you flung your hand up to stop it from going any further. 

“What is going on?” She asked, not in a harsh tone, but in one that you knew meant she wanted the truth and not some half-assed answer you would give anyone else. 

“Today didn’t go how it was supposed to JJ, we were supposed to find the Unsub before anything bad happened again. This all feels like I failed somehow. I feel like I was supposed to stop this from happening, I had it all planned out how we were going to catch him but he still managed to take another girl's life before we could.” The last few words came out broken through the sobs that were tearing their way out of your body. You had tried so hard to keep them in, but in front of JJ, it didn’t matter how hard you tried. She had this way about her that made you feel comforted and safe, and your emotions knew you didn’t have to hide around her. She was the type of person who could break down walls you or she didn’t know were there. She was herself, and it brought out the best in everyone around her.

“What happened today was not your fault. It was no one's fault. We cannot fully predict another person’s actions no matter how hard we try. We can try our damnedest but sometimes people act irrationally under pressure and they do things that even we as profilers cannot see happening.” She rubbed her thumb over your knuckles to keep you grounded in what she was saying, to keep you present. You knew from the moment you stepped foot in this office that she would be able to make you combat the hard feelings that were swirling around in your head. 

“Also, asking for help does not make you weak. You are the strongest person I know, even now with tears running down your face, actually especially now.” 

You sighed, “You’re just saying that to make me feel better aren't you?” 

She didn’t smile. She looked stone-faced, which made you a bit nervous, scared that you somehow had made her mad at you, which was the absolute last thing you wanted.

“I am completely serious here. You are a strong person, and your being upset right now shows how much you care about your job and the people you help. That is something that no one can take away from you and something that shows the amount of strength you have to be able to continue to do this job every single day.” She didn’t break eye contact with you the entire time she spoke. Her face had begun to get softer the more she spoke to you, showing how genuine she was about how she felt, about how strong and caring you were.  

You both just sat there for a few moments, you soaking in what she said, and her letting you deal with whatever was going on in your mind. You never really understood why it was so hard for you to ask for help, or why you held yourself to such a high standard. You would never think poorly of one of your teammates for crying or even just having a hard time on a case. You would think they just simply cared about their job enough to still be human and have strong emotions. 

“I know you’re going through your feelings right now, and just know whenever you’re ready to talk, or even if you just want to sit here and be together I can do whatever. I also have some cheese puffs in my drawer over there if you want some.” 

This made you smile, “JJ, you have my favorite snacks in your drawer?”

A blush passed over her cheeks, which filled you almost with a sense of pride that you made her happy. 

“I maybe have your favorite snack in my drawer, and I maybe bought them when you told me what your favorite snack was. I wanted them in case you ever needed or wanted them.” She turned her head away from you for a second and you just sat there and smiled at her.

JJ was the first person on this team to make you feel appreciated and that made you feel a part of the team. She was the type of person who would make every single person in the room with her feel comfortable and allow them to have time to speak. If someone talked over someone around her she would make the point to make sure they got the chance to speak about whatever they were trying to say. She was just simply put, a good person. Of course, she had your favorite snack in her drawer, only she would. 

When she turned her head back to you, you leaned forward and kissed her. It was a soft kiss at first, allowing her to back away if she didn’t feel the same way about you. Once she pressed harder into you and deepened the kiss you knew it was over for you both. The kiss quickly became more passionate. You pressed your hand against her cheek and she ran her fingers through your hand, pulling a bit which made a moan escape your lips. You could feel her smile against your mouth. You went to reach to move her top off of her shoulder when you both heard someone walk by her office and Hotch, your boss, began talking. 

You quickly stood up, began to rearrange your clothes, and fix your hair. You smiled down at JJ who was looking up at you with stars in her eyes. She started laughing a mix of panic and just pure amusement. Neither of you planned for this to happen. It was just a friend helping a friend in need, and then it progressed to what felt like two school girls doing something while the principal was doing his rounds. It honestly was the best thing that came out of this terrible day. You couldn’t have asked for anyone better to make everything feel right again. 

You reached down and kissed JJ on the forehead, “That was…”

JJ didn’t hesitate to finish your sentence, “Yeah.” With a quick smile, you both walked out of her office, knowing you were going to finish that later.

[kazik-bitch-ass-motherfucker]

Another chapter; chapter 23! REBLOGS >>>> (are better than) LIKES >>>> (are better than) IGNORING

TW: Suicidal ideation, Sub-par mental health care, Disordered eating

IF YOU SEE THIS, REBLOG!!!

[r-f-m-writes]

A Lark In a Hollow Chapter Three

Lark knew how to make adults like her. 

            She knew how to make herself clean, presentable and sweet seeming with two long brown plaits laid down each shoulder, a pink tee shirt and raggedy denim shorts that stopped just past the sharp points of her knees. She understood the different ways to speak to men and women, how she should present to strangers on the bus or her teachers at school.

            Adults like girls who speak softly and only when they’re spoken to. Adults like girls who address them properly and look them in the eyes. Adults like girls who behave like tiny grown ups, tiny women.

               Adults love little girls with good manners. 

              Mrs. Parker used to go on and on about it, pinching Lark’s cheeks and cooing at her as she dolloped another heaping scoop of mashed potatoes onto the girl’s plate. “You see how Lark finishes everything she’s given, Missy? She’s a good girl - good girl’s get ice cream for dessert."

              Dinner at the Parker house had been a staple of Lark’s routine before. After school or on the weekends Missy would ask her randomly, mumbling the invite to her phone more than to Lark, blue eyes splitting focus between whatever was on screen and her friend sitting in the swing opposite.

              Lark always said yes. Missy’s dad would pick them up within the hour in his red Mercedes, and Mrs. Parker would be at the door to greet them, hair perfect, grinning with teeth whiter than the pearls around her neck. 

              The family were rich and strange in a harmless sort of way. Lark had been friends with their daughter for years - but she never cared for her much. Missy was the sort of despondent, rude girl that Lark had mostly seen stereotyped in movies and books; Veruca Salt or Nellie Oleson. 

              She was spoiled, pretty, and frantically, crushingly alone . 

              Lark pounced on her loneliness quicker than a starving street cat to a plump mouse. She had held it, dripping wet and half dead, between her teeth since their first conversation on the playground swings as elven year olds, because she needed Missy’s family as badly as Missy needed her friendship. 

             Lark’s life had depended on it. On the dinners Mrs. Parker fed her. On the spontaneous sleepovers that let Lark rest without the fear of something happening while she slept.

             Dad overdosing. Dad wandering off into the night when he was high. A stranger barging into the apartment and hurting them because the lock on the door was broken and the chair she jammed up under its knob every night would only do so much. 

             Mrs. Parker was sweet and erratic. Mr. Parker was impassive and utterly indifferent to Lark. He didn’t speak to her and he didn’t stare at her the way other men did - low and hungry.

            Not like the man who owned the convenience store two blocks down from the apartments. He had stared at her the most of any of them, constant and starved, eyes carving into her like a physical thing, marking the tops of her shoulders and the back of her thighs.

           Lark wasn’t oblivious, she couldn’t be, it was dangerous not to know how men saw her, what they would try to do if she got close enough.

           Lark would never have allowed the clerk to touch, but she let him look for the steep price of ten dollars on weekends and sometimes after school.

            As a minor, it was illegal for her to work stocking shelves or manning the till - forget hauling huge boxes of beer from forklifts into the back of the store like she did on most Saturday afternoons or being responsible for throwing away expired food.

           He knew having her work there was as wrong as him trying to steal glances up her skirt, Lark knew that if she went to the police her ‘boss’ would be in jail before she could say boo. 

           She might have mentioned it to him one muggy afternoon when he tried to cut her pay, and then again a week later when she decided her work was worth fifteen dollars an hour, not ten. 

           Lark knew how to make adults like her, but more than that, she knew how to make them do what she wanted, leading them around by the tether of her will without them ever noticing. 

           When Mr. Hollow pulled up to a sprawling wood log cabin carved into wild, bright green mountainside, a scatter of deer rushing away from its front porch at the sound of the engine, Lark prayed she could make him like her, too. 

            Because there wasn’t another house for miles and the closest town was two hours away by car.

           Her heart was in her throat when he climbed out of the truck and walked around to the passenger side, pulling open the door and holding out a hand for her as she lowered herself down on shaky legs. 

           If Christopher Hollow decided he didn’t like Lark, if he decided that he wanted to take the lock off her bedroom door, or watch the backs of her thighs all low and hungry - if he decided she wasn’t worth liking;

            There wouldn't be anyone to save her if she screamed.  

[fanonical]

so, i've decided to finally curate & post all my drabbles about my werewolf oc, Laika, into one place.

this stuff is quite unedited, very raw and very VERY personal to me -- but it's also damn good. i'll be updating it regularly to drip feed you the stuff i've already written, but to start with, i've posted a few small early chapters to whet your whistle.

more to come soon.

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️THREE

CHAPTER ONE◾TWO THREE FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

He finds out the girl he picked up on a whim is the perfect candidate. So innocent, so submissive already, with just the right amount of Daddy issues. But she still has a lot to learn, and he's determined to teach her everything.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Dubcon elements. Dom/sub dynamic. Sex toys. Fingering. Cunnilingus. Orgasm denial. Oral sex/deepthroating. Anal play. Creampies. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 4.9k

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

He's surprised how quickly she adjusted to her new surroundings, to the things he's asked of her, forced on her. Maybe she's still feeling the after-effects of the drug he's given her last night, maybe she doesn't understand the situation just yet, maybe she's simply the perfect candidate for this. To stay here, for him. She's barely putting up any fight, only seems embarrassed most of the time, but the way she's sucked him off has shown him how eager she really is.

Even though she still has a long way to go. Too fucking innocent.

She's that little ball of hair and limbs on his lap, curled up, melting into him, small hands that have been around his cock now gripping his shirt. Feet tucked under his thigh, deep little breaths against his chest. It's been only a few hours, and she's already so submissive. He's almost disappointed he didn't get to break her first. But maybe her defiance is yet to come. He's certainly looking forward to it.

His phone chimes on the coffee table, and he throws a quick look at the display. The courier is here. Good. Without a word, he stands, picking her up effortlessly. She hums against him, leans into him as he carries her into the bedroom. When he puts her down on the bed, leaning over her for a moment, he meets her hooded eyes. So pliant, so innocent. He can't help but lean down further to press his lips to hers.

She melts into the mattress as he pushes her deeper, putting his weight on her, elbows on either side of her shoulders as he gives himself a few minutes of a bit more much-needed pleasure before he has to leave her. She's hesitant at first, but as soon as he slips his tongue between her lips, her own jumps into action. A groan escapes him as she kisses him back with more and more confidence. His fingers dig into her hair, their tongues wrestling, his cock stirs back to life against the fabric of his pants.

He leans back abruptly, breathing a little harder, the girl beneath him panting as well, her lips parted and red, glistening. Her eyes on him. “I gotta take care of something,” he tells her quietly. She only blinks. “Be a good girl and wait here for me, okay?” The way her pupils dilate when he calls her that makes his stomach tense up. He's noticed it before, how she reacts to his praise. It's an intoxicating sight.

He crawls off her and stands, looking down at her small frame. White lace was a good choice, accents her innocence perfectly. Those little embroidered flowers barely cover anything, but it's still enough fabric to keep it interesting. She's beautiful, the way she lies in front of him, chest rising and falling, that flutter to her stomach, the little twitch to her thighs as she presses them together and tries to hide her sex. He raises an eyebrow at that.

“While I'm gone,” he says, a smirk growing on his lips, “I have a little task for you.”

He steps towards the nightstand and pulls open the first drawer, randomly picks some of its contents and throws them onto the bed next to her. Her eyes widen when she follows the gesture and stares at the colorful toys. He picks up one of the smaller dildos and braces himself on one arm as he leans over her.

“I want you to be very wet when I come back,” he whispers, gently taking her hand and placing the object onto her small palm. “Understood?”

She still looks at him in shock, and he can already tell she's never used any of the things he's presented her with. Another challenge, another thing he's willing to change. He leans back and looks down at her, head cocked to the side. His eyes narrow slightly when she doesn't reply.

“Understood?” he repeats a little harsher.

A tiny gasp escapes her and she sits up, nodding frantically. “Yes, sir.”

His hand finds her cheek, a gentle caress, thumb running over her bottom lip. He watches her intently. “Good girl.” The shiver that runs through her amuses him immensely. Patting her cheek, he then turns away and leaves her to her own devices.

Returning to his phone, he sends a message to the courier, and minutes later there's a chime on the door. His men are good, and fast, and when he looks through the things in the box that was brought up to his place, he nods in contentment. The things she left in the club, a jacket, a phone, case stuffed with some money, some keys and her ID. He's surprised that she's actually 19, when she looks quite a bit younger. Not that it really matters. His eyes scan her name, memorizing it. Fits her.

There's a folder tucked into the side, all the information they could gather on her, and the more he reads, the wider his smile gets. She is perfect, a random pick, an instinct, and it has still been the best choice. Alone in the big city. He checks her phone, swipes through pictures and messages. There's only one new message, someone congratulating her. Not many social contacts, no Mom or Dad or other relatives. Does explain a few things though. The girl definitely lacked the presence of a proper authority figure in her life, or at least someone who could give her the attention she needs, someone to hug her even, guide her through life, tell her what's right or wrong. No wonder she's so overwhelmed with his advances, yet strangely compliant at the same time.

Daddy issues.

What a perfect little thing that found her way into his clutches. He turns the phone off and puts it back into the box, then locks it securely in the safe in his office, before he focuses on the bag that came with the delivery. Clothes he ordered for her, more underwear mostly, some dresses, shoes. He doesn't plan to take her out much, not yet, so she won't need too many clothes anyway. They're just an illusion of safety for now, something she feels more comfortable in, before he'll take that away as well.

Grabbing the bag, he returns to the bedroom – and freezes. The bed is empty, except for the array of sex toys on the blanket. Untouched, unmoved. And the girl is gone. Something hot rises inside him, his hand tightens around the straps of the bag. He checks the bathroom, also empty. When he opens the door to his walk-in closet, he hears a soft little gasp, before his eyes move down to the far back where she's curled up on her side, wide eyes staring at him from under her lashes.

Like a beaten animal – and he hasn't even done anything to her yet. Not really, anyway.

He puts the bag down on a shelf and approaches her slowly. The dildo he gave her lies in front of her, just as untouched as the rest. She curls up even more, a little ball of hair and limbs, white lace in stark contrast to the dark rug she's lying on. He crouches down, hands resting on his knees as he watches her.

“What are you doing here, baby?” he asks quietly. “Are you hiding from me?”

She sniffles, shakes her head. “No,” she mumbles, wide eyes following his every move. Why is she so skittish all of a sudden? The drugs probably wore off. Poor thing.

He doesn't care. His hand reaches out and grabs her elbow, pulls her closer. A little yelp escapes her. He sits down on the floor and pulls her between his legs, she struggles against him but his fingers close around her arm, squeezing harder than he intended. She winces, a deep shudder rushing through her small body when he drapes her legs over his thigh, making her lean against him. One arm securely around her, holding her with enough authority that she stops squirming, he raises the other hand and grabs her chin, makes her look at him.

“What happened?” he asks, looking at her, scanning her face, fear and shock evident on it.

She averts her eyes, chewing on her lip. He squeezes her chin.

“Look at me.”

She does, with a soft little whine, blinking rapidly, eyes glistening as she meets his gaze. “M'sorry...” she mumbles.

“For what?” His voice is stern, and she frowns at his tone.

“For... for not... doing... what you told me...” she whispers, the first tear falling from her lashes. “I... I couldn't...”

He raises an eyebrow. “Why not?”

Her cheeks are bright red by now, her eyes moving over his face in frantic little flutters. “Felt... wrong...”

He watches her, letting go of her chin to move his hand straight between her legs. She flinches and yelps when his fingertips brush against her panties. The fabric is a little damp, warm against his touch. He doesn't hesitate and slips a finger under the hem, testing the waters. She turns her head away, whining softly as her blush spreads over her shoulders. “Do you need my help?” he whispers.

She only stiffens in his hold as his finger glides along her slit. Warm, wetter than he expected. He doesn't know why she was so stressed about this task or thinking she failed him. She's perfectly responsive. His lips brush against her temple.

“Tell me you need me to help you...” he breathes against her.

Her thighs twitch. “I... I need you to... to help me...” she mumbles out, burying her face in his chest in a little gesture of embarrassment. So fucking cute.

“Good girl,” he hums and kisses her forehead while his finger slips between her folds, gathers her slick and promptly dips into her entrance.

She flinches, but keeps quiet, leaning into him as he nudges her legs apart with his thumb. His finger slips in and out of her, her tight walls gripping him in a way that makes his cock throb. Her wetness gathers around him, quiet squelching sounds filling his ear. She lets out little noises of discomfort, barely-there whines, almost-sobs but in a way that doesn't seem too distressed. She's slowly adjusting, relaxing in his hold, her breaths deeper.

His thumb finds her clit, and when he pushes gently on it, she wails a little louder, her legs trembling, her small hands gripping the front of his shirt as she melts into him more. He keeps drawing tight circles around her nub, his digit pushing deep, in and out, faster, her wetness runs over his hand. The moment she becomes really still, a sharp inhale cutting through the air, he stops, pulls away, and she looks up with her lips parted, almost pouty, eyebrows furrowed, disappointed.

He smirks at her and brings his wet finger to her lips. She doesn't fight it when he slips it into her mouth, rubs it over her tongue and along her gums, pushes deeper. She freezes again, stares at him, but then she closes her lips around his finger and sucks, her tongue flicking around it, licking up her own juices. He pulls it out with a wet pop and leans down, capturing her mouth for a quick, deep kiss, sucking on her tongue, tasting her. She melts into him, clinging to him, but as soon as she starts to relax again, he lets go, leans back, leans around her to grab the dildo still lying behind her on the floor.

“Here,” he says and puts the small pink object into her hand. “If you want to finish it, do it with this.”

She stares at him, eyes wide, fingers curling around the toy, her face flushed. And then she shakes her head, catching him off guard.

“No?” he whispers, raising his eyebrows. “Are you sure?”

Her breaths are loud through her nose as she holds his gaze, not saying anything.

He narrows his eyes. His first instinct is to grab the toy and shove it deep into her tight pussy himself, but he refrains, pushes her off his lap and stands, then grabs her wrist and drags her out of the closet. She stumbles after him and yelps when he throws her onto the bed.

Scrambling to her knees, her lips parted and trembling, she stares at him with her eyes wide in shock. He ignores her for now and walks to the bedside table, rummaging through the drawer until he retrieves a little teardrop shaped object, bright pink as well, smooth silicone with a little antenna.

A high-pitched squeal escapes her as he grabs her and pushes her onto her stomach, one large hand on her lower back, holding her down as she starts to squirm. “Stay still or this'll be more uncomfortable than it should be,” he tells her through gritted teeth. She stiffens, her breaths loud and frantic as she white-knuckles the sheets.

He moves the toy between her ass cheeks, pleased to see the butt plug is still in place. Nudging it slightly, he makes her wince. Pushing her legs apart a bit more with his knee, he slides her underwear aside, grabs her thigh to steady her and lets the small vibrator glide between her slick folds, and it's only a little push of his thumb before it slips into her, swallowed up by the tense muscles of her pussy. She lets out a strained whine. He wipes his palm over her mound gently, then tugs on the fat string until he finds the thicker bit at the end. The button clicks audibly when he presses it, and she gasps when the first vibrations shake her body. It's low, but still definitely overwhelming for her.

He puts her thong back in place and grabs her elbow, dragging her off the bed. Her legs are trembling, the low hum between her twitching thighs barely audible, but he hears it, sees her reaction to it, feels his blood pumping into his cock, the throbbing almost painful, and he wonders why he's taking his time with her. He could have had her last night, this morning, any time he wanted, fucked her hard and mercilessly, any hole he desired, and yet he waits, eases her into it, with a patience (or restraint) that surprises himself.

Sighing loudly, he grabs her hand and leads her out of the bedroom, she follows him on shaking limbs, too stunned to protest now. They reach the open kitchen, and he grabs her waist and sets her on the island, hears the faint clanging noise when the base of her plug hits the marble top. Spreading her legs, he steps between them, braces one arm on either side of her, stares down at her darkly.

Her eyes are wide, glistening, shock and uncertainty on her face, but there's also a deep blush and a tightness to her lips as she fights the sensations pulsing through her small body. Her hands fidget between her legs, a nervous little gesture. He rips them away, tells her to sit on them. She does with a bit of hesitation as she watches him with bated breath. He leans in, lets his breath fan over her cheek, then kisses the corner of her mouth, and there's a jerk in her neck as she turns her head, trying to meet his lips.

He pulls away before that, exhaling through his nose. His hands move over her legs, thumbs brushing along her inner thighs until he pushes them against the damp fabric of her underwear. Her wetness seeps past it already, staining the white satin bit, and he licks his lips at the sight. His restraint is slipping, he can't help it, he can smell her arousal, and it's driving him insane.

In one swift motion he grabs her hip, pulls her to the edge and leans down to press his mouth to her inner thigh, quickly kissing up the soft skin to where the little pink antenna pokes out of her. His free hand tugs at it, then he drags her panties aside and closes his lips around her folds. She yelps softly, body jerking against him. His fingers dig into her flesh, hold her in place as he laps up along her slit, gathers her sweet wetness on his tongue, drinks her up like a man parched.

She whimpers when he sucks on her clit, teeth grazing her soft, sensitive skin while he fumbles with the toy and presses the button a few more times, feeling the vibrations increasing, her hips jerking, thighs pressing against his head. Her noises are getting louder, helpless whines and mewls as she squirms on the counter, hands still squished under her legs while he continues to eat her out with a passion that he hasn't felt in ages.

Holding her with one hand, he tries to counteract her uncontrollable twitches, while his other hand rubs over her thigh before his index finger pokes at her entrance, following the toy inside. It's thrumming hard against her tense muscles, and he pushes it around a little with his finger before he finds the right spot, and that's when she really wails, body spasming against him, the heels of her feet thudding loudly into the cabinet as she tries to ground herself somehow.

He holds the toy pressed to her g-spot, still sucking on her clit, eyes moving up to watch her lose it in front of him. She's arching her back, head tilted upwards, chest pushed out, arms trembling before she can't keep her composure any longer and pulls her hands from under her legs and grabs his hair, two sets of small fingers with an iron grip that surprises him. Either to push him away or hold him right there, he isn't sure. Whatever the case, he lets her, gives her that one moment of control.

Her walls tighten around the toy and his finger, rhythmic clenching, her orgasm is so close, she's right on the edge, and it's that moment that he hooks his finger around the toy and pulls it out, leaning back, slipping from her suddenly limp fingers, and leaves her throbbing and panting, watches her deflate as her orgasm slips away again. A whine escapes her, and she falls backwards onto the counter, body convulsing without release, hiding her flushed face behind her shaking hands.

He straightens himself, licks his lips and then his finger, puts the vibrating toy on the counter before he turns it off. She's sobbing now, overwhelmed and left hanging. Poor thing. But it's not over yet.

Hooking his hands under her arms, he hoists her off the counter and pushes her down on her knees in front of him. She's too surprised to react, slowly lowers her hands and looks up at him, tears streaming down her red cheeks. Without a word or command, he unbuckles his belt and opens his pants, then snaps his fingers at her. Despite her trembling state, she follows the order instantly, automatically, that inborn desire to please stirring within her, when her small hands move up to push his pants and underwear down enough to free his erection.

The initial touch is almost enough to push him to the edge and over, but he braces himself, puts his hands on his hips and watches her as she closes her fingers around his length, slowly stroking up and down like he's shown her. Her eyes stay on him, watching him closely, and he tilts his head, pressing his lips into a thin line, a slight furrow between his eyebrows. He sees her swallowing, and barely a second later, her lips brush against his hot skin, the contact enough to coax a little groan out of him.

He watches her closely as she moves her lips up and down his shaft, tongue licking along his bulging veins, circling his tip, flicking over his slit, before she opens her mouth and takes him deeper. She's a little hesitant, careful, one hand still on his girth, the other braced against his thigh as she slowly bobs her head, lips closed around his tip, cheeks hollowed, the little suction really tempting his self-control. He wants her to find her own pace, get better on her own, learn to pleasure him properly, but he also really wants to fuck her throat and make her choke on his cock. The struggle is real.

His hands move to her head, a gentle little caress, fingers sliding through her hair, slowly nudging her closer, she shifts on her knees, the hand on his thigh pulling her into him. Her eyes are closed now, and he can see tears forming under her lashes as she keeps moving her head back and forth, the hand that's tight around his girth keeping her from taking him deeper. He feels her warm mouth, that little tongue flicking around his tip, hot and wet, sucking softly, almost meditatively, and he can't help it, he bucks his hips slightly against her, his cockhead poking into her cheek when she turns her head with a little muffled whine.

One of his hands moves down to grab her chin, holding her in place, head slightly tilted, as he repeats the same motion, pushing into her mouth, watching her cheek bulge. He hasn't noticed it before, but she's a natural at keeping her teeth out of the way, her jaw opened wide enough to allow him to slip in and out fairly easily. Her eyelids flutter open, and she meets his gaze, her eyes glistening, pupils dilated more than he has expected. She's enjoying this, huh?

He smirks at her, moves her head a little and tilts her chin up before he pumps his hips a little harder against her, more of his cock slipping into her small mouth. She stiffens, both hands now gripping the fabric of his pants, bracing, a sliver of panic in her eyes. He watches her closely, the grip on her chin hard as he concentrates, holds back, fights the urge to just fuck her cute little face. His breaths are quick and loud through his nose.

She holds still, doesn't fight it, and he uses that submission to move faster and eventually slips deeper, feeling his tip prodding the back of her throat. She gags almost immediately, a sudden reflex, her body convulsing against him, fingers digging into his legs, and he lets her pull back with a deep cough, saliva dripping from her lips. But he only lets her relax for so long, before he pushes his cock back into her mouth, deeper, to that spot once more, and she gags again, spit filling her mouth, coating his tip, yet this time he holds her head in place, and she lets out a pained little howl, muffled but clearly distressed.

Sighing, he grips her hair and pulls her back again, lets her catch her breath, swallow the excess spit. Tears stream down her face, her eyes are red, eyebrows furrowed, a helpless expression mixed with something like indignation looking up at him. A low laugh escapes him, and he grips her chin and pulls her back, cock slipping into her mouth, her tongue scraping along the underside, frantic little breaths through her nose, warm on his skin.

“Relax,” he tells her, and strangely enough it's that command that lets him slip deeper, past her gag reflex, further into her tight throat. It's only a few seconds though before she gags yet again, fingernails sinking into his legs, that little uncontrollable twitch as her body fights the new sensation of having her throat stuffed. She gurgles, desperate to breathe, too panicked to relax anymore. He pushes her away, and she splutters, spit and precum flying from her trembling lips, her shoulders shaking.

It takes all of him to loosen his grip on her, but when he lets go of her chin and her hair, inhaling deeply, she looks up almost surprised. Bracing his arms on the counter behind her, he closes his eyes, fighting the urge to make her choke again. That feeling when her throat tenses around his tip, squeezes him, it's something he enjoys a little too much, almost as much as watching her suffer through it, with her tears streaming down her face and her hands digging into his legs, that desperate struggle for control.

He'll force that urge right out of her, soon. Another time.

“Suck,” he grunts instead, standing still as he leans over her.

She resumes her ministrations, one hand around his girth, pumping and stroking, while she closes her lips around his tip again, sucking and licking it, keeping it far away from the back of her throat. She's shaky and sloppy, her wet slurping noises echoing through the room, her body still trembling, but she somehow manages to bring him right to the edge after all. He feels his balls tightening, his stomach tensing up, his cock throbbing in her hold. His hands itch, clenched into fists on the counter, his body shivering. So close. So fucking close...

A deep groan escapes his throat, and he leans back abruptly, grips her hair and pulls her off him, a sharp inhale coming from the girl beneath him. Her eyes are wide as she looks up at him, and he just ignores her, hooks his hands around her elbows and pulls her to her feet. She's that tiny body he can manhandle however he wants, and she ends up on her stomach on the counter, short legs dangling off the edge, feet kicking before he cages her in, one hand on her lower back, the other moving straight to the little shiny knob sitting between her plump ass cheeks.

Before she can comprehend what's happening or try to fight him, he drags her panties aside and pulls the plug out with a plop, puts it on the counter with a clang, before he grips his throbbing cock and pushes the tip against her sphincter. She lets out a surprised wail, her hands reaching back to swat him away, but he only grabs them and bends her arms behind her back, held by one large hand. She still struggles as he pushes further, forcing his tip deeper. He doesn't have time to prepare her properly, he's close to exploding.

She whines, writhing on the counter despite his unrelenting hold, and he watches her tight muscles give way to him, the grip almost as good as her tensing throat. His crown slips in, and he stops, letting it rest there as he strokes his shaft hard and fast, until he feels that tension finally dissolve. He comes with a deep grunt, arching his head back, feeling his cock throb and twitch in his hand and in her ass.

Spurt after spurt shoots into her tightness, filling her up until the first drops seep past the tight ring of muscles that clench around him involuntarily as she squirms helplessly, sobbing softly. When he relaxes against her, shoulders sagging, the grip on her arms loosening, he wishes he'd prepared her better, made her more pliant, open her up properly to take more of him. But this'll do for now. Once the twitching subsides, he gently pulls his cock out, watching her ass gape for a moment, his thick seed slipping out almost immediately.

He pushes it back in, feeling her tense muscles close around his finger. Then he grabs the plug and brings it back into position, holding her down again as she starts squirming more, the cold metal slipping into place, plugging up his warm cum. He exhales deeply once he is done, and when he lets go of her and steps back, he can't help but slap her plump cheek once for good measure.

She sobs louder, but remains lying on her stomach, legs dangling off the edge, immobile, all the fight gone from her body. He watches her as he puts his spent dick back into his pants. “What a good girl you are,” he whispers, noticing a wave of goosebumps rippling over her skin. His hands are on her round rear, gently sliding up and down, thumbs teasing between the cheeks. He fixes her thong, nudges the plug, smirks when she flinches at the motion.

Then he grabs her waist and pulls her off the counter, turning her so he can scoop her up into his arms. Despite her reluctance and the fact that she's still crying softly, she leans against him, needy little fingers digging into the collar of his shirt. No matter how hard she fights him, fights the sensations and experiences he gives her, she is clearly craving this, his attention, the care he gives her afterwards, the gentle moments after however rough he treats her.

It's a good dynamic. It'll work, he's sure. She will be absolutely perfect.

He carries her into the bedroom, carefully putting her down on the bed. She immediately rolls onto her side, knees pulled up to her chest, wiping at her wet face, avoiding his gaze as he watches her closely. When he leans down, she flinches, but he only grabs the edge of the blanket and drapes it over her small body.

“Rest now,” he tells her, straightening back up. “I'll order us some food.”

TWO 🟥 THREE 🟥 FOUR

End notes: Just a little side note on where this story is set: it could be literally anywhere (where there are skycrapers or a downtown area with taller buildings). I did not have a specific place in mind, could be any major American city, could be a bigger European city, anywhere you like to think of. It doesn't really matter anyway. (And if it is set in America, just imagine his club to be one of those more lax ones where the drinking age isn't 21 or at least nobody cares about it.)

Also, you may have guessed it, but our male protagonist is a little bit more than just a nightclub owner. I won't go into too many details, just know he's influencial, if you'd like to call it that. And definitely intimidating enough for anyone to bow before him, not just our poor girl who might just be a little in over her head at this point.

Thank you for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

TAG LIST: @qmsvpx @cyan1decandy @bimbos-are-angels

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN

ELEVEN TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[thatuselesshuman]

For motivation's sake...

Imma do one of those posts like "for every # of notes I'll do ____" but for writing

10 notes — 100 words in my WIP

25 notes — a new chapter posted in Bloody Hands Are Kind

50 notes — 2000 words in a work of my choosing

100 notes — 4000 words in a work of my choosing

150 notes — 2 back to back chapters of Bloody Hands are Kind (back to back: 2 chapters in 2 days)

200 notes — finish first chapter of my WIP

If this gets anymore notes (it probably won't) I'll reblog with higher "rewards"

Spam allowed if you have the time, comments reblogs and likes all count

All "reward" things will be posted under the tag "writer note challenge" for proof