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dollwrites · 2 years ago

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𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!queen!reader, sex on command, degradation, Griffith is lowkey misogynistic, titty fucking, spit kink, cum marking, all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗸𝘁𝗼𝗯𝗲𝗿 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟯 ∣ day two [ griffith + tit job ]

“I can be the most perfect gentleman that a lady could require, but I have an sneaking inkling that Her Majesty wants a scoundrel, instead. A dirty mercenary, a ruthless animal, to fuck her the way her king never could.”

you should’ve had him apprehended the moment he murmured those words, close enough to your ear to kiss the shell of it. you should’ve seen him in shackles, whipped and tortured, for daring to speak in such a way to the Queen of Midland, but you didn’t. you stared, straight ahead, and bit your tongue to keep from expelling a breathless moan. you allowed him to leave your side after that, melting into the crowded ballroom, mingling with the other nobles. his eyes lingered on you only for a moment, before they drift away, to keep from being overly suspicious. you had merely stood there, in shock, as you process his willingness to approach you in front of the Courts and your husband, and whisper something so heinous.

something so true.

it had been at your own behest, after all, that the young mercenary would become your plaything whilst fighting for your country, but it had been an arrangement brought to him in secrecy by your ladies in waiting, and he was meant to act discreetly. you glanced around, and realize that no one had been any the wiser. not even your husband, whose sharp eyes seemed to always watch you with disdain, had noticed Griffith whisper to you.

when you look back at him, he’s no longer focused on you, but there’s a hint of a smile on his face that you knew had to be for you, and not the generals he was conversing with. he must’ve caught your flustered seeking from his peripheral vision, and it must’ve amused him to no end.

damn him.

you managed to sit through the majority of the festivities, pretending to be enthralled by your husband’s banter with his retainers, but every so often, you would carve a line of sight directly to Griffith. you would stare at him, admiring each flawless detail from the plumpness of his lips to the long, heavy lashes that fan the apples of his porcelain cheeks, to the silvery curtainous tresses that were so carefully secured in a low ponytail to cascade down his back. he was so beautiful, and you began to fantasize about what his silken locks would feel like if you were to grip fistfuls of them, how his velvety pout will feel as he presses it flush to your sex, the way your back would arch if he pushed his tongue inside your hole, aching and clenching for him…

when you started to shift in your seat, rubbing your thighs together, you knew you had to make an escape. you couldn’t go another moment without Griffith in your bed, and so you promptly excused yourself, and several of your servant girls followed you up to your bed chamber.

Griffith’s sapphire gaze was keen enough to notice you leave, and he waited several more minutes, inching towards the exit until he could slip away, completely undetected.

Griffith’s let in to your bedroom before he can knock, and the ladies are swift to leave the two of you alone before he can close the door behind him. “Have you considered my counter offer, Your Majesty?” he asks with a soft tinge of amusement in his voice. he pushes the heavy, wooden lock in place against the door, his glacieresque gems focused only on the way you approached him, staring up at him with sparkling awe in your eyes. “Would you still prefer to have me as you wish, or would you find more pleasure in allowing me the honor to use your body?”

“I don’t want the obedient gentleman,” you blurt out, grasping the thick lapels of his coat, to pull yourself closer to him. “I want the scoundrel. The beast.”

“Is that so…?” Griffith grabs your shoulders, halting you in place as you speak, the ghost of a smirk tickling his lips. “Then the beast is what you shall have.” it’s a whisper, heavy with desire as both of his hands glide down to envelope the shape of your breasts through your gown. the fabric is thick, but as both fists reach up for the neckline, your breath catches in your throat. a swift yank, and silk screams as he tears at the neckline, stretching and ripping until your breasts jiggle free. your nipples harden almost instantly as they’re exposed to the cool atmosphere, and your back arches— the force and carelessness he exhibits in order to expose your chest pulling you off balance. he swoons at the sight, cradling your breasts with both hands. your nipples slide along the webbing between his thumb and forefinger, before he experiments with pinching the hardened buds. you let out a soft whimper.

Griffith’s hands are almost unnervingly soft for a mercenary general, and they’re warm as he kneads your breasts. your head tilts back and you expel a long, heavy breath as he tilts his head to watch your countenance closely. “I’ve hardly touched you, Your Majesty, and you’re already mewling for me.” his pupils are blown out as he tugs on your nipples, and watches in delight as you squirm and moan. “I suppose these pillowy tits of yours are sensitive enough to make you cum all alone…” his knee worms under your multitude of skirts, to press against your sex. with a surprised gasp, your thighs clamp around his leg, but it was already too late. his digit tips roll over your nipples in smooth teases, pressing them like buttons as you squirm and gasp, and grind your slick against his knee. “The king must not appreciate them. But I will.”

groping thick handfuls of squishy flesh, a groan gurgles at the back of his throat as he pushes your tits together, smashing them against each other, and his icy gaze flickers up to you. “Do you know what I love the best about a woman’s tits?” he asks, in a soft baritone that seems to send a quake straight to your core. you moan, breathless, and shake your head, before his own dips low enough to run his tongue in a thin stripe that creeps up the length of your cleavage, before he expels in a whisper, “They’re soft and warm, and when pressed together like this, create such a delicious hole to fuck.”

your head was spinning already at his words, so when his hands glide upwards and grip your shoulders, forcing the Queen of Midland to her knees in front of him, breasts jiggling and exposed and dress askew on your frame, you bent to his will without protest. “There we are. A pretty, obedient queen. Are you so awestruck by the visage of my peasant cock sliding between your royal breasts that you fold so easily?” there’s a faint smile on his kissable pout now, a powerful one, and he grasps hold of your chin with one hand, using the other to undo the complexity of his breeches. he forces your face up, to stare at him directly, and you swoon at the hard grip on your chin. “I will enjoy defiling you, little queen. But what’s even more exciting is that you will enjoy it so much more.”

your face was flushed of its usual tone, eyelids fluttering as they struggle to stay open. the heat between your bodies was almost too much to bear already. “Use me…” you plead, quietly, needy. “Use me, mercenary, degrade me. Do so and I will see to it that you climb the military ranks to your heart’s content.”

this pleases Griffith, and he runs his thumb over your trembling bottom lip, looming over your kneeling frame as he pumps his cock to attention. as it swells, and hardens, your eyeline drifts downwards and you become entranced at the thought, your mouth hanging open in expectancy.

“Such a beautiful mouth, warm and wet,” Griffith purrs, pushing his thumb in to anchor it against the fleshy inside of your cheek, “you know well a woman’s duty and where and how to take a cock, and I’m certain your mouth has been well trained by your husband.” your cheeks heat up with humiliation as he teases your gag reflex with his fingers, you cluck and try to push his fingers out, but they remain, and you only end up dribbling drool out of your mouth with an embarrassed whimper. “But I will need you to save these talents for him, your lovely mouth is your weapon, and you’ve just become my greatest ally in my war for my dream. You will use it so efficiently, pleasing your husband and whispering those persuasive words in his ear, until I have surpassed every general in his army. You will do this for me, yes?” you nod, batting your eyelashes, swirling your tongue around his fingers. Griffith was so breathtaking, and in this moment you were so aroused and at his mercy, that you would’ve agreed to do anything for him. “Very good, my desperate little queen. Now, save these lovely lips for their task, and I will fuck your luscious tits, instead.”

both of his hands find their way to your breasts again, and he takes a step forward, his stance wide imposing as his feet plant themselves on either side of your poofy skirt. the way his thick, hard cock lays against your chest is almost as if it had sought out its new home, and he pushes your breasts to mold around it, forming a tight canal as he teased a couple of strokes. with a slow rock of his hips, his cock tunnels between your breasts, the puffy, pink tip peeking out by your chin, and he rolls his head on his shoulders, eliciting a soft and pleasured sigh. “Very soft.” he croons, closing his eyes, his fingers digging into your squishy tits as his pace starts to pick up. “The perfect sheath for my cock, don’t you agree?”

you were too busy staring at the display, watching his sex glide between your breasts, that you simply elicit a quiet babble of a yes, your arms bent up by your sides, your hands balled into fists.

“My dear queen has never been degraded quite like this, her body used by cock in ways her sweet, little brain couldn’t even imagine,” he all but moans at the realization, working his jaw for a moment. “Look up at me, little queen. Let me see your mouth hanging open, the desire to suck what’s just out of your reach.”

you do as instructed, but you hardly so much as peek before you hear the sound of him expectorating— his spit splattering against your top lip and dripping down into your waiting mouth, mixing with your own that had gathered in a thirsty pool. you flinch, surprised, but then look up at him, wide eyed.

no one’s ever spit on you before.

and you liked it.

a lot.

Griffith’s grin is loose, his lips parted as he starts to pant, bucking his hips more forcefully, faster, fucking your titties with reckless abandon, kneading them roughly.

“You liked that, did you?” it was as if he could read your mind, his icy blue irises seeming to glow in the dim candlelight of your bedroom. “You are more and more fetching, the filthier I discover that you are.”

“A—again,” you whine, only to be graced with another shower of spit, and you moan, gratefully, before blurting out, “Thank you!”

the depravity in your voice was something you’d never heard before, especially not from yourself, and it should’ve been humiliating. but it wasn’t. it was exhilarating and liberating.

“Close,” Griffith grunts, his chest heaving, still adorned with his ruffled tie. the fact that he was still mostly clothed made this encounter all the more promiscuous, “I’m right there… right… there…” he was grinding his teeth, because you’d tucked your chin, pressing your lips together in a lazy O, letting his tip kiss the shape over and over. each time he drew back, you could taste the sticky sweet precum he left stamped to your lips. “Ah,” Griffith releases a sound, a croak as he grabs your hair at the root, pulling your head back and allowed his other hand to fall from your breasts, taking hold of his cock at its mighty base. his fingers rub against the fluffy, silver pubic hair his cock sprouts from, before starting to pump up and down wildly. “I will paint those beautiful tits of yours, my whorish queen. So you can smell of me. And remember how thoroughly I’ve fucked them—“

he hardly gets the words out before his release erupts from the swollen head of his cock, casting long, warm white streamers over your heaving breasts. your hands scramble to push them together, mimic the way he had to fuck them, so you may gather the entirety of his semen upon their expanse, and you peer up at him with wide, happy eyes. “G—Griffith…”

his ragged breath starts to slow, his platinum bangs damp and sticking to his forehead and his temple when he finally releases your hair with a heavy, satisfied sigh, “Did you enjoy that, Your Majesty?”

watching him come undone and quickly recover had your mind going blank, and your thighs sticky with your need, but you thoughtlessly nod, attempting to form the words themselves, but none came to your lips.

it’s all right, though, because Griffith pulls you to your feet. “Lovely, because now I will bend you over your vanity and tend to that sopping wet cunt of yours.”

#berserk griffith #griffith smut #griffith x reader #griffith x you #bersek #berserk smut #berserk x you #berserk x reader #berserk anime #kinktober 2023

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missvaseline · 6 months ago

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Whenever you watch me: Chapter 2 (Griffith x Reader) 18+

Triggers: harassment, heavy manipulation, possessiveness, dubious consent, sadism

Read Previous: Chapter 1

The swordsman's eyes focused on the tree line following the river before she turned to the voice behind her.

“You show up and ask me to race now?” The swordsman asked, adorning skepticism on her face.

“Like I’ve been showing up and asking you every sunrise. This isn’t a strange occurrence.”

“While we are… upset at each other?” She corrected.

Aqua eyes searched for every hint of understanding that he could find within her own. Her name slipped between his lips as he scoffed.

“When I told you to retreat for the night, I was no longer upset.”

Delicate lips twinged as she brushed her fingers between the fabric of yesterday’s clothing balled in her arms, a nervous habit over any of her wear. Inky guilt still clung to her while skepticism hid just beneath.

“What if I’m too upset to race?”

“Then I’ll console you.”

A breeze settled through that chilled her without her armor. And it was all the more reason to ponder simply putting on the iron suit and racing with him just for a little bit. These moments stirred her into long confusion, words were usually stuck behind chattering teeth while she struggled to understand. It felt like a need lost and forgotten in the comfortable confines of its near famine which never seemed to fully go away in every cycle

“I’ll put on my armor.” She said.

She slipped passed the linen of her tent and all too quickly strapped herself into her armor. When she had come out he had already gathered their horses, quietly waiting while the morning fog lapped at the metal plates over his calves.

He looked magnificent. It was a standard thought that he tended to himself more often in the mornings. But it seemed as though it was more than usual. How the world around her grows rose tint the closer she got to him. He had this way about him.

The dueler gathered the leather reigns from him, climbing onto her steed. It was soon that hooves trotted in rhythms beside each other. The low of yesternight was melted by the warmth of the morning and already she was in higher spirits. They would go a mile out from camp, riding into a trail that slithered through crowded trees; their score with each other was neck and neck in their races.

“How far do you want to go?” He asked.

“To the hills? Finish line at the big boulder.” The corners of his lips lifted.

“Ambitious today?”

And hers did too, “Are you?” She concurred.

When their horses stopped at the redwood tree they had labeled as a starting point for the area, they had waited. She kept her steed ready.

“We’ll see where the ambition goes after this race.”

She tightened her fingers over leather, already picking out the best routes to take. She brushed the dark brunette main of her steed, leaning in slightly. Blue eyes toured the slant of her body pressed over the back of her mount.

“Listen Viola, we’re going to defeat this chap and I swear, I’ll find as many apples for you to eat. Focus, girl” She whispered to the flicking ear of the stead before straightening herself. The horse chortles and snorts in response, breaths in the cold air danced.

“I could never get over that name, Viola.” He tittered. "I wonder if the apples you feed her will be from spoils or consolations.”

Suddenly, leather cracked into the air as he whipped his reigns, his stallion surged forward leaving a trail of his laughter behind to chase after.

“You cheat!” She yelled, painfully snapping her reins, the quick jolt of her horse being unfelt in comparison to Griffith’s jests.

“Cheat?” His voice called back honeyed in mock offense as he failed to let her catch up, “Whenever did I call start before?”

Molars pressed into themselves as heels dug into the sides of her steed. Her stomach nearly pressed into the curved leather of her saddle as she leaned forward trying to catch as much speed as possible. Long silver tail hairs whipped like a mocking flag in front of her as she focused.

“I didn’t call start yet!” Her nag finally ate the distance between them.

“Ambition doesn’t wait for permission.”

His fingers loosened over his reins as a form of mercy, slowing down just to mirror her steed.

“There. Better?” He cast his Azure gaze on her as his lips formed into a leer.

“Oh, don’t give me that, you are so cheap.” She said between laughter, both of their steeds galloping easily through the trail. In just enough gradualness, she hastened her mount again to shoot forward. A defiant chortle shot out of her as she snapped back to look for Griffith behind. Though only the empty damp pined path was shown before hearing his horse snort beside her.

“They’re my tricks, don’t you think it would be harder to use on me?”

“Of course.” The swordsman grumbles, leather creaking between her tightening fingers.

His smile turned away as his eyes flickered in behind him and then forward. His horse suddenly stepped in front of her path, halting her.

“Let’s take a detour.” Eyes flickered up to his as her brow tilts.

“I don’t know the paths out this far besides this one and we are racing.”

“Plans changed. You can follow me.”

He says as he and his steed sift in front of her, the golden light from the sky kissing his argent locks into its color.

“We have training-“

“I let them know we are on a longer race.”

The air grew quiet before she finally relented, following him deeper into the forest where the path raised into its convoluted nature. Every piece of land was a novelty in every pace revealed as she grew quiet.

“Where are we going?” She called out as she trailed behind him.

“You’ll see.”

He replied without looking back.

Intuition stirred beneath the surface of her as they ventured forth. Minutes melted into nearly an hour before the trees parted themselves into a small field. Blue speckled between green in the clearing like a secret waiting to be told.

The swordsman halted before going any deeper as trail of parted grass followed his horse until he stopped at the center, the only thin misplaced was a ross ridden boulder. Life had painted him in front of her eyes in a still frame until the breeze whispered between silver, wavy tresses and the greenery below him. Her mind couldn’t fumble the words together as his cobalt eyes pointing the sky suddenly flickered down to her.

“How do you feel?”

he asked, making her uncertainty well to the surface.

“A bit… confused, though, the orchids are beautiful… these are the same flowers we used to collect as children.”

“Why did you decide to follow me?”

The swordsman paused as she searched for his meanings in his eyes.

“Because… you told me to?” She stilled on her horse as she watched him carefully.

“Why when I said so?”

Air thickened with his tone. Asking the question again and again until she made the right answer.

“Because I wanted to.”

Griffith slipped off of his horse, pacing to her, palm open, beckoning her. He silently waited.

“I don’t understand the meaning of this-“

“Take my hand.” He interrupted with velvet shaping the dagger hidden under his words.

Carefully, she reached for his hand, slipping off her horse before he quietly paced them to the center of the field. The dueler moved to pull her hand away but he tightened his fingers to the shape of her palm. Blades of grass and pedals sighed between armor as they sifted to the middle where rays of the sun littered groups of sapphire corolla at once. He finally stopped and turned to face her, his look burrowing into her own.

“You followed me here because you want to. Our shared history. It wasn’t blind faith.”

A tug and she skipped closer.

“You aren’t blindly following me.” He whispered as if the trees that stood around them was an audience attempting to peer into their conversation. Silver brows furrows slightly with a rare look. So unique it was hard to place.

“I see…” The swords master averted her gaze as confusion was hitting to a boiling point. She was scared to say the wrong thing. To stir him when they were alone, damn near lost away from the camp.

She was trapped here with adrift and him. Leather over the pad of his thumb brushed over her knuckles.

“When I stumbled on this field, It scared me.” Silver lashes veiled his eyes as he glanced at the curves that made her palms.

“Why?”

“Because it was something other than what I always thought I wanted for once.” He gave a half smile, “That was years ago. Could you imagine how my thoughts are now?”

“What were those thoughts?” She asked.

A beat of silence and he tugged her fingers to pull her a step closer to him. His presence, larger than the field they were standing in.

“How do I own a kingdom when you’re not there.”

Eyes stared until the cool breeze between them forced her to blink.

“I could be a knight or come to visit whenever I can. I’m sure you’ll be busy in the castle when you get there.” She cooed, trying to soothe his worries. It was understandable, they were like bonded felines- unable to stray too far from each other naturally. At least that was her reasoning

“I mean,” He paused before craning over her, “When you’re not here, like this. This close.”

Blood quickly ran to her cheeks; It felt so dry outside there was nothing to swallow.

“I won’t be leaving you like that. I’ll always be here when you need me.” Was all she could muster. She stilled, eyes widening as she felt silvery, wavy bangs against her forehead as he pressed his against hers. Another breath shortens while leather slipped against her cheek.

“Always?” He murmurs, “Say it again.”

The cold confused her; she couldn’t stop shaking. The dueler took a step back but he followed with another in a duet.

“I-I’ll always be here.” her breath pushed out. She jolted as the thumb that rubbed her cheek suddenly pressed upon her bottom lip, brushing it open. He reeled for comfort again, his compulsive need wrapping around her like a bag over her head.

“Again.”

He took a step closer, caging her against the large boulder she thought was so far away.

“I’ll a-always!“ She coughed as she felt his thumb push against her tongue. “Griff-!“

“Shh shh.” Griffith hushed, His thumb slid deeper while the tip his nose brushed against her scalp, inhaling the ghost fragrance of lilac. “You always reminded me of these orchids.”

The swordsman began to pant. Sheets of her armor scraped against the boulder, the sound that tore from it felt as grating as the gloved finger between her teeth. She yanked her mouth back before she felt the bite of fingers squeeze her jaw harder. Hacks sounded again while a strange tinge coil within her gut.

“Where you don’t need much care to be in the way that’s perfect. Beautiful.” He whispered, “I just needed to keep the weeds away to let you grow when we were kids. It was easy that way then... Do you know how hard that will be when I’m writing edicts and sitting on the throne. How the weeds will come then to steal your time like vultures who were waiting for the kill all along.”

Palms push at his shoulder as she gagged while the finger held her tongue down.

“Griffith-”

Nails skitter at iron plates before he finally relinquished her, spit bridging from her chin while she peeled over to cough violently. Griffith simply held his gaze at her while the wretching continued.

“I apologize for the slip.” He said almost too gently. He kept himself gated behind a boundary he was barely holding up to.

“I had gotten upset thinking about it-”

“Fuck your feelings, you scared me!”

He kept the mask of calm as she resolved herself. She peeled from the rock to quickly get to her horse, scrambling like it was life raft.

“Whatever is going on with you, you need to deal with it!”

She yelled as he didn’t turn to face her. She assumed it was from guilt.

“You don’t even know the way back.”

“I’ll find it!” She yelled as she whipped her reins, the hooves driving themselves away from him- leaving him in the parting of trees. Her eyes were frantic as she shivered on her horse. Why would he do that? Where did that come from? Why was he acting this way suddenly? It was the questions that poured into her because if he were to rock in his resolve, she would feel it. She always did. Even when he appeared calm- it was the slightest tone of his voice that would make her feel it.

He's never this upset unless she spent too much time training with others. In their teens, whenever she would come home late from hanging with the others, she would face his fury in the shape of him sitting in dent in chair at their shack of a home. The hidden resolve would torture her with questions and nitpickings down the bone just for him to reshape her skin with something else.

Flowers hummed against steel as he stood long after she had left.

#griffith #berserk #griffith x reader #we are all fucked up #my fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #tts #podfic #audiobooks #fanfiction #smut #dubious consent #SoundCloud #x reader #beserk fanfiction #femto #griffith berserk

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virgo-mess · 2 years ago

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These gifs live in my mind rent free. I should have part 3 of chapter 6 up in a few hours.

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver x oc #enemies to lovers #terry silver smut

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karatekels · 2 years ago

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TIGmas Day #4 – Eye of the Storm

Today’s story is for @theinheriteddutchess, and it’s just the right amount of unhinged and delicious… and Christmassy!

TW: Deception, manipulation, coercion, breeding kink, forced pregnancy, dubious consent, lying about birth control, semi-public sex, Terry Silver brooding and tired of waiting around

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Eye of the Storm

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Terry’s POV:

Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. At this time, all flights are currently canceled until further notice due to inclement weather. All commercial and private aircraft are currently grounded until conditions improve.

Weather. One of the few things in life that remained out of his control. This blizzard in particular seems to be taunting him with that fact.

LaGuardia is bustling on Christmas Eve, the airport overflowing with clusters of families and travelers trying to make their way to their loved ones. Terry’s just grateful he’s surveying them all from the relative quiet of the elite lounge reserved for those flying in private jets, looking through the tinted windows at the unsuspecting commoners.

Christmas Eve.

He’d intentionally scheduled his year-end meetings in New York for this time of year, wanting to keep himself occupied. With the All Valley tournament won earlier in the month, Terry had taken a step away from the dojo for the remainder of the year; hearing chatter about the holidays always left him feeling agitated. Frustrated.

Alone.

And now, instead of enjoying the luxuries of private air travel and anticipating a return to the reasonable, warm climate of Los Angeles – he hated the cold – he was stuck surrounded by reminders of his solitude, nursing a passable whiskey.

A family pulls off to the side, right in front of him, mother and father trying to calm their wailing brats, and he feels an uncomfortable pang in his chest.

How could so many undeserving, unworthy, average joes reproduce their mediocrity with ease while he, with an empire that could sustain generations of his legacy, went without?

He had spent the first decade or so of his career living up to the stereotype of the billionaire playboy, having more than his share of fun with anyone and everyone that had struck his fancy. He figured that when it was time for him to settle down, he’d have his pick of worthy candidates, beautiful women of good stock that would kill for the opportunity to bear his name and his children.

But no one had met his standards, and he was now well into the winter of his lifetime. It was too late.

… Or was it?

He may be pushing seventy, but his doctor had assured him he was still able to conceive during his most recent physical. He had plenty of resources to attract and… retain a suitable partner. And it wasn’t like he was settling down in his thirties; he could find someone worthy enough to have and raise his children without tiring of them after decades of time together.

Someone younger, naïve, impressionable… Someone that he could shape into the perfect wife and mother, if they didn’t come that way naturally.

A flustered young woman walks by, her open trenchcoat revealing flaring, child-bearing hips, her eyes sparkling with an anger that indicated great depth of passion.

Someone like you.

He finishes his drink, throwing his coat back on and wrapping his red scarf around his neck, straightening to his full height as he tracks your movement through the airport with his eyes, seeing you find a seat towards the end of the terminal.

It was time to expand his dynasty.

Reader’s POV:

Even at the far end of the terminal the noise is deafening, and you can’t help but scowl at the throng of people standing around as their travel plans are put on hold, the airport full to bursting.

You think you would give anything to be away from this crowd right now.

All you are trying to do is call your mom – God forbid the family cabin have cell reception, let alone Wi-Fi – to let her know you wouldn’t be there for Christmas. At least this afforded you an excuse that she couldn’t hold against you, but you wish that you could be back in your apartment instead of trapped here.

“Excuse me, Miss –” comes a soft voice behind you, a large hand squeezing your shoulder.

“What?!” you snap, spinning around in your seat to glare at the offender. The man removes his hand from you immediately, leaning back to give you space with a slightly wounded look in his blue eyes. Your frustration dissipates and is replaced with guilt.

“I’m sorry for startling you. I just wanted to ask if this was yours?” he explains in his smooth, deep voice, your passport in his hand.

Well, now don’t you feel foolish.

“Oh my God, yes it is!” you exclaim, cheeks flaming with embarrassment at your temper tantrum. “Thank you, Sir,” you continue, reclaiming your passport and tucking it securely into your pocket. “I’m so sorry for being so rude just now, I –”

“There’s no need to apologize,” the man cuts you off, giving you a warm smile. “Airports are stressful even under the best of circumstances.”

“Still, that’s no excuse to take it out on you,” you chide yourself. “I’m just trying to make a call, but it’s too loud in here,” you explain, and the man tilts his head to the side as he stares at your lips, trying to figure out what you’re saying over the din of the bustling airport.

“I just want to make a fucking phone call and I can’t hear anything with all these people!” you snarl, glaring all around you as your temper flares into life once again. The man’s face twitches in response; you suspect he’s biting his tongue to keep from laughing at you.

“I believe I can help you with that,” he offers kindly, somehow managing to speak audibly without raising his voice. “If you’d like, that is.”

“You can get me out of this mob?! I’m all yours!” you take him up on his offer enthusiastically. For a second, you think you see a wicked, pleased smirk on his face, but then you blink and he’s turned to walk away. You hasten after him, having a much more difficult time getting through the crowd; this man seems to have an aura about him that makes people give him a wide berth. At least it made him easy to spot – well, that and the fact that he towers over everyone else.

Now that your temper has been quelled, you take a moment to really look at this man. He was older, probably in his sixties, but looked strong – you doubt your head would even come up to his shoulders. He’s dressed in luxurious, well-tailored clothing that indicated wealth, with a full head of wavy hair that nearly brushed his shoulders. As he stops and turns back to see if you’ve followed, you notice how his hair, a lovely shade of silver, compliments his bright blue eyes.

All in all, he’s a real Silver Fox.

You catch up to him, glancing at the plain black door with a key card reader next to it before looking up at him curiously.

“Where does this lead to?”

“A private lounge,” he replies, not giving anything else away. So, he was proper rich, then. You reflexively back away from the door as if it could tell that you couldn’t afford to enter.

“Oh, I don’t think I’m allowed to –”

“You’ll be with me, you’ll be fine,” he cuts off your concerns, waving them away with a hand. You bite your lip, unconvinced.

“Why are you doing this?” you ask, you brow furrowing in concern. “You don’t know me at all!”

He offers you his hand, his expensive watch dangling from his wrist and catching your eye. “I’m Terry Silver. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he purrs, charisma oozing from every syllable. You find yourself shaking his hand before you’ve even thought about it, enjoying the way it fully envelops your own.

“Y/N L/N,” you reply, suddenly feeling shy; he hasn’t released your hand.

“A lovely name. So, now that we know one another, will you be joining me?” he asks, giving you a lopsided grin that makes him appear younger; it was truly difficult to gauge his age.

You find yourself still hesitating, though you’re not entirely sure why. This man hadn’t given you any reason to question his intentions, and it wasn’t like any harm could befall you in an airport, of all places. He opens the door with a swipe of his card, holding it ajar with a raised eyebrow in your direction.

“Well, I’m going to enjoy the peace and quiet of this wonderful, mostly empty lounge. It was nice talking to you, Y/N,” he says teasingly striding through the doorway without another look back.

“I… Wait!” you hurry after him, barely catching the door before it closes after him. “I’m coming, I’m coming!”

He turns back to you with a beaming smile, clearly pleased by your decision.

“Glad to hear it!” he says, sincerity ringing in his voice as his eyes twinkle at you, walking at a slower pace to match your shorter stride. Suddenly, he bends towards you to whisper in your ear, the gesture sending a surprising thrill through you.

“This will be the only awkward part, my dear. I promise,” murmurs, and you’re momentarily dazed by the scent of his cologne before you realize he has wrapped an arm around your shoulders, hugging you close to his side as he walks past the hostess, flashing her a card before carrying on right past her.

The moment you’re out of her sight, he respectfully releases you, giving you some space. You find yourself more than a little disappointed by the loss of his presence.

“I hope I didn’t overstep, Y/N. It was just the easiest way to get you inside.”

“I…No, I don’t mind,” you stammer, feeling like an idiot. “Thank you.”

Terry leads you to a quiet, secluded booth next to a bar; you can count the other patrons on the fingers of one hand. The headache you felt coming on since your flight was canceled evaporates the moment you take a seat across from him.

“Go ahead and make your call,” he insists, staring pointedly at your phone in your hand.

A server comes over at Terry’s signal, and he orders a whiskey neat, the brand sounding foreign and expensive, then gestures to you with an open palm.

You order a double of your favourite highball, getting the sense that you’ll need the liquid courage to get you through both the phone call and the rest of the evening.

Terry’s POV:

As he nurses his drink and pretends to watch the snow continue to fall through the large window, he reviews the information he has gleaned from eavesdropping on your phonecall:

The rest of your family is off in the middle of nowhere, a landline being the only means of communication with the outside world (and, more importantly, you).

They believe that you’re lying about the canceled flight to try to get out of the holiday. This appears to upset you, though he senses it’s not entirely untrue.

You’re something of a workaholic, a point of pride for you and a sore spot for your loved ones. He thinks he appreciates the dedication.

You’re currently single, if the icy tone you used to spit out the name ‘Derek’ into your phone was any indication.

And you can handle your liquor, he notes as you polish off your drink, scowling as you listen to whoever is on the other line.

You’ll do.

“I’ve apologized a hundred times; I don’t know what more you want from me! I’ll do my best to get there when the weather clears, mom. Thank you, goodbye,” you growl into the phone, hanging up more aggressively than necessary.

“Seasons Greetings from the family?” Terry jokes wryly, and you give him a withering look. You have a pretty, expressive face; he’s looking forward to watching it transform into a mask of ecstasy for him.

“Bah, Humbug,” you grumble with a pout that draws his attention to your full lower lip. Had he lucked out, running into you at the perfect moment, or was he simply finding you more and more desirable because he was planning to knock you up some time within the next few hours?

“Thank you for bringing me here and letting me do this, Mr. Silver,” you say graciously, letting out a heavy sigh and sliding down the booth like you thought you were going somewhere.

“And where do you think you’re going?” he asks with incredulity, and you freeze in place.

“I was going to go pay for my drink and then get out of your hair,” you offer weakly. He’s pleased you’re already looking guilty at the thought of going against his plans for you. Wanting to test you, he points a finger at you before pointing a few feet to your right. Sure enough, you follow his direction, sliding back into the booth obediently. Good girl.

“Firstly, your money is no good here; everything is automatically put on my card,” he counters you smoothly, wanting to set out the expectations for your future relationship right from the outset.

“Then please, allow me to reimburse you at least, Mr. Silver –” you plead, and he decides he likes that tone from you very much.

“Terry,” he corrects you sternly, noting your blush. You like being told what to do. “And no,” he adds petulantly, for good measure.

“I don’t understand. Why are you doing all this?” you ask with frustration, your voice tinged with desperation. The way your big, beautiful eyes are fixed on his, looking to him for answers… he feels his cock twitch against his thigh.

“I saw an opportunity to be a Good Samaritan and I took it,” he replies simply, nodding in recognition as the server replaces your drinks with fresh ones, though his eyes never move away from your face. Sensing that you’re not fully buying into his logic, he decides to take a more sentimental route, with the added bonus at hinting at his plans for you.

“And I don’t have a family I’m trying to get to; the least I could do is help you contact your own.”

Terry watches a wave of sympathy wash over your features, and he feels his hooks sink a bit deeper into you with satisfaction. After a moment, your expression returns to normal, though your eyes appear calculating.

“Nothing’s for free,” you state matter-of-factly, though you don’t hesitate to take a sip of your second drink. He bites back a smile as you make use of one of his favourite expressions. “What’s in it for you?”

“Your company as we wait out the weather, if anything,” he replies innocently, blinking at you as if he was utterly perplexed by what you could be insinuating. He cackles in his head.

“Although, you certainly seem eager to be back in the chaos of the terminal,” he carries on, his voice teasing. “And here I thought I had found a kindred spirit.” He sighs deeply, turning his gaze back to the window. Though he hates the snow, it is currently his greatest ally in his ploy to keep you with him.

“You… you just want someone to talk to?” your words are heavy with unease, and his eyes flit back to you. Someone so young and appealing shouldn’t be so wary, so surprised at receiving attention. You would have all of it.

Provided it was first approved by him, of course.

“Do you know of a better way to pass the time?” he asks politely, noting the way that your throat constricts as you swallow heavily, not meeting his eye as you shake your head. Your desire is evident; now to get you to let your guard down and act on it. The more you thought this was your idea, the easier it would be for him later on if you needed… convincing.

“Where are you meant to be heading to?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“My family is in Washington. We have a cabin on Mt. Baker that we try to get to every Christmas. They’re all there, waiting for me,” you explain, a trace of bitterness to your voice.

“You make it sound like they’re going to pounce on you,” he notes with amusement, looking at you with sympathy even as he imagines being the one to give you that treatment. You sigh, fortunately not having any insight into his thoughts.

“They mean well, and I love them all very much, but they can be a lot. I’m glad I only see them two or three times a year.”

“Loved ones always seem to aggravate us like no one else,” he agrees, his jaw clenching imperceptibly.

“And you?” you attempt to reverse the roles you’re playing, and Terry allows the move. “Where are you heading?”

“Home, to Los Angeles. I was in New York for business,” he answers, purposely keeping his answers vague. Further questions on your part would suggest growing interest, and he wants to hurry the process along.

“Oh, I’ve always wanted to be somewhere warm for Christmas!” you respond with jealousy, sighing dreamily. Ask, and you shall receive.

“It won’t be much of a Christmas, I’m afraid,” he adds, wanting to see your pity. And, no surprise, there it is, your eyes softening as you take him in. He sees your fingers twitch, and suspects you’re fighting the instinct to take his hand comfortingly. He’ll have to break you of that habit, and soon; your instincts are far more aligned to his intentions.

“I’m sorry, you mentioned you weren’t going to visit family.”

“It sounds like you are quite similar to how I was at your age; prioritizing work, only visiting family occasionally… having a bit of a short fuse,” he teases, winking at you, and you blush, scowling at him.

“Well, clearly I’m on the right track, then, if you’re able to get into a place like this,” you respond cheekily. He gives you a piercing look over the rim of his glass, as though taking a contemplative sip. Your eyes seem focused on the way his hand grips his glass; he runs a fingertip along the rim for good measure.

“I don’t know about that,” he replies, going for a somber mood. “I think my one and only regret is not having a family of my own.”

You give him that same look of sympathy again, this time looking as though you might leap at across the table and into his lap to console him. Almost there… he can taste the growing tension between you two on his tongue, like a snake tracking the scent of its prey.

“And yours?” he asks, once again keeping you on your toes by switching your dynamic. “Do you have any regrets yet, Y/N?” he asks, cocking his head in interest. You fidget under his intense gaze, seemingly unable to look away.

“Hmm, maybe. I’ll have to think about it!” you avoid the question, clearly uncomfortable with looking inward. No matter; he’d soon pry you apart and get everything out in the open. “If I go use the bathroom in this place, are they going to fingerprint me or ask for a fancy card?” you ask jokingly, giving him a wink. He lets you change the subject; having a few minutes to himself would be beneficial.

“No, once you make it past the hostess, you can pretty much run amok around here,” he replies, pointing you in the right direction. He follows your retreating form with his eyes, sliding down the booth the moment you round the corner, his hands quickly pulling your coat towards him and retrieving your passport once again from your pocket. You really should pay more attention to keeping track of such important documents.

Tucking the small booklet in the front pouch of his suitcase, he slides out of the booth and over to the bartender.

“Another drink, Mr. Silver?” the man asks, already turning to reach for his preferred bottle.

“No, I want a room. The biggest you’ve got, and for God’s sake, it had better be clean.”

He doesn’t want to have to waste time with all of these formalities once he’s whisking you away to defile you.

“Your card, please,” the man requests, unfazed by Terry’s tone and request. Handing it over, the card is swiped, updating access to one of the private rooms.

“That’ll be Room #8, Mr. Silver; last door on the left down the hall.”

“Thank you, Roger,” he replies smugly. “If my guest and I are nowhere to be found, and our luggage is still at our booth, keep an eye on it for me, would you?”

He finds he doesn’t want to be subtle about this; he wants it to be perfectly clear that he’s going to be taking you – hot, young little thing that you are – to a private “Nap Room,” as they called them, and decidedly not nap. The world should know it. The world would know it, once you were his, your body growing and swelling with his child…

“Yes, Mr. Silver.”

He turns away without another word, feeling confident, and sees you emerging from the bathroom. The instant that you spot him, he can see your cheeks turn pink, your gaze darkening, and he suspects his choice to gain access to the room in advance was a wise one. He slowly stalks over to you, building the anticipation until he can see you nearly vibrating from the tension.

“I figured out my regret,” you inform him rather breathlessly once he comes to a stop in front of you. You don’t even come up to his shoulders…

“Oh? Please, enlighten me,” he purrs, looking down at you biting your lip nervously; he resolves to suck on it until it bruises.

You take a deep breath to gather your nerve before looking up at him, your pupils dilating in your desire. Your small hands reach up, gripping an end of his scarf in each hand and pulling so that he bends down to your level.

“Not being spontaneous and taking what I want,” you hiss in his ear, pulling him by the scarf into the bathroom.

---

It’s been awhile since he’s been with a younger woman, let alone one with your… tenacity. As you prop yourself up on the bathroom sink to better wrap yourself around him, he is all too happy to let you be in control if it gets him closer to you spreading your legs for him. You pull him down to kiss him again, fingers toying with his hair as you tease his lips with your tongue, letting out a dreamy little sigh that he swallows into his mouth. He slides his hands further up your thighs, coming to squeeze your hips possessively, making you moan.

“Oh Y/N,” he groans, breaking the kiss to rest his forehead against your own, staring unblinkingly into your eyes. “The things I want to do to you…”

“Tell me!” you beg, pulling back to look at him with need. “Please, tell me what you want to do! Tell me everything, Terry.”

A few lush kisses and the prospect of dirty talk and you were willing to hand over the reins to him, just like that? He’ll take what he can get.

He grips the backs of your thighs in his large hands, lifting you up off the sink with ease and carrying you over to the wall, pinning you against it. You roll your hips needily at the rough treatment, and he smirks against the skin of your collarbone as he lavishes every inch of your exposed flesh with kisses.

“I want to own you,” he whispers passionately, knowing you’ll dismiss the truth as just something said in the heat of the moment. “I want to learn every inch of your body and how to make it sing for me.” You’re gasping for breath now, head thrown back like a lioness submitting to the pride male, and he relishes in it, inhaling deeply as he runs his nose up from your throat to your ear.

“More, please!” you cry needily, fisting his curls as you hold his head against you. Greedy little thing, weren’t you? He’ll teach you to be careful what you wish for…

“I want to bring you more pleasure than you can possibly imagine,” he hums in contentment, giving the muscle at the side of your neck a playful nip that has you wantonly grinding against him. “I’ll have you coming so many times you won’t remember your own name, baby girl; I want you begging for mercy.”

“Yes Daddy, please!” you moan, and something primal in him growls in approval. He grips your waist, stepping back to lower you to the ground, pleased when you cling to him needily.

“Say. That. Again.” His voice is rough as he demands to hear it again, the irony making him internally howl with glee. Your eyes open as you’re set on your feet, and you seem to realize what you’ve just called him with a great deal of embarrassment. He loves it.

“I – I…” you stammer, unable to look him in the eye. His hand comes down without a second thought, spanking you hard, and you squeak, looking up at him reflexively.

“I said say that again,” he repeats, holding your chin up with a finger so that you can’t look away. Your lower lip trembles, and he traces it with his thumb lightly, making you shiver.

“I… I want you, Daddy,” you whimper, trying to shy away from him, but he grips your chin firmly, making you sit in your humiliation.

“Good girl,” he praises, pulling you against him with an arm around your waist, enjoying the way you respond to him.

“We don’t need to do this here,” he tells you, as though he’s just coming up with the idea. “I’ve got a private room.”

“You have a room in an airport just for you?” you ask, incredulous. “Rich people have everything!”

“Not quite,” he corrects you, pointedly looking you up and down before quickly bundling you out of the room and down the hall.

Reader’s POV:

Your head is spinning as Terry guides you into a simple room and leads you to the bed, looking down at you like you were something to eat. You’re nervous, you’re excited, you’re more turned on than you’ve ever been in your life.

You’re not on the pill, having stopped after getting out of your last relationship, but you’re fairly certain that it won’t be an issue for Terry anymore. You find you don’t care, you’re finally giving yourself over to your base instincts. No regrets.

“Come here,” you demand, sitting up on your knees at the end of the mattress. He smirks down at you, slowly closing the distance between you, and you hook your fingers into his belt loops the moment he’s in reach, tugging him to you by his hips.

“You’re a bossy little thing, aren’t you?” he asks teasingly, his large hand stroking your hair.

“Is that a problem?” you ask, batting your eyes up at him as you brazenly run a hand over his erection.

“Not at all,” he replies smoothly, getting on his knees on the carpet in front of you. In one fluid motion, he’s gripped your calves out from under you and yanked them towards him, knocking you on your back with the force of the movement. “Provided those roles can also be reversed.”

You’re rarely this dominant sexually, but this man just has you wanting. You find yourself wanting to try anything and everything with him. There’s just something about the way that he looks at you, like he’s planning on having you forever, that you find incredibly appealing.

“I want you any way I can have you, as long as it’s now,” you confess, your fingers moving to his belt. He slowly stands up and leans over you, his hands to either side of your head.

“Then stand up and strip for me,” he requests, his face so close to yours. “Now.”

He moves off of you, sitting on the edge of the bed expectantly. You get to your feet, coming to stand a few feet in front of him. You slowly bend forward at the hips, placing a hand on his knee as you move to unlace your boots, your face nearly in his lap. That task accomplished, you straighten up, giving him a coy smile before turning in place, presenting your butt to him. You hear him shift on the mattress behind you.

“Help me with my zipper?” you ask innocently, looking back at him over your shoulder. He stands, towering over you, his eyes locked with yours as he slowly pulls your zipper down to the small of your back. You shimmy out of it, grinding your ass back against him teasingly, and he growls, gripping your hips firmly.

“Filthy little tease,” he murmurs against your neck. “Let me show you what that gets you.”

Moving far more quickly than you would have thought him capable of, he’s somehow got you naked and on your back in the middle of the bed, kneeling between your spread legs with a ravenous expression. Divesting himself of his own clothing, giving you the opportunity to ogle him – who had a body like this at his age? – he finally starts touching you, his hands and mouth working you into a frenzy. The way his hands map out your body with featherlight touches stands in stark contrast to the strength you know he’s capable of, and the anticipation of more is driving you wild.

“Please!” you find yourself chanting, your hands exploring as much of him as you can reach. Terry ignores your pleas, tormenting you until you think he’s going to have you coming for him without so much as touching your needy pussy.

“Terry, please!” you beg, trying to hook your legs around his waist, but he pins your knees to the bed in his large hands. “I can’t take it anymore, I need –”

He silences you with a kiss, reaching down to slip one finger into your dripping cunt, then two, curling them in a come hither motion to stroke your g-spot.

“Oh, I know what you need,” he hisses in your ear, his thumb toying with your clit in circles that have you bucking your hips against him. “You need me to fuck you hard, and raw, and deep,” he groans, and your begging becomes fully incoherent at this point as you wordlessly wail for him to just use you already.

“Don’t worry, baby girl. Daddy’s gonna give it to you,” he promises with a wicked smile, nibbling your earlobe as you shudder, feeling filthy. Finally, he enters you, your slick cunt taking him with ease despite his size, and you let out a moan of completion as he bottoms out. Terry hisses as you clench around him, grinding his hips against yours as he sets a punishing pace.

“Oh, fuck!” you whine, your hips trying to meet his. “Yes, please, pump me full!”

Terry growls in approval at your dirty talk, his fingers gripping your waist hard enough to bruise, and your eyes roll back in your head.

“Yeah? You want to milk my cock of every drop with that needy cunt, don’t you?” he goads you, rutting into you like an animal and making you keen, your back arching off the mattress.

“YES!” you cry out, completely losing yourself to the moment.

“I’m gonna give it to you, baby,” he promises, looking down at you with an outright predatory expression, his hair falling in his eyes. “I’m gonna fill you up.”

And you want him to, you realize as you abandon all reason, giving yourself over to lust.

“Come for me, Terry!” you demand, forcing your eyes to stay open so you can watch him come apart for you. And he does, hips stuttering as he shoots his load deep inside you, coming hard with a roar. You both catch your breath, Terry insistent on remaining inside you, holding you down with your legs around his waist; you’re more than happy to oblige.

Attention all passengers. Attention all passengers. Conditions have improved, and crews are currently working to prepare aircraft for flights. Please turn your attention to flight boards for information about your flight. The first flights will begin boarding in thirty minutes.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Terry’s POV:

“Better now than a few minutes ago,” Terry jokes with a wry grin, making you giggle. He gives you an affectionate kiss on the lips before slipping out of you, surreptitiously ensuring that he doesn’t start leaking out of your slick entrance. He’d held you both in an ideal position for conception for as long as he could.

He knows he needs to snap the trap shut on you before you come to your senses, the two of you gathering your clothes and getting dressed. As he helps you into your coat, he’s pleased to see you don’t check the inner pocket for your passport.

“I’ve never been more upset to hear that it’s stopped snowing,” you admit cheekily as you try to fix your hair, your cheeks still flushed. He seizes the opportunity.

“I know exactly how you feel,” he replies, blue eyes blazing as he takes your cheek in hand. You lean into his touch, just as he wants you to. “You should come with me.”

Your eyes fly open in shock, wide as saucers, though he’s encouraged by your lack of an immediate ‘No’.

“What?!” you croak.

“You should come to L.A. with me,” he says, shrugging nonchalantly as if he wasn’t asking for the world. For your world.

“But… but…” you sputter, leaning back as though being able to see more of him would help you determine if he was joking. “My family… we barely know each other!” you babble, and he doesn’t intervene, content to watch you process this on your own.

“I’m not sure I’m done with you, yet,” he purrs when you finally settle down, giving you a searing kiss that makes your eyes lose focus. "It would be no trouble, I assure you."

“What about all of your regret at not spending time with your family?” you ask, and oh, if you only knew…

“An excellent anecdote for why I should make sure I don’t lose you now, and regret it later,” he replies smoothly, internally applauding his own brilliance. “Fate has clearly brought us together, and who am I to deny it?” He tucks a stray lock of hair behind your ear, doing his best to look both confident and well-intentioned.

“But… my family…”

“They didn’t seem to believe you were stranded in the airport anyway; how will they ever know you could’ve made it to them and chose not to?” he offers, finding it easy to script excuses for you. “Plus, we both know you’d rather spend time in the sun, letting me spoil you.”

He can practically see the gears in your head turning, and knows he’s almost got you.

“No regrets…” he murmurs in your ear, running his lips along your jawline until you’re vibrating in his hands.

“Terryyy…” you whine breathlessly, and he smiles against your skin. He wonders how many more times he can pump you full before he gets you to his home…

“Say yes, baby girl,” he asks oh-so-nicely. He just has to get you on the plane before you come to your senses. “Say yes and let me take care of you.”

“Okay.”

He blinks, face buried in the crook of your neck, honestly a bit surprised at your easy acceptance.

“Okay?” he repeats, pulling back to look into your eyes.

“I could use a vacation, and could do a lot worse,” you return with a smirk, looking him up and down. He’s becoming more and more impressed by his choice of the mother of his children.

“Then come with me, my dear, and let me give you everything.”

You both quickly gather your luggage from the lounge and make your way to the departure gate for private jets, his naturally being among the first to be ready for take-off. You never once check for your passport.

---

Once the plane reaches cruising altitude, he removes his seatbelt, standing to retrieve a bottle of champagne. You stay put, looking up at him nervously, but your gaze is still heated.

“Are you going to look for my membership card to the mile-high club?” you call after him with a giggle. He returns to his seat with a bottle in an ice bucket, having forgone any glasses.

“You have to be initiated first,” he replies seriously, pulling the bottle out of the bucket and longing to press the chilled glass against your flesh. “And I can’t help but think about how good your body would look dripping with champagne foam.”

Your intake of breath is immediate, and your eyes darken.

“You’re insatiable, Mr. Silver,” you tease, removing your seatbelt and shakily getting to your feet.

“You haven’t seen anything yet,” he warns you, though you likely assume it’s just a show of bravado. “Now, let’s get you out of that dress again.”

He’d have you pregnant before you landed.

Perhaps the snow wasn’t so bad after all.

---

This was originally inspired by another request given to me while I was stuck in the airport during the summer; I can’t believe I’ve been writing for you all for half a year now! Thanks to everyone for reading!

#Thomas Ian Griffith #Terry Silver #Terry Silver x Reader #Cobra Kai #TIGmas #12 Days of TIGmas #Smut #Terry Gets His Legacy #One Way Or Another #Baby Trap

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peetaspenguin · 2 years ago

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hunger games edit

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dollwrites · 1 year ago

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:0 since ur doing the griffith event would u consider writing a pt 2 to the king griffith drabble 🥺🥺🥺

he’s yummmy 👉🏻👈🏻

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!queen!reader, king!griffith, oral sex ( m! ), griffith is possessive and kind of manipulative, suggested conditioning so it’s semi dubcon?, improper use of praise, exploitation of reader’s praise kink, griffith is canon-typical misogynistic, very very subtle pet play too. all characters featured are aged 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading < 3

*same queen reader as this little blurb

“Don’t you know that you were created for me?”

“You exist to stand behind me.”

“You were born to be my queen.”

“My happiness is your happiness.”

Griffith’s voice echoes in your mind; constantly reminding you that you are exactly where you’re meant to be. you happily serve your noble husband— a dutiful and obedient wife that does only what he allows you to, and you’re content with that, because you receive his affection and approval as reward.

to put it frankly: you idolize Griffith.

and he knows it.

he has trained you well; conditioned you to depend on his praises as the flowers in the royal garden depend on spring showers. it makes you needy. easy to control. perfect to dominate.

with a simple sigh— a breathy exhale, Griffith can have you on a metaphorical leash. “Fervent, little wife you are.” he murmurs, “so eager to please her husband. So devoted to his pleasure. Can you think of nothing else but seeing ecstasy etched in my countenance?” the way his voice lilts in inquiry is almost a taunt, as if to sneer victory of the conquest over your simple, innocent mind.

with your eyes trained on his face, you nod, but the action is subtle and in time with the rhythm of your head already bobbing. your mouth watered, lips stretched around the girth of his cock, tongue pinned to the floor of your cavern as you sucked on the flared, swollen tip.

as royalty, you should’ve been ashamed to find yourself upon your knees between your husband’s legs, drool bubbling from the sides of your mouth as his cock filled it, but you couldn’t find an ounce of shame in making Griffith sigh like that. you couldn’t be embarrassed to feel just how hard he was, twitching in your mouth, not when this was an avenue to his good graces. if anything, the more that Griffith put you into positions meant to humiliate you, the more you craved his adoration. your tongue eagerly worms itself free, and glides across the sensitive slit of his tip, hungrily gathering beads of precum that were dribbling out so you can taste his essence. though warm and salty, the flavor to you was more delicious than any wine— more indulgent than any sweet. your eyelids flutter, but you force them to remain open so you can keep your eyes locked on his face, and on his icy gaze that stared back so intensely.

your teasing bore fruit, because a ghost of a smile danced across his plump, parted lips, before he elicited a soft moan, one that enveloped your entire body in heat, and liquified as pure desire in your core. “You are making me feel so good, just as you’re meant to.” Griffith assures you, using one hand to pet the top of your head. the action, while belittling, set your stomach tying itself in knots and your arousal pooling between the thighs that you clench tight together to keep from creating a puddle on the hardwood floor. all you want— all you will ever want is to please Griffith. whether that be with your loyalty, your body, or your status as a noblewoman, you want him to love and appreciate you. so, knowing that you are pleasuring him gives you a spur of inspiration. you mewl in response to his praise, batting your eyelashes as you take him deeper into your mouth, wanting to garner even more affirmations of a job well done; one of your hands creep up the inside of his thigh, holding his heavy balls in your warm palm. you begin to knead them with svelte, slow massaging.

“You are such a submissive creature.” Griffith chuckles, though a rosé hue begins to raise in the apples of his cheeks, and his bare chest rises and falls harder than before. another few pats on the top of your head before his fingers tangle themselves in your tresses. “You crave your King’s pleasure more than your own, and you’re so loyal that you sit at his feet like an hopeful pup, yearning for her master to give her a special reward. Even at the expense of your own humility.” his breath catches as your ministrations work on him, more moans making their way to the tip of his tongue as he rubs his thumb against the back of your head for a moment, before applying enough pressure to push your head further down, feeding you a few more inches of his throbbing, thick cock. “That is what makes you such a lovely, little pet. A lovely, little wife.”

#AHH I HOPE YOU LIKE IT #king griffith is like one of my fave things to write #griffith x you #griffith smut #griffith imagine #Griffith #berserk #berserk x you #berserk imagine #berserk x reader #berserk smut #griffith berserk

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missvaseline · 1 month ago

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Whenever you watch me: Chapter 15 (Griffith x Reader) 18+

When Griffith was a child, he found his very first member. They've grown together and she became the best swordsman he’s ever seen, a prodigy. But there is a difference between being a mercenary, and then being Griffith’s. Want to give a big warning for this chapter: THERE ARE CRUEL EVENTS THAT HAPPEN THIS CHAPTER AND DEATH. THERE IS AN INDEPTH DESCRIPTION OF DEATH THAT IS WRITTEN LIKE SOME FINAL DESTINATION SCENE

Griffith as a child was smart. Smarter than most adults even.

If the dueler was older than ten at this time, it would've honestly scared her. Now she can't even truly imagine what goes on in his head, most guesses are just educated based on the moves he's made before. Hence her constant suspicions. Crossing him didn't mean detonating a bomb, but instead, it meant facing a decrepit sickness where the effects couldn't be realized until only after the fact.

It was colder than usual. She knew it because she was lost, trying to win hide and seek with the baker's son, William, nearby. It started raining, cloth shoes soaked up cloud tears that had pooled in potholes while she ran ceaselessly looking in between alleys for a figure slightly taller than her. The sun had already dipped, and finding him was next to impossible. Cobblestones glistened like black mirrors under torchlight as rain began to patter against the narrow alleyways of the lower town. What had started as gentle droplets now drummed against thatched roofs and wooden shutters, creating a mask over the sound of small, hurried footsteps.

"William?" The young dueler's voice carried through the maze of cramped buildings, already hoarse from calling out. Hair clung to her face and her simple brown dress, one of only two she owned, was soaked through. "William, where are you?"

She pressed herself against the cold stone wall of the miller's shop, peering into shadows between rain barrels and wooden crates. This was their favorite hiding spot during their games, but tonight it yielded nothing but the scurrying of rats and steady drips of water from broken gutters. The game had started like any other evening adventure. William, with his gap-toothed grin and flour-dusted apron, had challenged her to their usual contest.

"Bet you can't find me before the church bells ring nine times!" he'd declared, already backing toward his favorite hiding places near the market square.

That felt like hours ago now.

Bare feet splashed through growing puddles as she retraced her steps once more. Past the blacksmith's forge, now cold and dark. Around the corner where the fishmonger's stall stood empty, reeking of the day's catch. Through the narrow passage where laundry lines hung like banners in the night.

"This isn't funny anymore, William!" she called out, though her voice cracked with something closer to worry than anger. The rain was coming down harder now, turning the packed earth between buildings into slick mud that made each step harder.

She thought of Griffith back at their cottage, probably wondering where she'd gone. He'd told her to be careful, to not wander too far after dark. The town wasn't always safe for orphans like them, especially young girls. But William was her friend, one of the few children who didn't whisper about the strange girl with the wooden practice sword, who lived with the silver-haired boy in the abandoned cottage. Thunder rumbled overhead as she made her way toward the baker's shop. Maybe he'd grown tired of hiding. Maybe he'd remembered he had to help his father with the morning bread preparations.

Maybe…

The warm glow spilling from the baker's windows stopped her short. Through the rain-streaked glass, she could see the familiar shape of William's family gathered around their dinner table. And there, laughing at something his mother had said, sat William himself. Dry, warm, and completely oblivious to the girl who'd spent the last three hours searching for him in the rain.

The young girl stood there, water streaming from her hair and clothes, watching the scene of domestic warmth she would never quite belong to. Hands clenched into small fists at her sides with an ache she couldn't quite name. It wasn’t necessarily anger; she knew that. She turned away from the golden window and began the long walk home through the storm. Her footsteps were silent now, no longer calling out nor reaching. Just a small figure moving through the rain like a ghost returning to where it belonged.

The cottage door creaked as she pushed it open, expecting to find Griffith asleep or sharpening his sword by candlelight. Instead, she found him sitting by their small window, still dressed, obviously waiting.

"You're soaked," he said simply, not asking where she'd been or why she looked like she'd been caught in a tempest. She stood in the doorway, dripping rainwater onto their worn wooden floor, and for a moment she looked every bit the lost child she'd been when he'd found her two years ago, scared and alone and trying desperately not to cry.

“We were playing hide and seek and he left me out there." she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.

Griffith studied her face in the dim candlelight, seeing more than she realized. Without a word, he rose and fetched their only clean towel, threadbare but dry, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"William, I presume?" he said quietly, guiding her toward the small hearth where dying embers still held a whisper of warmth. "The rules change when you're not looking."

She nodded, understanding flowing between them in the way it always did. They were orphans in a world that had little patience for orphans, friends in a place where friendship was a luxury few could afford. But they had each other, and in the flickering light of their small cottage, that felt like enough.

Griffith move, pulling out the rickety wooden chair by their small table. "Sit," he said gently with care yet, authoritative.

The young girl sank into the chair, still wrapped in the towel, watching as he ladled what remained of their evening stew into a chipped ceramic bowl. The broth was thinner than it had been hours ago, and the vegetables had grown soft from sitting over the dying coals, but steam still rose as tiny spirits escaping into the cool air. After he placed the bowl down, he retreated to begin cleaning their few dishes. Then there was silence, comfortable in the way that only existed between people who understood each other's wounds. She ate, more to please him than from hunger.

"Why would William do that?" she asked finally, her spoon clinking against the bowl's rim.

Griffith paused, his hands still in the basin of cold water they used for washing. He spoke like someone who had learned life's harder lessons far too early.

"People forget that their actions ripple beyond themselves," he said, scrubbing at their cooking pot. "William went home to warmth and supper and the comfort of knowing where he belonged. He probably never thought that you were still out there, searching. It's not cruelty, it's the blindness that comes from having a place in the world."

She absorbed his words, recognizing the truth in them even as they stung.

"We see things differently because we have to," Griffith continued, setting the clean pot aside. "When you have nothing guaranteed, you remember that other people's feelings matter. When others have everything they need, they sometimes forget that not everyone shares their fortune."

She finished the last spoonful of stew and watched as he moved to clean their other meager utensils, his white hair catching the candlelight like spun silver. Even at twelve, he carried himself with a maturity older than many of the adults who lived around them.

"Stop," she sighed, standing and letting the towel fall from her shoulders. "I'll help after I finish eating."

"You don't need to-"

"Yes, I do. You waited for me. You didn't ask questions or make me feel foolish. The least I can do is help clean our kitchen."

Griffith turned to look at her with pride or recognition of the strength she was already learning to carry. He nodded once and stepped aside, making room for her at the washbasin.

"Besides," she added, picking up their wooden cups, "someone needs to make sure you don't break our last good bowl."

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"It happened once," he said.

"Twice,"she corrected.

They worked side by side in their small kitchen, two orphans who had learned to make a home from nothing more than shared understanding and quiet devotion. Outside, the storm raged on, but within their cottage walls, was only the gentle sound of water and the comfortable silence of family, chosen rather than born.

Next morning, the sun casted long shadows between the market stalls as merchants called out their wares and the familiar chaos of trade filled the air. The young girl, walked beside Griffith, their small purse, carefully counted and recounted, clutched in his pale hand.

"Get the bread first," Griffith murmured, scanning the bustling square.

"Old Henrik sometimes has yesterday's loaves for half price if we're early enough." She nodded, but her attention had already been caught by a small stall tucked between the cloth merchant and the spice trader. Wooden toys sat arranged on a faded blanket, carved horses with leather reins, painted tops in brilliant colors, small wooden swords that reminded her of her own practice blade.

"I'll just look for a moment," she said, already drifting toward the display.

Griffith followed her gaze, "Don't be long and stay where I can see you."

The toy merchant, an elderly woman with kind eyes, smiled as the swordswoman crouched beside the blanket.

"Like anything you see, child?"

"They're beautiful,"she whispered, running her finger along the smooth surface of a carved bird that looked ready to take flight. She had no coin to spend on such luxuries, but there was no harm in dreaming.

"Hey! There you are!"

The familiar voice made her stomach clench. She turned to see William approaching, his face flushed and his baker's apron already stained with flour despite the early hour.

"William," she said carefully, straightening to face him.

"I've been looking for you everywhere!" His tone carried an accusation that made her bristle. "You haven't come to play with me in days. Why are you avoiding me?"

Her brows furrow in immediate irritation, "Avoiding you?" Her voice rose despite her attempt to stay calm."You left me searching for you in the rain for three hours!"

"What are you talking about?" William's confusion seemed genuine, which somehow made it worse.

"The night we played hide and seek," she said, her hands clenching into fists at her sides. "I looked everywhere for you while it poured rain. You just went home without telling me the game was over!"

William's shoulders scrunched, "So? I got tired and cold. It's not my fault you kept looking. It's just a game."

"Just a game?" She hissed, "I was soaked in rain! I searched until I could barely stand!"

“Well you should’ve known I had a curfew, but I guess living in that broken-down cottage with that strange boy, made you not even realize they exist!" William shot back.

The insult to Griffith was the final straw. She yelled out in rage, stepping closer to him.

"Don't you dare, you bastard-!” She never finished the sentence. William's hands shot out and shoved her hard, sending her stumbling backward into the toy stall. Carved animals scattered as she caught herself against the merchant's table.

Without thinking, she launched herself forward, tackling William around the waist. They went down in a tangle of limbs, rolling across the dirt between the market stalls. Her fist connected with his cheek as he tried to grab her hair, both of them fighting with the desperate intensity that only children could muster.

"Stop! Stop this instant!" The toy merchant was calling out, but neither combatant paid attention.

Then suddenly, a massive hand clamped around the swordswoman's arm, hauling her up and away from William with brutal force.

"Get your filthy hands off my son!"

She found herself staring up at William's father- a bear practically whose arms were thick as tree trunks from years of kneading dough and hauling grain sacks.

The baker's hand came down like a falling hammer.

The world exploded into stars and darkness as his knuckles connected with the side of her head. Pain shot through her skull and down her neck as she crumpled to the ground, her vision swimming with black spots. Through the ringing in her ears, she could hear voices, shouting, arguing, the sound of running footsteps. Then familiar hands were on her shoulders, gentle but urgent, and she looked up through blurred vision to see Griffith kneeling beside her, his face white with fury she had never seen before.

"Don't move." His voice was deadly quiet as he helped her sit up, his pale eyes locked on the baker who stood above them, already beginning to look uncertain about what he'd just done.

The market had gone silent around them, a circle of shocked onlookers witnessing something that had crossed far beyond a simple children's quarrel. The swordswoman tasted blood in her mouth and felt the world tilt dangerously as she tried to focus on Griffith's face.

In that moment, she saw something in his expression that would stay with her for years to come the cold, calculating look of someone deciding exactly how much revenge was worth the consequences.

The tension in the market square was thick enough to cut with a blade as Griffith slowly rose to his feet, his movements deliberate and controlled. Every eye was on him now, waiting to see what the strange white-haired boy would do. The baker still stood there, his massive frame casting a shadow over them both, but something in Griffith's expression made the larger man take an unconscious step backward.

"I think," Griffith said quietly,"there's been enough excitement for one morning."

His pale blue eyes swept the crowd of onlookers before settling on the baker. When he spoke again, his tone held the kind of diplomatic smoothness that seemed far too polished for a twelve year old orphan.

"Master Henrik, your son seems upset. Perhaps it would be best if you took him home to tend to those scratches."

His gaze flicked to William, who was indeed sporting a red mark on his cheek where the swordswoman had connected.

"I'm sure your wife will want to fuss over him properly."

The baker's face was still swimmng with anger, but he grew uncertain. He looked around at the watching crowd, many of whom were his customers, and seemed to realize that hitting a small girl, orphan or not, didn't paint him in the most favorable light.

"She had no right to attack my boy," he blustered without the earlier conviction.

"Children fight," Griffith replied with a slight shrug, "It's unfortunate when adults must involve themselves in such childish disputes."

William tugged at his father's apron, suddenly eager to be away from the many staring eyes. "Papa, can we go? My face hurts."

The baker looked down at his son, then back at Griffith, who waited with the patience of someone who had already won the conversation. Finally, he grunted and placed a protective hand on William's shoulder.

"Stay away from my son," he said, but it came out more like a request than a threat.

"Of course," Griffith agreed with perfect politeness. "I'm sure our paths need not cross unnecessarily."

The father and son melted into the crowd, leaving Griffith to kneel beside the swordswoman once more. Spectators began to disperse, sensing the show was over, though many cast lingering glances back at the two orphans. Griffith's diplomatic mask slipped away the moment they had relative privacy. His hands were gentle but urgent as he examined the side of her face where the baker's fist had connected. Already, an angry bruise was beginning to bloom across her cheekbone, and her left eye was starting to swell.

"Can you see clearly?" he asked.

She blinked a few times, testing her sight. "Mostly. Everything's a bit... fuzzy on the left side."

Tendons flex in his jaw as he helped her to her feet, steadying her when she swayed slightly. "Any dizziness? Nausea?"

"A little dizzy," she admitted, leaning against him more heavily than she wanted to.

Griffith's scowl deepened as he took in her condition. "We're going home. Now." He wrapped a supportive arm around her waist. "You need to rest, and I need to make sure that bastard didn't do any lasting damage."

The venom in his voice when he spoke of the baker was so cold it made her shiver. She'd never heard Griffith speak with such barely restrained violence, and it both frightened and comforted her.

"The shopping-" she began weakly.

"-Can wait. It can wait." He guided her slowly through the market, his eyes constantly scanning for any sign that she might collapse. "Nothing is more important than making sure you're all right."

As they made their way home through the winding streets, the young swordsman caught glimpses of the boy who would someday command armies in the careful way he supported her weight. But for now, he was simply her friend, her protector, getting her safely home after the world had shown them once again how little it cared for orphaned children. The walk home passed in a blur of careful steps and whispered reassurances. The afternoon sun felt too bright against her throbbing head, and she found herself grateful for the shadows that shielded her between alleyways.

"Tell me what happened," Griffith said quietly as they paused at a street corner, letting a cart loaded with hay rumble past. "What made you go after him like that?"

She winced as speaking made her jaw ache, but the words came out in a rush of lingering anger and hurt, "He said it wasn't his fault I kept looking for him that night. Called it 'just a game' like I was being dramatic for caring that he left me out there. Then he said maybe if I wasn’t living in our 'broken-down cottage' with my 'strange boy,' I'd understand how normal curfew was."

She felt the muscles in his arm tense against her back. "He said that?"

"The part about you is what made me really angry," she admitted, "I could take him being cruel about me, but not about you.”

It became quiet as they resumed walking.

"So you defended our honor."

"I defended our family," she corrected, and felt him nod against her shoulder.

Their cottage came into view, small and patched but theirs. Griffith helped her up the single wooden step and through the door, guiding her immediately to their one comfortable chair- a piece they'd found abandoned behind the nearby tavern and painstakingly repaired together.

"Sit here," he ordered gently, already moving toward their small collection of herbs and remedies they'd gathered over the years. "Don't move until I say so."

She sank into the chair with a grateful sigh, watching as he bustled around their tiny kitche. He filled their washbasin with clean water, gathered clean rags, and began crushing dried herbs between his palms as if he were an apothecary.

"You know," she said, unable to suppress a small smile despite the pain,

"you fuss over me like a mother hen sometimes."

Griffith paused in his herb-crushing and glanced over at her, one pale eyebrow raised.

"A mother hen?"

"More like a mother to me than anything else, really." She said.

To her surprise, he chuckled, "I suppose someone has to keep you from getting yourself killed," he said, returning to his preparations. "Though I have to say, you make it quite challenging sometimes."

He approached with a damp cloth infused with crushed herbs.

"Hold still," he murmured, his voice gentling as he began to clean the cut on her lip where her teeth had caught the inside of her mouth. "You're quite hard-headed yourself, you know," he continued, dabbing at the bruising around her eye. "Literally, in this case. I think you gave William's father more of a shock than he gave you."

She tried not to wince as he worked, but his touch was so gentle it barely hurt. "Is that your medical opinion?"

"My medical opinion, is that you'll live to cause me many more gray hairs before we're through."

"You won't be able to see them, they'll blend with your hair."

He chuckled as his fingers brushed against her forehead as he adjusted the compress, and for a moment she was struck by how naturally this came to him; he seemed to know exactly what she needed before she asked for it. It was as if he'd been born to take care of people, though she suspected the world would demand far different things from him as he grew older.

"There," he said softly, settling back on his heels to examine his work. "The swelling should go down by tomorrow if you keep that compress on it. And no more fighting the baker's son."

"What if they insult you again?"

"Then you come find me, and we handle it together. No more going into battle alone, understood?"

She nodded, then immediately regretted it as her head throbbed in protest. "Understood."

He smiled then, "Good. Now rest while I see about making us some proper dinner. All this excitement has made me hungry."

As he rose and moved back toward their small kitchen, the swordswoman closed her eyes and let the familiar sounds of home wash over her,the soft clink of dishes, the rustle of herbs, the quiet humming that Griffith did when he thought no one was listening.

Then these patterns started and they’ve been going on for weeks now.

She'd wake in the early morning darkness to find Griffith's makeshift bed empty, the thin blanket pulled neat and tidy as if he'd never been there at all. Sometimes she'd catch the soft whisper of the door closing, or glimpse a flash of white hair disappearing into the pre-dawn gloom through their cracked window. He always returned before full daylight, moving with that careful quietness he'd perfected, but there were signs if you knew how to look.

This morning was no different. She stirred to wakefulness as pale sunlight filtered through their window, immediately aware of the empty. The cottage felt hollow without his presence, too quiet.

When he returned an hour later, she was sitting at their small table, watching the door with open curiosity.

"You're up early," he said, as he hung his thin cloak on its wooden peg.

"So are you," she replied, studying his face. "You've been leaving before dawn for weeks now. Where do you go?"

Griffith paused in his movements, his back still turned to her. For a moment, she thought he might deflect the question. But he didn’t.

"Practicing," he said simply, moving toward their washbasin. "More than usual."

"Practicing what? And why so early? Why not take me with you?"

He splashed water on his face, "Sword work. Forms. Things that require concentration."

There was something in his voice that made her frown. She knew that tone; she used it herself when Griffith asked questions she wasn't ready to answer fully.

"You could concentrate with me there," she pointed out. "We always practice together."

Griffith dried his face with their shared towel and when he looked at her again, there was something different in his pale eyes. It was older, somehow.

"Have you ever thought," he said quietly, settling into the chair across from her,"about what it feels like when people close to you die, but you continue to live?"

A pin could echo in this silence that came between them. That question so heavy and out of the blue, that for a moment she could only stare at him.

"What kind of question is that?" she whispered.

"An honest one. Your father. Your village. Everyone you knew before me. They're gone, but you're here. How does that feel?"

She felt her throat tighten while old wounds that never fully healed began to ache again. "Griffith, why are you asking me this?"

"Because I need to understand, I need to know if the guilt ever stops feeling like it's crushing you. If you ever stop wondering why you deserved to survive when they didn't."

She looked at him and saw past the careful composure to the boy beneath, the one who carried his own collection of scars and losses that he rarely spoke about.

"Sometimes I dream about them," she finally answered in a whisper, "My father. The other children from our village. And in the dreams, they ask me why I get to grow up when they don't. Why I get to have you, and safety, and a future, when they're just... gone."

Griffith nodded. It was as if her words confirmed something he'd already suspected.

"But then I wake up," she continued, "and I remember that someone pulled me from that burning village. Someone chose to save me, to take care of me, to give me a chance at living. And I think... maybe the guilt isn't about deserving to survive. Maybe it's about what you do with the life you've been given." She reached across the table and touched his hand, cold despite the warming day."You saved me, Griffith. Whatever you're thinking about in those early morning hours, whatever you're practicing for, remember that you gave meaning to my survival just by caring about me."

He turned his hand palm up and squeezed her fingers, but he looked as though he remained troubled.

"What if caring isn't enough?" he asked quietly. "What if the world demands more than that?"

She had no answers. That was something she couldn’t quite know at her age, so she didn’t say a word back.

To her ignorance, her answer didn’t stop what was coming.

The trap took Griffith three days of meticulous planning.

He observed William’s routine, how the boy arrived at the mill with his father every Tuesday and Thursday before dawn to help grind the week’s flour. He noted the layout: the massive waterwheel, creaking gears, and the central grinding stone, a monstrous slab of granite driven by a complex system of wooden cogs and leather belts. Most importantly, he studied the mill’s weakest point, the iron pin securing the drive shaft coupling the waterwheel to the grinding mechanism. It was old, pitted with rust, but thick as a man’s wrist.

On the chosen morning, Griffith slipped into the mill under cover of moonless darkness. He moved silently, a shadow among the flour-dusted hearth. His target wasn’t the pin itself, but the heavy oak beam supporting the shaft housing directly above it. Using a stolen chisel and mallet, he carefully carved a deep, precise groove into the beam’s underside, hidden from casual view. Into this groove, he wedged a thick, brittle wedge of dried river clay he’d prepared days earlier, baking it rock hard near their cottage fire.

It looked like nothing more than accumulated grime.

His final touch was subtle sabotage. He poured a slow trickle of rendered animal fat, stolen from the butcher’s scrap pile, onto the leather drive belt where it passed over a guide pulley near the ceiling. It wouldn’t cause immediate failure, but under load, it would make the belt slip and shudder violently.

After such operations, he was back in their cottage, feigning sleep, long before dawn.

The swordswoman woke to Griffith already stirring the embers of their fire.

"Market day," he said, his voice calm as ever. "We need flour."

There was no hint of the predator who had stalked the mill hours before. As they approached the bustling market square later that morning, a discordant sound cut through the usual clamor- a raw, animal scream of pure agony and disbelief, coming from the direction of the mill. It was Master Henrik’s voice, twisted beyond recognition. A crowd was already gathering, drawn by the terrible sound. Griffith’s hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the swordswoman’s shoulder, guiding her forward with deliberate calm.

"Stay close,"he murmured while his pale eyes scanned the scene. They pushed through the murmuring throng to the mill entrance. The air inside was thick with the smell of fresh blood, hot metal, and spilled grain. The massive grinding stone was still, but the scene beneath it was horrific.

Master Henrik knelt in a spreading pool of crimson slurry, a mixture of flour, water, and his son’s life. William lay half under the grinding stone.

The trap had worked.

The greased belt had slipped violently under the morning's load. The sudden jerk transmitted through the drive shaft had been amplified by the compromised beam Griffith had weakened. The brittle clay wedge, under immense, unexpected stress, had shattered instantly. The beam snapped downward, striking the old iron pin securing the drive shaft coupling. The pin didn't just shear; it exploded into shrapnel. One jagged piece, larger than a fist and sharp, tore upwards with the force of a cannonball. It struck William, who had been leaning over to clear a jammed chute near the base of the grinding mechanism. The shrapnel took him diagonally from hip to shoulder.

The rest of the pin's fragments peppered the walls like deadly hail.

William hadn't died instantly. The grinding stone, its drive suddenly unbalanced and uncontrolled by the shattered coupling, had lurched sideways off its track. Its immense weight came down partially on William’s lower legs, crushing them to pulp before finally shuddering to a stop. The boy had likely been conscious for agonizing seconds, trapped and mangled beyond recognition, before bleeding out onto the mill floor.

Henrik, arriving moments later to find his son in this state, had been driven instantly mad with grief and horror. He knelt now, covered in his son's blood, rocking back and forth, howling wordlessly at the ruined thing that had been William, his powerful baker's hands uselessly trying to gather the unmendable pieces.

The swordswoman gagged, turning her face into Griffith’s shoulder. She felt Griffith’s arm wrap around her, yet his gaze remained fixed on Henrik’s breakdown.

Griffith finally looked down at the swordswoman trembling against him.

"Terrible," he murmured, "A tragic accident. Come, let's get you away from this."

As he gently steered her back through the horrified crowd, away from the stench of blood and the baker’s broken wails, the young girl felt a chill deeper than any winter wind seep into her bones. The cottage felt different that night, as if the very air had grown heavier with unspoken truths. They went through their evening routine in careful normalcy, sharing their simple dinner, tending the fire, preparing for sleep. But the young dueler could feel the weight of the day's horror pressing against the walls like a living thing.

She waited until they had settled into their respective beds, until the silence stretched long enough that most would assume the conversation was over for the night. Only then, staring up at the dark ceiling, did she finally speak.

"How do you feel about William?" Her voice was barely a whisper.

Griffith was quiet for a long moment. Then he answered, "It's a sad thing. Any death of someone so young is tragic."

The words were perfectly appropriate, exactly what anyone would expect to hear. But there was something missing from them- some quality of genuine emotion that should have been there but wasn't. The swordswoman felt her stomach clench.

Silence settled between them again. Outside, she could hear the familiar sounds of the town settling into sleep.

"Did you..." She stopped, swallowed hard, and forced herself to continue. "Did you do anything to cause what happened today?"

The silence that followed was answer enough. She could hear Griffith breathing in the darkness, could feel him choosing his words. But no words came. The quiet went on until it became its own kind of confession.

Finally, she sighed, "Why did you do this again?"

Another tragedy, another reason they'd had to pack their few possessions in the dead of night and disappear before dawn. She'd been younger then, more willing to believe in coincidence, in the cruel randomness of the world. But patterns had a way of making themselves known, even to those who desperately wanted to remain blind to them.

"We had to move a town over the last time something like this happened," she continued, whispering as if the world could hear her admittance.

Griffith shifted in his bed, and she could imagine him turning to face her in the darkness even though she couldn't see him.

"He hit you. Henrik struck you with his full strength. A grown man's fist against a child's face. Did you think I would let that stand?"

Her heart dropped from the cage in her chest, not because of their content but because of how matter of fact he sounded.

"People have hurt me before," she whispered. "You don't usually kill them for it."

"Most people don't leave marks,"

he replied, "Most people don't hit you hard enough to nearly knock you unconscious in front of half the market."

She closed her eyes, though the darkness was already complete. "And William?"

"Was unfortunate collateral damage in his father's lesson. He learned something about the consequences of cruelty in his final moments."

Her breath was stolen. This was Griffith. The boy who made her soup when she was sick, who waited up when she was late, who had saved her life and given her a home.

"We'll have to leave again," she said finally, the practical reality of their situation came to her quickly.

"Probably," he agreed. "Though not immediately. Accidents don't typically require investigation, and Henrik is unlikely to be thinking clearly enough to ask difficult questions for some time."

His words made her feel ill. But underneath the revulsion was something else, something she hated herself for recognizing: relief that someone cared enough about her to exact such terrible vengeance, and fear of what would happen if she ever found herself on the wrong side of that same protective fury.

"I don't want you to kill for me anymore," she whispered into the darkness. "I can't promise that,"

Griffith replied honestly, "Do you remember my promise? About the king. About what he owes for your father's death."

She did remember. Whispered words spoken over a meager fire a year ago, when grief was still fresh and the world seemed made of nothing but loss and rage. A child's promise that had seemed both impossible and inevitable coming from his lips.

She nodded silently, the gesture lost in the darkness but somehow felt between them.

"I feel like I'm causing this," she whispered, the words torn from her throat like a confession. "Maybe if I didn't stay with you, if I just disappeared, more people would live. Maybe you'd-"

"Don't." The word cracked through the air. "Don't you dare finish that thought."

"I didn't mean-" she began, guilt flooding through her at the pain she'd heard.

"You're not responsible for what I choose to do," he said, his voice gentler now, "You never have been. Don't carry that burden."

She heard the soft whisper of blankets being pushed aside, felt rather than saw him sitting up in the darkness. Moving by instinct rather than sight, she crossed the small space between their beds and settled behind him. Her fingers found his hair and began the familiar ritual of braiding it for sleep. He allowed it, as he always did, tilting his head slightly to give her better access. His breathing slowly evened out under her gentle touch, the tension leaving his shoulders as her fingers worked through the pale strands with practiced ease.

And now…

Dawn light filtered through the canvas walls of the command tent, painting everything in shades of gold and amber. The swordswoman stood behind Griffith as she had so many mornings before.

Her hands were no longer those of a frightened girl but of a seasoned warrior, scarred from countless battles. The silver falcon helmet that marked Griffith as the White Hawk sat on the command table before them, its polished surface reflecting the morning light like a crown waiting to be claimed.

She could see their reflection in that gleaming metal- a woman grown, beautiful and deadly, tending to the man who was becoming a legend. But beneath her motions lay a current of unease that had grown stronger with each passing year, each mysterious setback that befell Griffith's enemies, each convenient accident that cleared his path to glory. The pattern had never stopped. It had simply grown more sophisticated, more far-reaching. Now entire battalions met unfortunate ends, Midland royalty suffered untimely assassinations, and supply lines failed at precisely the moments that best served Griffith's strategic needs.

"You're thinking too loudly," Griffith murmured,

Her fingers paused in their braiding. "Am I wrong to?"

Instead of answering directly, he turned in his chair, causing her hands to fall away from his half-finished braid. He suddenly stood and stepped into her space, close enough that she could see the flecks of deeper blue in his pale eyes.

"You've kissed me twice already," she said softly, remembering the confusion and conflict those moments had brought. The way her heart had raced not just from desire but from fear of what it meant to love someone capable of such calculated destruction.

"You allow it," he replied, reaching up to cup her face.

"Because I know what you are," she whispered.

His thumb traced the line of her cheekbone, the same place where Henrik's fist had left its mark all those years ago.

"And you’re still braiding my hair. Still standing at my side while I plan to reshape everything."

She was still here, despite everything. Despite the bodies in their wake, despite the ice in his eyes when he calculated the cost of his ambitions. Despite knowing that loving him meant being complicit in everything he chose to become. He leaned to press his lips against hers as though he couldn’t help himself. Outside the tent, she could hear the camp beginning to stir, soldiers preparing for another day of war. She grunted as he moved his lips against hers, the cold silver of his gauntlet press at the back of her neck. She heard the slight groan passing from him as they both found themselves lost in eachother's lips and her knes buckled enough for him to wrap his arm around her waist, pressing her against him.

When they finally broke apart, Griffith's smiled and licked his lips as though he owned her taste.

"Finish my hair," he murmured, eyes tracing her lips, "We have a war to end."

And despite everything, despite the fear, despite the guilt, despite the growing certainty that she was bound to something far more dangerous than love, she returned to her place behind him and began to braid before their first major battle.

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virgo-mess · 1 year ago

Text

New Show on the Drive!

Courtesy of @mrgriffiths TIGs episode of Wiseguy is on the drive, so now you can enjoy more shots of him in lovely shorts! 🤭

I also shamelessly started working on the second part of the CK Terry smutshot at the coffee shop on my first full day off in months. So here's a sneak peek of that. Hopefully, my productivity won't disappear again unannounced but we'll just have to wait and see 🫣.

#thomas ian griffith #terry silver #terry silver smut #the cult of tig #movie drive

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oc-heaven · 2 years ago

Text

Warming

Griffith x Nori (White Hawk Timeline)

Just some good 'ol dom/sub cockwarming

“Quiet, I’m trying to work.” Nori sighed when Griffith squirmed while whining, acting as if he didn’t purposely shift to brush against Griffith’s prostate. It wasn’t fair to scold Griffith, but Nori didn’t care. His cock was glass attached to a harness, so he didn’t feel an ounce of pleasure. Making it even easier to ignore the needy man on his lap.

“S-sorry, Sir,” Griffith mumbled as he tried to stay still, but it was hard to do with his cock pressed against Nori’s clothed stomach on top of the glass cock in his ass. The fabric of the doctor’s clothes was far too rough for Griffith’s sensitive dick. Not to mention his precum was staining the fabric. For which he would likely be punished, though that was something he didn’t mind all that much.

“I feel how you’re leaking. Such a needy thing.” Nori chuckled as he rolled his hips, his hands coming to Griffith’s hips to hold him in place. “Staining my clothes like a whore.” Griffith mewled as his fingers dug into Nori’s clothed back, his forehead resting on the man’s chest. “If you came on my clothes I would have to make you walk to your room the way you are now. It’s late so only the guards would see your bare ass. Would you like that?” A harsh thrust punctuated Nori’s words.

“Ngh! I-If Sir wants it!" Griffith's head was fuzzy so the thought pushed him closer to cumming. Though if he was processing Nori's words better he would be slightly more coy about his proclivity towards it. "I-I wouldn't wear any clothes e-ever so Sir could take me whenever he wanted!" Griffith cried out as Nori continued to buck into him, being sure to occasionally grind against his prostate.

"If you cum on my clothes I'm making you walk to your room naked." Nori taunted, knowing Griffith was going to cut soon. "You hear me?" Griffith nodded frantically as he raised his head to kiss the doctor. It was the sloppiest kiss there ever was, with far too much spit on Griffith's part. It sounded more like he was eating Nori out rather than kissing him.

"Mmmm! Sir… gonna! G-gonna… cum!" Griffith whined against Nori's lips as he shot his load on Nori's royal blue shirt. "Keep… keep going!" He begged even though he knew the doctor would fuck him through his orgasm whether he liked it or not. "Good! S-so good!" Griffith collapsed forward, his body shaking through the aftershocks of his orgasm.

"Hmph, looks like you'll be walking your naked ass back to your room." Nori scoffed as he ran his fingers through the spent man's hair. A slight smile came to his lips and his eyes softened as Griffith leaned into his touch. "I'll clean you up."

#oc #jacks ocs #oc ship #berserk oc #nori #griffith x nori #oc oneshot #oc smut

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karatekels · 2 years ago

Note

- Would you like CK OR KK3 Terry?

I would like Cobra Kai Terry, please! The Silver Daddy in all his glory! 😭

- if there's any particular scenario or bit of dialogue you have in mind that can help me paint a picture a bit more (anything you want or don't want to see!)

Nothing in particular. But I got the idea of Terry's beloved having a size kink from scenes in Cobra Kai. I noticed that Terry seemed to stretch to full height like a cobra ready to strike! I have a feeling he knew it would intimidate others (during the tournament, especially). I always found that really hot instead of frightening. I wondered how Terry would react to his beloved feeling this way and figured he'd be delighted by it. Haha.

Original Prompt: (by anonymous)

Can you write a story where [CK] Terry Silver's beloved has a size kink? I don't mean just his *ahem* package but also his overall height, broad shoulders, and strength. Silver is massive! And, I think he'd get a kick out of knowing his beloved isn't intimidated when he stretches to full height but instead is incredibly turned on.

---

I’m happy to write this for you anon! I was inspired by the scene where Terry and Daniel fight in Stingray’s apartment, since that’s the scene I watch for…inspiration when writing these. Terry stepping on Daniel definitely awakened something in me lol. Enjoy!

---

As I Am

---

“You thought you could get him to turn on me?”

You’d swear that that was Terry’s voice, but he had gone out earlier that day, and said he would likely be gone for a couple of hours. You follow the sound down one of the many hallways in Terry’s house, trying to figure out what you’d heard.

“Actions have consequences, Mr. LaRusso.” There it was again: Terry’s voice. You see a door cracked open further down the hall, and open it. The lights automatically come on, and you see two walls completely covered by small monitors. This must be one of the security rooms for the house.

“Look, I’m not here for trouble, okay? I’m not in the war. I surrender, if that’s what you want to hear… the valley is yours.”

You know you shouldn’t pry, especially when it came to Terry and Daniel LaRusso – he’d told you to stay out of it, for your safety, and you’d agreed – but couldn’t stop your curiosity from getting the better of you. You hit the space bar on the keyboard to bring the system out of sleep mode, and enter the security code that Terry had trusted you with.

The cameras detecting motion light up, narrowing down your options, and you quickly find the one you’re looking for: Terry, impeccably dressed in all black, his silver hair tied back and looking every bit the sexy villain you adored, standing at a distance from Daniel LaRusso, looking small and…skittish.

“The valley?” Terry asks incredulously, shaking his head as though disappointed. “It never ceases to amaze me how small your mind is.” He gestures emphatically with his large, beautiful hands, hands that you always loved to look at, whether he was playing the piano for you or running them along your body, teasing you until…

You blink, turning your focus to the screen once more, and watching Terry slowly walking towards LaRusso.

“I don’t give a shit about your valley. I’ve got much bigger plans.”

“Well, leave me out of them,” Daniel says dismissively, moving to walk around Terry and leave.

Terry follows the movement, leaning his body to subtly block Daniel, seeming to fill the space suddenly, playing with his hands nonchalantly. His eyes are locked on Daniel the whole time, a smile playing at his lips. The way Terry moved was hypnotic; he radiated strength at all times, but the way he moved was so slow, so easy, so measured… he was in total control of himself at all times, and it seriously turned you on. You lick your lips subconsciously, finding yourself moving closer to the screen.

“It’s remarkable how easy it was to disrupt your marriage.”

Daniel drops the box he’s holding to the ground, his face starting to show anger. Terry always knew just how to push the other man’s buttons; he knew how to push everyone’s buttons, really, but LaRusso seemed to be a favourite of his ever since he resumed running Cobra Kai. You really didn’t care about the fight or the history or who would win the karate war, as long as it meant Terry would keep wearing that gi, coming home sweaty and delicious…

“You opened the door and let me just waltz right in.” he says, chuckling all the while. His cockiness, his laughter, everything about him was like he had been designed just to drive you wild.

“Imagine how easy it’s gonna be,” he continues, moving even closer to Daniel, dwarfing him with his size, “to wrap Cobra Kai gis… around both your kids.”

This is the last straw for LaRusso, and he shoves Terry back before swinging at him, managing to land a hit to his face. There is a brief moment of panic that floods through you as you worry your love has been hurt, but then Terry laughs, encouraging Daniel, and you remember who you’re engaged to. You can tell that he’s getting riled up; your man loved a fight and, remembering how desperate he had been to take you the moment he got home after fights in the past, you find yourself responding in kind. Terry didn’t like you to see him being violent; he’d only hurt people in front of you a handful of times during your relationship, and only because he was protecting you from a scumbag.

He’d said it was because he didn’t want you to get upset or scared, but looking at him now, wrapping his arms around LaRusso’s and holding him steady before headbutting him, sending the man flying with a broken nose, all you wanted was to throw yourself at him. He was so elegant, moving with such speed and strength for his age, his high kick sent your stomach flipping into knots. Terry stands over LaRusso, cold rage simmering within him as he accuses him of getting in his way for months, only to surrender when he was losing. Well, that’s not how Terry did things, you knew.

While LaRusso gets a couple more hits in on him, Terry sees the punch coming, striking out like a cobra with a leg and getting the man right in the shoulder, setting him up to grab his arm and send his elbow into his rotator cuff, dislocating his shoulder. Shouldn’t you be more upset by this? you wonder to yourself, watching LaRusso go down to the ground, Terry panting over him. He steps on LaRusso’s shoulder with a black boot, and you feel another flood of arousal wash over you, seeing how dominant your man was as he snaps the man’s shoulder back into place with his foot, threatening him and showing him mercy all the while before leaving the room, wherever it was.

You shut the lights off, fleeing the room for the nearest bathroom, not wanting to come apart and have one of the staff find you. Bracing yourself against the sink, you take a look at your reflection, noting your flushed cheeks and dark eyes shining with lust, chest heaving. Another few minutes of watching Terry like that and you think you may have come without him even touching you. You had to have him just like that, using all of his size and strength and taking you, not holding anything back.

But how could you get away with it when you weren’t supposed to have seen what you just witnessed?

--- Terry’s POV ---

You were nowhere to be found when Terry arrived home an hour or so later; upon questioning the staff a maid said that you were in the bedroom getting ready for dinner tonight. A bit strange, he thought, but not unheard of; sometimes you liked getting all dolled up just to stay with him in the house, and he was more than okay with it. He moved into one of the studies on the main floor, pouring himself a stiff drink and sitting in his favourite armchair, sipping it slowly while he pondered everything going on with LaRusso.

Awhile later, Terry hears the sound of your heels on the marble floor approaching him, and turns, finding you in the door way in a very low-cut black bodycon dress that hit the middle of your thighs, wearing stockings and black heels, your hair flowing past your shoulders and your face glowing with subtle makeup that accentuated your naturally beautiful features.

He feels his cock stir against his thigh.

“Y/N…darling, you look incredible. What’s the occasion?” he asks, half-joking, as this was over-the-top for one of your “fun night in” looks; not that he minded, he thinks to himself, eyes taking in your cleavage hungrily. Your own gaze roams his body before you look up at him with a coy smile.

“Oh, nothing!” you chirp, seeming almost giddy. “I’ve just been thinking about you all day. C’mon, dinner’s ready.” You turn and walk down the hallway to the kitchen, your hips swaying very intentionally. Minx, he thinks to himself, watching you walk away, but he knows he should be grateful that a stunning younger woman such as yourself wanted him as badly as he wanted you. Still, he thought, making his way to the dining room, you were clearly up to something. He’d give you until after dinner before dragging the answer out of you.

---

Someone from the kitchen staff clears your plates away, leaving you with your glass of red and Terry with his whiskey. You hadn’t cracked yet, but you were showing all the signs, your eyes flitting to him nervously and then away. Were you having an affair? He thought it unlikely, but then, he’d been betrayed numerous times before.

“What’s troubling you, my dear?” he asks, trying for the non-confrontational approach first. Your eyes snap to his nervously, a light blush forming across your cheeks.

“Nothing is wrong, honey,” you say, your voice an octave higher than usual. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, you look like a deer in the headlights, and you’ve been acting more and more nervous as the night has gone on. Please tell me, sweetheart, and I’ll fix the issue, I promise.”

You take a deep, calming breath, and Terry imperceptibly tenses his body, preparing for the worst.

“Please don’t get mad, okay? I thought I heard your voice and followed it and I went into the security room and… and I saw you fighting Daniel LaRusso,” you confess, worrying your lower lip between your teeth, brow furrowed in concern.

Terry stills, chewing the bite of food in his mouth thoroughly as he thinks this over. Compared to what he had been imagining you were going to tell him, this was nothing, and he is immediately relieved. Still, the only way for you to have seen what had happened in that apartment was if someone had abandoned their post in the security room, allowing you to slip inside. He would go see to it immediately that the culprit was identified and fired; if they were shirking their security duties, that put you at risk, and that was unacceptable.

“I’m so sorry you had to see that, my love,” he apologizes, sincerity ringing in his tone. He didn’t want to alarm you; he was so careful to keep his violent tendencies away from you. You were so small and sweet, so delicate… he’d never forgive himself for frightening you. “I’m completely fine, and please believe me when I say I never want you to see me like that.”

Rather than looking relieved at his words, or even still scared and distrusting of him – he’d really wailed on LaRusso today – you seem a bit put out. Tilting his head, he surveys you, staring at you until you feel his gaze on you and look up to lock eyes with him. He silently implores you to tell him what’s going on with you, and he sees you struggle for a long moment as you consider what to say. After what feels like ages, you look up across the table at him with determination.

“Watching you kick LaRusso’s ass was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Well, that certainly wasn’t what he had expected, Terry thinks, but feels something primal within himself stretch to its full height, glowing with pride. Polishing off his drink, he surveys you over the rim of his glass, and sees your eyes fixed on his hand around his glass. Setting the glass down, he runs a finger around the rim, watching your eyes follow as they darkened with lust. Had watching him fight given you a fascination with his hands? Only one way to find out.

Moving slowly, precisely, Terry gets out of his seat, walking around the table and coming to the side of your chair. Reaching down, he grabs the back of your seat, one hand on either side of your hips, and spins the chair in a sharp movement so that you’re facing him. Your blush is working its way down your neck, the way it did when you got really turned on. Interesting… Keeping his arms on either side of you, keeping you trapped by his large body, he leans down to whisper in your ear.

“So you liked what you saw, did you?” he murmurs in a husky voice that has your blood rushing in your ears. He hears your sharp intake of breath, feeling you nod vigorously into the crook between his neck and shoulder. He smiles to himself before taking your earlobe in between his lips, nibbling it gently, and you shiver against him. “What did you like, baby girl? You know I’ll do anything to please you; you just have to ask…”

--- Reader’s POV ---

You swallow heavily before you can bring yourself to speak. “I…fuck, Terry, I liked it all. You were so intimidating and dominant and imposing and it was just so sexy to see you fully…you… I know that you’re always doing little things like walking slower or hunching down a bit to seem smaller, and that’s really sweet, but seeing you let that all go and just go for it was…well, I nearly came just from watching you fight through the monitor.”

Terry’s hands come around your upper arms suddenly, and he lifts you out of your chair and to your feet in a fluid movement that takes you by surprise. He trails one hand down your body to wrap around your waist, the other reaching up to cradle your face; he could hold your head in one hand so easily…

“And you thought you would just dress yourself up like a pretty little doll and get what you wanted, hmm?” he asks quietly, his hand moving to tangle in your hair, making you moan at the slight sting as he tugs on your locks. “You want me to throw my weight around, lovely? Throw you around? Your wish is my command.”

He lifts you into his arms again with ease, wrapping your legs around his waist tightly, his hands holding you by your upper thighs, fingers toying with the bare skin under your dress where your stockings ended. You whimper, and he silences you, kissing you fiercely, moving to the nearest wall and slamming you against it hard, pinning you to it with his body. You kiss him back with just as much passion, squeezing your thighs around him and feeling his large hands squeeze you in return. He holds you steady with one hand, releasing his cock from his trousers with the other before bunching your dress up past your hips, pushing your panties to the side, and lowering you onto his cock with ease.

You groan as he enters you so suddenly; wet as you were for him – you had been since you had seen him through the security monitors – Terry was still huge, and always stretched you until you thought he would break you in half. Keeping you supported with one hand underneath you, he fucks you hard against the wall, his other hand reaching between you to play with your clit and help your body relax and adjust to fit him. The rough stone wall is raking your bare back and your ass as you bounce up and down on his cock, undoubtedly leaving scrapes, and the sensation heightens your pleasure and before long, he’s got you moaning wantonly, loud enough for anyone on the property to hear.

“Oh fuck Terry, yes!” you cry out in ecstasy, letting him have his way with you as he pumps you up and down on his cock, feeling like he’s somehow everywhere at once, on you and in you and it’s better than you could have imagined. You don’t think you could ever get enough of this man.

“Is this what you wanted, baby girl?” Terry growls, panting hotly against your neck and making your eyes roll back into your head. “You needed a reminder of who you belong to, huh? You needed my cock to fuck this tight little pussy, didn’t you?”

“God yes, Terry, I need your big cock – fuck, it’s so good! I’m so close!” you wail, trying to roll your hips as he fucked you to get some friction on your clit. He pulls out of you suddenly and you actually whine at the loss of him inside you. Looking up at him in desperation as he sets you on the ground, you take the moment to appreciate how incredibly hot it is, having this Adonis of a man all to yourself.

“You need to pace yourself, little one. I’ve got plans for you tonight.”

Without another word, he tosses you over his shoulder, making sure your pussy and dripping thighs are exposed, and you squirm against his broad shoulder at the thought of someone seeing you like this. Terry chuckles, and you know that he has guessed your thoughts, his hand moving even further up your thighs as he carries you towards the bedroom. You clench your legs together tightly in response, to trap his hand in retribution for all the teasing, and his fingers merely grip your flesh more firmly, making you whimper.

Kicking open the door to the bedroom, he tosses you onto the bed before kicking off his shoes and removing his jacket. He tugs his pants down the rest of the way, stepping out of them, and moves to unbutton his shirt, but you scramble off the bed towards him, reaching for him.

“Please let me?” you beg, and he gives you an amused sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed and letting you take the reins. You unbutton his shirt slowly from the top down, kissing every inch of his chest as it is revealed to you. Pushing the shirt from his shoulders, you run your hands all over him, savouring the feel of strong muscles under soft skin. Drinking him in with his eyes, you take a (reluctant) step back, reaching behind you to unzip your dress and tug it down your body, letting it pool on the floor at your feet, leaving you in your sexiest pair of black lace underwear, a garter belt holding up your stockings, and your heels.

Even when he’s sitting on the bed, Terry towers over you, and you can’t keep from launching yourself at him, straddling his lap and kissing every bit of him you could reach. Digging your nails into his muscular back and tracing patterns across his pectorals with your tongue, Terry hisses in approval, his hands gripping your butt and pulling you against him even tighter, spreading your legs wider against his hips, opening you up to him.

Kneading your ass with his hands, he guides your hips up and down, grinding your center against his hard cock, and you throw your head back, reaching back to grip his knees for support. Wasn’t a lap dance intended to please the recipient? you wonder as your underwear creates the perfect friction against your clit, making you moan.

“Such an eager little thing for me, aren’t you Y/N?” Terry croons as you grind desperately on his lap. You nod furiously, unable to form words, your wailing taking on a higher pitch as his mouth closes around one of your nipples, tongue swirling around you as he sucks hard. You try to arch your back away from him, feeling overstimulated, but he holds you fast, one hand travelling up your spine and keeping your back where he wants it.

“Oh, there’s no getting away from me now, darling,” he purrs around your breast, the vibrations sending heat through your veins. “You’re going to take all of me with this tight little body of yours.”

He keeps you against his cock and you stay put, behaving, and his hands move down your body to your feet hanging off the edge of the bed, removing your heels one by one before returning his hands to your waist, lifting you up to stand between his legs. He pins you in place with his eyes, his hands teasing the tender flesh of your hips in small circles. You worry your knees may give out.

“If you want to keep these,” his fingers toy with your underwear, “you’d better get them off now, or I will rip them off of you. Keep everything else on,” he orders, and you reach down to undo the garter belt from your stockings with trembling fingers, tugging your underwear down before refastening everything.

“Good girl,” Terry praises, taking your hips in hand once more and spinning you so your back is to him. He lifts you up with ease, still sitting on the bed, and pulls you onto his lap backwards, keeping your legs spread to either side of his knees.

“Knees on the bed, baby,” he commands, and you hasten to do so, spreading yourself open. He lifts you up, bending you forward slightly, and guides you back onto his cock, leaning you back against his chest and thrusting up into you from behind. He keeps one hand wrapped around your waist to keep you still, his hips thrusting slow and deep, and his other hand slides up your body to wrap around your neck, squeezing gently. You’re feeling so deliciously full, and used, that all you can do is take it, take everything Terry is doing to you.

“Open your eyes baby girl, and watch yourself,” he demands, his voice hoarse in your ear, and you force your eyes open, noticing for the first time that Terry has positioned you both to be in clear view of the floor-length mirror in your bedroom. “Watch that tight cunt take my big cock like it was meant to.”

You feel like you’re on the verge of passing out from everything, his words taking you right to the edge, but fight to keep your eyes open, watching your slack-jawed reflection stretched around Terry’s massive body, his massive cock thrusting into you, locking eyes with your tear-filled ones, the look on his face nearly having you coming on his cock.

“You’re close, love, I can feel it,” he moans in your ear, his hand trailing from your neck down your body. “Let go for me, darling. I want to feel that pretty pussy milk my cock as you come for me.”

His hand reaches your clit, his talented fingers bringing you to the peak with ease as you shatter, your whole body seeming to clench around his cock like it was trying to keep him inside you. Terry maintains his torturously slow, deep thrusts, holding you down and fucking you through your orgasm as you scream until your voice is hoarse. Eventually your pussy relaxes around his cock once more, and you whimper at every pump of his hips, feeling completely spent.

But Terry isn’t through with you yet, lifting you off his cock reluctantly to flip you around, laying you down on the bed on your back before entering you again, helping you lock your legs around him as your body struggles to do it on its own. He leans down, bracing his body on either side of you to keep from crushing you, completely caging you in. He rests his forehead on yours, eyes staring into you with lust and devotion and pouring that passion into a kiss that has your toes curling.

“You know I love watching your pretty face as I fill you up, Y/N,” he moans against your lips, holding your hips in a bruising grip as he lifts you up to an angle that lets him fuck you even deeper.

“Fuck baby, you’re so much… so good,” you groan out in between gasps as his thrusts physically take your breath away. Your speech is slurred, you’re completely cock-drunk, and you feel a second orgasm growing within you.

“I should have known you would want to take all of me, just as I am, just like this,” Terry growls, punctuating every word with a pump of his hips. “You were made for me, my little succubus.”

He leans back, keeping your hips in position, arced up off the bed, looking down your body to your face, a mask of ecstasy. You made such delicious sounds when you were losing your mind to pleasure. Reaching down, he lays a large, warm hand over your abdomen, pressing on it gently, and he groans at the sensation, though the noise is drowned out as you positively shriek as this makes his cock stroke your G-spot with every movement.

“I can feel my cock stretching you out, baby,” he hisses, speeding up as he gets close. He grabs one of your wrists, pulling it away from the sheets you’ve clenched in your fist in desperation, and lays it on your stomach as well. Your eyes widen in shock, your jaw falling open as you feel his cock through your body. A shudder goes through your whole body, and Terry feels it too; you’re both so wrapped up in one another that you’re practically one.

“Shit baby, that’s so fucking hot – you feel huge inside me” you whimper, pressing down more firmly on your abdomen; his cock feels the increased pressure, and his eyes roll back. “I can’t take much more, Terry. Pump me full, please!”

Terry removes your legs from their death grip around his waist, lifting them up to his shoulders and leaning over you, pressing you almost in half as he quickens his pace. You reach down between you, playing with your clit frantically, and Terry growls in approval, staring down at you with hungry eyes.

“That’s right baby, get yourself off around my cock again. I want you to squeeze every last drop out of me!”

His words seem to set you off more than anything else, and you come hard again with a wail, Terry’s hand replacing your own and working at your clit to draw out your orgasm, his other hand somehow managing to grab both of yours and pinning them above your head, stopping you from moving his hand away from your pussy; your pleasure only ended when he was satisfied. Your tears roll down your cheeks as you whine incoherently, completely overstimulated, and it’s only when Terry sees you start to fade that he finally lets go, coming deep inside you with a roar.

His movements slow, and then stop completely, as you both fight to catch your breath, sweating and satisfied. He releases your wrists, his hands moving to either side of you as he lifts his weight off of you, his cock slipping out of you as he rolls onto his back beside you, pulling you into an embrace on top of him.

“Terry…” you gasp out his name, your body spasming uncontrollably. “Oh my God, Terry!” you wail, feeling little aftershocks of your orgasm wrack your body. He wraps his arms around you protectively, stroking your hair soothingly.

“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you. It’ll pass in a minute or two; your body is just in a bit of shock from how intense everything was,” he explains, and you nod, feeling safe in his arms as you ride out the feeling. Eventually, your body stops shuddering and you relax, leaning up to kiss him softly on the mouth, looking down at him with adoration.

“You were…that was incredible,” you breathe, unable to find the words to adequately explain the best sex you’d ever had. He laughs, the sound rumbling in his chest, stroking your cheek fondly as he looks up at you with an expression of pure love.

“Maybe next time I have to deal with Danny Boy, you come along, hmm?”

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…I had a great deal of fun writing this. Hope you all enjoy!

#terry silver #thomas ian griffith #terry silver x reader #cobra kai #smut #sensei targaryen #the karate kid 3 #kk3 #i am this close to calling him Daddy

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