#griffith smut

[dollwrites]

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.”

[kurokawaia]

❛ Princess ❜

GoldenAge!Griffith X fem!princess!Reader

| YANDERE THEMES | SFW |

WC; 1.3k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW; reader is implied to be charlottes sister!! use of '{Y/n}', yandere themes, just griffith choosing his next victim, dark content, possessive behaviour

i spent a lot of time writing this and making sure everything i wrote was perfect, i hope you all enjoy😣 - honey

m.list | berserk m.list

"Commander Griffith," your father meted the acknowledgment, and Griffith stepped in front of the King, Queen, and the two princesses, bowing in respect, his cascading white hair lying over his shining silver armor.

"Princess {Y/n}," your father called out in command, gesturing for you to proceed forward.

You step forward with elegance as the waves in your waves of elegance in your navy dress continued to spread behind you. You step with exactness, moved with exactness—in exactness, in every motion that had been rehearsed over and over before attaining the said standing you were in. The eyes of court watched observantly.

The moment you arrived at Griffith, you extended your hand with fingers so graceful and poised. He took it gently. His armor was cold against your skin. His lips were elusive as a soft kiss and lingered a second too long; the kiss hung at the edges of the proper and correct.

He was flexing power in such a subtle way—it was subtle, but he knew.

There was something kind in the manner and, at the same time, some veneer into which intention had been collected.

A shiver ran down your spine as his ice-blue gaze caught yours, his eyes raising from his bow. Something predatory glistened in his eyes, something that made one wonder or a key piece of a game that only he knows if one was nothing more than a pawn in his grand design.

"It is truly an honor to finally meet you, Princess," came that smooth, well-oiled voice of Griffith's. The crowd murmured in approval; all sounds echoed through the cavernous cathedral.

Yet, somewhere beneath the polite exchanges, a person could sense something more going on here: the veiled calculations, the faint flickers of ambition that had put Griffith in this position of power.

His gaze never left yours as he dropped your hand. He was watching you, looking through you, perhaps, for the best way to bend you to his whim.

You belonged to him, whether you understood that you were a pawn, queen, or maybe something between.

It was a sea of faces, the whole of the cathedral at that moment respectfully concentrating over the play unfolded in front of their eyes. Nobles, ecleastics, distinguished guests filled the pews, eyes glued to the action being played out between Griffith and yourself. The tension in the room was tangible; together, they breathed as if they awaited the next moment.

There is something commanding in Griffith's presence, captivating in his aura, but unconsciously repellent. Consciously, even the way he was holding your hand was soft, and his kiss, in which almost imperceptible pressure was put, was calculated.

You could feel the pulse of that moment, the silent exchange between the two of you speaking volumes more than the mere touch could have done. It was as though he had claimed you, staked his territory—marking you as his before the whole court.

Your father stood immovable behind you, his face stoic, although you knew the tiny glint in his eyes betrayed a hint of his concern. Generations had passed with the royal family playing this game of power and politics, but Griffith was a new breed; he was silky, composed, with a burning will like the colored rays cast off the stained glass across his armor.

Griffith eventually released your hand but he did not break the eye contact. There was something in the way he looked at you, something that seemed as though, if he needed to, he could see through all of the falseness and look way past it.

There was something uncanny in this silence, something perhaps even rather fascinating in another way, something that simply could not fail to grip the attention. Breath was heard murmuring from all the corners when whispers spotted around in the crowd: Where the discussions carried would be so imperative in the history books for the fate of the kingdom?.

"For me, to serve Midland and its royal family is an honor," Griffith spoke, and there was just a subtle current of authority in his voice. His gazes never left yours, and you realized this wasn't just a formal introduction.

This was more.

A relationship that would all be about his control and your compliance.

Something dark glinted beneath those warm eyes of Griffith. It wasn't the supple quality in his voice, or even the grace in his movement; it was the way his eyes locked onto yours, as though no one else in that room counted.

You were regarded, Princess, as if he'd your life already mapped out: each decision you'd make.

And that, somehow, no matter what, you belonged to him.

During dinner, his eyes never left you for long. He listened to everyone else, chuckled at their stories, contributed some bromide to some noble's question, but you knew his attention was on you.

You rose from the head table; his eyes followed you, following every step you made.

You could feel the weight of it, a possessive intensity making you hyperaware of his presence.

You would see, as others tried to draw you into a conversation, his expression never waivered—just a polite smile—but that little tightness in the jaw, that cold flash in the eyes. You could see him staring as if to say, 'Back off'—with the eyes.

Featuring the eventual success of placing yourself in one of the quieter corners, far enough from the hustle, Griffith was now standing at your side, seemingly as if he emerged from the shadows. His steps soundless, his calves dragging his tensiled body closer and closer to you, so close that he might have been radiating heat.

"Princess. Princess {Y/n}," he began, his voice a bare hiss overlaid with tension. "I've been waiting for this moment."

He was so near it was unnerving; there he stood, quite imposing. It's as if he were ever growing near to your personal space, one and two feet at a time, awaiting you to crack. He had a twinkle in his eye, almost as if he were sick with pleasure.

"Great Lord Griffith," you replied, trying to hold your bearings, "I never knew you to be so interested in the lines of succession for the royal family."

Griffith's smile slowly grew slightly predatory. "The royal family is dear to my heart," he said, though his look stayed upon you. "And you, Princess, are perhaps the most interesting of them all. Your beauty, your grace, it is as if it was a destiny made for greatness; I could not conceive of this land without you being lined up in some succession for the throne."

His words were full of praise, as if he spoke with a possessor's lilt, but not like he was talking of you, but to you, and ever watching your eyes, and you were cold in that warm hall. Not that he was interested in you; by the way he spoke, you belonged to him already, as if he had a right to determine your future as his property.

Griffith touched his fingers to your wrist—just an elusive touch, and yet it sends shivers down your spine, not out of pure love but out of a silent claim, as if he were thinking of you as something to be owned or to be mastered in existence.

"We could do so much together," he murmured as his voice lowered, becoming intimate. "Just think of the power, the influence. Together, there is nothing we could not do. You're mine, Princess, and you know you're mine too, right?"

His words were a trap, expertly laid to draw you in, to make you feel that you had no choice but to agree with him. The possessiveness in his gaze, the way it seemed to lock out the rest of the world—well, that was all according to his masterful maneuvering.

You stood there, very aware of the weight of his presence. You realized Griffith was not just some leader; he was nature itself, something unbreakable by his will for something and with the intent of taking it.

Do not steal, copy, modify, etc Reblogs and likes are appreciated

m.list | berserk m.list

[nightangle9]

IN THE MOONLIGHT

Pairing: Post eclipse Guts x Fem Reader

Warning: angst, mature content, mature language, smut, attempted murder, unprotected sex, fingering, mating press, slight dacryphilia

Summary: Running away from home, you find yourself lingering in the warmth of strange man's arms.

The world was a dangerous place and you clearly understood it but that didn't excuse your alcoholic father's abuse. That's why you ran away from home. You knew the risk and how horrifying the world can be. But there was still a hope, a ray of happiness that you found yourself wishing for. And that ray of hope came in the form of a man, GUTS. You first met him when you started working at a restaurant. From his entrance to his exist everything about this man was entrancing. He ordered a glass of booze and you gladly complied his order. Things escalated between you two from there. He seemed like an interesting and terrifying person at the same time. Standing at a height of 6'7, he towered over you as he stood. Covered in black from head to toe. Filled with rage and anger. But despite all that you found yourself yearning for his soft side. He may not look like it but he had a good heart. Just a broken one. You knew you wouldn't be able to fix it but you could try. That's why you asked to join him as his companion. He refused ofcourse but you weren't going to up so easily, were you? He even as much as threatend to murder you if you tried to follow him. You thought he was kidding , he was not. He tried to swing his large sword to slice up your neck but stopped mid air. Leaving you with a last warning. You confronted him about it telling him you won't be a nuisance to him and that you just wanted to be with him. He finally accepted it with a sigh saying that whatever happened to you from now on is your responsibility and he won't come to your rescue. What a cold-hearted man.

You understood what he meant by that. You were faced with countless monsters everyday with little to no sleep every night. His routine and life everything was mess. A mess that you wanted to fix. You tended his wounds. Took care of him when he slept making sure he didn't wake up. You did everything you could for him. It was not enough and you knew it. It showed on his face. It's not like you can turn back time or anything. You didn't know what happened to him. And he won't even tell you about it. He was your last hope. Someone who you thought could make your miserable life happy. But nothing seemed to work out on him or so you thought.

One night after fighting the monsters that come due to his sacrifice brand. You were treating his wounds. "Why are you doing this for me? Why are you even with me? What is it? I don't understand. You have nothing to gain. Until you are with me you are bound to live as a despicable person. Why not just leave me alone already." He told you, looking straight into your eyes with sorrow. You hugged him as tight as you could. Burying your face into his chest. "Why would would I leave you, Idiot. If that's what I wanted to do I would've never joined you from the start. You mean so much to me. I....really like you. Guts." You admitted to him in a whisper. Holding his suprised face in your hands. You closed off the distance between you two as you finally kissed. Attaching your lips to his. It felt passionate and deep. His large hands holding on to your waist, your hands roaming in his dark hair. Everything felt perfect. He started to take off your dress. You laid down on the cold ground. As you felt shivers on your bare skin. Soon enough his hands started exploring your body. As he bit and sucked on your skin. Tiny moans escaping your mouth as his fingers started to rub on your clit. Separating your thighs apart with his strong hands, he put two of his fingers inside of you. Moving them in a fast pace. You put your arms around his neck leaning him into a rough kiss. Your moans being muffled by the the kiss as you came down your high. Putting your legs up on his shoulders. He positioned himself on your entrance. Slowing entering inside of you. It was a little painful. As you hadn't had sex in a while. It started out slow his thrusts hitting your inside. Your moans started becoming louder as his thrusts became faster. Pressing your legs up to your chest. He started going even deeper inside of you. Hitting all the right spots as you cried out from pleasure. Rough hands holding on to your thighs as he grunted and groaned from his own pleasure. You were close. Really close to your orgasm. "G-Guts, I-I'm gonna c-cum." You whimpered teary eyed. "Yeah, m-me too." He grunted. You both came down your high together. His arms holding you tight as he hugged you after. "I like you too" he said kissing your forehead.

[apollodarling-writes]

Stay With Me

cw: soft smut, griffith is soft, self indulgent, creampie, praise, cock warming

Tender kisses trail the length of your neck, feeling almost reverent as Griffith's fingers intertwine with yours. He shallowly thrusts into you, murmuring words of praise before he connects his lips with yours, pressing deeper into your drooling cunt.

"I love you." He murmurs, squeezing your hand. "I love you so much."

You mewl in response, gummy walls gripping his cock as if you were afraid he'd leave. "I love you too."

Griffith groans, gripping your waist as he loses himself to pleasure. You whine, back arching and fingers gripping the sheets of your shared bed as his cockhead reaches spots inside you that you had no idea existed before him.

"Griffith," You whimper, ""M gonna cum."

Griffith leans closer, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your chest, quietly groaning into the curves of your breasts. "Cum for me, dear."

You pull him closer, walls clenching and fluttering around his cock as you chant his name. "That's it, dear." He groans, thrusts growing sloppy as his own high nears. "You're doing so good for me- just a little bit longer."

After a few more thrusts, Griffith's hips still, cock throbbing inside of you as thick ropes of cum spill into your cunt. He gently pulls you to into his chest, cock still sheathed inside of you as his arms wrap around the small of your back. In the moment the two of you were one, or at least it felt that way.

Griffith presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, murmuring, “Let’s stay like this for awhile.”

[marblemoovt]

Stay - Griffith/Ashe(OC)

Masterlist

Rating: Explicit (Smut)

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: Fluff with some reverse hurt/comfort. Smut, Oral sex, Fingering, P in V sex. A bit of a praise kink. Dirty talk. (Let me know if I'm missing anything)

Summary:

When Guts leaves, Griffith is distraught. He seeks comfort in the only other person who is hurting as much as he is. Guts's sister, Ashe.

------

She rips the door open and meets the gaze of an equally startled Griffith. His fist hangs in the air before dropping to his side. 

He rushes forward and embraces her. Cold and wet fabric sticks to her skin. Griffith is shivering, raindrops dripping from his pale locks. “You’re still here,” he mumbles, arms squeezing her in disbelief. A shaky breath shudders near her ear, and she turns to look at him, freezing at the unfamiliar expression on his face. “I thought…” —his throat bobs— “I thought you left.” There’s a pause that leaves the sentence feeling unfinished.

Note:

My first commission!! Ashe is an OC that belongs to @maid0evil; thank you so much for the commission! She was so pleasant to work with and honestly quelled a lot of fears I had about writing commissions for people. Check out her blog or message her if you want to know more about Ashe!

Here's some helpful background info: Ashe is Guts's younger twin sister and she is an apothecary, a person who makes medicine and other drugs. A healer/pharmacist essentially. She also has the skill set to do spy work.

This is enough to read this fic without getting too confused, but here's a post with all the details about Ashe.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

Quiet. Their—her—house is quiet. No longer will she hear the repetitive swish of metal cutting through the air. He’s not in the backyard anymore for her to scold when he overworks himself. The drawer full of bandages and ointment is now bare. Ashe refused to let her brother leave without it all. 

Now she feels empty. Half of her is missing, leaving a gaping hole that aches with longing. Guts asked her to go with him, but she couldn’t. Ashe’s place is with the Hawks. She told him as much. These people have become her family, and they need her. Her brother can take care of himself now. She reminisces over the days before he hit his growth spurt when she used to tower over him. When she protected both of them during those nightmarish times.

It was hard to watch him go, but the determination in his eyes…. When Guts told her his reasons for leaving, how he promised to return once he could proudly stand beside Griffith, who was she to stop him? So she sent him off from their house with a forced smile. Ashe couldn’t bear watching him leave the town, so she remained inside. That was until she heard the clashing of swords.

Grabbing a bag containing basic medical supplies, she ran to the source of the commotion. She nearly slipped on the frost-covered path when her heels dug into the ground. Someone caught her by the arm to steady her, but her focus remained on the ongoing fight. Griffith and Guts were fighting, and Ashe recalled a memory from years ago. But this time ended differently.

Griffith was left stunned on the ground as Guts turned around and left. Ashe’s lips still sting from when she bit down on them then. He didn’t look back or say anything to her, and she understood why. So she returned inside, unwilling to give him a reason to stay behind. The tears didn’t start flowing until the door clicked shut and the latch locked into place.

She doesn’t know how much time has passed since then. Currently, she’s curled up in a fetal position on the bed, waiting for the sharp pain in her chest to ebb into a dull ache. Moonlight filters in through the window and bathes the room in silver, the only indicator of how long she spent holed up in her room. Ashe shuts her eyes, but the colour induces brief images of a particular general to flash through her mind. Because the walls inside are thin, she can hear when someone knocks on the front door. But she ignores them all, weighed down by the desire to do nothing. And so she listens to the knocks, cries herself to exhaustion, and the cycle repeats until only the chirping of cicadas remains.

Another knock on the door. She remains in bed like usual. The knocking repeats itself after a few beats of silence, more persistent than before. Ashe drags herself out of bed to salvage what’s left of her front door before it’s torn off the hinges. Her stride quickens when the sound becomes frantic, and the creak of abused wood follows. She rips the door open and meets the gaze of an equally startled Griffith. His fist hangs in the air before dropping to his side. 

He rushes forward and embraces her. Cold and wet fabric sticks to her skin. Griffith is shivering, raindrops dripping from his pale locks. “You’re still here,” he mumbles, arms squeezing her in disbelief. A shaky breath shudders near her ear, and she turns to look at him, freezing at the unfamiliar expression on his face. “I thought…” —his throat bobs— “I thought you left.” There’s a pause that leaves the sentence feeling unfinished.

Ashe shakes her head. “My place is here with all of you,” she reassures him. “I love my brother, but he needs to figure out his own problems.” 

“You won’t leave?” Griffith asks in a meek tone. Ashe has never heard him speak like this. What happened to the Griffith that was always certain about everything? Where did that confidence go? She licks her dry lips when she thinks about how it was probably cut down alongside his sword this morning. Caution must be taken to not agitate Griffith further. He looks like a skittish puppy ready to bolt at any sudden movement. She doesn’t know what he’ll do if he storms away from her. 

“No. I’m staying,” she answers. “Now come inside; you’re freezing.” Right now, the safest place for him is somewhere she can keep an eye on. Just until he recovers from the shock. Ashe guides Griffith to the small sitting room by the fireplace. The embers are dying, so she adds another log and stokes the flames. The fire crackles as it consumes the wood, embers dancing across the small stone stage. She retrieves a spare blanket and wraps it around his trembling form. She doesn’t have any extra clothes to offer. Anything Guts left behind would be too big, but it might be better than nothing. Amid her thoughts, Griffith surprises her by raising the fabric and patting the empty spot beside him. Ashe sits down, and he wraps the blanket around them, draping one arm around her shoulders. 

She shudders slightly at the cold contact, leaning into him to share her body heat. He rests his head against hers, an intimate gesture she never thought she would receive from him. “When Guts left, I thought you would leave with him.” Griffith glances at the window, a crease forming between his brows. “My apologies. I know it is late, but I had to make sure.” When he notices her confused expression, he adds, “I had to see for myself whether you were gone.”

Ashe purses her lips in silence before eventually asking, “Why?” Sure, they’ve gotten closer, but she knows her role could be easily replaced. She understands that everyone here is working for the sake of Griffith’s dream.

“Why indeed?” Griffith muses to himself, picking up a lock of her hair and thumbing it between his fingers. He raises the strands to his lips but drops his hand before they make contact, staring at her like how he stares at a map when planning a battle. “Know that I do not trust just anyone to poison me.” And Ashe is taken back to that night. The night he entrusted his life to her. The night he swept her away on the ballroom floor. The same night she made the startling realization that she sees Griffith as more than her superior and that they can never be more. 

“I’m still surprised you asked me to make and swap out the poisons,” she admits. He entrusted her with his life. The ratio of the poison was fatal. If she didn’t dilute the mixture correctly, the dose would have induced him into a complete-death state instead of near death. One mistake by her was enough to kill him—permanently. Yet he still explained his plan and asked for her help. Guts was the only other hawk who knew of his intentions. 

So Ashe concocted the poison with deadly precision, paying attention to the minutest detail. Griffith placed his faith in her, a privilege not given to many. She would ensure not to betray it. Swapping the poisons was the easiest part. All it took was for Ashe to feign ignorance when bumping into the waiter and act like one of the many naive women attending the ball. The man was too focused on her neckline to notice her deft fingers switching out the bottles. 

Shortly after, Griffith asked her for a dance. It was an excuse to escape the horde of women surrounding him and to inquire about the swap. She’ll never forget how close he was that night. One hand was placed around her waist, and the other holding her hand as he gracefully led her through the dance. They floated across the ballroom floor. Griffith’s steps never faltered, each twirl and turn as confident as the last. 

Occasionally, Griffith would lean in and whisper. He didn’t ask outright about the plan, but they danced around the subject. After the third or fourth time, Ashe could no longer ignore the goosebumps rising across her skin. Griffith’s warm breath tickled her ear, and she found it hard to respond accordingly to their conversation. There was the undeniable urge to run from this foreign feeling, but her desire to remain by his side won. 

The entire time Griffith only paid attention to her. His eyes, which usually carried an unmeltable frost, warmed when meeting her gaze. When Griffith complimented her dress, she failed to return the sentiment, tongue twisted by embarrassment. Griffith only smiled at her lack of a response, and her heart beat so loudly she was afraid the entire room could hear it battering against her ribcage. Ashe didn’t even notice the song was over until Griffith drew back and bowed, kissing the back of her hand in farewell.

Even though she knew beforehand, nothing could prepare her for witnessing Griffith fall. She watched as he accepted the glass from the waiter and took a sip, collapsing a few seconds later. He truthfully looked dead, and despite her knowledge, she was having a hard time believing he wasn’t. Suppose she miscalculated and made the dosage too high. What if she did kill him? She would never forgive herself. Everyone rushed to Griffith, but Ashe could only stand rooted to the ground, weighed down by guilt and mortification. She still remembers how her palms stung as her hands balled into fists. Guts scolded her light-heartedly later as he bandaged her wounds.

Ashe is brought back to the present when she hears Griffith’s voice. She didn’t realize how tightly she was clenching the blanket.

Griffith places his hand over her fists, and they lose their tension. “I am glad I did.” He smiles at her, a rare smile that reaches his eyes.  “You played a vital role. It would not have gone so smoothly without you.” The confidence in his words shakes her. How is she supposed to respond when he looks at her like that? As if she’s the most significant person in the room?

Ashe clears her throat and flits her gaze to the hallway. “I’ll find some of Guts’s spare clothes for you to wear. You can sleep in the guest room tonight.” She stands up to leave, but Griffith’s arms wrap around her waist, and he presses his forehead against her stomach. Ashe hesitantly pats his back, softly saying, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Griffith chuckles; a bitter and dry sound fills the room. “Forgive me, but I am having difficulty believing you. How am I to know that you will not try to leave like Guts?” he asks, arms snaring her in his hold. Like prey trapped in the coil of a snake, she squirms but stills when the pressure tightens. As a gentle reminder, she squeezes his shoulders, and her lungs can breathe again. Griffith doesn’t let go, much to her bewilderment. Would her absence really matter to him? Or is it only because her brother left first?

Ashe already decided to stay, which she’s told Griffith several times. But he just doesn’t seem to get the message. “Everyone here still needs me. Besides, Guts will come back. He didn’t intend to leave forever. Once he finds a dream of his own and can proudly call himself your equal, he’ll return,” she reminds him. At Griffith’s silence, her brows knit together. “Didn’t he tell you that?” she asks, although she already deduced the answer from his reaction. 

“His own dream? My equal?” Griffith chuckles in disbelief, his shoulders sagging as he leans against her. Startled, Ashe straightens up to support Griffith's weight. 

“Idiot,” Ashe mumbles under her breath. Leave it to Guts not to explain things to Griffith. No wonder the duel shook Griffith up so much. “Guts overheard a conversation you had with Charlotte at a fountain,” she explains. His body stiffens, then the arms around her waist go slack. 

“So he did not leave because he wanted to cut all ties with me?” Griffith glances up at her with wide eyes. He takes a deep breath, and it comes out as a sigh. “I am… glad.” The smile on his face wobbles like a taut string pulled in opposite directions. And eventually, it snaps. Ashe catches a glimpse of his misty eyes before he buries his face into her lower abdomen again. His shoulders shake with silent cries, and she bites her lip, unsure how to comfort him. So Ashe does what she would do if it were her brother. She gently strokes his head and speaks in a low, soothing tone. 

“Guts wants to be your friend, an equal. He told me that he’ll return once he finds his own dream. You two can have a proper conversation once he’s back.” She cradles him close to her body,

“And you?” Griffith’s voice is muffled by her shirt, but her excellent hearing picks out the words.

“What about me?” She plays with a lock of his hair. The fireplace and window cast shadows of orange and silver, like a dance between fire and ice. A delicate balance of push and pull where one side does not entirely consume the other. Griffith’s hair glows in the moonlight as if it holds the ethereal light.

“Will you remain with the hawks, or will you eventually cave in from the absence of your brother and follow his footsteps?” he asks. Judging by the tone of his voice, it doesn’t seem like he’s considered other outcomes. 

Ashe grimaces. “Why do you make it sound like those are my only options?” She flicks his forehead lightly when he looks up at her again. “I’m a human being with free will, Griffith. I’m not limited to the two choices you’ve presented.”

Griffith chuckles, “I did always admire this quality of yours. You see humans as nothing more than that. Human. No Gods or superior beings. Human.”

Ashe hums and takes in his ragged appearance. “I think you need some rest.”

“You did not answer my question.”

She sighs, “But I did, multiple times. You just never believed my answer.”

Griffith stares into her eyes, holding his gaze for a few seconds before looking away. “Perhaps I am starting to,” he whispers.

Ashe guides him to the guest room, promising to return with some spare clothes. While he’s no longer soaked, he’s still damp and can easily catch a cold. She makes a detour and grabs her medicine bag. Knocking on the door, she waits for confirmation to come in. She enters when there’s only silence, worried something terrible has happened to him.

Griffith is still in the room, half-dressed. His shirt falls to the floor, and their eyes meet. “I-I’m so sorry!” she apologizes, slamming the door shut. She buries her face in the clothes she’s carrying and lets out a scream. Luckily the fabric does a decent enough job at silencing the sound, but she doubts Griffith missed it. The hinges of the door creak open, and her back straightens. “I also brought you some medicine in case the rain made you sick,” and she hastily shoves everything into Griffith’s arms before rushing back to her room. Ashe pauses in her steps and mutters a quiet “goodnight,” the burn on her cheeks spreading across her body.

The sky rumbles, shaking more droplets out of the clouds as they beat on the roof tiles. At least the storm provides some distraction from the chaos plaguing her mind. She curls up in her bed again, confused and embarrassed. Ashe doesn’t know what to do with her feelings; bury them? Will she end up like Casca? Forever pining after a man who will never look at her the same way? But she’s noticed lately that Casca’s gaze has been slowly redirecting towards someone else. 

Thunder growls outside, and she shuts her eyes and imagines that her brother is here to keep her company. But the more she pretends, the larger the ache grows. Loneliness is a relentless beast. Once it sinks its teeth into you, it’s hard to shake off. It claws into your chest and carves your insides until you’re hollow. Quiet gasps leave her trembling lips as she struggles to hold in her cries. The tears burn and leave hot trails as they soak her pillow. It takes a few minutes for her to notice that not all the noises are coming from her. Besides the storm howling, another set of sobs fills the house. Ashe can pinpoint the guest room as the source.

She exits her room, wrapping her blanket tight around her shoulders. Heading to Griffith, she knocks on the door. The crying stops, and footsteps shuffle close. Ashe loses all function over her tongue when she sees him. Red-rimmed eyes and a complexion paler than usual. He sports similar tear tracks to hers. He also stares in silence, taking in her dishevelled appearance. 

“I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just… I… the storm—can I stay the night with you?” she stutters, wrangling her words to form a coherent sentence to no avail. “The storm is loud, and I’m not used to dealing with them alone.” Ashe avoids his gaze, fidgeting with her fingers. She hopes he doesn’t think of her as a child for being afraid. The loud noises bring back memories she would prefer to never think of again.

Griffith nods and steps aside to let her in. Ashe enters the room and sits on the bed, leaning her back against the headboard. She hugs her knees to her chest and watches him hesitantly sit beside her. A slight draft breezes through the room, and Ashe wraps the blanket tighter, clenching her teeth to prevent them from chattering. Another blanket drapes over her, and her right side is pleasantly warm. She turns her head, sucking in a breath at how close Griffith is. He’s pressed against her, and she can feel his hot breath tickling her face. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“Don’t worry about it. Guts should have told you why he was leaving,” she responds, shrugging. 

“Well, that too. But I mean thank you for staying… by my side.” Griffith smiles, and Ashe can no longer tell if the drumming in her ears is the thunder or her heartbeat. “If I had known the reason, I would have told him I see him as a friend. Your brother is the only—no, he’s one of the few people who can rival the importance of my dream,” he confesses. 

Ashe lifts her head, mouth running dry. One of?

“But at least you are still here,” he says, looking down at her fondly. “I never thought we would have so much in common.”

“Griffith, what am I to you?” Ashe asks. He stares at her again, trying to decipher her.

“I would say a friend, but you are much more special than that.” Griffith frowns as he contemplates. “I cannot call you a comrade or any similar title. None of them express what I feel.” He hums, mulling over the thought. “…A partner, perhaps?” he whispers, staring at her with wide eyes. Ashe leans in close, and his gaze flickers to her lips. “May I kiss you?” he asks. 

She laughs breathlessly, “Yes, please.” He cradles her face and kisses her languidly. His hand slides down and cups the nape of her neck, pressing her closer to him. Griffith trails down her jaw and along her throat, chuckling when he hears her gasp. He runs his tongue over her pulse and grins when she tilts her head back to expose more of her neck. When he moves on to her collarbone, Ashe places her hands firmly on his chest. “Wait,” she says. “I want to please you first.”

Griffith smiles softly and strokes her hair. “Not to worry, we will get to that.”

But Ashe shakes her head. “No. Let me lead for once,” she insists. He bites his lip but relents. “Sit back,” she commands. Griffith leans against the headboard and removes his shirt, lifting his hips when she tugs on his pants. The lack of undergarments is a surprise, but her face flames when she remembers she didn’t provide him with any.

“Your expression is adorable. Is this your first time?” Griffith jokes, but his jaw slackens when she bashfully nods. “You should have told me sooner,” he says. It comes out harsh, and Griffith softens his tone. “If I knew earlier, I would have gone to further lengths to ensure the best experience possible for you.”

Fuzzy warmth blooms in Ashe’s chest. She licks her lips and glances down between his thighs. “It’s alright, Griffith. Please tell me what to do,” she says, trying to ignore the red pendant dangling around his neck. But the damn thing stares at her. “If it’s not too much trouble, could you remove your necklace? It’s… distracting.” Ashe doesn’t want to admit that the inanimate object is creepy since he wears it constantly.

“Not the most romantic accessory, is it?” Griffith smiles and removes the necklace, setting it on the bedside drawer. “Let us start with something easy. Take your hand and stroke slowly. Make sure not to squeeze too hard,” Griffith instructs. Ashe wraps her hand around his cock and gives it a few experimental pumps. She pulls away when he hisses through clenched teeth.

“Did I hurt you?” she asks, observing his expression.

Griffith shakes his head, chest heaving with shallow breaths. “No, dear. You were doing wonderfully. Please keep going.” So she resumes stroking, gliding her hand up and down his shaft, watching as the head of his cock swells to a dark red. Spurred on by Griffith’s sighs, she swipes her thumb across the small hole at the tip, smearing precum onto her hand. Ashe glances up, meeting Griffith’s hooded gaze. “Use that to ease the friction.” She marvels at how easy it is to move her hand once it’s slick. 

The tip of Griffith’s cock continues dripping, and Ashe’s tongue darts out to lick along the slit, curious about the taste. He groans, hips bucking into her hand. “Did you like that?” Ashe asks, noticing the heightened sensitivity around the front of his cock near the tip.

“I loved it. Do it again,” he commands, and she carries out his orders, lapping and stroking simultaneously until she’s drowning in his musky scent. A salty tang coats her tongue, but she doesn’t mind the taste. When she glances up again, Griffith’s head is thrown back, eyes shut tight. Ashe feels his cock twitching in her mouth. “Love, I need you to stop. I will not last if you continue,” he begs. 

Ashe furrows her brows and draws away. “Don’t you want to climax?”

“Not yet. I want you to lie down first,” Griffith says. So she lies on her back, shuddering when her nightgown is pushed up and the night air brushes against her exposed skin. He parts her legs and plants a kiss on her inner thigh. “A gentleman always returns the favour.” His boyish grin sends a jolt that sparks a flame in her lower abdomen. 

“Griffith—I…..” She can’t think of anything to say, fixated on how she can feel his breath against the damp fabric of her undergarments. 

“Is this too much for you?” He pauses and waits for her answer. 

There’s a heat in her body that’s begging to be soothed. An ache that lingers and drives her mad with every passing second. “No. It’s not enough. Please touch me,” she says.

“As you wish.” Griffith pulls down the fabric to unveil her glistening cunt. A heady musk fills the room, and he dips his head for a taste. He licks a stripe through her folds, lapping the arousal dribbling out of her entrance. 

“Griffith,” Ashe moans, electricity tingling through her veins. There’s a sudden hunger for more. She wants him to douse oil on the fire raging inside her and become consumed under his touch. Something flicks her clit, and she yelps in surprise. Ashe glances down to see Griffith circling his tongue around the throbbing area, never touching the center. She shudders when one of his fingers probes her entrance, sliding in slowly.

“That’s it, love. I can feel you squeezing around my finger. You can take one more. I know you can,” he says, adding another digit inside her. She groans at the slight burn from the stretch, bucking her hips when he resumes teasing her clit. He curls his fingers, wagging his tongue over the swollen bundle of nerves. Ashe feels something building in the pit of her stomach, a swirl of energy that grows stronger and threatens to swallow her whole. “You are doing so well for me. Let go. Let the pleasure consume you.” She climaxes at his words, feeling the waves crash and roll off her body as she grinds against his face, babbling incoherent pleas for more.

Griffith slows down, moving just enough to trigger the aftershocks that spread from her core and ripple through the rest of her body. He places soft pecks along her puffy lips and removes his fingers, licking them clean. She watches his tongue through hooded lids, remembering how they looked between her thighs earlier. A throb surges to her cunt, and she clenches around emptiness. Griffith chuckles and pets her clit gently with his thumb, the rest of his fingers splayed on her lower abdomen.

“Ah! Not there!” she cries out, jerking away from his touch. His hand pins her to the bed. The pleasure teeters on pain, but her body aches for more. 

Griffith shushes and strokes her thigh. “I will be gentle. I am starving to taste you.” Ashe shudders and avoids his gaze. The flames beneath her skin blaze on her face and neck. He hooks his arms underneath her knees and tugs her to the edge of the bed, where he’s kneeling on the floor. “Oh? Did my words excite you? How cute.” He doesn’t waste any time digging in. His tongue feels different from his fingers. It doesn’t reach as deep, but her cunt still greedily sucks him in. 

He occasionally praises her, telling her how delicious she tastes. But her mind is foggy, and most of the words never reach her. All she can focus on is his mouth around her clit and the obscene slurps that fill the room, mixed with Griffith’s groans. He draws out another orgasm from her, not as intense as the first one. He takes great care in slowing down and drawing out her high.

Ashe sighs, head buzzing as her vision refocuses. “I’m ready,” she says.

“Ready for what?” Griffith taps his cock against her clit and grins when she shivers. “I cannot understand what you mean if you remain vague.”

If her brain was functioning normally, she would be upset. But she writhes her hips, and her eyes nearly roll into the back of her head when she comes in contact with his cock again. “Please make love to me,” she begs.

Griffith rubs his cock between her folds, lubricating himself with her arousal. “Let me know if it is too much, and I will stop. I want you to enjoy this.” He lines himself up with her entrance and eases in. Ashe sucks in a breath, releasing it with a hiss. The burn stung more than when he used his fingers, but it was bearable.

Ashe watches as his cock disappears into her inch by inch. She feels him rub against her walls until he’s buried deep. “More,” she pleads.

“Whatever you desire.” He pulls out and slams back in, hitching the air in her lungs. He repeats the process, waiting in intervals until the next thrust. “My dear, you should see the mess you are making.” His laughter fills her with warmth. Griffith cups one of her breasts, brushing his thumb over her hardening nipple. “Forgive me for neglecting such beauty.” He lowers his head to suckle and nip, overwhelming her with stimulation.

Ashe rocks her hips to increase the rhythm, eager to feel the head of his cock brush against that sweet spot inside. “Fuck, Griffith,” she whines. She can already feel the pressure in her stomach about to burst. 

He slows down, and she almost cries, fingertips digging into his shoulders. “Lie on your side, dear. I promise it will feel better,” he says, guiding her into position. He lies beside her, and his blue eyes are breathtaking up close. His cock slips into her, and he sets a regular pace this time. The repetitive stimulation is enough to bring her to the brink of orgasm. Her walls clench hard, and he grunts in response.

“Griffith….” She can’t say anymore, head empty as the throbbing of her cunt climbs rapidly. 

“I know, love. You are taking me so well, such a good girl,” he coos, bringing her into another kiss. She cums with a wail, walls spasming around his cock, milking him. The tight knot in her stomach snaps and unleashes a tidal wave of pleasure that drags her underneath into its depths. Her clit throbs in tandem, and a rush of wetness pools between her legs, earning a loud squelch with Griffith’s next thrust.

When her cunt stops fluttering, Griffith pulls out and strokes his cock, spilling his release into his hand. Only the sound of their ragged breathing can be heard. He exits the bed, fetching a damp cloth from the bathroom and wipes her body. A trail of kisses follows, her skin trembling at the slightest touch. He is more careful when cleaning between her thighs, murmuring into her shoulder about how well she did. Ashe allows her body to sink into the bed, watching Griffith return to the bathroom to clean himself.

She doesn’t know how much time passes, but the mattress dips beside her and a kiss is pressed on her forehead. “Sleep, and we will discuss things in the morning,” Griffith says, covering her with the blanket. Ashe nods, and her eyelids droop. Strong arms pull her closer, and she snuggles into his warm body.

Maybe she should thank Guts for leaving.

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

I thought I would struggle with the smut, but something happened and my fingers were flying across the keyboard lmao. Something about Griffith providing oral sex just does things to me 😳

Ngl, after writing this, I kinda want to write more Berserk stuff. I did have an idea for a Guts smut so.... 👀 It involves a waterfall.

Anyways, I love Ashe. I think she's a very interesting character. I don't know much about canon post-Eclipse so I'm curious how she affects the story. I'm honestly interested in seeing what maid0evil comes up with! Please check her out if you're also interested :D

If there's anyone else who would like to commission me, send me a message and we'll work something out!

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!

Taglist: @lovecats123451

[psych0cherry]

1×1 M/F PR partner!

1×1 M/F PR partner!

Hey guys! I'm 18 years old and looking for a partner (Man or woman, it doesn't matter.) to write RP stories (Romance with an engaging plot and story) in anime style! I have several OCs from different anime universes, with fascinating and creative personalities. I'd like to share a list of anime I'd love to use as a backdrop, as well as characters I'd like someone to play as a couple. However, if you prefer to play another character, we can talk about it. I also like to play different canonical characters, so if you want, I can play a character for one of your ocs and you a character for one of mine!

I appreciate stories with a hint of masochism and dark romance, with cruel paths and tragic endings. While that's my preference, I also love writing cute things as long as there's a good plot. I have absolutely no triggers. I like to write longer texts, but I can adapt to your writing style! While I can also write obscenities, I prefer not to limit myself to just that.

First, I would like to mention that I am Brazilian and I am using Google Translate to communicate in English. However, my writing in Portuguese is correct, so I believe that the translation does not have many errors.

Here's a list of fandoms and characters I'd love for you to play, if you're interested in the dynamic!

Kimetsu no Yaiba:

Douma.

muzan.

Obanai.

akaza.

Berserk:

- Griffith. Jujutsu:

Gojo.

Toji.

Choso.

Geto.

Diabolik Lovers:

- Honestly, any of them.

- But I have a preference for Laito, Subaru, Azusa.

Naruto:

Neji.

Deidara.

Danganronpa:

Nagito.

Kokichi.

Byakuya.

Chihiro.

Fuyuhiko.

Inuyasha:

Inuyasha.

Kamisama Kiss:

literally every character.

Tokyo Revengers:

Mikey.

Izana.

Ran.

Sanzu.

Angels of Death:

Zack.

I accept suggestions too!

I can write lgbt, gay or lesbian couples, it doesn't matter, but you would have to help me a little with that.

If you're interested, like this post and I'll DM you. You can also send me a DM through my blog or contact me directly on Discord. :)

My Discord name: g0thyz_

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞 ; ᴀᴄʜɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! reader)

𝖈𝖜: RAPE/NON-CON.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

Finally finished the fic after months of procrastinating.

This fic is not proofread or beta read.

Don’t try this at home, kids!

….And some rape down there. I don’t condone any of this irl (no shit). It is to note that it is part of the story’s progression and I only intend to explore such dark elements like the series always intended to do so in canon.

The “don’t like, don’t read” rule applies here. Kindly heed the tags one more time before proceeding.

“Griffith…I…” you paused as you caught your breath. You were failing to fake self-confidence at this point in time, your legs shaking as you could only watch yourself give into the fear that made its way through your head and heart.

“I…wasn’t expecting your presence here…I….”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed in response, letting out a low hum. He was getting closer this time, giving you less time to react and run for your life.

You took a step backward, pressing your hands against the dresser for some support. You knew you’d hit a dead end the way you clumsily hit the wall, groaning softly in response. You waited and waited for a sign to attempt running past Griffith and escape the palace with all your will’s might. You still had your bathrobe on, which made you partially vulnerable to him, but you didn’t care. You just had to run away from the man who has been invading your personal space.

“Worry not, princess. I came not to disturb your slumber. What I ask for is one simple thing that I believe you and I could share. If I’ll allow you to do so, that is.” Griffith said.

“Who are you to tell me what to do with my Kingdom? This is my lair, as bestowed by my father before me. The fact that you’re trespassing does not make you worthy of seeing me at my-“

Your words were cut off by Griffith, his cunning tone making itself clear in the dead silence. “And who told you that this kingdom was entirely yours? Remember, your induction to queenhood was only taken into consideration because of your father’s sudden death. Besides, it’s not as if you have any experience in leadership whatsoever.”

“Are you underestimating me?” you asked, slightly annoyed with his attitude.

“Why, of course not.” Griffith said as he took brisk steps forward, making it almost impossible for you to escape. “Want to know a secret?”

You nodded in response.

“I killed your father.” Griffith said, shamelessly. He walked three steps forward, caging the both of you within a small distance.

“You son of a bitch! Why….why would you do such a thing?! My father has been-“ you were interrupted once again.

“I had to do it. There could only be one way to test as to whether Midland is fit to be led by a Queen all on her own…..and turns out, the ‘Queen’ in question has no experience.” Griffith said.

“How dare you insult me in my own palace!” you exclaimed. “I’m leaving!”

“Not when you’re barely dressed like that.” Griffith smiled deviously. “Now…..come here….”

“What….what are you implying?” you asked, attempting to charge your way to the exit of your bedroom. “N-never mind….I’m fucking leaving.” As you charged your way to the exit, you felt two hands wrap around your waist from behind. No, it was too late. Griffith caught you. Pulling you backward, he lifted you to your own bed and started stripping down until he wore nothing but his Behelit.

You attempted to escape once more, only for Griffith to pin you down to the bed and press his lips into yours. You fought against the sheets and turned your head to break the kiss, but your attempts were rendered futile as it only prompted Griffith to slip his tongue inside your mouth. Griffith kissed you harshly, and it frankly felt like kissing an untamed beast cornering its prey. You never knew Griffith was ...quite an expert at this, his mouth slightly nibbling at your lower lip everytime he retreated.

After finally pulling away from you, Griffith latched his face onto your neck, positioning himself next to your right ear. “Give yourself to me, Princess. After all, your Kingdom….will soon be mine.”

“No…NO!!!!” you exclaimed.

“A little stubborn, are we?” Griffith asked, tilting his head. “Well, it’s not like you’ve stood a chance. We’re taking off this one, okay?”

You kept tugging at your bathrobe’s ‘belt’ to keep it away from the filthy man on top of you. “Griffith, I don’t want this, please…..”

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk. Too stubborn.” Griffith said, his touch growing angrier as he grabbed your bathrobe by the waist, curling his hand to a fist. Using his other hand, he slid a sleeve of the wardrobe off your shoulder, revealing your bare shoulder and right breast. Griffith dug right in, his lips kissing your hardened nipple as he engulfed his mouth to suckle it whole. While doing the do, he used his right hand to slide off the other sleeve of your bathrobe, exposing your other breast and stripping you down to your naked form. Griffith pulled away from your nipple, impressed with how he rendered the Queen of Midland helpless under his touch.

“Mmmm……what a pretty little thing you make, just for my kingdom.” Griffith let out a satisfactory hum. “This will be a rather fun time showing them who’s deserving of the throne.” Next thing you knew, Griffith was about to go down on you, positioning himself around the area of your waist.

“Don’t resist, Princess. Now, be a good girl and spread your legs wide open.” You hesitantly obeyed, up until Griffith grabbed you by your inner thighs, spreading them wider and raising them. Finally, he slipped your legs up his shoulders. It felt dirty having someone’s face right up your pussy, especially since this was your first time. Your mind wandered as you closed your eyes, hoping everything you just witnessed was just a dream. But no, it wasn’t. You fought against Griffith’s clutches, tugging at his hair and pushing him away.

But this just prompted him to dig right in, lapping at your fluids as he used his hands to part your lips for better tasting. You muffled a moan from the pleasurable feeling, covering your mouth with one hand. Griffith’s tongue worked you in fast, yet practiced motions—the tongue moved swiftly and curled just the right amount to send you shivers down your spine, earning muffled whimpers from you.

Granted, vibrators didn’t exist in the Medieval Era of Midland, so you might as well indulge in that feeling of someone’s tongue right up your pussy.

Griffith withdrew from eating you out for a while, his breathing and humming loud enough to send you goosebumps. “Mmmm…. You’re already this wet from a little kissing and heavy sucking. I wonder how it would be like to have you sing while having myself fully inside you, to have you clench around me while I slowly take what’s rightfully mine.”

“L-let go!!!!” you screamed. “I don’t want this!!!”

“You’ll take whatever’s been given to you, Princess. After all, you’re something…..” Griffith said, strict and unwavering. “Magnetic.”

Griffith moaned as he dug right back in, his tongue hovered over your clit. He started tracing small circles in a slow pacing, which left you impatient and begging for more. You tugged into his hair trying to fight him off, but as previously stated, you were left with no defenses against his strong grip.

“Griffith!!! Oh God…..!!!! I’m gonna…..!!!”

The feeling gave you that guilt, guilt for enjoying this man’s advances on you, and guilt because you just couldn’t believe your sense of authority was being challenged by a man of common birth.

But Griffith refused to stop. No, he didn’t stop suckling at your clit gently to give you a break. Griffith was merciless in the bedroom, leaving you with no choice but to accept the fate you’ve been accustomed to.

“Agh! Griffith!!! Stop….!!!!” you moaned out loud.

Griffith’s tongue kept going, and it wasn’t long before he inserted two digits inside your entrance without warning. He just didn’t care. His tongue slowly picked up the pace, speeding up and finally making you reach that sweet, sweet climax you’ve been waiting for. You fucked back subconsciously against his tongue, riding out your orgasm until it was ready to subside. After coming down from your high, you suddenly realized Griffith was looking down at you icily with his bright blue eyes, his body towering over yours despite lying down in bed.

You were screwed. What was about to happen next?

“Hmmm…..perhaps you are ready to take all of me. I’m going to fuck you so good you’d actually forget being the Queen of Midland.”

“No…..NO!!!!” you exclaimed, attempting to get up and reach for the door. You were stopped dead by Griffith once again, leading him to push you back to the mattress and grabbing you by the legs. Spreading them wider, Griffith let go of your legs, only to stroke his length before initially inserting it in your entrance. Slight precum formed through a pearl-like shape at the slit of his cock, adding lubrication to the process of entering you. Before you knew it, Griffith made efforts to adjust and bury his length within your vagina, though you ached in retaliation.

“Aghhh!!! It hurts! It burns! Let go!”

“Hush, princess. I know what I’m doing.” Griffith said as he spread your legs open for a better view. He adjusted himself by taking slow yet sure steps in burying his length into you, filling you to the brim. You were at this point begging to be freed from his grasp, though your fainting strength was no match for him.

Placing his hands on your wrists, Griffith pinned you down and started thrusting his hips in a slow, yet ambitious pace. You bit your lip to hold back your moans, but it was all for naught. You let out a small “uh” while he rocked in and out, sounds of skin slapping against skin filling the air as he leaned closer to your ear to speak.

“You don’t stand a chance against ruling Midland.” Griffith muttered at an intimate distance from you.

“What…..Huh…..?” you whimpered, your breasts being grabbed as it bounced from Griffith’s thrusts. “What….do you me-ngggh!” you grunted, trying to resist him by trying to get up. “I owe you nothing! Just please, let me rule my Kingdom in peace! I’ll do anything…..anything….but this…..!!!”

“Surrender your pride, little one.” Griffith said as he caught his breath. “I want you to dream of this.”

As a means of defending yourself, you attempted to grab Griffith by the hair to pull and tug on it roughly. However, your efforts to distract Griffith failed. You had to take responsibility for what had to happen next, and it was all because Griffith wanted a taste of your kingdom.

“I have every right to follow my dream, princess. And I want you and your kingdom surrendered to me. That is the pinnacle of achieving my dream.”

“You’ll…..you’ll never…..have my kingdom…..” you fought your way to speak in the midst of denying the pleasure Griffith gave you.

“You’ll take whatever I deem right to give you, princess. After all, your kingdom and this body will be mine.” Griffith said.

You screamed as loud as you could that the servants and every guest would hear you. The walls were soundproof, but you didn’t have a choice.

“Please!!!! I don’t want this! Please get off!!!”

“You do know screaming out for servants to assist you won’t do your kingdom justice, right? Mmmmm…..”

Right on the dot, Griffith stopped thrusting, pulled out, and aggressively flipped your body over that you were facing the bed. With one fell swoop, he grabbed a fistful of your hair and pinned your head to the pillow to muffle every moan and protest you had up your sleeve. Without warning, he repositioned himself right up your entrance, taking you from behind.

“This is a far better idea to keep your mouth shut and do as I say.” Griffith commanded.

“Mmmmmhhhh…….mmmmhhhhh!!!!”

The sounds of lewd clapping resumed, Griffith’s cock milking every last bit of your pussy’s juices with fervor. There was no turning back now, and he was truly getting at it, without any form of warning or informing you of any discomfort felt. It was like Griffith only cared for his own pleasure and never left crumbs of remorse for your wellbeing. This left you scarred—physically, emotionally, and most significantly, spiritually.

“Mmmmmm……I’m getting quite close.” Griffith smirked as he leaned forward. “What are you going to do about it, princess? Squirm? Run away?”

Your eyes widened at his remark, your body telling you to escape as he was nearing his release. You certainly did not want to carry his child, nor want to do anything with the monster who pounded on you animalistically.

“Noooooo!!!!!!” your voice protested while being muffled by the pillows where your head rested.

“As I said, you’ll take whatever’s been given to you. Now….”

It wasn’t long before your body betrayed you. You felt your climax approaching despite being against the thought of Griffith fucking you. Subconsciously, you fucked back, trying to get Griffith’s cock deep in you before you could feel his fluids leaking straight from your soaked cunt.

Three.

Two.

One.

Your moans and grunts filled the pillow, adding to its warmth while Griffith bit down your neck out of extreme pleasure. His thrusts sped up as he began to feel ropes of cum shooting itself inside you before pulling out. And the feeling was mutually GOOD. You let out a groan as your muscles relaxed, Griffith moaning as his cum began to leak out from your newly filled cunt. You were soaking wet and drenched in sweat as Griffith stayed inside you for long.

You were now marked as his. You didn’t know what to do at this point as you were deflowered after your coronation day.

“Sleep well, princess. Provided you are to raise a child from our time together, just let me know. We can build a kingdom where you could rule by my side.”

You couldn’t respond, which prompted Griffith to flip your body back to lying on your back. It was truly a tiresome night, filled with intensity and passion as Griffith stole everything from you.

You just never stood a chance.

Your eyes suddenly admitted defeat, staring up at Griffith as he looked down at you with a look of an angel. He was charming, so to speak, but heavily dedicated to what he promised to achieve.

And he achieved it.

He achieved his dream.

[virgo-mess]

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

[karatekels]

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

---

Eye of the Storm

---

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!

[gamblersdoll]

I want more about Guts and reader 😩😩😩

What if Nerd confronted Guts about his jealousy of Griffith?

I mean, she has a right to know the whole story after all, but I don't think Guts will be happy because of her curiosity

no cw or much triggers, car talks and slight feelings being mentioned. (mentions of death and alcohol.

“why did you do the thing you did.” you asked blankly, staring at the road from the windshield. you folded your arms, tapping your foot.

“because i can? did you not like it?” he asked, looking to you, stopping the car.

“no– its not that, but why did you face-time griffith to show us having sex?” you asked again, pressing on the question. “why did you show him us having that moment?”

he doesnt answer at first, only rolling his eyes at first.

“… are you jealous—“

“i will fuck you up.” he turns to look at you, there is no hostility from him, you could tell he wasnt serious about it though. you knew he’d never put his hands on a woman.

“so what is it?” you ask, getting closer to him.

he sighs, looking out the windshield and bouncing his knee as he pulled up to a parking space and parking. he pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling out his nose heavily. beats of silence pass, and you sigh yourself, looking out the window into the empty parking space.

“i hate him for what he did.” he starts, running his fingers through his hair. you look to him, patiently. “he’s a selfish drunk driver who got my friends killed and didn’t give not one fuck about it.”

your heart somewhat breaks, hearing the story. “we had gotten in a fight and i stopped talking to him. next thing you know, my friends were dead, and the girl i originally wanted? he starting fuckin’ with her and then ruined her.”

you knew who he was talking about, the story clicking and you sat silently.

“its not a jealousy thing, its me getting my get back.” he looked to you, “heard he had a thing for you or something and he had wanted to talk to you, or date, whatever the hell.” he chuckled defeatedly, shaking his head. “so, we linked up, and we fucked. just how griffith hurt me, i hurt him back.”

“so.. i was just a tool to get back at him?” you ask, almost defensive and getting somewhat hurt. he snapped his head to you, anger plastered on his face.

“when in the fucking hell did i say that?” he asks, oh he was pissed now. he breathes again, deeply. he looks back to you. “for a nerd, you seem to not understand what the hell i say.” he rolls his eyes again, leaning on his elbow digging into the arm rest. “you werent some object i used to get back at him. no, not that.”

that.. was some what reassurance to you.

“then what was i?”

a beat of silence goes again, him tapping the accelerator. “i.. i dont know how to explain it.” he says, “but its not something casual.” he states, looking to you again. “better question. do you fuck anyone else?”

you furrow your eyebrows, looking around the car. “uhh.. its just you?” you question, why did it matter?

“good. how it should be.” guts says, looking at the steering wheel. “any other questions you got ‘fer me, nerd slut?” he side eyes, a smirk on his face.

you ponder, then it clicks. you swallow thickly, prepared to be embarrassed and maybe lead on. “do.. you have some sort of attraction for me?” you asked, chipping at the fingernail polish.

a boisterous laughter erupts from the man, then he turned from you. “attraction?” he questions, mocking you.

“well– crush?”

“crush?”

“guts do you like me or some shit?!” you felt regret for cursing at him. especially yelling at him. he laughs again, taking his right arm and cupping your chin to turn and look at him.

he gets closer to your face, not too close, but close. “im not telling you a damn thing, nerdy cumdump.” he snickers.

you swallow thickly again, ears and face heating up. you see him get closer to your face, lips almost touching. he turns head as if he were to kiss you, you closing your eyes and preparing for him to suckle on your tongue.

he chuckles a bit under his breath, and he pulls away. a part of you died.

“not yet, nerd. gotta earn that prize.” you pout hearing that, and he squishes your cheeks as he furrows his eyebrows. “no pouting either, nerdwhore.”

[dollwrites]

: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.”

[kurokawaia]

❛ His Visits ❜

GoldenAge!Griffith X fem!princess!Reader

| YANDERE THEMES (?) | NSFW |

WC; 1.7k + | !MDNI! | TW/CW; reader is implied to be charlottes sister!! use of '{Y/n}', yandere themes, possessive behaviour, fab!reader, smut, piv, no protection, breeding (?), use of 'sir', use of 'princess', sensation play (?), touch restrictions + more

SYNOPSIS; Griffith has been annoyed by whatever has happened between the Hawks, and no matter what happens, how he relieves that stress, he always comes to you. His pretty little princess. His tool to use in not only stress relief but to gain power.

m.list | berserk m.list

As I lay there in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through my chamber window, a faint rustling outside caught my attention. My heart quickened. Griffith. He always came to me this way, slipping into my room.

I held my breath as he gracefully landed on the plush carpet. There was something undeniably captivating about him, something that drew me in even as it set my nerves on edge.

"Hello, my dear," he murmured, his voice like silk, sending shivers down my spine. His eyes, locked onto mine, and I couldn't tear my gaze away.

I tried to muster a response, but words failed me in his presence. There was an intensity to him, a darkness lurking beneath his charming exterior that both terrified and fascinated me.

Griffith moved closer, his every step deliberate, as if he were savoring the anticipation of what was to come. His hand reached out, brushing against my cheek with a tenderness that belied the possessive gleam in his eyes.

"You're mine," he whispered, his breath hot against my skin. "Only mine."

I wonder about why his words were so openly possessive.

Someone had said something to him.

A chill ran down my spine, but a part of me couldn't deny the twisted thrill that surged through me at his words. His obsession with me was palpable, suffocating, yet I found myself drawn to it, to him, like a moth to a flame.

And as he leaned in, his lips inches from mine, I knew that resistance was futile. In Griffith's world, there was no room for anything but his desires, and I was helplessly ensnared in his web of darkness and obsession.

Even though our relationship isn't permitted, I couldn't help it.

Griffith catches my hand before I make contact with his chest and guides it up to his neck. He finishes closing the distance between us, bringing us chest to chest, he kisses me and I forget anything else but getting him inside me as quickly as possible.

He lifts me, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The new position has his cock nearly lined up perfectly where I need him, but he moves before I can lose my mind enough to take advantage. We fell down to the bed, inciting a out of breath huff from my throat.

My need is an all-consuming thing that’s been building since the moment I laid eyes on him and I knew that he needed me as well. was his queen in his eyes, even though I am truly a princess he needed my status to become a prince himself.

Griffiths reputation was the 'falcon of light'. We were perfect for eachother, no matter what he will do to me, I will always be his stepping stone.

He takes my hands and guides them up to the headboard. “Keep them here," Griffith mumbled against my neck.

“Griffith.” I’m panting as if I’ve run a great distance. “Please. I want to touch you.”

“You shall do as I say, princess,” he repeats and gives my wrists a squeeze and he didn't need to say it again, I’m already nodding, I'll listen to him, forever and always.

Griffith lifted the pale pink nightgown up my hips, his cold hands dragging up the sides of my body causing me to arch my back into his touch. A breathy sigh left the confines of my mouth at the tingling sensation that he left behind. He pulled the nightgown over my head and trailed kisses below my ear to my collar bone.

He moved off my body to my dismay and stripped down his armour, revealing his pale, milky skin I've seen many times before. Griffith snuck into my chambers more than often. He took his time peeling the metal and fabric underneath off him and it made me tremble, I needed him so bad.

Griffith finally shifts back to kneel between my spread thighs. His front is in a somewhat of a shadow casted by the fire burning and crackling from the fireplace, but I have the feeling that he can see me in detail from the moonlight through the windows.

He cups my breasts, but he doesn’t linger long before he slides down my body and presses an openmouthed kiss to the sensitive spot just below my belly button. Content sighs left my mouth as my hands disobeyed his orders and entangled into his hair.

And then he’s at my pussy. His breath shudders out against my clit as if he’s just as affected by this moment as I am. Maybe more so.

“Your hands, {Y/n},” Griffith hummed against my clit causing a moan to slip out my mouth. "Remove them, or I'll bind them together."

I grip the sheets above my head unwillingly as he continued his advances to my clit and fight to stay still. “Please, Sir Griffith, take me."

I just want him.

He drags his tongue over my entrance. The only warning I got from was the tightening grip he had on my thigh got constrictive. There is no savoring, no teasing, no tempting me. He goes after me like he’ll never get this chance again.

Each time I exhaled sounded more like a pleasured sob. I can’t think, can’t move, can’t do anything but obey his order to hang on and take the pleasure he has rising with every movement of his tongue. I start shaking and can’t stop.

“Sir Griffith,” I moaned out.

He doesn’t respond, just keeps up the same movements that have desire coiling tighter and tighter through me. It’s too good. I want it to last. He sucks my clit hard into his mouth and pushes two fingers into me.

I come so hard, it feels like every system is shutting down. It’s as if that orgasm took his edge off because he takes his time now, dragging his mouth over my stomach, kissing the curves of my breasts.

I’m still spinning, but each touch, combined with the weight of his body on mine, slowly draws me back to earth. I lick my lips.

“Griffith?”

He pauses. “Princess.”

“Let me touch you, please.”

His breath shudders out against my neck causing my to shiver, he hooked his arm under one of my thighs lifted my leg up beside him.

“You are touching me.”

“I didn't mean like that,” I huffed as I shivered under the touch of his bare skin touching my own and his lips making wet sucks across my breasts.

I don’t release the sheets from my grasp, I didn't want to anger him.

I knew something was bothering him, he was annoyed at something, that's the one of the reasons he comes to see me, he uses my body and I let him without complaint because I want him so badly.

This is only sex, an act that can be simmered down to its basic components. I desire him, so naturally I want to touch him. I don’t want this to stop, so of course I won’t disobey his order. Except it doesn’t feel that simple. Griffith is very intentionally hiding from me.

“Griffith, please. I want to help you."

He hesitates so long, he doesn't move after his lips unlatched from my skin, he’s going to deny me again. He muttered something incoherent and reached over my head to take one of my hands and bring it down to press against his chest, and then repeats the motion with my other hand. The skin is too smooth in some places, even though there were scars, they felt smooth.

In the hushed silence of my chamber, I don't utter a single word as I trail my fingertips down Griffith's chest, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin. His breath hitches, but he remains unnervingly still, his eyes fixated on me with a possessive intensity that sends a thrill down my spine.

With deliberate slowness, I arch up to meet his lips, a silent agreement passing between us. Words are unnecessary in this moment of tangled desire and unspoken understanding. Griffith's presence is both intoxicating and suffocating, his possessive tendencies swirling around us like a dangerous whirlpool.

Griffith lifts one leg to rest over his shoulder as he kneels between my thighs. I don’t have time to comment because half a breath later, he’s inside me. He sheaths himself to the hilt and we exhale in tandem. Griffith barely gives me a second to adjust before he starts fucking me. Long, thorough strokes that have me completely pinned to the bed.

He lowers himself and brings up my other leg in the same position as the other, my legs being pressed to my upper body while Griffiths weight held down. Griffith adjusts his angle and picks up his pace, sending pleasure rising in a wave that I can’t hold back.

“Oh, please. Don’t stop,” I whined. Words slip from my lips, forming into his name, over and over again. He leans down, bending my body to his will, and claims my mouth as I come.

His strokes get rougher, less even, and then he’s following me over the edge, his warmth spills inside me and I whimper against his mouth. My bones turn liquid even as I fight not to break the kiss. It’s gone from fierce to something gentle, almost loving. As if he’s telling me without words how pleased he is with me. It’s not something I would have thought I needed before now, but it settles a jagged piece in my chest.

Griffith finally pulls away. “Don’t move.”

I lay there, spent and breathless, the aftermath of our encounter leaving me feeling both exhilarated and unnerved. His touch still lingered on my skin, a reminder of the intensity of his advances.

"You're mine," he whispered, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver down my spine.

I watched in silence as he dressed, his movements precise and deliberate, betraying none of the tumultuous emotions that had gripped us moments before.

Then he left again, leaving me.

Do not steal, copy, modify, etc Reblogs and likes are appreciated

m.list | berserk m.list

comment if you would like to become apart of the 'berserk' taglist, you can ask to be removed at any time :))

[jmaxsword]

The thought of Guts on top of her, deep inside her pussy, thrusting into her oh so sweetly put a HUGE smile on her face. Baby girl teared up thinking about that dick. Like she's so THRISTY OMG.

[peetaspenguin]

hunger games edit

[psych0cherry]

1×1 M/F PR partner!

Hey guys! I'm 18 years old and looking for a partner (Man or woman, it doesn't matter.) to write RP stories (Romance with an engaging plot and story) in anime style! I have several OCs from different anime universes, with fascinating and creative personalities. I'd like to share a list of anime I'd love to use as a backdrop, as well as characters I'd like someone to play as a couple. However, if you prefer to play another character, we can talk about it.

I appreciate stories with a hint of masochism and dark romance, with cruel paths and tragic endings. While that's my preference, I also love writing cute things as long as there's a good plot. I have absolutely no triggers. I like to write longer texts, but I can adapt to your writing style! While I can also write obscenities, I prefer not to limit myself to just that.

First, I would like to mention that I am Brazilian and I am using Google Translate to communicate in English. However, my writing in Portuguese is correct, so I believe that the translation does not have many errors.

Here's a list of fandoms and characters I'd love for you to play, if you're interested in the dynamic!

Kimetsu no Yaiba:

- Douma.

- muzan.

- Obanai.

- akaza.

Berserk:

- Griffith.

Diabolik Lovers:

- Honestly, any of them.

- But I have a preference for Laito, Subaru, Azusa.

Naruto:

- Neji.

- Deidara.

Danganronpa:

- Nagito.

- Kokichi.

- Byakuya.

- Chihiro.

- Fuyuhiko.

Inuyasha:

- Inuyasha lol.

Kamisama Kiss:

- literally every character.

Tokyo Revengers:

- Mikey.

- Izana.

- Ran.

- Sanzu.

Angels of Death:

- Zack.

I accept suggestions too!

I can write lgbt, gay or lesbian couples, it doesn't matter, but you would have to help me a little with that.

If you're interested, like this post and I'll DM you. You can also send me a DM through my blog or contact me directly on Discord. :)

My Discord name: g0thyz_

[oc-heaven]

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."