#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.”

[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

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Eye of the Storm

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Terry’s POV:

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

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

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

Christmas Eve.

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

Alone.

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

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

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

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

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

… Or was it?

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

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

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

Someone like you.

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

It was time to expand his dynasty.

Reader’s POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well, now don’t you feel foolish.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All in all, he’s a real Silver Fox.

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

“Where does this lead to?”

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

“Oh, I don’t think I’m allowed to –”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Terry’s POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’ll do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Provided it was first approved by him, of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, Mr. Silver.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reader’s POV:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Terry’s POV:

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

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

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

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

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

“What?!” you croak.

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

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

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

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

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

“But… my family…”

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’d have you pregnant before you landed.

Perhaps the snow wasn’t so bad after all.

---

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

[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.”

[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

[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."

[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_

[virgo-mess]

Can you make a terry silver x fem reader smutshot based off the song "one of the girls" by the weeknd?

Thanks for the Request!

And I've finally got the first part of this request done! Aiming for two parts but it could end up being three depending on how the next part goes! This request ended up CK Terry adjacent I hope that's okay. I've also taken some creative liberties with this song, but I will do my best to incorporate most of the pre chorus in the next part or parts ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Broken Spirit: Chapter 1

TW: Stalking mostly, Terry being hotly deranged, its implied reader is also lowkey deranged though a match made in heaven essentially, and that's mostly it for this part. I know it's short, but I hope you enjoy!

😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉😉

Terry’s POV

A haze of purple hues, pulsating strobe lights, and wispy lines of thin gray smoke swirl around the crowded dance floor of the Hollywood bar, Warwick. The thrum of wavey synths filled Terry Silver’s ears while his incisive blue eyes surveyed the room in languid motions from his spot against the bar wall having just ventured from the classier, more adult lounge upstairs. He gazed at the drunk, strung-out LA clubbers with a certain degree of distained apathy. He hadn’t been inside a club or had a line of coke since the 80s, a rather contentious phase in the older billionaire’s life. To be quite honest he didn’t enjoy the hubs of the LA youth’s night life anymore now, in his graying age, then he did back then. Now a club like this only served as a bitter reminder of the days John Kreese raged through Terry’s lavish LA life like a tornado. Only to leave it in shambles just as suddenly, even all these years later the thought left a bitter lump forming in the back of his throat.

What’s passed has past, of course, as far as Terry was concerned John Kreese no longer existed. John was as much a ghost of lifetimes past as the cocaine fueled daze of Terry’s dim, but still flickering empires of addiction. Once an addict, always an addict is what they say after all. It only took Terry over a decade to replace that ghostly powder with something else, something corporeal, in all its lovely delight and there it was now. Terry couldn’t help the delighted somewhat bashful way his lips curled upwards when his eyes finally spotted you. There you stood, glittering in a hazy sea of strung-out blurs adorned in the black miniskirt and silver halter top. He’d been moving that outfit to the front of your cluttered closet during his routine visits to your empty condo while you sunbathed next to the complex’s pool in the most conservative one-piece swimsuit you had. Terry swiped all the tiny bikinis you owned on his first inconspicuous venture into your empty bedroom, the evidence of which now lay neatly folded in his dresser drawer. Normally he’d work his way up to petty thievery, but it was a necessary risk to take. How else could he ensure outside eyes didn’t linger on what he silently declared was his, the moment he’d laid eyes on it…

Terry met you exactly a year ago last week at some trendy art gala in Beverly Hills. He’d stumbled upon you, sitting on the terrace rail in a fetching cream gown almost as if you were contemplating flying off into the starry night sky like an enchanting swan. But in one hasty conversation Terry came to realize you were more akin to a black mare, a free spirit immune to his charm. A beautiful yet fully untamable party girl with a captivating aura of intrigue surrounding you. How you ended up at a sophisticated gala was beyond him in the last year he’d learn night clubs and house parties in the Hills was your prerogative at least when you weren’t holed up in your swanky corner office. You kept a surprising balance between work and play, a balance Terry wouldn’t quite achieve till his early to mid-forties and here you were mastering it just shy of thirty. That steely ambition was all it really took for Terry Silver to become infatuated with you. Though the conversation you gave him that evening was equal in measure to the passive niceties one would share with a cashier at the grocery store. Thus began a yearlong game of cat and mouse.

For months after the gala, you appeared uninterested in him despite all the “chance” run ins and “spontaneous” cocktail invites Terry meticulously sent your way. Terry tried to be “discreet” about his yearning for you at first, even as tedious as it was. That was way before he realized you were merely making a game out of the chase at his expense like the wild mare you were at heart. Terry caught on to your coy little game during one of his chance run ins with you on Rodeo Drive. Intrigued alarm bells were ringing his head when you suspiciously delighted him with trivial small talk over lunch for an entire afternoon, up until then you’d been incredibly frivolous. Terry considered it a win if he was fortunate enough to hold you up for an hour or so on your weekly trip to the grocery store. He had basically made it impossible for you to avoid him or sneak away anyway, he all but glued himself to your side as you rolled up and down routine aisles of produce. Never questioning why he’d strayed so far from Malibu to linger by your side amongst pints of Ben and Jerrys in west Hollywood. He had thought perhaps you hadn’t noticed but it was quite the contrary, you had noticed.

It struck him over lunch that day on Rodeo drive when you nonchalantly let it slip you and your friend Bea would be attending one of the four raves in LA that weekend. You had the gall to tack on a cute “You’re welcome to join us” with a coy smile etched on your plump lips and mischief swirling in your big eyes. Terry couldn’t help but smirk, taking in your thick fluttering lashes. He found your very first attempt at lying to him right through your pearly little teeth surprisingly endearing. He had already seen the phrase “Napa Valley with Bea” elegantly scribbled in pink ink on the calendar you had sitting on the desk in your home office.  A million thoughts raced through his mind at that very moment.

Part of him wanted to call you out on your lie right then and use it as an excuse to “lure” you into the back his Ferrari, whisking you back to his Malibu mansion whether you wanted to or not was beyond the point. The image of you stripped bare and bound on your knees in front of his California king, begging for forgiveness and mercy among other things was quite tempting after all. But what would it get him in the end? He could fuck you hard and raw until you were incapable of forming coherent thoughts or words let alone, running away from him. You certainly wouldn’t be out roaming the droves of sordid LA raves you seemed most privy to into the early hours of the morning if he had. But breaking in a rouge mare was no easy feat. Regardless of whether you break a horse in hard or soft, it requires time, patience, good groundwork, and attention to detail. Luckily, Terry Silver was an expert at all of the above in his greying age…

So, after weighing his options he decided to take you up on your coy little game. He could play along and let his prized mare think she had the reigns for quite some time, and he had. Terry waited an entire day before coincidentally running into you and Bea on your oh so, “last minute “, Napa Valley getaway. Your aura was more aloof than usual that day, but your big eyes gave away your dumbfounded wonder when he strode into the hotel lobby like some aplomb show pony. And that dumbfounded, endearing sort of wonder swirled in those big eyes every night Terry managed to track down his unbroken little mare since. Surely tonight would be no different once you finally spotted him lingering coolly in the back of yet another lively LA bar for the hundredth time in the past few weeks. But, most unbeknownst to you, his prized untamed mare, tonight would be very different… It was finally time for, Terry Silver to finish breaking you in properly and he knew just how to do it. He’d been planning it meticulously for weeks now, the perfect corral for his free spirit was set, decked out quite lavishly and sat out on the Malibu beachfront. Now, all Terry had to do was get you there, which shouldn’t be too hard, he clocked your subtle jealous tendencies when you found him engaging Bea in polite albeit meaningless conversation at some bar in the Valley last week, when you’d finally found your way back from the bathroom. It was quick, a mere flicker in those big eyes of yours in the warm bar lighting but it was enough for Terry to perceive a degree of unspoken but requited loyalty on your part. That was all the proof he really needed that you were finally ready to let go of this frivolous game. To finally let him “ride you”, metaphorically speaking, whether you knew it consciously now or not. If you didn’t know it now, you’d know it by Friday evening Terry was sure.  After all, if there was one thing Terry Silver knew how to do without a doubt, it was throwing a party….

“They don’t know that I love you…

I broke you just to own you…”

Terry pushed himself off the wall, his lips still curled in a smug predatory smirk as he eyed you from afar. Your doe-like eyes looked bored while they surveyed your surroundings quite pointedly as Bea rambled in your ear about something trivial, most assuredly. If it weren’t for the hordes of ogling eyes from young vulture-like reprobates on you at present, Terry would be keen to watch you like this all night. Those doe eyes gave way the fact they’d been looking for him for quite a while in all their feigned innocence, silently begging for him to swoop in and save you from your untamed proclivities. Begging to be broken…

“You’ll get what you’re begging for soon enough, sweetheart…” Terry cooed under his breath, letting his legs carry him to your shimmering corner of the cluttered dance floor. He knew ignoring you in that little black skirt and silver halter top was going to be hard. Terry had never longed to touch anything the way he longed to touch you but ignoring his little prize was a necessary measure to ensure you’d show up at his mansion hot and ready. So, Terry straightened out his Tom Ford blazer and ran a large hand through his nearly silver hair coolly. His eyes bore into you intensely enough for you to finally meet his gaze across a sea of blurred gyrating bodies, everything around him always seemed to fade when you were around. Every high he had in his youth failed in comparison to the one his ethereal free spirit provided him, how he lived without you all these was beyond him.  But that would all be remedied come Friday, he’d make up for every ounce of lost time…

Terry closed in on you and Bea, feigning a polite smile, he watched as a dusty pink blush spread across your cheeks. Your plump lips fought the urge to curl into one of your coy little smiles as you eyed him up with dilated pupils. The rapid rise and fall of your ample breasts made you look like a dog in heat, Terry had to bite back an ominous chuckle at the sight of you before him.

“Good evening, fancy running into you here” Terry said charmingly, he finally peeled his steely blue eyes off your curvy form and let them settle on Bea with a coquettish aura. Bea was the type of girl he would’ve dated at the height of his coke heydays. She was the hallow type of pretty you’d find on the cover of Vouge with a personality to match or lack thereof, the type of girl he’d take to a charity gala and nothing. You on the other hand were quite pretty but in a petite cute, ingenue beauty type of way that most people wouldn’t find intimidating. You made up for that with your exuberant, quick witted, occasionally sarcastic charm.

“Look what the cat dragged in Bea, we’ve been standing in this corner of the dance floor all alone for almost two hours now, did you get lost?” You quipped coyly, Terry saw your signature coy smile twitch on your plump lips out of the corner of his eye and fought the urge to let his eyes stray from Bea. Bea looked up at him before looking at you almost anxiously as she realized he was talking to her, and only her. Terry let the wave of awkward silence stretch on for quite some time, his blue eyes bore into Bea expectantly. Silently urging her to put her dry personality to the side and play along with his little game long enough for him to slip her a meticulous invite.

“Oh, uh, Mr. Silver what brings you to Warwick…” Bea trailed awkwardly, Terry maintained his polite smile though internally he was rolling his eyes. He would trudge through tedious trivial small talk with your snooze box of a friend for you, and only you.

“Oh, you know just out on the town, they have a more intimate lounge just upstairs for us oldies. My friends packed it in early, so I thought I’d come down and see what all you young darlings were buzzing about.” Terry said in the same mildly coquettish tone. He allowed himself to glance at you long enough to catch the way you were adorably grinding your teeth as you glanced between him and Bea with a faux aura of aloofness. Terry fought a giddy smirk as he watched your ample breasts rising and falling faster than they had even a moment ago. You were silently seething already, and he hadn’t even mentioned the party yet.

“Don’t be silly Mr. Silver, you’re not that old, you blend in down here just fine” Bea said still looking incredibly awkward under his gaze. Her brown eyes seemed to be silently pleading with you to save her from whatever was brewing between the three of you right now. Your eyes bore into him, lit up by the hues of flickering lights as a new wave of intensified synths poured through the speakers overhead. If it weren’t for the obnoxious club atmosphere one might say the stare off the pair of you were having was pulled right out of The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly. An exasperated huff escaped you plump lips as you finally turned you seething gaze towards Bea. Terry let his polite smile falter just so, getting the urge his prized filly was gearing up to buck at any moment.

“Don’t be silly Bea, you don’t have to lie to Terrence just because he’s a billionaire. He is that old and he really doesn’t blend in with us young commoners in his Tom Ford blazer now, does he. You know, aside from the fact its 85 degrees outside (29 degrees Celsius 😉)” you said in a biting yet sickly-sweet kind of tone with some attempt at a sinister smirk on your face. And there it was, Terry chuckled under his breath at the pointed usage of his full name you’d be paying for that little jab at his greying age real soon…

“Y/N, that was rude…” Bea muttered to you softly, it was nearly impossible to hear over the blaring of supposed music above them. Terry waved his hand dismissively, pulling an emerald, green envelope with an elegant, gold wax seal out of his blazer pocket before you could respond. Your big eyes swirled with eager curiosity at the sight of the lone invitation clutched in his large hand, Terry did his best not to let such an endearing look dissuade him from the task on hand. He assured himself he could relish such a look in due time as he forced yet another polite smile; he settled his blue eyes on Bea once more.

“That’s quite alright, I’ll be heading back up to my rightful place on the lounge sofa Y/N just as soon as I give Bea this…” Terry said weaponizing the sickly-sweet biting tone you had just used on him with an almost sadistic look in his eyes. Your face fell astronomically though you did your best to play it off with your signature aloof expression, but your eyes appear slightly…glassy as they peered over at the emerald envelope. Honestly, the look in your eyes was enough to have the faintest twinge of guilt bubbling in the older man’s chest, a feeling the coke had numbed for quite some time. “It’ll all be better Friday, sweetheart you’ll see” Terry replayed the thought in his head like a mantra in the brief stretch of silence that lingered in the air.

“Um, what is it…” Bea trailed looking at the letter with a constrained look in her eyes. The twitch of Bea’s hand suggested she wanted to take it, but your sudden withdrawn expression made her hesitate. Terry considered the fact that maybe he was taking this a step too far but how else could he make sure you waltzed into his mansion Friday evening? One split second decision would allow him to both wrap up this tedious small talk foreplay and strike hard with no mercy.

“It’s an invitation to the party I’m hosting Friday evening, I’m willing to give you the details if you accompany me to my rightful place on the lounge sofa” Terry said in a tone that managed to be charming towards Bea and mocking towards you all at once. Bea’s dry expression for once looked dumbfounded, her brown eyes looked between the two of you, equal amounts conflicted. You, however, were gritting your teeth again with a fire a blaze in though big eyes of yours. Terry didn’t fight the urge to smirk, instead he turned and looped an arm with a still dumbfounded Bea and guided her a fair distance through the droves of strung-out blurs on the dance floor. He ignored Bea’s soft cries of protest though he felt her trying her hardest to unloop her stringy arm from his. “Strike first, Strike Hard, No Mercy” a new mantra swirls in Terry’s head and he forces himself to a stop in the middle of the cluttered club floor. He turns to meet doe eyed gaze with a giddy, sadistic smirk that leveled the one he bore in the dojo with the ghost of his lost friend John Kreese all those years ago…

“Oh, Y/N, you’re welcome to join us” the words float out of his mouth tauntingly. The blaze in your eyes dies down just enough for a smirk to curl onto your lips.

“…He knows how to get the best of me

I’m no fool for the world to see

Trade my whole life just to be….”

😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏

[karatekels]

Solar Flare – Prologue

Hey y’all – welcome to the Valek fic that I’ve been wanting to write since all the way back in August of last year! I’ve been polishing up the ideas and developing some new characters (this is my first time writing an OC as a love interest!) as well as looking forward to some returning characters (*eyes Cassandra*), and I’m hoping this will be the fic that gets me back into the writing frame of mind. With that, I hope you enjoy!

Summary: As vampires become a growing problem and the number of Slayers dwindles, the Catholic Church decides to perform another ‘miracle’, attempting to create a weapon that will be able to find the despicable creatures in any and all shadows that they may hide. Similarly to the botched exorcism of Jan Valek, the experimental ceremony that Rose Hanlon undergoes doesn’t go exactly as intended, and she escapes the city with a set of abilities she doesn’t even understand.

TW: [this chapter] relatively vague descriptions of violence and abuse

TW: [for the fic; may change as I write] blood-drinking and other vampirism fun, graphic violence, graphic sex, abduction, abuse, threats

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Solar Flare

Prologue: Syzygy

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From the journal of Father Killian…

July 27th, 1998

We’ve received news that yet another team of Slayers has been decimated, torn apart and massacred just north of Sicily. Our numbers are dwindling like never before, and the clergy have become desperate for a solution. The Diaconate of Monteriggioni has spent countless hours researching, trying to determine a solution that will allow us to hold them off while our numbers return; we need more soldiers to wield God’s Light. The Archbishop has granted permission to use any means necessary to fend off these attacks, and their leading suggestion certainly pushes that permission to the limits of His clemency.

It began with research into the Old Rites. After all, the Primogen of their monstrous ilk, Jan Valek, was a result of a misbegotten exorcism – why not pursue a similar avenue to try to atone for the sins of our past? This train of thought led our scholars to a series of old Germanic texts, the eldest of which preceded vampirism by several decades, and to a binding ritual intended for relics. Such a blessing would allow for relics to be traceable should they be stolen, so that we need not live in fear of losing these precious symbols of our faith. It was one of the youngest parishioners that suggested the ritual be performed on a human, allowing them to seek out evil like a beacon and lead our Slayers right to their nests.

The peak of the Perseid meteor shower in two weeks’ time will be the ideal time to perform the necessary rites according to Father Lorenzo. The Tears of Saint Lawrence returning to Earth every summer is already a celestial blessing, and with the shower’s radiant approaching Cassiopeia more than it has in centuries, this will only strengthen the binding of this blessing to its vessel.

All that remains now is to find one.

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August 10th, 1998

The past days have had Monteriggioni in a frenzy. Staving off attacks, finalizing the plans for the ritual, and finding a vessel… This last step proved by far the most difficult, as they needed to be descended from the Crusaders, grown but not an active Slayer, someone useful for the role but not expendable should things go… awry.

Jeremy Hanlon came to me a week ago with an option, just when we were starting to think that all hope may be lost. Hanlon, a fifth-generation Slayer with both family lines tracing back to the Crusaders, suggested his daughter as the vessel. The young woman, Rose, has long posed a problem within the city’s walls and to her family, rejecting the tenets of our community and refusing to train as a Slayer or to marry a man of similar lineage to continue the bloodline. Hanlon has spent the better part of her lifetime trying to atone for the sins of his daughter, and believes that this opportunity is the road to her salvation as well as our own. Despite the woman’s violent reluctance, we have run out of time to pursue other avenues, and as an unmarried woman, her father has retained custodial rights as is customary with our laws, and has agreed on her behalf.

Fortunately the ceremony is to take place tonight, during the peak of the Perseid shower. The sunset can’t come soon enough; the intensity of her ire rattles the very stones of the vestry in which she is being kept.

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August 16th, 1998

The ceremony was performed, and we have spent a week with the vessel in relative isolation as Rose continues to be… resistant. At the very least, it has allowed us to gradually determine the success of the ritual and the limitations of her new abilities.

On the second day, we were able to use a captured thrall to conduct an experiment, moving the vile creature into the rooms surrounding her own. Without fail, she was able to detect what room the vampling was located in through a feeling she described as an itch that needed scratching. This bodes well for her intended purpose, and it is expected that a more aged or powerful vampire will elicit a stronger sensation, thereby enabling the Slayers to identify the most imminent threat during a pursuit.

A more serious issue arose yesterday. Rose is compelled to obey a direct command from a member of the clergy, as enforced by the use of certain runes during the ceremony, and this has held true for the most part. She will perform simple tasks and answer questions asked of her as instructed, but it would appear that there was a mistranslation with the runes that has led to her obeying vampires as well. The same thrall used for her previous days’ training was brought into her cell to test Rose’s capacity to destroy the foul creatures. Initially she attempted to fight off the compulsion to serve her purpose and exterminate the abomination, but looked to be conceding until the thrall asked her for help.

We lost three good priests last night; she tore into them like they were made of paper. Her strength and speed have definitely been elevated beyond a normal human’s capacity, though not to the level of the vampiric. There is some concern amongst the Scholars that a vampire would be able to supersede our own commands if they knew it would be effective, but if we can make her amenable to our pursuits, it should not pose a legitimate threat in practice.

In the name of the Father, let her soul settle into this new role, so that she may guide us to our Salvation.

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August 19th, 1998

She’s gone. Rose has escaped.

The security tapes showed her clearly trying to commit suicide to no avail – she has been made to endure, after all. Furious, she tore a leg off of the bedframe and pounded her way through the hinges on the door. Further cameras had shown her tearing through the halls and disappearing into the catacombs without a trace.

We have sent for one of the strongest remaining regiments of Slayers from their base in New Mexico; they are our only hope of retrieving Rose so that we may make the necessary adjustments to her blessing and stand a chance against the ever-growing threat of the vampiric race.

Not only do I fear for the vessel and what she represents, but for the girl as well. We cannot be certain that we have seen all of her abilities at work, or identified any newly created weaknesses, and she could be in greater danger than she knows. Should a lesser man of the cloth – or, God forbid, a vampire – stumble upon her and learn of their powers of persuasion over her, I shudder to think of what fate might befall her.

Our Lord works in mysterious ways; let this turn of events be a blessing in disguise.

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Syzygy refers to three celestial bodies appearing in a straight line – In this case, we’ve got Valek, Rose, and Jack!