#like if you say your jaw aches again in that pitiful voice he just might come

[shotmrmiller]

No no no ghost is too big and so is any toy, he only lets you give kitten licks or suck his tip

oh the absolute pleasure he gets from watching you get all bug eyed when he first tugs his pants down. you haven't even given it a go and you're already trying to scurry away- this is as close to paradise as he'll ever get.

ghost's not one to care what anyone thinks of him- if he looks homeless, good. if he's ugly, great. if he's too much, that's just too bad. but the way you hold his cock, like it's going to grow teeth and bite, the way you try to smooth out the warble in your voice as you quietly ask him if you've gotta unhinge your jaw like a snake to get some of it in just might stop his pathetic little heart.

ain't gotta do all tha', luvie, jus' the tip, eh?

[racetowrite]

Work for it

Support a disabled creator

Pairing : Daniel Ricciardo x f!reader x Max Verstappen x Carlos Sainz

Tags : yeah that's right they're all here baby, oral and fingering (f!recieving), unprotected piv (wrap it irl I am begging you), edging, crying during sex, orgasm denial

Word Count : 1.3k

You think that you’re finally wearing the boys down.

Daniel has been at this for hours now, you think, burying himself between your thighs and losing himself like he never wants to leave. He’s fucking incessant when he gets you like this, licking at your cunt until his eyes have glazed over and he’s grinding slowly into the bedsheets. He moans when you tug at his hair, the vibrations from it going up your spine.

“Fuck, Danny, I need-” you moan, your chest heaving with the way Daniel sucks your clit into his mouth, licking at you in a way that has your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Your hips hump into his face, chasing the sensation. “I can’t, fuck, I’m gonna- think I’m gonna-”

He pulls his face away just like that, watching as you shout, your hips grinding into nothing but air as your pleasure and your orgasm dissipate. He holds your thighs apart and just looks at the way you tremble, his eyes wide and a blush high on his face.

“That’s it, darling, so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters, and you grind your teeth together. This is the third time, the third fucking time, he’s done that. Gotten you so close, your body locking up and threatening to fall off that precipice, before he pulls himself away, leaving you with nothing.

It’s fucking maddening, and Daniel just watches, squeezing at his thick cock as it aches between his legs.

“Please, Daniel,” you whine, high pitched and needy. “Need you to let me cum, fuck, please let me cum.” You sound so pitiful, so desperate, that Daniel’s eyes soften at your begging.

“Oh, I know, love,” he murmurs, sliding a thick finger up the seam of your cunt. “Need it so bad, yeah? It’s okay, darling, I’ll let you cum,”

You nearly sob with relief when he leans back down and sucks your clit into his mouth, sinking two fingers into your entrance. He’s relentless, playing with your clit with his tongue, nudging the tips of his fingers into a little spot inside of you that makes you want to cry. Your orgasm surges back up inside you without warning, and you can’t fucking breathe.

You brace yourself for him to do it again, to pull away when you start babbling, “Gonna cum, fuck, please let me cum,” between heaving moans. But Daniel doesn’t let up, doesn’t slow down, and you start to smile with the fact that he’s actually going to let you have it this time without pulling away.

Except, he does pull away.

You cry out as Daniel’s head shoots up from between your legs again, but you can only watch as his eyes roll to the back of his head, his jaw clenched.

Max looks up at you from the sofa and decides to come between your thighs, a cocky little smirk playing at his lips. 

“Oh baby,” he says, and his voice is gruff, dark, so unlike Daniel’s. “You didn’t think it’d be that easy, did you?” You gasp for air as Max sinks three fingers into you, and he grins.

“So pretty when you’re almost fucking there, sweetheart,” Max murmurs, and he leans close to brush his lips against yours in a whisper of a kiss.

“Whining, pleading for us to just let you cum. Daniel was going to let it happen, put an end to your misery, but me?” He fucks his hand into you so hard that you choke on a moan. “I like seeing you squirm.”

And the process starts over again.

Max fucks you on his fingers without a hint of remorse, driving into your g-spot in violent, debilitating thrusts that have you reeling. You get so close so many fucking times, over and over and over again, your body drawn tight with the overwhelming need to cum. You beg, plead, gripping the bedsheets so hard that you fear you might tear them.

But Max. Doesn’t. Stop.

Every time he feels it, that tell-tale tightening of your body, hears the way you start to go quiet as you focus on finally falling over that precipice, he pulls his hand out of you without any finesse, any mercy.

Around the third time he does it, you really do start to cry, sobbing for Max to finally let you cum, that you need it so bad it hurts.

“Can’t- it’s too much, Max, please, please let me, need it so ba-ad,” you hiccup through your moans, tears bubbling up in your eyes and spilling down your cheeks.

Max leans down and kisses them away, cooing at you as he grinds the calloused tips of his fingers into the most sensitive parts of your cunt.

“Okay, sweet girl, I’ve got you, come on,” he murmurs, his thumb coming up to press against your clit, grinding little circles into it and sending you fucking flying. “Don’t cry, baby, I’ll take care of you.” 

“Thank you, thank you, thank-” you’re in the middle of thanking him, practically tasting your orgasm on your desperate tongue, when Max’s eyes roll back, and his hand rips away from your cunt.

“No,” you whine, choking on your tears as your body quakes beneath his, “no, no, please.” You’re practically hysterical, desperate for it after so fucking long, after Daniel and Max have shredded you apart.

Carlos couldn’t take it anymore.

“Princesa,” Carlos grins down above you, unmistakable with his dark gaze and a smile that is purely fucking primal, feral. “If you think you’re going to cum on anything but my cock, you’re wrong.”

And you can only gasp at Carlos notches the thick, leaking head of his cock against your gaping entrance, and shoves himself in to the hilt.

You scream, your back bending into an obscene arch as he fills you up so perfectly. 

“Carlos” you sob through labored breaths, “I can’t, it’s been, I don’t know how long it’s been, please, please. I need to cum, fuck, ‘m begging.”

“Oh, my beautiful girl,” Carlos croons, “Of course you can.”

Of course you can. Like you’ve had permission all along, like it was that easy. Like you haven’t been broken apart by each of them, over and over again, reduced to a sobbing, shaking mess beneath their body.

He’s only one, two thrusts in, but you’re coming anyway, screaming with it as tears flow down your cheeks. Your entire body locks up with it, your cunt squeezing tight around Carlos’s cock in rhythmic pulses that have him clutching painfully at your hips. Sweet, sweet relief fills your body, like water in a desert, the sun after a hurricane. It’s fucking bliss, incomparable, absolutely debilitating.

“Mierda, that’s fucking beautiful, fuck,” Carlos growls, and he presses into your body so deep you think you can feel it in your stomach, and pumps you full of his cum. “Good girl,” you hear him mutter, “Good fucking girl,” before darkness grows into the edges of your vision and quickly swallowing it whole, leaving you to fall into pitch black oblivion.

When you finally come back to yourself, you feel warm, safe. It’s no surprise to you, since you usually feel that way in this flat, in this bed.

“I didn’t fucking kill her, Daniel” you hear Carlos growl.

“She’s breathing just fine. And don’t act innocent, you and I both know that you worked her just as hard as Max and I did.”

“And you all better pamper me,” you croak, still refusing to open your eyes, “As soon as I take a nap.”

“Hermosa,” you hear Carlos breathe, and you feel his lips press to your forehead. You crack open your eyes to meet Carlos’s gaze, his eyes wide and more worried than he usually lets on. “Are you alright? You- you passed out.” he asks, and you giggle.

“Never been better,” you murmur. “But any of you try that shit again, it’s no sex for a fucking year.”

Carlos grins in that roguish way that makes your heart flutter. "As if you could resist any of us for that long, mi vida."

[muqingfx]

can you write mu qing being nursed back to health against his wishes please. he would never admit it even if it meant dying (cough.. mt tonglu lava scene.. cough) so it's what he deserves

anon didnt specify for ships, so i did what any normal person would do. four of them. whether its platonic or romantic is totally up to you!

"Let. Me," Mu Qing struggles against Xie Lian's vice-like grip with gritted teeth "go." He swings his fist to land a blow on his friend's jaw in an attempt to break free, but his punch is deterred by yet another nuisance.

“Feng Xin,” Mu Qing hisses, vision still blurry. If it weren't for Xie Lian’s hold on him, Mu Qing would have shamefully collapsed head-first into the dirt.

“Mu Qing,” he hears Xie Lian say softly, “you just need some rest.”

“You don't get to strangle me!” Mu Qing retaliates, kicking and screaming like a child.

From beside him, he hears Feng Xin click his tongue. “We’re not fucking strangling you. And if you weren't so fucking difficult–”

“Just leave me alone!” Mu Qing finally manages to shove them both away. Are his eyes playing tricks on him again or is he swaying on his feet? “Why can't you just… let me be?” he catches himself asking before tumbling to the ground.

“Bloody rascal, how on earth did this happen?”

“I think they used a spell to weaken his body. His spiritual powers are still depleted–if might take a while for it to rise up again on it’s own, San Lang.”

“Then, what does gege suggest we do?”

Mu Qing winces when something wet presses against his abdomen. His eyes flutter open, yet all he sees is solid darkness.

“He’s waking up!” he hears Feng Xin say. “Mu Qing, can you hear me.”

Of course I can hear your, oaf, is what Mu Qing tries to say, but his voice catches at his throat.

A cold palm presses against his forehead and Mu Qing wants nothing more than to slap it off.

“He’s burning up.” Hua Cheng. The hand moves further down his face, fingertips brushing against his eyelids. There’s a brief moment of utter vulnerability, as if Mu Qing is giving up his soul for another. But then his vision clears, and he sees three very different expressions on familiar faces.

Xie Lian’s temple is creased, his mouth downturned as he stares at Mu Qing’s face. And upon glancing down, he sees Xie Lian’s hand squeezing his own. A face of unhidden concern; pity. Something dark brews inside him as he processes that–being a damsel in distress, the General of the Southwest. Ridiculous.

Feng Xin is kneeling on the mat beside him, a damp cloth in his hand. His thick brows are furrowed as he scowls at Mu Qing. Strands of brunette hair fall over his face, his usually somewhat-neat bun now undone. He looks tired, annoyed. At Mu Qing. For what, wasting his time? For being so infirm and demanding attention? Nobody asked him to take care of Mu Qing, that imbecile.

And then there's the beast of a man, Hua Cheng. Hands folded across his chest, he looks as nonchalant as ever. His eyes sear into Mu Qing, bored and degrading.

Mu Qing feels the headache he had woken up with aggravate.

“Why am I being gawked at like some pathetic critter?” It comes out coarse and rough, his throat still aching and sore.

“Pathetic, indeed,” Hua Cheng sneers.

A knot tightens in his gut, the humiliation finally settling in. Gathering the strength to do so, Mu Qing lifts himself so his elbows support his weight. A sharp pain surges through him and both Xie Lian and Feng Xin scramble to grasp his arms, preventing the demeaning fall.

“Careful, Mu Qing,” Xie Lian chides. His fingers dig into Mu Qing’s skin–wait, where are his clothes?!

As if reading his mind, Feng Xin says, “Your clothes are ruined. Covered in fucking blood. We took it off so we could dress your wounds. Which are fucking bad, by the way.”

“Fuck you guys, that doesn't mean you can strip me of my robes. I’m not a doll.”

He feels Xie Lian’s hold on him weaken, a flicker of hurt passing through his eyes–did Mu Qing go too far?

“I don't mean–I… that's not. What I. You know. I’m–”

The bed dips on his right, and Mu Qing trails off. From his peripheral vision, he sees Hua Cheng taking off his own upper robe.

“If you're so uncomfortable,” he says casually, “you can put this on, general.” The ghost king drapes his red upper robe over Mu Qing’s shoulder, and his touch is so gentle, so tender, Mu Qing actually trembles.

“Cold?” he asks, right into Mu Qing’s ear. Mu Qing’s head tips forward to bypass Hua Cheng’s warm–how is it warm when he’s dead–breath. When he glances up, he locks eyes with Xie Lian, who pouts with his eyes wide like a deer’s.

“We’re not strangers.” his palms cup Mu Qing’s cheeks, and he finds himself leaning towards the touch. “We’re your friends.”

“Yeah, jackass. Stop pushing us away with every inch of your fucking life. It’s fucking annoying,” Feng Xin just has to add.

Mu Qing turns his head to glare, but Feng Xin smiles like a maniac instead of glaring right back. It’s fond and adoring and completely unlike him.

Hua Cheng scoffs from beside him. “It’s really not that hard to let yourself be spoiled, just for a little bit. You're too hard on yourself, Xuan Zhen.”

“Fucking hate to agree with Hua Cheng,” he hears Feng Xin mutter.

“Ugh…” Mu Qing hides his face with his hands, embarrassed. He’s sure he looks nothing less than a tomato.

Xie Lian’s chuckle fills the air and Mu Qing thinks that maybe this isn't so bad.

This is nice.

He might not want this again, or he definitely will want this again.

[hiskillingjar]

say you're mine, only mine

Relationship: Ren Hana/OC, Fox/OC Rating: Explicit Contains: Possessive Behaviour, Praise, Groping, Beginnings of Oral Sex Length: 1300+ words

a very kind request from @decafdoodlez for her oc, Rina, thank you so much!

my fic commissions are open, so if you want a fic of your own, enquire within!

"I don't really understand what I've done wrong,"

Marina sat with nervous caution as Fox stood before her, his arms folded and his tail wagging curtly behind him. The gesture was almost as curt as his dour expression, pulling his features down, his sharp eyes boring a hole straight through her.

"Really?" Fox replied with an eye-roll. "You're really going to sit there and play stupid with me, Rina?"

"I'm not playing stupid," She replied, her voice calm despite her nerves, knowing not to move in her seat or try to follow his body as he began to idly pace around the couch. She was a good pet, a well-trained pet, even if he was questioning it now. "I just don't know. If you tell me, I'll know."

"...So, you're really not going to admit to it and earn yourself a lighter sentence, hm?" Fox asked, his voice light but his eyes dark and full of menace as he stared her down. "Or are you so clueless that you didn't realise how much trouble you caused me?"

"Trouble?" She blinked doe-wide, innocent, lavender eyes towards him when he stopped in front of her again, his posture towering above hers, though she never appeared afraid of him. "What trouble, sir?"

His hard expression faltered at her unwavering subservience towards him, which made his instant grimace all the more harsh and hard to make up for it. He might have had a soft spot for pets who knew their place underneath him, but he wouldn't be compelled into pity and sympathy, just because she was behaving so sweetly now.

"You well know," He shouted in a near bark, loud enough to make the young girl flinch in her seat. "That when you are assisting me in the auctions, you are not to say a word to anyone without my express permission. You broke that rule, you get punished. Simple as that."

Marina was quiet for a moment, trying to recall the last auction she had assisted Fox with, before a look of understanding crossed her pale face. 

"I see," She said softly, her eyes flitting down to her lap before going back to his, now acknowledging what she had done wrong. "I understand. My apologies. I won't do it again, sir."

His grimace faltered again, and he felt an annoyed and red-hot flush come to his face as his tail began to wag involuntarily and his ears tilted forward with quiet pleasure.

God, why was she behaving now? 

Why was she doing this to him?

"Ngh-" He frowned a little more, reaching up to cover his flushed cheeks and trembling jaw with his hand. "You can't just...expect me not to discipline you now because you apologised..."

Marina blinked again, feigning innocence no doubt.

"I don't expect that, sir," She replied with a demure shake of her head, her blonde hair falling from behind her ears and framing her face sweetly, innocently, a delicate picture of a woman, a girl, that he needed to protect, cherish- "I understand if you have to punish me. I will try not to disappoint you again."

"Damn it, you can't just act like this and expect me not to...to-" 

What was that feeling? It wasn't entirely foreign to him, he'd felt it before, but never this quickly or...intensely. 

It was like his mind was telling him to be angry, but the heat in his body and the wagging of his tail (and the aching, twisting, pulsating feeling in his heart) was telling him otherwise.

"Just...be careful," Fox finally said through grit teeth, his voice a little softer than before as he straightened up fully, crossing his arms again. "You cannot disappoint me again, Rina. Do you understand?"

"I understand." Marina nodded. "Did something happen at the auction, sir?" She asked quietly. 

Fox frowned again, his tail slowing its wagging and his ears falling back slightly, like she had reminded him of an especially unpleasant memory.

"...Nothing happened," He replied lowly, before letting out an irritated huff, his claws digging into the sleeves of his jacket. "You need to understand that I cannot have anyone else looking at you, lest they...well, start to think about things I don't care for. Start to think they can get close or...handsy."

"Of course, sir." She agreed with another nod. "I didn't consider that. I'm sorry, I should have been more careful."

"Yes, you...you should have been." He muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he rubbed his jaw and flushed cheeks again, and sighed loudly, pacing towards her. "God, how am I supposed to get you to learn a lesson now if you're so well-behaved~?" 

A whisper of a smile graced Marina's pretty face, her eyes flitting to the side as he got closer.

...That smile.

Her quiet but sweet and submissive attitude, the small hint of demure pleasure in her eyes, her gentle but provocative mannerisms...it was enough to drive him crazy.

Enough to get his cock stirring in his trousers, too, despite his anger previously.

"My darling, you're going to be the death of me," He groaned softly, now kneeling on the couch beside her and pressing his face into the crown of her head. Her  hair was soft against his skin, and he found himself taking fistfuls of it to drag her closer to him, her plush body against his. "How can I possibly keep you in line when you're this sweet?"

"M-Mr. Fox..." She mumbled with a delicate flush to her cheeks, never giving away too much of herself at once. "Mm, please-"

It was addictive.

"Damn it, darling..." He groaned through his clenched teeth, his voice a quiet growl as he lowered his face down to hers, golden eyes half-lidded with desire, a desire he readily expressed to her. "You know I can't stay mad at you for long."

When he brought his lips forward, she didn't pull back or wriggle in his grip, but simply allowed him to kiss and suck and nip at her chin, her lips, her gasping mouth as he pleased, readily accepting his probing tongue as he kissed her deeper, his fists tightening in her hair, pulling, moving, guiding her.

And the way she was still being good for him was just so...damned adorable. 

"You're such a good girl for me..." He praised, pulling back from the kiss and trailing his tongue over her kiss-bitten lips, across her cheek. "So good and sweet for your owner..."

"Of course, dearest..." She said quietly, another slight smile on her face as one of his hands trailed down from her hair and to her trembling chest.

Though that attention really couldn't be helped...what did she expect, when her assets were just so perfect?

"Mm..." She moaned softly, prettily, (like it was something she had practiced and perfected just for him), biting her lip as he peeled up the bottom of her very sensible and very modest sweater. and started to grope and squeeze her breast with a little more force and intention. 

"You know, darling, if you want to make up for your mistake now..." He smirked lightly, his voice still barely above a whisper as he trailed a claw over her swollen nipple, listening to her moans and whimpers. "I can think of a number of ways to do that right now..."

Marina couldn't hold back a little sigh and a falter in her own expression, as she slid off the couch and settled down on her knees in front of him, giving him enough room to sit on the couch, legs spread and wide open, and peel down his trousers.

"Yes sir," She said obediently, her hands scraping back her hair (lest it get in the way of the task at hand) as he eased his cock from his briefs, working his fist up and down to work himself to full hardness. "Of course, sir..."

"Good girl~"

[leuchtstabrebell]

Whumptober Day 13 / Prompt: Infection

This year, November arrived wet and grey and suddenly, and it brought harsh winds and rain with it. Peter spends his time rushing from his flat to work and back to his flat. He still hasn’t mastered that rain-shield spell, and he won’t ask Sirius to explain it to him again. Rather, he has followed Maud’s example and bought himself a raincoat and a new umbrella, like a normal person.

He spends a lot of time digging graves. The war does not care about the weather.

There are more and more deaths each week, growing mountains of corpses. Every day he wakes up afraid that someone he knows has been added to their number. The only positive he can think of is the fact that more bodies to bury means more funeral rites which means more money for him. He has finally been able to afford a new fridge, one that’s actually reliable.

The ground is still soft enough to dig without too much exhaustion, though muddy and slippery. These days, there is a lot of dirt under fingernails and bruises on his sickly-pale skin from falling.

He has felt a cold coming for days. At his muggle job, half of his co-workers have the flue. Maud couldn’t come to work for over two weeks due to a particularly nasty case of it, and he spent half of the time missing her and the other half denying that fact. It’s boring without her. It’s darker without her.

Peter wakes up one morning with a sore throat and his whole body weak. He just about manages to call in sick and make himself a cuppa before he stumbles back into bed and pulls the covers over his head.

It��s never been this bad, he thinks to himself. Everything hurts.

He has this exact same reaction every year. Rationally, he knows that it’s not any worse than the other times he has been sick, and that a common cold is nothing to whine about. Irrationally, poor Peter Pettigrew might have the hardest fate in all of Great Britain. Or at least in all of Tower Hamlets.

Sirius arrives late that evening and finds Peter pathetically sniffling on the sofa, where he has heaved his body a few hours ago and has not moved since. He has wrapped a blanket around himself and there are pain meds scattered on the table.

“Are you sick?” he asks.

Peter glares at him. “Yes,” he croaks. “Obviously.”

“Ugh.” Sirius kicks off his boots, as usual, flinging mud all over the hallway and vanishes into the bathroom without another word.

The next days are even worse. His aching throat is joined by a rattling cough and a fever that won’t go down no matter what he tries.

Peter has dozed off in the living room to the sound of the rain outside and is woken up by Sirius rummaging through the kitchen. Pots clanging against something, the thud of a glass put down too hard on a surface. Every little sound makes Peter want to jump out of his skin. He sighs and calls out to Sirius: “Hey! Can you stop destroying the kitchen equipment? I’m trying to sleep here.” The strain on his voice makes him wince and his lungs protest. There is a short pause, then more pots clanging. Sirius marches into the living room.

“You certainly seem to have enough air in your lungs to nag,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Peter wheezes out before his body is shaken by another coughing fit.

“Oh, nothing,” Sirius says, staring at Peter.

“No, no, tell me,” Peter says, pissed. He feels his heartbeat speeding up.

“It’s just – for the past days, all you’ve been doing is complaining about how hard everything is, and how sad you are, and what a poor lad you are,” Sirius responds and crosses his arms.

“Yeah, well, maybe it would be nice if my friends cared enough to at least check in with me once in a while. You haven’t even offered to make me a tea or anything.”

“You already drink like ten cups a day,” Sirius says and pouts. Man-child.

“It’s not about the tea!”

Sirius tenses his jaw. “Oh, I know. You want me to pity you, poor sick Peter. You know there’s a war going on, right?”

“No, Sirius, enlighten me,” Peter drawls, suppressing another coughing fit.

“While you’re here, complaining about a common cold, people are out there risking their lives. The friends who ‘don’t care about you’ are out there, fighting, dying, while your biggest problem is me cleaning the kitchen.”

“Fuck you,” Peter says, no longer shaking from the fever but from anger. “Why can’t you be a good friend for once? It’s great that you’re willing to throw your life away but don’t except the same insanity from me. And for once, just do the hard work and actually be there for your friends.”

You know that is why Remus left you, lies on his tongue. He swallows it down.

Sirius just stares at Peter, face unreadable. “You don’t get it. You think if you just close your eyes and pretend, everything will turn out fine. But it won’t.”

Peter open his mouth to respond but is stopped by another coughing fit so bad that his eyes start watering.

Something in Sirius’ gaze softens.

“I’ll get you another blanket,” he says.

[fragmcntedsouls]

Glaring at TJ through the bars Billie grumbled “you had to go and ruin it by calling him Tinkerbell, didn’t you.”

Her jaw soon tightened, practically forcing herself to swallow the words but she couldn’t; figuring that she might not get another chance to say them. “So why are you?” Shaking her head now, the banshee hissed beneath a breath “mine isn’t either.” There wasn’t much that she could ever do to escape the torment that the OEA had inflicted on her. Her cage wasn’t just physical. No matter what, the OEA would always have her. Inside her own head she would always be their victim and it made her skin crawl to know that might never change.

Each muscle contorted with his words, the idea making her grimace as she countered weakly “you would say that, because you have no idea what this is like.” A bloodied hand rose to reach for one of the bars as she leaned herself forwards “to be hunted, humiliated and punished for something out of your control. You might not kill, but I won’t thank you for that. Just because you’re a hunter with a conscience, doesn’t mean that we’re the same. Being silent, being complicit is just as bad as killing us.” Inhaling an unsteady breath, Billie murmured “either way, you’re returning to her with blood on your hands.”

If she had the strength for it, she would have rolled her eyes. “You provoked him in a room full of people who want him dead. You don’t get to play the martyr. Not here.” Her brow furrowed, unwilling to accept the others pity party and the frustration of it all caused her vision to blur as tears stung her eyes “you could matter if you did the right thing, but if you're just going to sit here and bitch to me about how hard your life is, while you sit back and let the rest of us die, maybe you should burn."

She could feel her chin begging to quiver “I don’t owe you an explanation” and her voice began to falter, each breath beginning to slow again as her hand slipped from the bars. She didn’t owe him, but if anything she owed it to herself to make him see what the OEA were capable of.

"I was looking for my birth mom and the OEA were looking for me.'' Scoffing, she murmured breathlessly “they used that to capture me and I spent my last few months alive right here. These people, the people that you won’t stand against ... they tortured me for months. I was forced to watch people die over and over again, so they could use that to their advantage, because I can see it coming.” Billie directed her gaze straight towards TJ. "I was tortured, until I couldn’t take it anymore" emotionless laughter carried between them "apparently, neither could your friends, because someone let me go. Too little, too fucking late, though." Any hint of vulnerability soon fled her tone. “I made it out, I got home and when I got there I died in his arms.” A breath hitched in the back of her throat, her jaw aching from the tension residing there. "I know who you are, TJ. You're lucky that the only thing Briggs is doing to you, is threatening your girl because that's more mercy than he's ever been shown by any of you."

Maybe it was the innocence of it all that made the fairy indifferent. "I believe in Tinkerbell," words he never imagined speaking. "More power to the belief though, right?"

As for his own goodness...that was more complicated. "I didn't want to be here any more than you do." He just adapted, despite betraying himself in the process. "My cage isn't physical like yours." Maybe he was too complicit, using excuses and never facing the facts - was he still? His arrogance to believe he was better, that because he didn't go far enough as far as taking a life it made him better.

"I got a guy threatening my girl if I don't start killing OEA for him. He thinks what happened here is justification for more death, but you know, I don't think it is." Nothing, not even with TJ with all his excuses could he find justification for taking a life. "I can't do much, it'll kill me to try, but I'll do what I can to protect his friends, and I'm not leaving here till everyone is out." Unfortunately, TJ had no idea who Brigg's friends were. Literally could be anyone in this room so all of them were it.

"Even if he burns down this whole building with me inside it.” With a heavy sigh, hitched breath. "I can't protect my girl by doing one thing, but I'd rather be who I am now than return to her as a killer. Does it make me a good person that I won't kill for someone I love? Or just a coward unable to make the hard choice to save her?"

Maybe someone trapped in a cage made it so much easier for him to be open, to talk because they wouldn't run - they didn't have a choice but to listen...heck, she could ignore him still. "I'm not a threat to you guys; it's why I let this happen." He pointed to his face, the state he was in from the beat up by Nathan. "Because I should suffer too - I need to. I need to do that. And the OEA isn't going to save my ass from any of you. I don't want them to. I'm not with them, even if I tried, I couldn't. Maybe I'm not a good guy, but I'm also no one that really matters in this fight." Maybe it was blood loss, maybe it was the fear of it all, but getting deep and opening up was rare - it was something few people got to see.

He peered at her through the bars, seeing her pain reflected back at him. There had to be more to her return, she looked pretty human, bled like a human would. “If I’m being real, you have to be too...There's more to your coming back here.” Even if she was some mythic creature, he didn't think that made her life worth less.

[slasherholic]

ooops another drabble that turned into 3k words cause I couldn’t get a few asks and hcs outta my heeaddd

synopsis: in an effort to please asa, you put more trust in him than reasonably healthy and agree to let him do something that turns out to be awful. seems to be a recurring thing . . . (aka, you are on the receiving end of a sloppy, brutal facefuck courtesy of bug dilf.)

contains: gender neutral reader (but reader is wearing mascara if that matters bc asa likes to see it run..) starts as consensual but goes noncon, brutal deep throating, abusive / toxic relationship, slapping, strangulation, bdsm elements, vomit mention

words: 3.3k

Asa Emory / The Collector x Reader | “Hold.”

--

He hadn’t let you eat at all today, nor drink anything but water.

The promise was that he would go slowly and walk you through it because this was the sort of thing that required trust and patience. On some level, you figured it might be a lie, but you agreed to let him do it anyway, because you thought that you could handle it and knew that it would please him. And when Asa is pleased with you, he does and says things that make you feel very good about yourself. 

The restraints are so you can’t hurt yourself in case you start to panic. The belly-up position is better, he explained, because it aligns your mouth and throat and makes his job go smoother. The gag is because your body will naturally try to shut him out.

So you’re naked on his bed, spread out on your back with your wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts, your head dangling over the edge of the frame, a line of slippery drool already dribbling out your mouth through the gag, which is making your jaw ache, and staring ahead at Asa’s legs where his well-ironed khaki trousers fit slim enough to hug his thighs. You think to yourself, if you could only hold him while he does it, it wouldn’t be so bad.

You’re very close to making the suggestion. If you twist in your ropes and make too big a fuss maybe he’ll get the idea and take the gag out. You figure you at least deserve the dignity of advocating for yourself.

You tilt your head and blink up at him, watching him tap his fingers rhythmically along the bed frame. He’s already watching you back.

Asa regards you with a faint, pleasant smile, but there’s no trace of pity in his eyes, not a sliver. He’s enjoying this already. So you know that’s the end of it.

His hand settles on your navel when you finally make eye contact as if he was waiting for just that. He begins to stroke your stomach and the heat of his skin makes you squirm on the sheets, tugging your ankles a little in the tight ropes. His palm and fingers take up a lot of you but the way he touches you is so light and considerate it can be nothing but a calculated effort to make you shiver.

Which it does. Goosebumps devastate your stomach. You happen to be blinking up at his face and catch his expression crack with something bordering on amused. 

“Getting nervous I take it. That’s alright, we’ll work up to it.” He leans in a little so his weight is upon your chest. “What did I say about getting too tense? If you can’t relax, you’re going to be making things much worse for yourself.”

Perhaps he sees the apprehension spreading on your face. His other hand comes up from the bed to trace your bottom lip. 

“I can’t promise you this is going to be painless.” Asa’s voice is lower, hushed. “But I can promise that the more you cooperate with me, the less it’s going to hurt.”

He caresses your cheek lightly, smiling at you again. You watch him undo his fly.

He was erect when he was tying you but he ignored it and it’s gone down some. He grips the base of his shaft and guides himself toward your open jaw, and your tongue darts out to meet him, swirling obedient circles around the tip with his slippery precum. He makes a sound like a soft laugh.

“Going to mind your manners tonight?” He brushes your lips lightly with his cock. Now he’s there. “M-hm. I think you are.”

He leans further into your mouth, wedging himself a bit past the ring so you can lick his shaft, which you do, and his hand moves around your neck, fingers curling beneath your ear. He works the cartilage at the front of your throat.

“There; right there.” He gives the spot a few gentle thwacks with two fingers. It makes a hollow thumping sound. “It won’t be on your first try, but that’s where I’m going.”

You look up from his pelvis. Asa is watching you closely. 

“As I said; we’ll work up to it.”

At least he’s being patient with you

He clicks his tongue and adds, “You’re tense again.”

You try to listen to him and relax but it’s difficult to focus on relaxing with his erection dangling between your lips, so you try to focus on the fact that you like sucking him off, and pretend that’s all this is about to be. You let the tension drain out of your jaw.

“Good. Good, sweetheart. That’s much better. Now take a deep breath and hold it for me as long as you can.”

You suck in air. The sound is hollow and wet.

Asa fills your mouth slowly. Breathe. Don’t tense up. Those are your mantras. The head of his cock swabs the soft palate at the back of your throat. Tears spurt into your eyes.

He pushes easily past the barrier and for a split second, his dick is in your throat.

Your body rejects the intrusion instantly.

You’re gagging, spitting, your throat convulsing, locking up around him. He draws back, sliding from your mouth. You pant hard with a desperate sob.

He gives your face a little stroke while you gasp for breath. You’re already blinking back tears so they don’t slip out. Christ, this was a mistake.

It was a mistake, but it was your mistake. He’s not going to let you forget that. 

“Ah-ah, what did I say? This doesn’t have to be unpleasant but you’re going to need to pull your weight and have some self-control. That reflex can be suppressed; alright, quiet down. You’re going to try that again.” 

He’s lodging himself back in your mouth before you can protest.

You’re already gagging. Too tight. It all gets tighter when you gag and the passage of your throat seizes, trying to squeeze him out, convulsing, and above your sputtering and hacking you hear Asa breathe out, long and low, remorselessly satisfied, and when your throat gapes with another gag he must feel the resistance falter because he leans forward into you and splits you open deeper.

Your eyes roll and your hips jerk off the bed. You make an ugly desperate noise when he pulls out only to work himself slowly back in again. When your cries rise into shrieks, he stops.

Your makeup is already streaming down your cheeks. He strokes the back of your head, and removes a little black stopwatch from his pocket which he sets on your sternum, and informs you that if you start gagging this time, he’s not going to pull out, so you’ll just have to behave for him and take it as you agreed. 

“Twenty seconds,” Asa says. “I want you to hold for twenty seconds.” He pats your face. “And if you have to throw up, I don’t want any getting on my shoes.”

He’s picking up the stopwatch from your chest before you can try to tell him no, no more tonight, please Asa no more, and clicking the timer, which starts with a little beep, and gripping your head with both hands to hold you still. 

Your eyes roll again as you take him down and now your nose is crushed up to his groin and he’s bulging hot and stiff in your throat so much deeper than before.

You struggle and thrash against him. The need to gag comes roaring back and you suppress it but it doesn’t go away and this time you can feel the burn of the bile coming up. 

He holds your head in place like it’s nothing. His hand comes up and touches the front of your throat. His roving fingers graze the bulge of his erection. He massages circles into the distension, rubbing himself through your muscle and cartilage. Your tongue is squirming around his shaft. Your panicked gagging won’t stop.

“Ten more seconds.” He orders.

Can’t. Your body thinks you’re choking. You are choking.

You sputter and spit and make gagging sounds so horrible you can hardly believe they’re coming out of you.

“Ah-ah—five more seconds. Hold it. Hold.”

Can’t.

Your chest gives a jerk and convulses.

Asa must know what’s going to happen because he snaps his hips back as you spiral past the point of no return, gagging all the way.

The bile comes up with an ugly wet retching sound. It trickles in a thin watery line down your cheek, getting on the towel Asa had the foresight to put beneath your head to spare his carpet.

The look on your face is miserable as he puts a hand above his thigh and sighs. You cry and watch the long string of thick saliva dangling off the tip of his cock where it was swabbing the back of your throat. You’re gasping for breath.

Asa’s hand meets your face with a quick slap.

You lock up and shriek at the sting of the blow, curling your toes as he follows it with a few less brutal smacks, but before you have the chance to beg him to stop he’s seizing you by the head and holding you still in both hands, watching you closely. 

“And that, my dear, is precisely why I had you fast today. Otherwise you’d be asphyxiating right now on everything you couldn’t keep down.”

You can’t find the strength to do anything but sputter out a lamenting whine. This was a horrible mistake.

Your eyes are glued to him as he bends down, retrieving the towel from the floor. You jerk when he reaches for your face, stopping when you realize he only means to clean you; your lips are trembling as he goes about wiping you down, softly, using the edge of the black towel to clean the watery retch out from one corner, then the other.

He moves away when you’re sufficiently clean to grab the spare towel off his dresser, returning to spread it out in the same spot beneath your head. He straightens up, grabs your chin, and digs his thumb into your soft gums behind your front teeth. You yelp.

“The first time is always the worst.” His words are slow and callous. “Eyes up here, pay attention now.”

Your eyes flit up. You watch his face. When you obey him he releases your mouth, studying you with a narrow look.

You must be an incredibly sorry sight. You’re sure he’s enjoying it. He spares you a smile, a reassuring lie he slips remarkably easily into. But you can see the coldness behind it. 

“All right then, we’re going to try that again. I’m not going to stop this time if you throw up. Call it a lesson in discipline. Sorely needed. And you’ll have to do a little bit better if you’d like this to stop, because this, isn’t coming out until you can hold me down for the time we agreed upon.”

Asa’s thumb travels to your lips, brushing from the bottom to the top, tracing the curve of the gag where the thin metal bites into your gums. You whine as his fingers curl in and swipe along the roof of your mouth, dragging through the slippery saliva. When he removes them, a trail of thick dribble is stringing between his knuckles.

“I’d like you to think on that while I loosen up this difficult throat.”

You realize what that means but only after both of his hands are already back to squeezing the sides of your head.

Your shriek warps into a garbled spitty cry and cuts off as he lines up against your lips and thrusts back into your mouth and forces right past the resistance.

His cock slides down your throat as a convulsion and a choke opens you up, much deeper than before, and he cants his hips forward until your nose and lips are crushed against his groin, and pulls out, not all the way, before slamming forward again, hammering your throat.

Glck glck glck-- The sounds coming out of you are horrendous.

He’s filling your throat and you can’t breathe. You’re twisting in the ropes, rubbing your skin raw. Trying to move back. To the side. Trying to pull just an inch away to escape the pounding. You’re trying to tell him no more, no more. You know he hears your panicked shrieks and he’s ignoring them.

Asa makes a harsh grunt and grabs your neck. He slams you down hard into the bed frame.

Your rising whine as he pulls out cuts abruptly off as he delves all the way back down and stretches your throat wide and now you’re choking frantically on him, gagging on your own spit.

Asa plants his legs wider apart to counter your struggling and slams your mouth over his cock again and again. 

One of your shrieks tumbles out of control and becomes a scream.

It earns you another, harder slap across the face. 

“Don’t you dare start that with me, you aren’t dying.”

But you think maybe you are. You’ve lost control of yourself. Crying, twisting, your chest heaving, your jaw spasming, trying to snap shut, which only makes your gums dig painfully into the ring so hard you taste blood.

Asa pulls out, cock sliding from your throat. He leans forward and seizes your hair at the scalp in a fist so tight you scream again.

“Get yourself under control this second or I’m going to pry your little whore throat open and fuck it raw.”

Cries are dribbling past your lips more freely than the endless saliva. He’s not lying. He has something to use for that. He’s used it on you somewhere else before. A speculum. You dig your fingernails into your palms and try to stop choking, stop choking, but you can’t. You’re sure Asa knows you can’t. 

He’s thrusting in again anyway.

You’re retching up water before you can stop yourself.

Your eyes roll, huge and dazed, tears spurting down your cheeks as he keeps fucking your throat.

You’re fighting him with all you have and it’s useless, he’s too big, so strong you don’t stand a chance, and it’s times like this you can admit to yourself that you are truly honest to god afraid of this man, so you can’t make heads or tails of why you let him do these things to you or why you miss him so terribly when he’s not around.

Asa’s abdomen seizes and all the muscles in his legs tense, the definition jumping out beneath his snug shirt sleeves, and now his fingers are constricting your neck so hard pressure is bursting in your head and swelling behind your eyes and your thoughts are incoherent but you think something in your brain is going to pop.

You feel his hot cum spurting into your throat. Your body is suffocating, straining, still trying to get away from his groin. He grabs you above and below the neck and starts counting down. You’re trying to retch again but this time nothing is coming up.

The fuzziness in your head is spreading eating everything away to black. You don’t hear him finish counting, just the heat of his groin pulling back and his cock slipping back out your throat and you choke up a breath when his hands go away.

His large palm snaps down over your mouth.

“Swallow it. Don’t cough. Keep it down.”

You’re shrieking into Asa’s hand but you swallow even though it hurts like hell to swallow and you feel his hot slick move down the back of your sore pounding throat, gone.

He watches your throat bob up and down, making sure you’ve swallowed. Only then do his fingers loosen and release you.

You pant and sob and gasp for breath as he wipes the head of his cock off down your cheek, leaving behind a hot trail of spit and cum. Your nostrils flare rapidly as you watch him towel himself off, his chest going up and down as he resumes control over his own breaths, finding his composure, putting everything back in its place.

Fresh tears are streaming off the tip of your nose as his hand moves along your hair, petting you where he yanked your scalp, and you exhale with a shake and a tremble that takes you all over. Your sticky lashes cling together when you try to blink at him. The world is blurry, wet, unfocused.

Asa is studying you flatly. A sheen of sweat shines on his face. He’s unbuttoned the top few buttons of his button-down polo and tucked it back neatly above his belt which is of the same color leather as his shoes. He smiles. Not at you, surely. At the sight of you.

His hand moves up and squeezes your cheeks, playing with the mess he made there, rubbing his thumb through the ruined mascara streaking down your wet raw face, through the saliva streaming in thick viscous ropes off your chin and clinging to your hair. You’re a sobbing, snotty mess, but you bear the pain silently, as silent as you can, and let him touch you, trying to be good for him, because you know he likes it. He allows the crying for a little while longer before he makes you stop.

“If you hyperventilate it isn’t going to help. I’m going to need you to breathe. Slower; there you are. You might still feel like you have to vomit—believe me, you won’t. You already got it all out. It’ll pass.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed, and holds your shoulders, sitting patiently with you for the whole time it takes your body to stop choking up lamenting sobs and go silent.

The clean-up is not brief. When Asa cuts you free his touch is nothing but gentle and even so, you’re shaking wherever his hands come down. The gag comes out. The soft corners of your lips are swollen and chaffed raw, jaw stiff and aching down to the bone. You plan to avoid your reflection tonight at all costs.

The tea he has you drink is too hot. He holds the cup until it’s cool enough to go down without your ravaged throat rejecting it. You’re propped back against the pillows as you sip on it. Asa informs you about how the heat will ease the swelling and the honey will soothe any abrasions, because honey is a natural antibacterial, and you nod along blindly, trying very hard not to cry again as the hot liquid goes down.

“We’ll have you gargle salt water in the morning. Can you taste any blood?”

“No.” Your throat hurts bad.

“Well, I’d like to check for abrasions anyway. If it infects, it won’t be very fun to deal with for either of us. All finished? Give it back.”

He gestures for you to hand over the empty mug which you do and he takes it from you and puts it on the nightstand.

“Was that good?” You ask, watching his face. 

His hand stops caressing the small of your back. He looks at you.

“Was it good?” Asa repeats. “Are you asking to try it again?” His smile warns you not to press the subject. Perhaps not in any capacity. Perhaps not ever.

Your stomach lurches and you shake your head too fast.

“Alright, I’ll stop. That was supposed to be a joke. Yes, you did just fine.” 

His tone is rather dismissive and it sounds like a lie and you think maybe he said it because it’s what you needed to hear, but it’s good enough to divert attention from the fact that he was just incredibly cruel to you, which you won’t bother confronting him about even though you might tell yourself you will. So you just curl up on his chest and lay quiet for a while, and his touch travels up to your shoulder, and he breathes into your hair, apparently satisfied, and carries on with the petting.

[keilemlucent]

mean to me

( r18+)

hawks | takami keigo x reader

ao3

word count: ~3.5k

daddy’s a bit mean

warnings: daddy kink, light bdsm in terms of dynamics, use of a safeword, spanking, light degradation, choking, a smidge of age play, subspace, aftercare 

...

oh, more daddy kink brain rot? nice. have a little snack, loves 💕enjoy!!

...

Keigo owned you, passively and completely. 

His hands settled on your hips far too easily, like they were made to lay along the curves of flesh. There might as well have been imprints of his slender fingers with the way they squeezed and held you as often as they did. You weren’t made in your shape for him, but rather he worked you into whatever form he wished. 

You loved every moment of it, love him.

Sat up in his lap with Keigo was upright as well, his wings remained tense and flattened against the headboard. They twitched every so often as your cunt fluttered around his cock, but his resolve remained firm and he remained largely still. 

“K-Keigo, please—“ Your voice wobbled as your fingernails dug into his shoulder.

He quieted you with a slap to your thigh.

“You can’t expect me to give in if you don’t even speak to me proper, right, little bird?” Keigo was obviously being harsh, this was a ‘punishment’ after all. Though, in many ways, it was more of a test of will for the both of you.

Keigo showed his own exertion and restraint on every facet of him. 

His muscles were bunched, poised and more than ready to pound you into oblivion (If only you’d been good that evening, but you hadn’t, hence why you were in the situation that you were).

His expression was desperate, but still so fucking smug. The quirk in his swear-coated brow spoke volumes about how smitten he was to keep you wanting and warm around his cock.

“You’re mean,” You tried to spit, but it left you as more of a whine. 

“Am I?” Keigo raised an eyebrow, tapping your cheek with a single finger, “I think you’ve earned this treatment.”

You definitely did, but you wouldn’t admit that to him.

Your thoughts had wandered all throughout the day to him, and it was only natural that you sent him at least a dozen very whorish photos of yourself in the new, big mirror Keigo had purchased for the two of you.

(Specifically for ‘fucking’ reason, but once again, besides the point.)

You sort of did deserve to be teased. The pictures were meant to work him up, but you hardly expected the treatment you were receiving. 

There was a wordless, nagging ledge in the back of your skull that kept you from finding a more comfortable, softened headspace, leading to any number of slipups.

Namely, referring to Keigo by his name and not the title he loved to brandish. 

“I’m sorry—“You started to say before Keigo moved his slender finger to your lips, slipping the digit into your mouth and pressing down on the flat of your tongue.

He went far enough back to gag you, tears welling at the corners of your eyes.

“‘I’m sorry’,” He mimicked, rolling his eyes before giving your cheek a few forceful pats. “Not gonna cut it. Apologies need to be genuine.”

He rubbed just below your eyes, smearing away any wetness and giving you a sinful grin, “You can’t just be a crybaby and expect me to give in. That’s not how this works.”

Sometimes, it did, notably. Keigo would crack on plenty of days if you got weepy, the reason didn’t matter too much. He only liked seeing you hurt if he had full control of the situation and could drag you back easily.

Your tears only egging on his insults. You tried to ignore the burning in your nose, sucking down any potential cries welling up in your throat.

You must’ve looked pitiful.

And Keigo must’ve loved it.

He was clearly in a particularly nasty mood, a bit more vindictive than a normal night.  Less softened and crueler.

A normal punishment would’ve been pulling you over his knee for a tender lesson that involved turning your ass hot and red. Maybe a bit of writing lines, a dash of extra chores (in that sinfully short and ruffled apron Keigo purchased for you) while he supervised and directed you as needed.

He’d never simply sat you on his cock and refused to move or let you move.

It felt a bit odd in your gut. 

If your mind had fallen deeper, you would’ve enjoyed this more. If your psyche had been floating as you both liked, his cruel words would’ve felt so fucking good, but at this point, you felt nothing but burning shame as you tried to hold yourself together beneath his words. 

Keigo noticed to some degree. He was so tuned to you and your body and expression, he could write a damn novel on the way each angle of your lips and crinkle of your eyes meant a different complex emotion.

And you had no doubt he could see you struggling with this punishment more than normal. 

You shifted your knees, trying to ease the ache of your burning thighs. It earned you a hard slap to your ass, one with enough force that Keigo had to brace your waist to keep you upright. 

“Behave,“ He warned, pulling his fingers from your lips to smear spit on your inner thighs, close enough to your pussy to make your breath hitch. 

You should’ve known not to try and defend yourself, “I wasn’t gonna—” 

“Nope, stop whining,” Keigo gave your thighs a series of sharp pinches and twists. “None of that, you aren’t getting shit.”

Keigo was being mean. 

So mean, it made your chest hurt.

Maybe you were slipping deeper, maybe not to the right place, as your head fell forward to his shoulder, a little weak attempt at hiding your budding, fatter tears. 

“P-please be nice,” Your whispered, hardly audible. “Please.”

Keigo clicked his tongue, slapping your already reddened ass, “Do you think you deserve me being ‘nice’?”

“I—“

You didn’t get a chance to answer as Keigo delivered a quick succession of spanks, all of which had you tensing around his cock and clutching at him and the headboard. Little cries and wails slipped from your slip-slicked lips, all falling on what you assumed were unhearing ears.

“You don’t deserve anything but this, little bird,” Keigo hummed. He punctuated his words with another stroke. “You just love being a little cocktease, isn’t this what you wanted? Sitting on my dick and having your fill?”

No, this wasn’t. You thought the handful of pictures you sent him, draped in one of his own shirts, would get you ponded into the mattress, not held on his cock without a hint of agency or kindness. 

Tears leaked from your eyes, even as you tried to wipe them away as fast as you could manage. 

His hand reared back, poised for another spank—

And you hurriedly gave him two firm and clear taps to his shoulder, “S-sunset, sunset.”

He froze mid-motion. 

“D-daddy, I’m s-sorry,“ You clung to his shoulder and rocked yourself. “It doesn’t f-feel good.”

You felt him take a few measured breaths, hand returning to your hips to press into any knots he could find. The deep inhales were surely meant to calm him from his own high. 

His entire mood shifted nearly instantly. Keigo jolted to rub at your lower back, up and down your spine. 

“No need to be sorry, dove,” He whispered, pressing a few kisses to the side of your head. “I’ve got you. Do you want to lay down?”

You shook your head, laying your hands over his, pressing them into your hips more firmly.

Keigo sweetened, even more, expression creasing with concern, “Can you tell me what doesn’t feel good?” 

“U-um,” You swallowed, withdrawing from the safety of his neck to meet his gaze. His pretty ambers were sharp, watchful, and immediately tender as they met your own. You licked your lips nervously, trying to find proper words, “Doesn’t feel... normal.”

“Does something hurt?” Keigo inquired, tucking some sweat-matted hair behind your ears. He dropped a few kisses around your face, stilling your both as was needed. 

You shook your head. 

“Not the right headspace?” Keigo asked, catching on quickly and speaking softly. 

You nodded, pressing your nose to his cheek, “Uh-huh.”

Keigo knew you better than you knew yourself in moments like this.

“I see why you didn’t appreciate me being so mean,” Keigo clicked his tongue, smoothing a hand over your naked waist.  “I’m sorry, little bird. Do you want to stop, or do you want me to help you?”

You thought for a moment, worrying your bottom lip.

“Can you h-help, daddy?” You kept your words as soft as you could. “I-I’ll be good this time, promise.” 

Keigo practically purred, content either way, but happy to help you settle. This was as much for you as it was for him. 

“You’re already good,” He shifted beneath you, some of his own bound up tension releasing, “Of course, little bird. I’ve got you now.”

There was an unspoken apology in words, one that was felt a moment later, as he pressed his lips to your, cupping your jaw with tender hands.

His thumbs wiped away any residual tears as you pressed closer, burying your hands in his hair. His feathers shifted and rippled nearby, his cock twitching inside you. 

“You hold on good to me, okay?” He murmured against your lips, holding you close as you massaged through his blonde waves. “Nice and tight, perfect.”

You nodded as if you’d ever let go.

Carefully, he repositioned the two of you. Your shaking thighs were given rest as he tipped you onto your back, helping you flatten atop the sheets. His cock remained buried, still hard, and somehow, Keigo’s will to not rail you remained intact.

It was surprising, given how impulsive he was so often was.

Then again, Keigo liked doing this, liked holding you close and tender while stroking the part of your mind that needed to feel smaller, weaker, and taken care of well and thoroughly. In turn, you held the part of his mind that desperately couldn’t stop taking care of others, that self-sacrificial nature that needed an outlet that was healthier than throwing himself at the evils of the world without pause. 

In the cultivated home you two had made, you cared for each other how the other needed.

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” Keigo hummed, hovering over you, splaying your legs out with wide palms. “You’re gonna listen really well, and I’ll let you have my cock like I’m sure you want, understand?”

You nodded, trying to muster up some self-confidence.

Keigo looked smitten with himself once more, though his features and poise were slack and gentle. Any of his earlier meanness had dissolved, tucked away for another night where you both could handle it.  

He nosed against your cheek, dragging his lips across your jaw to the shell of your ear. His hand drifted over your navel, higher to tease your yummy and then to your tits, twisting a nipple before he delicately laid his fingers, one by one, around your throat.

He gave a preliminary squeeze, watching your reaction. 

You swallowed around his hold, taking a shaking breath at the pressure.

“Does this feel nice, little bird?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nodded, his hold tightening a moment later. 

“Good, perfect,” Keigo grinned against your skin and nipped at your ear. “You’re doing so well.”

The simple praise made you shudder.

Keigo pressed his lips to your own, holding around your throat firmly and unwavering, throat, applying pressure just right to make your head spin.

The moment he pulled away, eyes shining, he let up.

You took sucked in a quick inhale, just before he kissed you again, repeating the pattern. Mounting, delicious pressure on your throat with each kiss, with just a moment or two or reprieve that he gave you.

It sank you perfectly. 

He kept at it, dragging you to arch underneath him with just kisses and tongue, pulling your breath from you with his hands and his own quiet groans.

If you tried to chase his lips, he easily pushed you back into the sheets, bearing down on you with the weight of his chest, wings fluffing up and fluttering. A quick nip or two had you lax into the mattress within moments.  

It was all so perfectly enough, your head spinning with each of his touches. 

And finally, he pulled away, both of your lips kiss-bitten and pupils wide and black.

“There we go,” He stroked the side of your face, kissing down your neck to your collarbones. “A little bit mean, a little bit nice. You did so well— such a good girl.“

The praise made your cunt tense, fingers curling at the base of his wings. 

Keigo looked equally as content as you. He wanted to see you slip and puddle beneath him. As much as he still had a mean streak for the day, he could channel it elsewhere, pepper it in as needed. Not teasing you at all would be sin. 

“C-can I have your cock now?” You asked, voice high and sweet. Your gaze was reverence itself, all for him.

Keigo chuckled, rolling his hips just the /slightest/ bit, “You’ve got it already, greedy girl.”

Your frowned, eyes already growing wet, “That’s not w-what I mean.”

“That’s too bad,” Keigo sighed, rubbing little circles along your hips. “Guess this is all you’re getting.”

“N-no!” Your voice almost broke as you tried to tug him closer. “I want you to be fuck me, p-please, I’ll do whatever you ask!” 

“You should already be doing that,” Keigo snorted, stilling any movement. “I don’t know if you really want it.”

Of course, he knew how much you craved him, he could see it in every twitch and desperate whimper that got caught in the back on the back of your tongue. 

“I do!“ You tried to move your hips against his own, but he held them flat and steady.  “Please, please, please—“

Keigo paused, tilting his head slowly and regarding you with pensive eyes. 

You reached out for his wrist, pulling it to your lips to lay gentle kiss after kiss over the skin. The touch, no matter the setting, always had him shuddering. Keigo was a whore for many things, but genuine, heartfelt affection was reliably near the top of the list.

Still— 

“Bribery?” He snorted. “Cute.” 

You were getting desperate. Tears started to leak from you once more, sobs held themselves in the back of your throat. The stretch of your cunt had started to burn. The lack of touch anywhere near your sex made you so needy, it hurt.

“D-daddy, please—!”

And you started babbling. 

It was Keigo’s favorite thing to see you so desperate and wanting that you lost the ability to have coherent thought beyond wanting him in the rawest and unbridled way.

Your words were dribble. Pleads and begging that your floating little mind drew up without pause. Details and filth that he’d coaxed from you so well, he couldn’t help but be burningly proud. Each word was so shameless, it made Keigo’s his split into a cocky smile. 

Losing yourself beneath him, good and proper. And you hadn’t even been fucked yet. 

“There we go,” Keigo hummed, groaning as he fucked into you once, hard and deep to where the top of his cock brushed against your deepest parts. “Let go for me, little bird. Daddy’s got you.”

And he did—

And you knew it. 

And so with the next slam of his cock into your cunt, you let your eyes roll back into your head and be enveloped by sensation. Heat buried in your yummy, slick dripping from his cock, sticky the skin that was shared between the two of you.

You both dissolved into the other.

Keigo didn’t hold back, all of that pent up stress and anger projected into the cant of his hips, the grip that bruised your hips, and the way his wings arched and stretched to the ceiling. 

He muttered to you and himself, cursing with each thrust about how much he ‘deserved to have your tight little cunt—his tight cunt however he wanted’. About how your body and all its curves and features were ‘his, only his’ and he could fuck you in and fuck you up in whatever way he pleased.

Each dripped word pushed you hotter and hotter. 

You drowned so pleasantly in his words as your peak snuck to hit you hard and fast.

You were so pleasantly high on him and his words and body, you didn’t notice his hand slipping between your bodies, hiking your legs over his shoulder in one motion, and circling and tugging on your clit the next.

Keigo might have commanded you to come, you couldn’t tell. The moment he gave your clit the slightest cruel twist, sweet pain igniting, your vision went white and you wailed.

Your nails dug into the base of Keigo’s wings, pushing him over the edge in the same breath as you. He cursed, loud and breaking as his arms collapsed on either side of your head.

He didn’t fuck you through his own orgasm, just pressed the tip of his cock to your womb and circled your clit as you twitched and cried, all for him.

And things stilled.

Your legs were lowered, your gooey mind understood. You pawed at the wetness on your face, a mix of tears and dripped sweat between the two of you.

As Keigo slipped out of you, after so long, you hissed, cunt sore and thighs aching.

“H-hurts,” You murmured, tugging Keigo closer, though he’d hardly gone ar. 

Keigo hushed you, stealing a kiss or two before rolling sideways onto the sticky sheets, tugging you to his chest.

His hand slipped between your legs, pushing a bit of leaking cum back into your sore cunt, as he so often did after stuffing you so full. Kindly, he rubbed at your thighs, any of his earlier snark gone.

“Does this feel better?” He smiled into your hair, you could feel it. 

You made a noise of affirmation, all you could muster, and leaned into Keigo, properly sated. 

Your eyes went half-lidded, exhaustion and euphoria holding you equally. After the teasing and torture you’d endured on Keigo’s cock, you imagined you’d be walking oddly for at least a day, and sore for a few more. 

You frowned, Keigo beaming you a smug smile and tugging you closer, “Something wrong, little bird.”

“D-daddy,” You huffed, patting his chest weakly. “You were so mean!”

“And you,” Keigo tapped the tip of your nose, “did a perfect job at telling me it was too much and didn’t feel good. I’m so proud, you do so good for me.”

Part of you wanted to be a brat with him, puff and sulk a bit more, but you couldn’t muster up the will. Keigo knew that praise made you the sweetest and happiest you could be and consider how he had struck a few nerves, enough to make you light-safeword, you deserved it all.

You grumbled in the back of your throat and buried your face in his chest.

“Will a nice massage and a warm shower make it up to you?” Keigo asked, the pads of his fingers flitting down your spine, less for comfort and more for looking for any visible bruises or scratches. 

“Almost,” You sniffled. “Can we watch a m-movie too? I can make tea.”

“That’s a given, we can snuggle all night, little bird, I’d like that very much,” Keigo sighed with his own contentment. “And I’ll make tea too.”

You let out your own trail of high laughter as Keigo peppered kisses wherever he could, heaping you with sweetness as his wings, still trembling from orgasm, fluttered with his happiness. 

“I can pick you out a nice, comfy outfit—  maybe those cute, toasty stockings you like so much,” Keigo knew how to stroke the most melted and small parts of your mind, so well. You fell into his offer and kisses with a smile.

“Your favorite stockings? The knit ones?” You teased, nipping at his jaw, and letting your own touch drift and linger around the tender flesh where the base of his wings met the muscles around his spine.

(Keigo wouldn’t admit it to many, but they ached most days. His body, though trained immaculately, wasn’t truly meant to bear the weight it did.)

(But, you were happy to lift some his own burdens.”

You massaged the flesh, touch firm even through Keigo’s initial arch and startled jolt. 

“Can I rub some of that oil on these too?” You murmured, tangling your sweaty legs together. “You’ve been working too hard lately, daddy. They’ve gotta hurt.”

“Hm,” Keigo cupped your jaw, drawing your face away to nuzzle your noses together, something warm and so precious, you only saw it in his most comfortable moments. “Aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you?”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t help,” You wanted to, you liked to, and you liked seeing daddy— Keigo, relax after scenes, sessions, and long days. “Please?”

“Of course, dove,” Keigo’s eyes crinkled at the corners, with a smile all for the two of you. “Let’s lay for a little longer, alright?”

His touch, honeyed and kind without a hint of teasing, drifted to the lowest part of your back, finding the roots of your tension and tending to them, as you tended to his. 

You were happy to tangle with him, content and intertwined. 

 ||||||||||

thank you for reading!! 💕

ko-fi 

[scuttle-buttle]

WC: 2261

Rated: M

Tags: angst, medical issues, pregnancy complications, hurt/comfort, anxiety, brief mentions of medical procedures but no gore, nothing is technically sad, fluff, papa laszloooo

A/N: honestly tho I am sorry. also i maybe cried a little writing this, which is a first. also also everybody is fine in this it's just emotional

Blame @hardlyinteresting

🧠

"Three weeks…. Three weeks little bean…" you mumble as you rub your protruding stomach after a particularly harsh kick to your ribs. The chair was a sweet relief to your ankles after a long day at work and doing some light chores around the house all afternoon. You had three weeks until you hit 39 weeks into your pregnancy. As much as you were anxious you were ready. Ready to not feel like a bloated whale. Ready to not have sore feet. But most of all, ready to hold your baby girl.

Laszlo had been trying to convince you to take it easy and start maternity leave early, but you resisted. The last thing you were about to do is nothing. Most first pregnancies went late anyway, you'd argued, so you didn't worry about it yet. I’m pregnant, not dying - give me another week, you'd told him.

What you didn't tell him was about the headaches. Or how sore your legs were. Or how absolutely exhausted you'd been feeling the last couple weeks. Whenever he would ask if you were alright or offer a foot rub you would just brush it off as third trimester woes. You didn't want to worry him.

You were sat in an armchair in the parlor, feet propped up, damp rag over your eyes. The droning from the tv had your nerves on edge. All you wanted to do was take some tylenol and feel better, but you had been knocking back more than was probably safe the last few days so you went without.

A sudden pain shoots through you causing the rag to fall onto your chest. “Ohh...ow? OW!” You sit up straighter as the ache persists; the dull throbbing in your upper abdomen unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. Were you in labor early? Did she just kick in a bad spot? No no - surely the pain would’ve died down by now had that been the case. Unless? Can babies kick so hard they rupture something? Did my kid just bust my liver? Your thoughts run rampant as you wait, in vain, for the pain to go away. The pricking behind your eyes and in your temples only made it more hellish. Pressing your palm to the spot does nothing, nor do the breathing exercises you had been taught.

When five minutes have passed by without relief you make the choice to call out for your husband. “Laz?” No response. “Laszlo!” A beat passes; nothing. You swallow through your building nausea.

“I swear to fucking-” you growl as you snatch your phone from the end table to your left. You use all your concentration to dial his number.

It rings four times.

“Bärchen, why are you call-”

You don’t let him finish. “Something’s wrong.”

______

Head thrown back into the flat, starchy hospital pillow you groan in frustration. “permanent bedrest?” You scrub the hand not clutching your belly down your face.

The emergency room Obstetrician gives you a pitying look. “I’m afraid so - your blood pressure is high and we want to keep it under control to prevent outcomes such as pre-eclampsia. I recommend doing as little as absolutely possible; get rid of as many stressors as you can.” He flips through your chart. “You said you’ve been having headaches and fatigue for nearly two weeks? Why didn’t you come in sooner?”

Huffing, you tell him “I thought it was just part of the third trimester. Everyone always complains about how bad it is.” He hums in response.

“Well. I’m going to go take a final look at your labs, make sure everything else is fine before we discharge you. I’ll send in my Nurse Practitioner to give you the run down and anything else you’ll need to know. And should anything else like this happen again - get in here immediately.” He pats you awkwardly on the hand before nodding at Laszlo and leaving the room.

Laszlo.

Sparing a glance from the corner of your eye you see him looking towards his lap, his weaker hand cradled in the other. He’d been quiet since you admitted when your symptoms had first begun. Every single time he’d asked you how you were feeling you had lied to him. Granted, you didn’t technically know you were lying. But it makes little difference when you’re sitting in the ER. He had every reason to be upset.

“Laszlo honey,” you reach over to him. Slowly he takes your proferred hand and stands, coming to stop beside the bulky bed frame. His thumb caresses your wrist.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve examined the signs, kept a better eye on you.”

“Laz-”

“-No-”

“-I didn’t want to worry you, okay?-” Your voice breaks as you defend yourself.

“-I could’ve done something, maybe- I don't know!” His slightly raised voice startles you quiet. The pain in his eyes only makes you feel guiltier. He licks his lips. “I took the liberty of calling your mother. She will be here tomorrow afternoon and will be staying in the guest room as long as we need her.”

Now you look away, indignant. “I don’t need to be watched like I’m a child.” The tears behind your eyelids rush in; a lone drop trailing down your cheek as the embarrassment settles within your gut. You knew that at some point it was likely you would need her here. However you imagined it to be under happier circumstances. A deep inhale fails to calm your sobs. “I just- I don’t want to be a burden with all this.” Your tears flow freely now.

“My dear you could never be.” Laszlo sits on the edge of the bed. He rests his right palm above the swell of your child, his left cupping along the curve of your jaw. He tilts you to face him. “But the health of you and our girl is what is most crucial now. Let us take care of you. Please.”

A gentle kick underneath his palm from your daughter is answer enough.

__________

Two weeks. 14 days.

Lying in bed, sitting in the same spot for hours on end was actually going to be the death of you. You were sure of it.

Your mother truly has been a huge help since arriving. Laszlo wanted to start his paternity leave, but you insisted that he stay until you were closer to your due date. Which couldn’t come fast enough, you might add. Both Laszlo and your mother were prone to pestering you about some things, but at other times if you truly wanted to be alone they gave you your space. Now was one of those times. Laptop to your side, you watch another episode of Grey’s Anatomy. A knock sounds. You turn to see your husband standing in the doorway, the blood pressure monitor in arm.

He gives you a bright smile. “How are you two on this fine afternoon?”

“Cut it with the attitude, bucko. Let’s get this over with.” The words, while harsh, had little bite to them. His brow raises but he says nothing. You honestly felt bad that you’d been in a pretty foul mood since being discharged. On more than one occasion you’d said as much to Laszlo and your mother - they didn’t deserve your ire. Thankfully they understood why you were so frustrated.

You held the strap in place as he secured the velcro and started the machine. Buzzing filled the overall quiet room. Closed eyes you wait. Some days your results were higher than others. Unless you became higher than a certain threshold the doctor said you were safe to be home. At the sound of a beep Laszlo unhooks the cuff, reporting that your levels are within the acceptable range. When he goes to leave you alone you clutch at his sleeve. He waits as you peer up at him. “Stay?”

He never could say no to you.

______

Little bean’s ruthless treatment of your bladder had you up for the second time that night. You waddled to the bathroom to attend to your business and wash your hands. Glancing at the circles under your eyes in the mirror you sigh. “I love you baby bean but you’re giving me a run for my money here, kid,” you whisper as you rub your stomach. Three days, you remind yourself.

The floor creaks as you shuffle back to bed. Suddenly, an odd warm trickling sensation travels down your legs. “What the fuck?” Looking down around your bulging bump you find yourself standing in a small puddle, the glint of the bathroom night light reflecting off the surface. “Shit okay…ah Laszlo? Hey, I need you to wake up.”

He grumbles. With a roll of your eyes you walk over and shake him awake. “Hey- what-” he sits up instantly and blinks at you. “Is everything alright?”

“My water broke.”

He hops into action right away. Moving you to sit on the bed, he pulls out his cell phone to call your doctor. As he talks you watch him move around the room, the phone wedged between his ear and shoulder, as he collects your hospital supplies. You feel useless as you sit. Yet, you know that your priority needs to be keeping yourself calm and that moving around could exacerbate your condition.

He hangs up. Coming to stand in front of you he presses a kiss to your forehead; “I’ll go wake your mother. Don’t move, Liebling.”

As you sit you blow out a long breath. You look down at your bump. “Guess you decided you’re ready to go, huh kid?” The tip of your fingers brush along the side of your stomach. “I know we’re ready for you too. We’re going to love you so much, and your daddy? He’s gonna be the best, you’ll see.” Placing your palms flat she nudges you from within.

_____

The doctors decided that a c-section was the safest route. You both knew it was a possibility, but you had hoped that after weeks of bedrest that your blood pressure would balance out enough for a natural delivery. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. They monitored you for an hour before your contractions began, officially confirming you were in fact in active labor and dilating. After the fourth hour your blood pressure began to spike again. That’s when they decided to prep you for the procedure.

The operation went smoothly. The atmosphere of the surgical suite was tense with your nerves, but Laszlo’s calming words and his hand squeezing yours kept the anxiety from spilling over. You even found it in you to poke fun at how ridiculous he looked in the puffy blue elastic hair cap he wore.

When the first cries rang out you nearly tried to hop off the table to see your baby. The doctors worked quickly to ensure you were in proper condition while the infant was cleaned.

“Dad? Would you like to come and cut the cord?” one of the nurses calls out.

Laszlo looks back at them before turning to face you. He searches your eyes for a moment; “go,” you nod with a smile. You watch as he did what the nurses instructed as best you could, her soft wails echoing in the small room. He returns to you right after while they finish wrapping her up in a blanket.

“She’s beautiful my dear,” your professor confesses. He leans to give you a lingering kiss. “I’m so unbelievably proud of you.”

“I love you so much.”

“As I love you.”

The doctor interrupts your moment. “Would you like to hold your baby girl?” The question is directed at you, but you look over to your husband. The man you love more than life itself. He stares at the little bundle as if she’s the most incredible sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He can’t take his gaze off her. His irises sparkle with unshed tears as he looks on with wonder.

“Laz?” Finally he breaks away. “Hold your little girl - she’s been waiting to meet her Papa.”

Carefully the doctor shifts his hold on the babe to slide her into Laszlo’s waiting arm. He swallows as he pulls her to his chest. Something caught between a sob and a laugh leaves him. You blink through your own tears at the sight of your husband and daughter, a sight so far beyond perfect there could be no words. Laszlo held her with such delicacy, such reverence. It was as if any moment she could slip away as though a dream.

“Hello there my little dove, I’ve been waiting a very long time to meet you.” He doesn’t bother to wipe away the streams that fall from his eyes. “I’m your Papa and I-” he sniffs, looking towards the ceiling and blinking rapidly to clear his eyes. You rest your hand on his bicep. “I love you so very much. I would give you the world if I could. Your grandfather didn’t...he was not....” he pauses to gather himself. “To me you are the greatest gift I could ever receive. I will be the best father I can for you. A father worthy of you. Mein Gott, Ich liebe dich my darling dove.”

He continued to hold her in his arms until it was time to take you into the recovery room. When he had asked if you wanted her you simply shook your head. You would get your chance, you had a lifetime to do so. But your Laszlo needed this. He needed his little dove.

Tag list

@hardlyinteresting @lorna-d-m @livvyshmiv @somethingthatsaysbubbles @greeneyedblondie44 @unbeatablecurlgirl @apparrio @marchingicenotes7 @anteroom-of-death @bruhidaniel @lemairepstuff @thehuiabird @zemosimp05 @alindeluce @iamnotthecatladynextdoor @laura-naruto-fan1998 @trelaney @boneheadduluc @i-am-dead-inside-666 @fictionlandslanddreams @that-one-fandom-kid @hb8301 @fandom-princess-forevermore @foggycandywitch @creme-bruhlee @andy-rocks @nonamec0s @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @uncomfortablebagel @rachelicouss @wisia02

[starlightsearches]

Hi Star! from the not-so-SFW prompts, maybe 1 +4 please? Thank you so much my friend! 🤩💖

Hey Irma, thanks for the request!

Hux x reader (f)

Requests are open ✨ (but slow-going)

1. I’m gonna fill you up to the brim,” and 4. “don’t talk with your mouth full,” from the top/dom prompt lists

Warnings: Dom! Hux, Sub! reader, vibrator use, oral (m receiving), over-stimulation, name-calling, facial, semi-public play, I don't remember what else so let me know if I missed anything!

The muscles in your fingers ache, hands clenched so hard at your sides you think your bones may splinter. Your toes curl inside your boots, thighs shaking, and you focus on taking deep breaths—quiet as you can—the blood rushing from your head, leaving you dizzy and faint.

You've been on edge for too long. You'll lose your mind if this continues.

Across the bridge, General Hux smirks, giving the remote in his hand a subtle twist. Your lips part of their own accord, the vibrator nestled just inside your slick entrance reaching a new peak before returning to a subtle rumble and slowly growing silent.

You can feel every minute of it—this game you've decided to play—every swallowed moan and stolen chance of pleasure stored in your aching core, begging to be released.

Taking a deep breath, you glance out of the corner of your eye. If the officer beside you notices anything amiss, he doesn't let on, his expression almost bored as he monitors the empty expanses of space for non-existent threats. The vibrator is quiet, at least; you're glad you haven't spilled your little secret with a wanton sigh or trembling hand.

Maybe he'd like that. Maybe the general is waiting for the moment you break—wants everyone to see you crumble under the weight of the pleasure he gives you, wants to watch them watching you, sweat-slicked and possessed, writing in an ecstasy only he can bring. Maybe he wants them all to know that you belong to him.

It's an intriguing idea, and your cunt clenches as the vision plays out, but you know him too well.

He wants you all to himself.

You do your best to school your features as you make your approach, but it's no use. You can't help the way your face goes soft when you look at him—the admiration in your eyes, the soft parting of your lips, memories like sugar on your tongue when you think about every way he's loved you.

His eyes latch on to yours, smug, the vibrator humming with triumph, singing against your skin. You don't break your stride or his gaze.

"General Hux," you begin, your mouth dry and voice shaking, "may I speak to you for a moment in your office? It's a matter of some urgency." He pauses, reading you. Maybe he's impressed you've lasted this long.

Or maybe he's planning on teasing you for a little while longer.

Either way, he nods, gesturing for you to lead the way, following just a little too close behind to be considered appropriate.

If anyone one on the bridge notices, they don't speak until you after you're out of the room.

The door to his office closes behind you, and you let it support your weight, your muscles too sore to hold you upright any longer.

He pretends as not to notice, adjusting his gloves before turning to face you. "What did you want to speak with me about, lieutenant?"

“Please," you swallow past the lump in your throat, "I need to cum. I need it."

His shoulders drop, lips pressed together with a pitying smile, his eyes tracing your features with a scalpel's precision. “I don’t think you’ve earned it, pet.”

The vibrator rumbles, and your eyes fall closed, listening to the taps of his shoes as he stalks closer. You could end this, right now. You could let the word fall from your quivering lips and he'd drop the facade immediately, pulling you into his arms and coaxing the sweetest heights out of you, his lips pressing gentle apologies against your skin.

You lick your lips instead, putting all your focus into your next words. “What can I do?”

“I want you—" he presses in closer, the heat of his body heavy against your own but his his knuckles light as a whisper when he strokes them down the length of your cheek, his breath feathering through your hair, "—on your knees.”

Oh thank gods. You meet his gaze, his dilated pupils swallowing the color from his eyes, turning them dark behind gilded lashes. His hand stays on your cheek as you shift to the floor, and you focus on that rather than the sting of the durasteel against your skin.

“Look at you, eager little thing,” he whispers, pressing two fingers against your lips until they part, and you taste leather, gagging slightly as he slides his digits between your teeth.

He hums, disappointed, dragging his slick fingers from your mouth, encasing your jaw in his hand, pulling your chin higher so he can look in your eyes when he leans in close.

“Is that the best you can do? I had expected more.”

Your words are stolen from your throat when the vibrator sparks to life again, the intensity quickly rising until you're staring into the abyss at the back of your eyelids.

"Does that feel good?"

Your cunt drips, soaking into the fabric of your uniform. You can only hum in response, haphazardly shifting on your knees, aching for more contact, more pressure.

He shifts his grip against your jaw, smearing more of your spit over your cheek. "Are you sure? What if you could have my cock instead?"

You buck your hips forward, grateful his office is sound-proofed to the outside when you hear the desperation in your whine.

"Please."

"I'll be so good to you. I'll fill you up to the brim—" he pets his hand over your hair, gripping tight at the back of your neck, his lips almost on yours. The buzz of the vibrator fills you, overtaking every other sense, and you're there, at the peak, waiting to fall over onto the other side.

"Later."

It's all ruined. The vibrator goes still.

There must be tears on your cheeks, because he clears them away with both hands, cupping your face between his palms. You see the question in the deep green of his eyes—is this okay?—the silent worry that he might be taking this too far. You nod against his grasp.

"I'm just trying to provide some motivation," he whispers, pressing the softest kiss against your cheek. You reach for the fastener on his pants, pressing your hands tight against his body to keep your fingers from shaking.

His neck stretches to the ceiling high above you, but you still hear that gasp when you grip his cock, your feverish skin meeting his own. He's harder than you've ever seen him, his dick flushed a deep purple like a bruise. It makes your mouth water.

Your lips encompass the tip, licking a firm stripe over the slit, letting the salt of him spread through your mouth.

“Good girl,” he breathes, taking the back of your head in his hand, pulling your closer, “now choke on it.”

His dick hits the back of your throat, halting the breath in your lungs, and you gag on the excess spit that floods past your cheeks and pools at the corners of your lips.

His hand encases the back of your head and he groans. “Such a perfect little slut for me.”

Gods. He's never like this; never mean, never so demanding. You're fighting to breathe, your throat squeezing involuntarily around the head of his dick as he fucks into your mouth with harsh thrusts, moans like sin echoing off the walls.

He must be close. You can feel it in his fingers, gripping tighter in your hair, buried against your scalp, hear it in the groans he tries to keep locked behind gritted teeth. But more than anything, you know it's true when the vibrator roars back to life, blurring out every minor pain with a roaring pleasure.

You whine around his cock, the sound muffled by the weight of it. It's too much, too fast, but there are no words for what you're feeling, just sticky tears and fragmented moans.

He silences you with a soft tug at your roots. "Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

Your orgasm rips through you, pouring in pleasure, leeching the strength from your limbs until he's supporting most of your weight, holding you by the back of the neck.

It only takes a few more strokes before he finishes, hot ropes of cum sticking to your skin, pooling against your lashes, melting into your hair.

You don't have the energy to stand, but he finds his way to your level, laying down beside you on his office floor. His skin sticks to yours, mouth urgent and searching.

"Thank you," he whispers, brushing his thumb over your skin, cleaning his spend from your cheek. He presses the digit against your tongue, letting you taste the tang of his pleasure. It's not just the release that he's thanking you for, but the vulnerability. The trust you placed in him. He's not saying it, but you know what he means. There's love in that trust. Love in the way he strokes a hand over your hair, the soft smile on his lips.

He loves you. The feeling is mutual. It's enough to bring tears to your eyes.

You smile, press a kiss to his cheek. "Don't mention it."

18+ Hux Tag List: @thembohux, @writingletterstothefire, @missmadwoman, @evarinaandlat, @sitherin-mxschief, @imafatassmess, @toasterking, @rosevon7975, @pradahux, @armitages-galaxy, @dark-lord-of-the-simps, @daughterofaries, @mad-girl-without-a-box, @theold-ultraviolence, @mrs-ghuleh, @lemongingerart, @isthisheaven5, @trash-queen-af, @gen,eralthirst, @tobealostwanderer, @huxxoxo, @theoriginalannoyingbird, @liceforlunch, @g3n3ralhux, @mylifeisactuallyamess, @superunkn0wn, @therealnoex, @luna-is-on-mars, @xxinvisiblexx, @fear-prism, @serenaisavillian, @a-literal-no-name

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[samstree]

For the reverse trope ask: the soft character comforting the tough character after a trauma

Piece Him Back Together

Part of the reverse trope series.

When Geralt gets kidnapped, it's up to Jaskier to rescue him. Some truths about a witcher's worst weakness come to light.

(geraskier, 2.1k, hurt/comfort, geralt whump, mutual pining, competent jaskier, love confession, mild blood)

read on AO3

"Shit, shit, shit..."

Jaskier lets out a string of curses all the while balancing the weight of two fully grown men with stumbling footwork. He desperately tries to keep Geralt up with a hand on the small of his back but fails to stop the injured witcher from drooping with each step, until, at last, both of them wind up in a heap of limbs by the road.

Geralt lets out a pained grunt and Jaskier scrambles with apologies.

“Fuck, sorry.” The bard shifts Geralt’s bulk with all he can muster and finally settles him on a patch of soft moss under the tree. The witcher hisses as his back hits the bark rather heavily. “Shit, I’m so sorr—”

“You already said,” Geralt interrupts him but there’s no anger in his tone.

“Still. I am.”

Jaskier retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to dab at the mess of blood at Geralt’s temple, wincing when he finally sees how bad the blow is. Blood oozes from the gash, slower than a moment before. The fabric is soaked through and the skin there is still tender.

It’s all witchers’ weakness.

The temple. A blow to the head.

It messes up all their senses and coordination, leaving them in the most vulnerable state. If Jaskier had reached him any later, this might have done Geralt in.

Jaskier lets out a distressed sound at the thought.

“Stop fussing. We need to go.” The witcher, against all odds, remains level-headed.

“No, it’s all right. I knocked out all the guards and servants, along with the duke and his mage.” Jaskier tilts Geralt’s head for a better angle to press the handkerchief down on the wound. “I may have given the two of them a little more than the recommended dose. The lady at the apothecary warned me about the risk of choking with much sleeping potion, urgh, like I give an ounce of fuck if they die a gruesome death or not. It’d be a favor to the town.”

The venom surprises even Jaskier himself, and Geralt lets out a meaningful hum.

“Rest assured, my dear. No one will be looking for us today.”

Up close, Jaskier can feel Geralt scrutinize him intently as if to burn a hole into his face. He meets the amber gaze, the dark pupils still a little blown wide from the shock, but there’s also something akin to relief flowing in those beautiful eyes.

He revels in the silence, observing Geralt in return for further signs of hurt, but finds none.

The witcher relents first, the tiniest smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So you drugged an entire castle?”

“Didn’t think I had it in me, huh?” Jaskier teases. “The White Wolf, saved by a humble bard and forever impressed by his wit.”

“Hmm.”

“Well, don’t beat yourself up, oh mighty witcher. I’m sure you only needed the rescue because those villains took advantage of your only weakness.” The bard adds his usual dramatic flair into the last two words.

Geralt blinks. Something shifts in his expression, his breathing picking up and his eyes darting everywhere. If the bard didn’t know better, he’d say the witcher is flustered, which makes it all the more confusing.

“Mocking me, are you?” Geralt drops his gaze and tries to shy away, but the bard holds him in place with the other hand. Under Jaskier’s palm, the frame of the witcher’s ear is heating up.

“How am I mocking you? Geralt, even you must admit witchers aren’t all-powerful beings.” Jaskier frowns. “They messed up your head. I know all your senses get muddled when you’re like this. Seriously, it’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“What are you talking about?” the witcher snaps his gaze back to Jaskier, a puzzled crease deep between his brows, which only makes the bard scoff with amusement.

“The head wound, of course. How did they get you? An ambush and a blow to the head, I’m assuming.” Jaskier explains. “How else did you get yourself into a dungeon and dimeritium cuffs? What, are you telling me you walk into their trap voluntarily?”

He rolls his eyes at the offhanded joke but the silence from the witcher leaves the mood heavier. Somehow, it doesn’t feel like a denial of what he just said. Geralt is staring at him with an inexplicable look on his face, and these looks are hard to come by these days. Jaskier prides himself in being the best on the continent at reading his witcher, and he has no inclination to break the streak.

“What happened then? Talk to me, Geralt.”

Jaskier removes the handkerchief a little. The gash has stopped bleeding, so he ties it around Geralt’s head carefully to keep the wound shielded, at least until they can wash it properly. His hands stay with Geralt afterwards, waiting for him to open up.

“I—” Geralt purses his lips before continuing, golden eyes meeting the bard in earnest. “They didn’t ambush me, Jask. I walked into that castle unarmed by choice.”

“What?” Jaskier’s jaw drops.

“It’s because—” the witcher scowls. “Because I thought…that they had you.”

It’s like a lightning strike, where their skin connects tingling all the way from the tips of Jaskier’s fingers to a warm pool of fuzziness in his stomach. The air is suddenly too hot so Jaskier decides to put more space between them.

“Oh.”

Geralt chases him ever so slightly before settling back with resignation, his eyes still bare and vulnerable, as if he just revealed the darkest secret when it is only the sweetest thing in a horrible, horrible way.

“A whisper of you being held hostage and suddenly I couldn’t think. Couldn’t remember to check the truth. Couldn’t waste another second.” Geralt hovers a hand near the bard’s face before retreating to his side. “You were right that they got me because of my one weakness, Jaskier. Just not the one you assumed.”

The pounding in Jaskier’s chest is jumping out of his throat. He’s sure he will die within the next minute if he doesn’t speak to ease this ache in his heart.

“Oh.”

He ends up saying dumbly.

“It was too late when I noticed the absence of you. Your voice, your heartbeat, your scent. Nothing. You weren’t in that castle or the cells. All I could hear was silence and all I could smell was blood.” Geralt draws a shuddering breath. “I hoped, when they kept me in the dark, that they were lying about ever having you. That you were nowhere near that damn place instead of—”

The witcher swallows, unable to finish the sentence.

“Instead of,” Jaskier adds for him, “they’d already killed me.”

The tension hangs between them. The bard sits back on the heels of his feet and finds himself at a loss for words for the very first time in his life.

Geralt might be the only person who can force Jaskier through so many firsts in his life. His first time writing a hit song, first time smashing into someone’s face with a lute, first time saving a witcher’s life, and perhaps, first time murdering two evil overlords obsessed with collecting witchers for experiments.

Hmm, it’s not like Jaskier regrets any of these.

Geralt reaches out again, tentative and patient like he’s approaching a spooked horse. This time, Jaskier takes pity and meets him halfway, his thumb rubbing small circles at the sword callouses that he adores so much.

“Say something,” Geralt pleads.

Jaskier swallows a lump in his throat and sniffles to ease the congestion in his nose, his vision blurring in desperation.

“It’s the most words you’ve said in one sitting, Geralt. You’ll have to allow me a moment to figure out what you are saying and, most importantly, not saying.” He lets out a humorless laugh. “It’s you, you know? There’s always something you are holding back and that is often the crux of it. I thought I got good at reading between the lines, but this is…overwhelming.”

With the enhanced healing kicking in, Geralt is looking much better by the minute. The blood dries and crusts over and his eyes almost shining in the daylight, or is it just the emotions within them? Jaskier can’t tell.

“Maybe I can help you. With the hidden words.” Geralt squeezes Jaskier’s fingers reassuringly. He tilts his head in the most endearing way. It happens to be that particular head tilt that Jaskier treasures with his life, the one that manages to always take his breath away.

“I love you, Jask.”

The warm pool of fuzziness in Jaskier’s stomach turns into a bottomless pit, and he’s falling.

And soaring.

“I love you.” Geralt smiles sadly. “In the dark of that cell, it became…ever so clear and so loud that I couldn’t deny it anymore. I love you, in spite of myself. Gods, I’ve loved you for so long.”

Geralt picks up Jaskier’s hand and places the barest touch of a kiss there, his lips chapped but oh so gentle. Jaskier lets out a soft gasp and the tears roll down uncontrollably. The next thing he knows, he’s buried deep in Geralt’s embrace. The sobs choke in his lungs like a dam has been broken.

“I—” Jaskier is amazed to find that their roles have reversed. The witcher has expressed everything but the bard becomes mute. So he takes up Geralt’s role gladly and replies with actions.

Jaskier’s lips are pressed everywhere he can reach: the soft, warm skin of Geralt’s neck, the sharp of his jaw, his cheek, the tip of his nose. He disregards the grime and dirt and kisses Geralt’s uninjured temple, the single most fragile part of a witcher’s body—barring their heart, so it seems. He tucks away a strand of white hair and kisses Geralt’s temple one more time, tasting the salty tang of tears.

When he pulls back, Geralt’s smile is blinding.

He hears Jaskier, even though—

“I still don’t know what to say,” Jaskier croaks, sniffling hard.

The bard rests his hands at the nape of Geralt’s neck and loses himself in the sunlit golden honey, his favorite color in the world and the most beautiful dream that’s ever come true.

“You don’t have to say anything.” Geralt wipes away the wetness on Jaskier’s face with the pad of his thumb. “Master Jaskier, poet, minstrel, professor… Stumped for words and forever impressed by a witcher’s love confession.”

He mimics Jaskier’s phrasing and the bard can’t help but chuckle despite the tears and snout, his hand swatting at Geralt’s shoulder. Jaskier knows he must look so absurd, laughing and crying all at once, but it’s the last thing in the world that matters.

Geralt loves him, and—

“You got hurt because of me.”

The remorse licks up, along with the urge to protect and to care. The sight of Geralt limp and bloody, bound by the wrists in a dark cell is something Jaskier never wants to relive again.

“I don’t care, Jask.”

“I care.”

“Then make it better.”

So he does. Geralt never wavers as Jaskier captures his lips and pours everything he cannot voice into the kiss, drawing a contented moan out of the witcher.

“Does it still hurt?” the bard whispers between one breath and the next.

“A little.”

Jaskier resumes his work and cards deft fingers through silver hair, careful not to nudge the handkerchief. His nails ghost over Geralt’s scalp and scratches gently until a purring sound rumbles deep in the witcher’s chest. The bard giggles proudly.

“Now?”

“Keep going.”

Geralt traps Jaskier between his strong arms devours him with passion, the heat of his body solid and calming.

Jaskier has never thought of himself as a protector, except at this moment with his witcher arching into his every touch and producing those heavenly sounds. The world is too bent on hurting Geralt, too eager to take and take and take from him.

A bard is not a fighter. Jaskier cannot stop monsters from tearing through armors or crossbows fired with ill intent.

But a bard is a lover. What Jaskier can do is heal, is piece Geralt back together with gentle words in the dark and soft lips on the thin skin at his temple.

“How about now?”

They are panting in tandem, the gold of Geralt’s eyes dreamy and out of this world.

“Still dizzy.”

“That’s from all the kissing, you oaf.”

But Geralt begs wordlessly with those wide, puppy-like eyes so openly, and Jaskier’s already non-existent resolve breaks into a million pieces. He kisses Geralt until the witcher melts into a puddle of purring mess, sun-warmed and pliant.

And he kisses Geralt more.

Again and again.

---

Thanks for the prompt. I kind of just rolled with the concept. The twist looks a bit obvious from the beginning, but feel free to tell me what you think. <3

Tagging: @wanderlust-t @rockysstupidity @flowercrown-bard @alllthequeenshorses @mothmanismyuncle @percy-jackson-is-sexy- @constantlytiredpigeon @behonesthowsmysinging @dapandapod @artisanbaguette @birdsflyhome

Please tell me if you want to be removed or added to the list <3

[lilevixen]

heyyy, idk if u write bertholdt or are even taking requests, but if u are can i request giving bertholdt an orgasm denial from a f!reader and it’s been like 3 hours that he’s had to hold it? thanks if u can :)

sweet boy

Characters: sub!Bertholdt Hoover x dom!female bodied reader

Genre: smut

Word Count: 1.9k

Description: Reader teaches Bertholdt a lesson after he gets a bit too touchy with them in front of their friends

•WARNING- 18+ CONTENT: orgasm denial, no-contact orgasm, descriptions of oral sex (male receiving), dacryphilia(ish?)•

“Baby, please, I said I was s-sorry!” Bertholdt whined from across the room for what felt like the millionth time that evening. You casted a look of faux boredom over your shoulder from your small wooden desk, trying your best to remain blasé at the mouth-watering sight of your boyfriend still sat criss-cross applesauce completely bare on the bed. He was so good for you, so obedient; his arms never once left from behind his back for entirety of the time you had him there. How long did you have him there? After you two got back from the dining hall, minutes easily spilled into hours in the smudgy haze of repressed lust you had established. The only indicator of how long Berthodlt had been sitting there for, cock upright and twitching for attention, was how absolutely worn out he looked. Every inch of his deep, tan skin was glittering with sweat, cords of muscle in his thighs and abdomen strained beneath his flesh so severely they looked like they could snap any second, his chest heaved erratically as if he had just run a marathon- this was absolute torture for him, you could tell. You would’ve felt bad, if he hadn’t disobeyed you in the first place.

“Huh? I was reading, sweetie. I didn’t hear you,” a bald-faced lie on your part. Your eyes kept tracking over the same paragraph over and over again without absorbing any of the information in your brain, the sweet pleas of your boyfriend claiming all the space in your mind instead. His lip quivered at your persistence in feigning ignorance of his situation and tears quickly filled his dark eyes.

“P-Please! Can you please t-touch me? I need you so bad I think I might e-explode,” he stammered out, his voice meek but desperate, shameless, so needy and you felt it throb between your legs, adding to the arousal already collecting along your inner thighs. Despite how incredibly turned on you were, you let out a slow sigh hiss past your lips as if you were getting irritated.

“Well, you got to touch me plenty, sweets. In front of everyone, just like I asked you not to,” excitement overtook your annoyance some time ago, but what you brought up was a genuine point of contention. From the very beginning you made it clear you wanted your relationship to be private. It wasn’t that you were ashamed of him or anything, you just hated all the unnecessary attention couples garnered, all the mindless gossip and speculation of who plays what role, the whispers, the stares. And once Bertholdt had gotten comfortable with you, always seeking your touch like a love sick little puppy, you knew this was something that needed to be discussed. He agreed at the time, ‘if it means I get to be with you, I guess it’s okay,’ he said, but as things progressed he would give away your relationship in little ways. At first it was just the way he would look at you (which was only natural given your feeling for each other, you supposed), staring at your lips for a little too long when you spoke, a little twinkle of fondness in his warm eyes. You let this slide, because it was minimal and no one seemed to notice. But slowly, he started doing more and more things that you had to call him out on, resting his head on your shoulder, using his thumb to tenderly swipe crumbs of food off your face, nearly calling you baby- until finally, tonight in the dining hall while having supper with your friends, he practically announced you two were together by kissing your hand when you burnt it on a scalding bowl of soup. Porco was too involved with his food to notice, but you could feel Reiner and Annie’s eyes hovering over you as if you were an alien. Too embarrassed to handle their reactions, you excused yourself to your room and quickly left before they even had a chance to say anything, Bertholdt obviously right on your heels. He tried to embrace you and kiss you and apologize to make it all better, but his penchant for physical affection was what got you in this situation in the first place. So that’s when you decided to give him a little time-out. Even though, your edge was starting to wear down after hearing him whine out for you for so long.

“I know! I-I just don’t like seeing you get hurt! I didn’t think they were looking at us, I’m sorry Y/N!” he choked out, squirming against the air as if that would provide some sort of relief. “I’m s-so hard for you it feels like ‘m gonna pass out.”

“Oh really? And what do you want me to do about that?” You asked in a snarky tone to mask the unadulterated lust pulsing through you, going back to fake-reading your text book.

“I want you to touch me! I want to feel you, any part of you, until I cum over and over…” you could hear the thought in his voice as he got lost in what he was describing, and you didn’t need to turn around to know he was biting his lip with his head tilted back, eyes squeezed shut and brows knitted. Another hot rush of arousal swirled in deep in your stomach.

“You know I can’t do that, baby,” you said against your own body’s command.

“Y-Yes you can! I promise I’ll be good from now on, I w-won’t hold your hand or kiss you or hug you in front of anyone again! Just please, I need you Y/N,” maybe it was your own excitement, or how fucking good he sounded begging for you like a pitiful little boy, but this finally broke your resolve. It would be cruel to let him stay there like that all night, anyway. You pushed yourself out of your seat and made your way to Berthdolt’s trembling form on the bed. Even you just getting closer to him caused his heavy breathing to pick up pace.

“How do you want me, my sweet boy?” you purred, laying down flat on your stomach before his lanky body so that his dick towered above you like a skyscraper.

“A-Any way,” he looked down at you beneath his dark, fluttering lashes, swiveling his hips in anticipation of your touch. You let out a soft scoff.

“Be specific or I can’t help you~,” you said with a sweet lilt in your voice, harsh words laced with honey. His eyes blew open wide at your threat to leave him a writhing, unfulfilled mess for even longer than you already had.

“Can you take me in your mouth? Please?” A new wave of blush spread across his cheeks as he said this, and you couldn’t help but smile at how cute he was.

“There you go, baby,” you giggled. You guided your featherlight fingertips along the slick muscle of his thighs, causing him to tense up immediately, and you could actually see the thrum of his heartbeat racing beneath his skin in faint flits. He was so sensitive by now you didn’t doubt he would explode just like he said before. Your fingers playfully walked along the slope of his legs, working their way inwards, and you teased them to a gradual stop mere inches from where he needed you most. He was panting like a dog at this point, chest rising and falling violently as he looked down at you, jaw slack and eyes cloudy with frustrated tears.

“You’ve been waiting for this, huh?” You dragged your tongue along your lower lip and leaned in close to his pulsating cock so that your breath fanned across his shaft, digging your fingers into the tendons of his inner thigh. He gasped, the shock of you finally gracing him with some sort of stimulation overwhelming his worked-up body, and a throb of pleasure shot through his dick with such alarming intensity that you could see it expand in his veins and swell at the tip. You blinked up at him, a bit startled yourself. He was so close already and you barely even touched him… Maybe you didn’t even need to touch him.

“U-Uhuh!” He nodded frantically, tears now spilling down his flushed face and drool dribbling down his chin; the sight would’ve been sad if it wasn’t so fucking hot. You massaged your fingertips into the thin, sweat-slicked skin on either side of his balls and slowly moved your lips upwards so that they were ghosting the hot, leaking head of his penis. His whole body shuddered underneath you, hips eagerly twitching to meet your lips, but only mildly, timidly, making it clear he was still completely under your control.

“I bet you’ve been imagining this for so long, my lips around your cock, feeling me squeeze you in my throat,” you hummed, your lips just barely brushing his dickhead as you spoke, and to him the vibration of your voice and the warm flutters of your breath against him felt just as sensational as the euphoric grip of your walls after hours of waiting for any kind of attention. This was exactly what you suspected, what you were hoping. He was such a desperate mess that he could get off to just your words and proximity. “Can you feel it? My pretty little mouth drooling around you?”

“A-Ah! Yes!” He cried out, and his stiff cock slapped against his belly eagerly as if he was truly feeling every bit of what you were describing, hell, even you were starting to feel it from his reactions alone, the ache between your legs growing almost painful.

“Does my sweet boy want to cum down my throat?” You kept steady eye contact with him, savoring every bit of watching him crumble before you, intentionally letting your breath pour past your lips in heavy pants, and he bucked into the air with each puff, his abdomen flexed tight and his thighs shuddering.

“Ahaha y-yes please!” He whimpered, the rhythm of his hips gently rising to meet your breath becoming twitchy and unstable, a clear sign that he was on the brink of long-awaited release. A coy smile played at the ends of your lips as you batted your lashed up at him.

“Then cum for me,” and on command, his whole body convulsed under the weight of sweet, sweet climax, at long last, the hugest load you’d ever seen erupting out of him in thick, hot torrents that sprayed right in his face. You were so proud of him, your poor baby, putting up with your little act for hours on end despite yearning for you so immensely that you didn’t even need to touch his cock for him to bust. He just loved you that much and why exactly? You quite honestly didn’t know. You almost felt the need to apologize for treating him so cruelly, but at the end of the day you were trying to teach him a lesson, and based on how he was looking at you, right eye squeezed shut to prevent cum from getting in his eye, body rattling with exhaustion, it was safe to say he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. The least you could do was help him clean up. You got up on your knees and took his clammy face in your hands, gliding your tongue along his salty skin to get rid of all the cum, saliva, tears- whatever fluids were coating his face. When you were done, you pressed a kiss to his lips.

“I love you, my sweet boy.”

||

A/N:

HEYYY LOVELIESSS💓💓 here’s my first official completed request (woohoo)!!! Bertholdt is not usually a character I would accept writing but this request kinda had me GRRRR ya know (thank you for that anon, I truly hope you’ll enjoy this! This was my first time writing orgasm denial too so idk if i did it right NAKWKA)? BUTTT yeah here ya go, bloop ilyyyy

~Bunny

[aphrodite-would-be-proud]

Hey hey I saw your Armin like erens S/o and that made have feels😡😡 so now please...give more angst- Like Eren finding out Armin likes reader and decide s to talk please 😩😩✌️

You asked for angst so...i went the whole way there.

I think this can technically count as my first Eren x reader fic but i don't think I'll list it as an Eren's fic. He still ain't getting his own subcategory.

You're dating Eren, he finds out Armin likes you.

{ Armin x reader, Eren x reader | tw:cheating accusation, tw:arguments, tw:unhealthy-frienships, tw:lowkey-toxic, tw:bad relationship, tw:angst without comfort | heavy angst, no comfort, drama | modern }

{ "Calais Pier" 1801 by Joseph Mallord William Turner 1775-1851 }

Laying on the couch, Eren was scrolling through his phone while occasionally taking bites of the chips he digged out of Armin's kitchen. His finger stopped just as he reached a certain post from Historia

"Ymir's birthday is this Wednesday?" He said, glancing to where Armin was sitting on the Armchair.

Still typing on his laptop "yeah" Armin said, eyes focused on the screen.

"Huh...didn't take her for a birthday party kind of person" turning off his phone, Eren headed towards the nearby kitchen.

"Historia's the one planning it." Looking at the half full bag of chips Eren left, he frowned, "aren't you going? Also why do you keep eating my chips when you don't like the taste."

"Already went to Mikasa's birthday 4 days ago, and because I forget how bad they taste each time." Closing the fridge, Eren went to look through the cupboards instead. "Why do you have so much fruits in your fridge?"

The sound of typing slowed down, "that's the thing about birthdays Eren, each person gets their own day." Soon the typing stopped as he began proof reading his email, "my grandpa sends them to me."

Coming back to the living room empty handed, Eren sat back on his spot. "Either way, I have a date with y/n on that day"

"Oh" Looking away, Armin couldn't focus on the words on his screen anymore. "I hope you two have fun."

"We will." Eren said, staring at him for a second before looking away too.

Finally finishing his work, Armin set the laptop aside. "i just think it'd be nice to hang out more."

"hang out?"

"yeah like we don't see each other as much as we used to, a birthday is a nice excuse to hang out."

Staring directly at him, Eren crossed his arms. "uh huh, and just hang out?

Scratching the back of his neck, Armin met his gaze. "...well what else is there?"

The silence lasted seconds too long, an uncomfortable feeling growing slowly between them. It was Eren who broke it first "nothing, just... nevermind."

Not satisfied with the asnwer, Armin moved to sit next to his bestfriend on the couch, attempting a form of comfort. "Eren are...are you okay, you've been acting pretty...uh strange lately."

Resting his cheek on his hand, "what do you mean?" Eren said.

"You've been...distante lately, not spending as much time with us and being late or canceling last minute whenever we agree to meet up." Armin tried touching the other's shoulder, only to let go when Eren stiffened up.

His reply was so quiet, Armin wouldn't have heard if he wasn't sitting as close. "you're one to talk."

"what?" Armin tilted his head, wondering if he misheard something.

"I'm just saying, isn't it hypocrisy to criticise me for something you're already doing?" With narrowed eyes, Eren doubled down.

"I'm not criticising you, I'm just concerned for you."

"when's the last time you visited Armin? My mom has been asking why you suddenly stopped showing"

Feeling like something's stuck in his throat, Armin swallowed. "...I've been busy, work has been piling up and-"

Getting up from the coach to stare down at his friend, Eren didn't let him finish talking before saying. "yeah don't give me that work bullshit, I know for a fact it's just excuses. It never bothered you before so why now, it's like you've been lying to get out of things ever since…"

Fist grabbing in the pillow near him, Armin just stared up at Eren, the feeling in his throat intensifying.

Stepping closer, Eren was almost towering over the other while standing up. "Ever since y/n and I started dating."

"What are you talking about" Not wanting to face him, Armin stared at his feet instead.

"you know exactly what I'm talking about" Eren said, jaw clenched, "Jean told me everything."

That seemed to get Armin to meet his gaze "Jean?"

"yeah, of all people. Why did I have to know about this from someone else?" Putting space between them, Eren looked away in disgust, "all the letters, late night calls, good morning texts, gifts... I'm not stupid"

"believe me you've got it wrong" desperation in his voice, Armin was struggling to stay calm, "whatever Jean told you it's probably things Mikasa didn't know how to explain well-"

"Mikasa ? I didn't hear it from her." Interrupting him again, Eren seemed to be growing more agitated by the second.

Looking lost, Armin said "what? But I only told-"

"did she know about this too? And still kept it from me?" running his hand through his hair, Eren took another step back.

Standing up, Armin took a few steps towards him. "I asked her to, she was just trying to help."

Just looking at him made Eren's blood boil. "helping you with what Armin? Sleeping with y/n behind my back? Yeah what a real good friend she is." Not wasting any time in cutting the distance between them, "Keeping the fact y/n has been cheating on me with my best friend." He said in Armin's face.

"That never happened! Mikasa would never do that and you know that." Not backing away, Armin stood still.

"Mikasa would never, but I'm not stupid enough to believe you wouldn't do it Armin." Pressing his lips into a thin line, for a second Eren looked more hurt than angry, "I thought we were best friends, were you ever going to tell me?"

Attempting to touch his shoulder again, Armin said. "do you really think I would do that to you? Do you really think y/n would do that to you? Is this how little you think of me? 

Only to be pushed away again.

"I don't know what to believe anymore" putting back the space between them, "I didn't want to believe Jean till I've seen proof with my own eyes. You're lying. "

Hands tightening into fists, "if you'd just calm down and listen then maybe-" Armin stayed near the couch.

Getting impatient, Eren said. "No. Don't-" only to be interrupted by a pillow thrown next to his head.

"You think y/n would cheat on you with ME? Really Eren? You think y/n would choose me over you? In what world would that happen, we both know i have no chance." Struggling to hold back his tears, Armin felt all his frustration pouring out.

Seemingly unimpressed with the other's outburst, Eren just scoffed. "There you go again with that self pity! I Don’t want any of your pathetic excuses, all you do is whine."

"Yeah? And all you do is get angry and yell." Shaking his head, before continuing, "that's why Mikasa didn't tell you, she knew you'd act exactly like this."

"I have every fucking right to be angry-"

"stop pushing everyone away, you're acting like a selfish self centred child throwing a tantrum." Interrupting him again, Armin didn't look away this time, "You just want to pick a fight without listening to what I have to say.

Attempting to lick his lips, Armin tasted saltiness, only realising then his tears have been pouring for a while.

Not wasting the chance, Eren pushed even more. "I'm the child ? At least I'm not the fucking crybaby in here. Remember Armin? When you grandpa-"

His eyes were burning again, throat aching in shame. "Don't- please don't bring it up."

"why? What are you going to do about it? Are you going to cry even more?"

His vision getting too blurry to see, Armin wiped his face with his hands. "now you're just being-"

"I don't care about your opinion on how I'm being, no one asked for it." Whatever guilt Eren might have felt he pushed away, "You didn't seem to care about mine before going to fuck the person I'm dating-"

"I DIDN'T, WHY CAN'T YOU BELIEVE ME." Having used all his remaining energy to yell that, Armin sat back in defeat on the couch feeling too overwhelmed.

Eren stared him down as he collected himself, waiting for an explanation to follow as he leaned back against the wall.

After a minute, Armin began talking again. "yes I wrote y/n peoms and letters, yes i called really late at night and yes I looked at them in a not so innocent way, but I've never ever done anything inappropriate."

Eren stayed silent, only looking at him in an unreadable expression.

"Yes I liked y/n while knowing you're dating , and i fucking wished they'd like me back. Yes i have feelings for them but y/n did nothing to betray your trust neither did i cross any lines. "

"...how long have you been bottling this up."

Hesitante to answer, Armin couldn't meet the other's eyes anymore. "Before you started dating...even before you met actually. I've been planning to confess to them but...it was too late. I take full responsibility for this I'm really-"

Finally seeming to calm down, Eren moved from where he was standing. "I don't want your apology. So y/n didn't cheat on me?"

Shaking his head, Armin replied. "No...it's just me."

Another full minute of silence passed before Eren grabbed his Jacket from the couch, his phone too. "would...you've told me if y/n did it?"

Armin look at him, confused. "What?"

"Cheating on me, from your speech you seemed to be hoping for it to happen." Walking to the door, he began putting his shoes back on.

Armin didn't know how to reply, he just sat there.

"can you deny it? Can you say you've never hoped for y/n to leave me for you?"

He was speechless, Armin couldn't even attempt to form an answer.

"that's what i thought, what kind of freind are you? You act like you're the bigger person yet you were just waiting for me and y/n to break up for your own selfish desires" Opening the door, Eren stepped outside, "And instead of talking about it you just try to avoid me forever? That's your genius plan Armin?"

Having followed him at the last second, Armin was standing next to the doorway." I didn't know what else to do, i couldn't just watch you and y/n from afar knowing i could've had that! It was torture!"

"real mature, attempting to steal the person your best friend's dating"

"Steal? You're the one who got between us in the first place. Since day one you've done nothing but hog y/n at every chance you got."

Getting up in his personal space, Eren said. "If you had a problem with it then why the fuck didn't you speak up Armin?"

Why didn't he speak up? That's something he's been asking himself every night before falling asleep. "I wanted to, I just-"

"just what? Be honest for once in your life, no one forced you to stay silent, you chose to." Eren looked at him.

Did he? Every action you don't change is something you're choosing...Armin couldn't even look at him.

But instead of waiting for him like every time, Eren just stepped back, slammed the door shut before walking away.

[amethystpath-writes]

A Lesson Learned

(NOT A PROMPT)

Hello :) Could you write a piece where the extremely flirtatious villain notices that the hero isn’t taking care of themselves and tries to get them to and promises not to do anything (capture them, etc), but (surprise!) then they do? Haha sorry if it’s a bit specific, adore your writing!

******

“Why, doll,” Villain cooed from behind the bench which Hero sat upon. The bench was old, wood in the process of rotting. Speaking of rot- Villain rounded the park bench, coming face to face with that once-handsome, now-perished face. “Don’t you just look like you sprang from Hell? Yeesh.”

Hero shrugged, not even caring that Villain was here to taunt him yet again- to pick at him with compliments. Usually, anyways. Now, she was insulting him. Did he really look that out of it? Hero felt like it, so it shouldn’t have been so surprising to him. “Don’t feel great- get out of here.”

“And do what? I’d miss the grumble in your voice too much. Come now, my dear, tell me what has that pretty hair of yours so tangled.” Villain’s hand grazed the locks atop Hero’s head, fingers skimming his scalp. She hummed her delight. “How pretty,” Villain whispered into Hero’s ear. “Even if it is greasy.”

“Look, I’m really not in the mood for this.”

Good God, what is that stench? Villain could gag- not could; Villain did gag on the smell. “When was the last time you showered, sugar?” Hero certainly didn’t smell like sugar, but it was in Villain’s nature to shoot a flirt at him anyways.

“Don’t know. Would you get your hand out of my hair?”

“You don’t know?” Villain sighed, dropping her hand and rounding the bench until she came to the front, facing Hero and his abnormally large eye sacks. “Oh, darling…” you have jellyfish beneath your eyes. “You should take better care of yourself. I could help you, you know?”

Hero’s eyes grew as wide as they could with eyelids made of lead. “Help me do what? Bathe?”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind helping you do that- think of how close we would be, my sweet doll.” She sat beside the broken-beyond-repair hero, dragging a fingertip along his dirtied pants. Villain sighed, slightly bored of this game of chess. Her flirtations were slipping away like a wet bar of soap. What an ironic comparison.

Villain said, “What I meant is this; I’ll give your handsomeness a break- or your ugliness, rather. You need to regain your looks, hence the break.”

Ignoring the insult, Hero said, dead-panned, “And I’m supposed to believe you.” A soft tut.

“Have I given you any reason not to? On this pretty night?”

“Beyond the not-so-subtle insults,” Hero thought aloud, and finished with, “I guess not.”

With a scoff, Villain said, “I wouldn’t call those insults. I could have said much worse- and anyways, you know I’m a tease. I feel even more concerned that you’ve forgotten such a vital detail about me. More reason to leave you alone. Right, my love?”

“I still don’t know if I believe you.”

“Why would it matter what I did or didn’t do when you don’t even care to look after yourself?”

She makes a good point. Still… “What would you do then?” Hero didn’t particularly care to have this conversation right now, but- well, he was a hero. Even if he were too exhausted to take care of himself, it was still his responsibility to protect the people. Just because Villain was saying she’d leave Hero alone didn’t mean she’d leave the citizens alone.

“What would I do? Sulk, mostly. I’d miss your pretty little face while I sat alone on my couch.”

“Right. Because I always sit on a couch with you.”

“There’s a taste of that precious fire. You’re beautiful when you’re sarcastic- and healthy.”

Hero sighed. It didn’t matter what he said, did it? He could tell Villain she looked like a horse’s rear-end mixed with a jackal’s paw and she’d continue sticking around. “You said you’d give me a break.” Of course, Hero still didn’t believe Villain’s words. It was her one and only nature to torment him with pointless compliments- and harmful insults apparently.

As if I didn’t already know I look like crap. I’m tired; that’s all. No motivation to do anything but sit on the park bench. He didn’t even feel like getting up to stretch his legs, despite knowing it needed to be done. Hero would rather deal with the aches of standing than to be forced into using so much energy while sitting. How draining it was- standing up from his position now. That’s why he stayed put, even with Villain’s hand circling in his hair once again.

This time, the hand in Hero’s hair was actually soothing. The tender scrape of Villain’s nails against his scalp. The gentle pull through the hair as her fingers caught on tangles, though the larger knots were a tad painful. Hero hummed his delight at the two former feelings, finding himself leaning into the arm which offered such relief.

On a regular day, one not so adorned with absent motivation and sourness, Hero would have slapped Villain’s hand away- would have told her to go find a dog in the park to pet. Naturally, he would have regretted saying it, thinking that Villain might claw its eyes out instead of petting it. Okay, maybe she wouldn’t do something that serious, but she might have stepped on a puppy’s tail, making it screech- if only to horrify the owner.

“Isn’t this a nice break, sugar?” Villain asked, but, of course, there was more to it than this scalp massage. When Hero fell asleep, with his head on Villain’s shoulder, she would give herself a break- not him.

******

Eyes still closed from having just woken up, Hero pulled his shoulder back against the hard- hard? I thought I was in- His eyes cracked open.

White ceiling. Or, mostly white, at least. There was some water damage that Hero could see even through his blurry and freshly woken eyes. The yellow and orange stains did not belong on his ceiling.

He shifted slightly, body still stiff, but he wasn’t willing to stretch yet- just in case there was…a certain someone…paying attention. Damn Villain, Hero thought, because who else’s home could he be in if it weren’t his own?

It was with this thought in mind that Hero sat up. No use in lounging around. Better off to find a way out before Villain-

“Nice to see those starlit eyes of yours.”

Great. Turning his head, he saw Villain casually sprawled across a couch.

Well, one thing was for certain; Hero had the motivation to get up and run again. At least he could thank Villain for something, even if it were simply the desire to escape.

Sitting up, slowly and stiffly, Hero said, “A break. You were supposed to give me a break. It’s what you said, what you told me you’d do. You would give me a break to take care of myself and you would sulk.”

He could almost imagine Villain’s voice answering with an easy lull, ‘I didn’t say what the break would entail, love.’ Love. Darling. Doll. My dear. Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting.

“I gave you a break. Two of them, if we’re being technical. The massage and the shelter. Actually,” Villain smiled at him from her couch cushion, eyes closing just slightly as her cheeks gathered higher and higher. “I might call it liberation- instead of a break. Infinite freedom versus periods of mass depression and showerless nights.”

Hero felt his jaw tick. “What are you talking about?” he asked, voice low- just the way Villain liked.

He wasn’t helping his case any, now, was he? Being all cutesy. It only allowed Villain to enjoy this whole situation more.

“You wake up in your stalker’s home and don’t even think to check your body for modifications? What a pity you are sometimes,” Villain giggled. She meant it as a compliment; it was her way of calling the hero cute and favourable.

Stalker. Well, Villain might as well have been considered as such. She showed up just about everywhere Hero was, only to hold hostages for no other reason than to have control over someone, to hear the fear in their high whines- and to see the fear glistening low in their eyes. Villain was wicked, and she was wicked always in Hero’s presence. Stalker- maybe that’s what the news would start calling her if they, or Hero, ever managed to stop Villain.

Villain grew impatient with Hero’s procrastination of observation. “Explore yourself, won’t you?”

And Hero did now. He looked down his arms, torso, legs, anything that was in his perspective, but there was nothing out of the ordinary, except- “Do not tell me you actually washed me.” His arms were speck and dead-skin cleaned.

“A wet rag against your arms and legs, nothing else.”

Hero simply took her word for it, trying not to imagine how he’d feel if she were lying. How horrendous.

Then what is it? Nothing- absolutely nothing- was irregular, so why was Villain going on about…Hero’s fingers skimmed something along his neck- one of the few things he couldn’t see with his own eyes.

No…no. Not just along his neck. There was something inside of Hero’s neck. “What did you do to me?” His voice came out as a horrifyingly quiet whisper, one that squeaked in the back of his throat.

“You wouldn’t take care of yourself, Hero. I had to step in.”

“I don’t- no. No. Whatever you’re doing, you- you need to- I need to go home. I need you to stay away from me and I need- I need-” Oh no. Was he hyperventilating? He couldn’t- God, he couldn’t breathe. Hero was panicking, scratching at his neck, at the irregular shaped lumps. Get out. Get. Out. Getout. Getout. Getoutgetoutgetoutgetout.

A gasp sounded in the room as Hero’s head hit the ground, trying to dodge the zap that occurred at the front of his throat, right where he was scratching so madly.

“Well, I guess that’s a lesson learned rather quickly. Darling, you didn’t even know what those were, and yet you were trying to rip them out. It might have killed you.”

“Uhah.”

Villain quirked her head to the side. “Didn’t get that, sorry. Must have fried your vocal cords- better that than you build up a bunch of infectious bacteria.” Truth be told, the zap wasn’t so bad that it would permanently damage Hero- only give him little tics and make him fret.

“You’ll be so very happy that I took that rag over your skin- otherwise you’d have woken up to your own stench while I was injecting the little stun rods. That would have been difficult,” Villain laughed, legs extending until they laid on the arm of the couch.

“Now,” Villain piped, “there is an outfit laid out in the bathroom- down this hall here”- she pointed- “and second door to the right. Get a shower, bath, whatever you want, and get dressed. I have plans and I’m not leaving you here alone.”

Swerving her legs over the arm- despite having just put them there- Villain planted her feet on the ground and placed her elbows near her knees, leaning forward, all amount of humour aside. “I’m the only one who gets to torment you, you hear me? Not even you have my permission to do harm to yourself or otherwise slack in personal healthcare. If you are in any kind of bad condition, it will be because I allowed it. M’kay?”

She stood, walked several paces to where Hero still sat on the floor and patted his cheek. “I’m making myself food before we leave and while you take a shower. Don’t disappoint me by trying to escape, my dove. You’re in my cage now.” Villain gave Hero a tap on the head as she pulled a remote control out of her pocket with her other hand. For extra measure, she held one of the buttons for three seconds, sending Hero onto his back once again, writhing on the floor- though avoiding scratching his neck.

A lesson learned indeed.

“Believe it or not, I do intend to be kind to you. I just wanted to show you what happens if you decide you’re not worth taking care of again.”

One last click of the button and she was gone, leaving a panting hero behind in the dust.

[axwalker]

CREEP 4: I wish I was special

Pairing: Drake Walker x MC  (Lexie O’Brien) Book TRR

MASTERLIST

Synopsis: Drake is a hurt, angry teenager. After being rejected by Lexie, he spends two years bullying her until he discovers the horrible truth behind her rejection.

In this chapter: Lexie and Drake spend a lot of time together. I’ve have to be honest this is a filler chapter with a bit a lot of smut 🤷🏽‍♀️

A/N: Drake’s and Lexie’s POV. 

Words: 4,470

WARNINGS: SMUT! Parental abuse, domestic violence, toxic love, abuse, bullying.

THIS IS NOT YOUR USUAL MARSHMALLOW DRAKE. He was abandoned as a boy, he’s tortured and he doesn’t know how to express love.

This is a dark love story. If you think this might trigger you, PLEASE do not read it.  

ALL MY FICS ARE 18+

TAGS ON THE COMMENTS –As this is darker than usual; I’m only tagging the people who commented in the previous chapters. If you want to get on or off the list for this fic; please do not hesitate to ask!!

Drake 

I can’t believe I’m here. I can’t believe I’m holding Lexie in my arms, and this is happening. 

Damn. She tastes even better than I imagined. Soft lips, the flavor of cherries and mint and something singularly Lexie. So, fucking sweet. Her innocent tongue is hesitant at first to play with mine, making her surrender even more satisfying. She’s been the center of my world for years. She’s everything I crave, and I didn’t know how to handle the rejection of the only person who matters to me. I know that’s not an excuse; I know that I don’t fucking deserve her. Hell, if I were a better man, a man that wasn’t starving for her, I’d live her alone.  

She makes me stumble into the bed- when her thighs tighten around me, and she allows me inside her perfect little mouth with hot strokes of my tongue, my hands aching over the softness of her hair, her cheeks, absorbing her unique textures with my palms. 

Get yourself out of my system. My heart has just awakened again, and it breaks painfully; when I think about her words, I make a pitiful sound into the kiss. Ah God. The best night of my life could be the night Lexie cuts me off for good, and I don’t know how to stop it from happening. She’s attracted to me, but I’ve hurt her too badly to contemplate a future. A man with more self-control, maybe an older one, might stop this now. Demand to talk, to explain to her I’ve loved her for so long and so fucking deep that I can’t see straight. That I let my insecurity act on my name. But right now, I can do nothing but soak up every inch, take as much as I can before she wants me gone. I let her mouth go momentarily, kissing down her jawline to her neck, trying to memorize exactly how she smells, how she tastes in every single part of her. How she sounds when she moans brokenly when she shifts her pussy against my lap. Then does it again. 

“Feels good,” she whispers, her voice barely loud enough to hear above the storm. “Drake.” 

I want to give her a first time she’ll think about every hour for the rest of her life, but I’m… I’m quickly recognizing my inexperience. I’m not as practiced at sex as she thinks. Only one girl before I met her. After seeing those deep brown eyes, no one else would do it for me. But I have been fucking starving for it for years. With this girl. So when she rubs against my cock and whispers, “feels good,” I almost come against in my jeans. 

I have to force myself not to grip her butt cheeks and grind her down while I thrust up, giving myself enough friction to finish. Christ, don’t finish. Please. I’ve been blessed with an opportunity I don’t deserve. A night with Lexie. A chance to make her first time perfect—and that’s what I’m going to do, even if it kills me. 

A thunder rumbles in the sky outside as she makes urgent, breathy noises, her fingers grabbing my T-shirt. She strips it off over my head, her palms slowly brushing the shape of my chest up to my arms, leaning in to kiss the hollow of my throat, the underside of my chin. Heat burns me from the inside, growing hotter with every touch of those lips on my body—and no, no, no, I can never live without her. I’ll fade and die without her touch. Get into her system, not out of it. Get deeper. So deep she can’t take me out. As deep as she is inside me. I know she’ll never love me as I do her, but I need her anyway. With those directions clear and loud in the back of my head, I move toward the bed and drop down to my knees, gently laying Lexie on her back, kissing her incredible mouth while my fingers fumble with the button and zipper of her jeans. I’m touching Lexie’s pussy through denim, and again, I want her so fucking badly, I’m worried I’m going to ruin everything, but I grit my teeth and start to slide the jeans down her legs. As soon as the soft, soft flesh of her thighs is revealed, I tilt my face up and shut my eyes closed. God, oh God. 

“What’s wrong?” she whispers, lifting her hips so I can remove the pants. “You’re so beautiful; I’m trying not to come just looking at you,” I groan, tossing her jeans aside, taking several deep breaths to get myself under control, before giving in to the overwhelming temptation to see Lexie in panties. No amount of imagination could have done her justice. The shy inward turn of her left knee, the light blue panties that rapidly become see-through, thanks to how wet she is. The slit of her sex. My senses are overloaded, my breathing uneven.

Then she blushes and bites her lip, and I understand that she’s as nervous as I am. Probably more. Fuck, this is not about me. This is about the beautiful, sweet girl underneath me. I take a moment to look at her face; her eyes are shining, her cheeks pink, her mouth is swollen from being kissed. I’m an eighteen-year-old man who –for three years, has only climaxed from jerking off, and because of that, my instinct now is to take my cock out and come all over the goddess in front of me. I’ll come so hard. All over her. But this is more than sex. I’m being allowed sex with the girl of my dreams. My dick is in disbelief, painfully hard and dripping with pre-come in my boxers, begging to come inside of her, instead of out. And Lexie…her eyes are locked on it in wonder, lips in an O shape. I’m going to be looking at that beautiful face when she takes my cock inside of her, feeling me move, stealing her innocence. Jesus. How am I going to last? 

“Lexie,” I groan through my teeth, trying to explain with that single word how fucking horny she makes me. She’s still staring at the bulge in my jeans. 

“Am I…should I…” I’ve never heard her with that husky tone of voice before. “Does it go in my mouth first?” 

I shudder so hard, my jaw almost breaks. “Christ, don’t say that, baby. Fuck.” I’m a beast right now, ripping down my zipper and shoving my hand inside, beating off the raw length of my dick, my eyes traveling from her face, to her tits, to her pussy. Then circling back and starting at the beginning,  telling her how fucking gorgeous she is. A fucking goddess. And Lexie seems to sense my desperation and overcome her shyness because she takes down her panties and kicks them away, baring herself to me. Ironically, when I should ultimately explode because the vision she creates is such perfection, I’m determined with purpose instead. With responsibility. As soon as her pussy is out, all I can think about is tasting it, giving her an orgasm and my own sexual pain takes an immediate back seat, my jerking hand slowing in the lap of my jeans. The sight of Lexie’s body hypnotizes me. 

“Can I touch you?” She nods shyly but eagerly, holding her breath. I hold mine, too, my palms gently grazing up her inner thighs and pushing them apart, spreading the pink slit between her legs, revealing the secrets I need to learn or I’ll die unsatisfied. “Tell me when I do something that feels good.” 

Slowly, I trace a thumb down the split of her pussy and her back arches, her gasp is the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard. “There,” I say in a rush, finally exhaling, tracing the edges of the nub that made her eyes roll back in her head. “Can I lick you here, baby?” Her hands fly to the mattress, fingers digging into the blanket. 

“Yes.” 

Fuck. I get to give her head. I’m down on my stomach in a heartbeat, rubbing my nose through her slick folds, inhaling Lexie, something peachy, gently dragging my tongue side to side over that little button. The sight of it makes my cock pound, my tongue licking toward it automatically, on reflex…and Lexie loses her fucking mind. A sexy sound fills my ears, her fingers sinking into my hair, pulling me closer. It’s like winning a gold medal at the Olympics. Knowing I found the exact spot that could get that reaction out of my girl has almost made me come right then. My tongue is worshipping her until I’m devouring her, doubting between French kissing her wet little pussy and teasing that perfect spot, her cries making the sweetest music in my ears. 

“Drake. Drake. Don’t stop. Don’t. Please, please, please.”

 When she comes, I swear to God, the taste of her is so sweet, so incredible, I go a little insane.

“I-I’m ready, Drake. Please.”

Despite how fucking bad I want her, I must make sure she wants this. I take a deep breath to calm my fucking dick, then I bend down to kiss her cute little nose and ask her, “Are you sure about this?”

She nods “Yes. God, yes.” 

“I don’t have a condom. I don’t—” 

“I’m on the pill. I went to the doctor myself to regulate my periods. Are you --uhm clean?” 

I’ve only been with one girl three years ago, and we were safe. “I am.” 

“Then I’m sure, Drake. Please, I want you so badly.” 

With a choked sound, I take hold of my cock and press it to her center, my life flashing in front of my eyes when I slide in a single inch and her wet pussy clenches around me like a fist. “Oh. Fuck.” I drop my face into her neck, raking my teeth against it, my hips burning with the need to thrust. Claim. Pound her into the ground.

“Are you okay, baby?” Fuck, her eyes are shut, a painful expression in her innocent face.

“I just need a moment, Drake.”

“I’ll give you anything you need, baby.” I don’t need to think about anything to distract myself. The mere fact of knowing she’s hurting is more than enough to sober me up. I cage her head in my arms and kiss her softly. I look her in the eyes, and there’s something in her eyes I’ve never seen before. Trust. 

 “I lied to you, Lexie. I’ve only been with one person like this. But that was before you. Since then, I’ve never wanted to touch anyone but you. Never been hard for anything but this…” I feel her adjusting to me, so I force in another inch. It feels better than I could’ve ever imagined. “This sweet little pussy.” I search Lexie’s flushed face and find her looking at me in wonder, surprise. 

“You…waited for me.” she whispers. 

My nod is jerky, teeth clenched. “You really haven’t figured it out yet? You can’t tell I’m obsessed with you?” I drop hard kisses all over her face, her hair, her neck. “You can’t tell I would murder, lie and steal just to have you look at me?” Her breath comes in tight pants, brown eyes glazed. 

 “I need more. You’ve been hiding from me for two years, acting like someone else. But this…this is honest. I-I want to feel it.” 

“Soon. Soon. Just let me get myself under control.” 

“Please, Drake.” Her expression is enthralled, imploring. “Fall apart.” 

I “Lexie, please. I don’t want to hurt you, baby. I want to make it perfect for you.” 

She gives me one of those smiles I craved so much, and catching her bottom lip between her teeth, she reaches down and sinks her fingernails into my ass, yanking me close and impaling herself on my rigid cock. Fuck, I want to be gentle with her, I need to but damn if she’s not making it difficult. I bury myself to the hilt, and she gasps 

 “Hurts,” she says. “You’re too big. It’s too big.” 

“What?” I struggle for awareness, my eyes unfocused as I search her face. 

“Too big…” “It hurts.” Horror hits me. I’m hurting Lexie. My Lexie. Fuck no. “No, I’ll stop.” 

“No.” She tightens her legs around my hips. “Just go slow.” 

I kiss her front. “I’ll go as slow as you need me to.” My eyes focus on her pretty face. She’s so perfectly delicate. “You’re sure, baby?”

“Yes.” She kisses my mouth to reassure me, and I groan, melting at her touch, gently rolling in and out of her. It’s a painful effort to keep the slow pace, but I want her to enjoy this. I stop for a few seconds, and I search her face. If she’s still in pain, I’ll pull out of her no matter what she says. But her lips are parted, and she seems to be getting there with me, so I continue to thrust, rhythmic and measured, our eyes hot on one another.  Her tight little pussy is making me insane. 

 “You’ve been driving me crazy,” I growl, kissing her neck. “The smell of you in class. The shape of your neck and hips and that perfect hair moving in front of me. Perfect, so perfect, so mine. And you wouldn’t even give me your eyes. It broke me. But you’ve always been mine, no matter what, huh? Nothing can change that.” I lick her neck, her throat, her mouth. I move a little faster and she cries of pleasure. “Be mine, Lexie.” 

I put my hand between us and touched her at the same spot I did when I kissed her sex. Her reaction is immediate. 

“Oh god, Drake. Just there. This is—God.”

She cries one last time, and I can feel her pleasure squeezing my cock as she comes.

An invisible string is cut when I’m finally down the other side of my peak, my heaving body collapsing on top of Lexie’s. “Lexie?” I kiss her forehead, her cheeks. “I’m… God. Are you okay?” 

Her nod gets my blood running again. 

“It finally happened,” I say, almost hoping she didn’t hear me.

“What did?”

“My fantasy came true.”

The smile she gives me is almost shy. And somehow, that’s the best part of our perfect night. 

 Lexie 

Over the years, my mother’s voice has started to fade from my head, but I can remember her saying, “Santo Dios,” when something interested her. Or made her sit up and take notice. And watching the muscles of Drake’s back move in the darkness, I mouth those words to myself. Santo Dios. After we… After what happened … I don’t know what to call what we did. I’m scared to call it “making love.” “Sex” sounds too shallow for something so intense. “Fucking” sounds too crude, too impersonal, when what passed between us couldn’t have been more personal. 

All this time, I pictured Drake meeting girls on the weekends, forgetting all about me in a quest for momentary bliss. But that wasn’t the case at all. He’s been…he waited. He waited for me. When making that confession, the raw honesty in his eyes left absolutely no doubt that he…feels something for me. Quite a lot, if I can believe what a man says in the heat of the moment. None of what Drake said felt like bullshit, though. Or a man telling a woman what she wants to hear. It was as if he’d been holding it in and pleasure broke the dam of secrets, making his walls collapsed all around me.  Leaving me with the ruins of all this new knowledge. 

I sit on the back porch of the cabin, arms wrapped around my knees, watching Drake connect the generator so we can have light. Thanks to the storm, the electricity isn’t working. Now, shirtless, he works on his knees in front of the machine, a frown of focus between his dark brows. Every minute or so, he stops working to glance over at me, his throat bobbing, his eyes watchful and hungry, the outline of his erection back to pressing against the front of his jeans. My newfound feminine vibrates, demands attention. I was too tired to put my pants back on, so I’m dressed in panties and a T-shirt. My lack of clothing feels forbidden, as does being alone at a cabin with a boy. For the whole night. And I don’t know what to do about the desire he’s fueled inside of me. I don’t know what to do with the excitement of knowing we’re both new –or almost, at exploring the bodies of the opposite sex…and all the ways we could do it now. Inside the cabin. Alone. No one to hear us, judge us, see us. No getting in trouble. Nothing holding us back. Except for what he did to me for two bitterly long years. Except for the fact that I need to get far away from here, from my father, and it won’t do me any  good to get attached to this magnetic boy.

There can only be one night. I need to make a fresh start. I need to cut myself clean off from everything that has made me feel sad and broken in the past—and whether my heart likes it or not, Drake Walker is one of those things. 

He’s looking at me right now like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. And it’s that kind of intuition he seems to have about me that is going to get me into trouble. Going to make me second-guess my determination to leave him here along with everyone and everything else I’ve grown up with. 

Drake sets down the tool in his hand and flips a switch, lighting up the porch. “Looks like it’s working.” 

“Yeah.” 

He sends me a tight smile. “They don’t call me a handyman for nothing.” It occurs to me in that moment that I don’t know a lot about Drake’s private life. I know he lives in a trailer on the other side of town. And the horrible story he told me about his family, but not much more. 

 I want to escape this place. Does he? “Are you…planning on hanging around Portavira after graduation?” 

His movements pause ever so slightly, but I catch it. “Hadn’t thought too much about it.” 

“Really?” 

“No,” he sighs. “That’s a lie.” Kneeling in front of the toolbox, his jaw tightens, his gaze eventually making its way back to me. “And I don’t want to lie to you anymore, Lexie.” 

“Then don’t,” I say quickly, holding my breath. 

“I know you want to go to college and make something of yourself, but that -that’s not an option for me. I’m just going to stay here trying to fix this old house and honor my dad’s memory.”

He evades my gaze, and the reason why is painfully obvious. “You have nothing, nothing to be ashamed about, Drake. What you’re doing with this cabin is amazing; if this is what you want to do, you should”.

Even in the muted moonlight, I can see the reddening of his cheekbones. “Believe me, for the rest of my life, I’m going to hate myself for how I treated you. I thought…” 

“What?” 

He shakes his head, but answers anyway. “That night at your house, I thought when you found out I what I did for a living, that I was there to repair your roof…you remembered I wasn’t good enough for you. That you looked down on me. I thought you were ignoring me all this time because you regretted everything that happened, everything you said. You had a momentary lapse of judgement and went back onto your pedestal, out of reach of my filthy hands. It hurt to think I disgusted you. It hurt and I took it out on you.” At the end of his explanation, my mouth is hanging open. No wonder he was so mad, lashing out all the time. He thought I was ignoring him because I thought myself better. Above him. For a prideful person like Drake, being ignored because of his status would have stung worse than anything else. 

“Why are you only telling me this now?” 

“Because it sounds like an excuse—and I’m not making one. Ever.” 

“I didn’t think I was better than you. I missed you.” That strong chest of his starts to rise and fall quickly, his gaze penetrating me through the darkness. “I know that sounds silly. It was just one night.” 

“No. I missed you, too.” He takes a step in my direction. “Still do.” His eyes close and he releases a bumpy breath. “Brutally, baby. I’ve never stopped wanting—fuck-craving you like a madman. It just killed me to see how you were so gentle and kind to everyone but me. Even before I started -bullying you.” 

Nerve tingle everywhere on my body, the need to touch and be touched by Drake increasing the temperature of my skin rapidly, making my breasts feel full, my legs weak. I’ve never tried drugs, but I understand now what addiction must be like. Fighting a pull, battling a self-destructive urge, promises an incredible high before the inevitable downward spiral. If I give him the slightest encouragement, he’s going to bring me inside and…be with me again. 

Is that what I want? Yes. 

Will giving in to my physical urges make it much harder when I have to leave town for good? Yes. Yes. 

There isn’t anything casual about Drake and me. And how can I begin to rebuild my pride, my life, if my first act of independence is giving my body to the person who made me cry so many times since sophomore year, I’ve lost count? I search for a way to change the subject. To take the focus off the connection dragging us back together. 

“Well.” I dampen my lips. “I don’t think I’ll go to college anymore. My father hid all my acceptance letters. He was never really going to let me go.” I intertwine my fingers together and tighten them until they leach of color. “Tonight, was the first time I ever spoke back to him. I was just so angry.” Several beats pass. 

“Of course, you were.” He drops down onto the back porch, a couple of feet to my right, staring out into the trees. “Hell, Lexie. I’m sorry he did that.” 

I nod. “I did a lot of thinking on the back of your bike. It’s good for that. Thinking. Isn’t it?” 

“Yeah. When you don’t want to think… it’s good for that, too.” 

“Hmm.” 

He looks over at me; hands clasped loosely between his bent knees. “What did you think about?” 

“College. How to salvage the original plan.” I feel kind of jumpy, sharing my ideas with Drake, with anyone, I’ve kept things to myself for so long, not confiding in my classmates, not getting close to others, lest my father find a way to blacken the connection. To make people sorry for interacting with me. “I was thinking…maybe I could go and see the school guidance counselor. I need all my transcripts to apply to college here in Cordonia. Once I do that, things might get easier. There has to be a way to make it work. Even if it is a little late to apply.” 

Drake nods, frowning like he’s giving my plan some serious thought. “It’s not safe for you to go back to the school, Lexie. I’ll go. I’ll do whatever you need. Pick up your transcripts or anything else. We can find a library around here to fill out the applications online…” My heart thumps heavily. All that time spent with him, getting deeper and deeper. It wouldn’t be wise. “You don’t have to do all of that.” 

“I want to.” 

His eyes are hopeful. I shouldn’t allow that hope. Nor should I rely on him for things I need to do myself. Things that will be required to take control of my life. “It’s not safe for you at the school, either. What if my father presses assault charges?” As soon as I ask the question, I shake my head. “Never mind. He’d never do that. People would know you bested him. They’d know what he did to me, too—and he’d never, never allow that. There’s nothing more important to him than his reputation.” 

“So I’ll go to the school for you?” he asks, quietly, almost too casually, but I can see the tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. It’s not a simple question. If I say yes to this favor, it means our…relationship will extend beyond one night. To include tomorrow—Sunday—plus Monday morning, before the school opens. It adds time to the us I know he still wants. Do I have a choice, though? My father could be there waiting for me, and that terrifies me more than my feelings for Drake do. What he’s willing to do could help me tremendously. Could start me on the path to a new beginning. “Yes,” I whisper. “You’ll go.” 

Drake swallows loudly, his eyelids closing. When he opens his eyes again, his gaze traces my bare thighs hungrily. We have until Monday now. What are we going to do with all that time? That question hangs in the air, unspoken, but louder than a shout. I can almost feel the binds tightening us together, strengthening until they become impossible to snap. And it scares me, but I need him too, even if it’s for a few days. Always loved being scared, electrified, by beautiful things, and bare-chested in the moonlight, Drake is by far the most beautiful of all. 

“Lexie…” he breathes, swallowing loudly. “I want to taste you again?” Heat envelops me, invades me. I’ve always worried I need to touch myself too often. That I have a more pronounced sexual appetite than I’m supposed to have at my age. But as Drake kneels on the lower stair in front of me and separates my thighs, kissing a path toward my apex, I know he’s the reason. Drake is the reason I’ve been riding the heel of my hand, crying frustration into my pillow, night after night after night. He’s the one that inspires the excruciating arousal—and I don’t have a shot in hell of saying no to him. Not when it comes to being physical. I just have to remember to say no to anything more. Anything beyond this. “Yes…” I lean back on my elbows. “Do it.” 

He does, and we spend the next hours lost on each other. 

[sashi-ya]

Ch. 4 ~ NSFW ~ Trafalgar Law x F! Maid! Reader ~ A Dangerous Attraction.

AU : Mafia AU. Mafia boss Law. He IS a murderer.

TW: BLOOD. Mafia & murderers. Graphic depictions of violence. Smut. Explicit. Making love. Vaginal sex. Impregnation. Self harm. Marks, bites. Mental health issues. Trauma. Fluff. Angst.

WC: 4.2K

Chapters: one ; two; three; four; five; final

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33273136

Tag list: @rivvd-art ; @chocokaylarobin ; @fantasyfairysworld ♥

“Law!!”

“Name-ya…”

Inked fingers squeezing around your wrist, your body hanging into the void. You try to climb, but little rocks fall every time you try to use your feet to push yourself up. The desperation and Law is simply not moving, he is just holding you. If he wanted, he could let go of you and you would fall instantly. If he wanted, he could kill you and no one would know. If he wanted…

“Law! Pull me up!” you shout, with tears in your eyes. He is not listening; Law is completely frozen. His eyes opened wide; he doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe. His jaw muscles are clenched. Your arm hurts, the only thing that is keeping you alive is Law grabbing you.

“Law don’t let me fall. Save me…” you beg with tears sprouting from your eyes. “LAW!!!” you shout. The time passes so slowly, so painfully scary.

Suddenly he blinks quickly and pushes you up. Your body falls over his, you are safe now. Law hugs you; he starts crying. Your head rests over his chest, but quickly try to release yourself from his arms. “Let me go!” you shout, in distress.

Law stops hugging you and you stand up, trembling, still crying. You take your hand to your wrist, massaging the fingertips marks he has left over your skin. “I’m… you don’t understand. I didn’t…” he tries to tell you, but he fails as he stutters nervously.

“I wanna go home. My home” you tell him and start walking back through the path. You almost run; you can feel him walking behind you. Law is sobbing, he can’t stop crying. You hear some scratching noises, but you decide not to look back. If you dared to even look at him, you’ll pity him and forgive what just happened.

But something stops you, you hear a loud noise and a whining. A painful whining. You turn around, and there is Law, kneeling on the ground, right arm bleeding from the scratches he has made on himself, swollen eyes from all the crying. He keeps violently scratching his skin, and he can’t stop.

“What the hell?!” you shout and run to him. You crunch next to him and grab his arm, “Stop doing that. You are hurting yourself”. “I’m… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it…” he says repeatedly. “Stop, please. You are bleeding” you tell him, holding his arm. He puts his forehead over your chest imploring forgiveness. Your shirt gets damp by his tears. A mafia boss crying like this, so weak…

“Why didn’t you pull me up instantly, Law?” you ask all of a sudden. You know that whatever he says won’t stop you from running away from him, but that question escapes your mouth unintentionally. “I… I’m… my dad. My uncle…” he stutters. “What happened?” you ask. “My uncle… killed my dad. Doflamingo pushed him by the same hill. I was in the car looking at everything. My uncle said my dad slipped away because he was clumsy, but he didn’t. He pushed him. And I saw everything. And didn’t say anything, I was afraid. My… dad…I was seven”. And suddenly everything makes sense… he was facing his trauma, but he never let you fall. He saved you… once again.

You hug him so close, poor thing. You caress his black hair, rocking him back and forth. “It’s ok, it’s ok…” you repeat. A few minutes after he stops crying, “I’m sorry” he says, nuzzled on your chest.

“It’s ok, Law…”

But you can’t take this anymore. You are going to end up dying if you stay next to him. You definitely are.

Both walk back to the cabin, you start packing your stuff leaving only the maid costume over the big, still undone, bed. Sitting on the mattress you take out the photo of your family and look at it. In the photo you see your sisters, your mom and you in your father’s arms. It’s your birthday. Behind, a tall man running with a little boy wearing a white hat. You don’t really remember their faces. You only remember that man was your father’s partner. Both policemen. They were fighting against organised crime. After your dad was shot, you never hear anything else from his partner, nor the little kid. But you keep focusing on your family, and those happy times. You were smiling so joyfully, so naive…

You hear the surgeon at the door, and quickly put the photo on your pocket. There is no way you let a mafia boss see the face of your family members. It’s just too risky...

“You sure you don’t want to stay?” asks Law, now with a white bandage around his scratched arm. “I am sure, please take me back to my apartment” you tell him. “(Name)-ya, please, stay at my house. I promise I won’t talk to you” he says, tears building up in his eyes. But you remain strong. “Please…I need time to be on my own” you tell him as if you were begging him to stop insisting. You don’t know how much you are gonna go without succumbing to the dangerous attraction he represents to you.

“At least let me keep you safe, I won’t visit you, I won’t call you. But please, stay in one of my apartments. I beg you” he finally says, approaching you. You back up instantly, somehow him touching you, scares you.

“Fine” you finally accept. He is right, if you dare to come back to that apartment you might be in danger. Law eyes sparkle, he breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you, thank you so much” he says, approaching you once again as he was trying to hug you.

“Stop. Don’t touch me” you command. He freezes right away, the smile in his face is gone once again. “I’m sorry, I’ll be in the car waiting for you” he says, crestfallen and walks away. Your heart aches at him leaving the door, but you know too well this is the best decision you could have taken.

Once everything is set, and you are ready, you go downstairs. You give a last peek to the cabin, the place where Law and you let your passions go wild for the first time… a place where he almost chokes you to death… Closing the door behind you, you were sure this was the last time you would ever be in this place.

Opening the door of that amazing black car, you throw your bag on the backseat and sit next to Law. He is wearing black shades, tears falling through his cheeks. He is not speaking; he swallows and hits the gas. You don’t dare to look at him, so your head is turned towards the window. The magnificent forest, nature, a place where you’ve been the happiest… and the sudden memories of you almost losing your life for the second time…

No more than an hour passes, and you are already on the highway. The radio makes the painful silence a little less uncomfortable. A slowed cover of “We Found Love” by Rihanna playing.

“As your shadow crosses mine, what it takes to come alive.

It's the way I'm feeling I just can't deny. But I've gotta let it go.

We found love in a hopeless place…

Shine a light through an open door. Love and life I will divide.

Turn away 'cause I need you more”

“Tsk…” you express. “Hum?” he asks. “Nothing…”. There was no interaction, nothing. Law’s cheeks damped. Nose red from all the crying.

“(Name)-ya… would you prefer the 6th or the 8th floor?” he asks, sniffling. “Whatever you want, it’s ok for me either way” you tell him, feeling ashamed. You are leaving him, but still living on his property… this shouldn’t happen. “Ok… Then the 8th floor. It has a big terrace” he tells you and touches the screen of the car.

“Bepo, Law here”

“Law, I’m Pen. Tell me”

“Oh, Penguin. Please take all the (Name)-ya’s stuff to Swallow inns, the eighth floor”.

“Yes, boss. Are you ok? You need us to take some of your stuff too?”

“Just hers… oh, don’t forget the Kia”

Law hangs up before his friend could say anything else. His voice clearly shows how much he’s been crying; he knows his friend would ask. You simply ignore everything he says, you don’t really want to hear even though he is speaking via Bluetooth.

After two hours, you arrive at a luxurious apartment complex over the beach. A big sign that says “Swallow Inn” announces that this is the place you are gonna be living from now on. “Damn” you think, how the fuck your life changed so much that you ended up living in such a place…

“(Name)-ya, this is the place where the apartment is located. Our… your parking spot is the number 18” he informs you. “Uhm, ok…” you say, because you don’t even have a bicycle to park in there, but hey, thanks for the information. But, when you arrive at the said parking spot, a little black car is parked there. “Nice, someone parked on your spot” you say, sarcastically.

“It’s yours…” he says. “What? No” you categorically express. “Please, accept it. This place is far from the city, and there are no bus stops nearby. Please” he insists. “Ok…” you accept, even though you are sure you are not gonna use that car.

Law takes your stuff from the backseat and tells you to follow him inside. The place is modern, everything is clean, luxurious, white, pure. “Eighth floor” he says and presses the little 8th button of the elevator and a code. “Remember, you should enter this number so you can enter home, ok?”. You don’t speak, and just nod.

The doors open inside the apartment, again everything is so white and pure. Your stuff is already in place. Big windows show the immense sea ahead. Everything is perfect, so for rich people. “Law, this place is amazing. You sure you want me to live here?” you ask.

Law turns around, takes his sunglasses off. Swollen red eyes, more dark circles than ever. He fixes his grey irises on yours. “I’d rather you live with me. But this is the best second option I have to keep you safe”. You keep looking at him, you can’t take your eyes off him. It hurts so much, even more than the bruises on your wrist, on your neck… your heart shouts “stay with me”; but your head says no… no, or you are gonna end up dying.

“By the way, this is your phone. I recommend you use this one, it’s safer. Not for me, but for you” he says, lending you a mobile phone that’s over the breakfast nook. “Thanks” you nod and your fingers graze when gabbing the phone. How hard is this…

“Well, I know you want me to go, but, if you ever need me… just, call me. Ok?” says Law, taking his hand to your cheek, but quickly stopping himself. “Wait” you say and grab his hand to your face. He gasps but grazes your skin. You close your eyes and let your head rest over his palm for a moment.

“Thank you, Law… Give me some time, please” you whisper. “I’ll be waiting for you…” he says, and a few moments later he is gone. The elevator doors close, and your legs finally turn weak. You fall on your knees. You haven’t cried until now, and now you do. Tears won’t stop falling from your eyes to the marbled floor.

“Law…”

----

After all your tears have dry, you start looking around the apartment. Your bedroom is bigger than your ex-house. The bed looks just as the one Law has in his room. Satin sheets and white fluffy covers.

A wardrobe full of your clothes, old and some new outfits they bought you from the finest brands. And next to your clothes, men's ones. “Are these Law’s?”.

You can’t help but take one of his t shirts. You choose a yellow one, with black sleeves. “It has his smell…” you say, while taking the cloth to your nose. “I don’t think he would mind if I use it…” you say and put the shirt on. It has some kind of a smiley face stamped on it, and you wonder what it means.

The night comes, and your stomach growls. The fridge is full of ingredients, Law’s subordinates are so efficient. You cook a vegetable wok that you devour right away. The place is way too big for you, but it is what it is.

You inspect the new phone he gave you, such modern and pretty. You decide to pass all your photos from your old one to it. Same as the numbers. “I should call mum…” you think, remembering about the money. Where are you going to find any money to send them? “I can’t go back to the old bar; I’ll search for work tomorrow”.

“Hi, mum?”

“Darling!! I’ve been calling you, but you don’t seem to pick up. Is everything alright? Why are you calling from a private number?”

“It’s my new phone, I don’t know how to take it off. I will ask a friend to help me, and I’ll send you my number mum. Don’t worry” you lie. “How are you? How are the girls?

“Fine baby, but are you alright? You sound so sad…”

“I’m fine mum!! I moved! I will send you the address via text, ok? You should come someday! I have a sea view now!!” You act all excited, just for her not to worry, but moms know better…

“If you need mum, come spend some days with us darling. Ok?”

“Yes mum, I’m ok. I’ll be visiting you soon!” You lie once again, choking back tears.

The conversation is soon over, and after hanging up, tears run free. “I hate lying to my mum. Damn it. Damn Law…” you grunt, while searching for the picture of your family on your pocket.

“Where the fuck…?” You say, while searching for it desperately in your jean’s pockets. No sign of the photo, and you start to panic. The last photo you have with your dad, your seventh birthday…

“Don’t tell me I lost it, please!!!” You shout and start to look for it everywhere. Every place, every square. You can’t stop crying. You just can’t… something so precious to you.

“That’s what happens when you hang with the mafia… karma” you tell yourself before falling asleep, crying.

You wake up several times during the night, as nightmares invade your dreams. Law’s scratched arms, his eyes, the feeling of falling into the void. The day the police came to your house to tell your family, someone killed your dad. The way Law choked you… the way his hands were around your neck, the way his hips moved in and out of you, the way his kisses make you feel…

“Stop right there, (Name)” you say to yourself looking at the ceiling. How can you feel horny, huh? Are you crazy? “What’s wrong with me…?”. You know what’s wrong, of course you do. You are in love with Law and can’t deny it anymore. Your body misses him, you miss his scent, you are using his damn shirt to bed. You miss him so much; you are hugging a pillow pretending it is him.

Standing up from bed, you look through the big window of your room. The sea seems calm, sun is peeking from the horizon, still lazily resting until dawn. You sigh and say, “I fucking miss you… why aren’t you here?”.

Ding, Dong…

The sophisticated sound of the doorbell resonates all over the loft. “Fuck” you think, they’ve found you… Am I in danger? Should I call Law? Bepo? You tremble and walk towards the intercom.

Ding, Dong…

“Fuck” … you slowly pick up the phone of the intercom, and the little screen next to it turns on. The image of Law, a distressed Law appears. “What the fuck? I told him to give me some space…” you think, but he signs desperately for you to open.

“Law, what are you doing here?” You ask via the phone.

“Open, please, I have something important to show and tell you, I didn’t want to enter with my code” he says and shows a little square paper. Your most precious treasure, your family photo. You widen your eyes, “enter the code, come on”.

A minute passes and the door of the inside elevator opens. Law is standing right there; he looks like a mess. This must be the third night he hasn’t slept.

“Can I?” He asks for permission to even step into your -his- apartment. “Come in. Do you have my pic?” You ask ignoring the fact of wearing his shirt and only that over your body.

“Yes, but… I need to show you something about it” Law says, while looking at you up and down with a sweet expression. “Let’s sit, this is important” he insists. So, both of you sit on the couch. Law takes your photo out of his jacket pocket and puts it over the coffee table. “This is your photo, right?” He asks. “Yes, thank you!! Where was it?” You tell, but before you could take it, he stops your arm. “Wait… it was over the car seat. But, please, look at this…” he says and puts another photo next to it.

“L-Law…”

“I didn’t know, I promise”

“It can’t be, was your dad…?

“Yes, it was” …

Both of you start crying, recognizing how linked both of you are…

Law takes his finger to your cheek, wiping a single tear. You do the same, wiping the tears from his cheeks. “I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “Don’t…” you tell him, and you two hug. Pressing your bodies, you find the comfort, the warmth of home. That feeling you only experience when you know you are safe…

Your faces so close, your eyes fixed. The sun slowly rising, invading the place with lilac and orangey tones. Law is fighting not to kiss you, and you frankly too.

“Fuck it” you whisper and plant a sweet kiss over his lips. And that’s the spark you two needed to become fire. You set all your zipper free, no more clothes. You sit over his lap, both kissing so passionately, tongues playing with each other’s. Law cries, you cry. But you two smile pressing your foreheads.

You see how the scratches on his arm became scars already. You grab his arm and kiss softly over each wound. “Don’t do this ever again, please. If you have the need, talk to me, tell me, I’ll be there to help you…” you tell him, looking straight into his soul. Poor thing…

“I missed you” he says. “I missed you, too” you tell him. Even if you haven’t seen each other for some hours, your souls missed each other so much. You kiss him so relieved… your head keeps telling you stop, until the arousal drowns every single sign of reason.

Law gabs your thighs and stands up, carrying you to the bed. He softly puts you over the mattress, and he settles over your body. Gently kissing your neck, Law takes his time. His hands grazing your breasts so softly. “I want to make sweet love to you, I want to be gentle, I want it slow” he says, because he doesn’t want to hurt you. You smile and take your hands to his face. “Do it slow and do it faster. Do it gentle, and do it rough…make love to me, Law” you tell him.

His “death” hands travel from your neck to your waist, and even lower. His fingers buried on your hips as his mouth reaches your sex. “Spread, babe” he asks with a soft tone. You do it right away. “Good girl, now put your legs over my shoulders”. And so, you do.

Law’s mouth attacks your core, licking, tasting, devouring your juices. He little by little kneels on the bed, pushing you up. Your legs are still over his shoulders, he has better access to your core as he keeps giving you the best oral sex you ever experienced. You grab the sheets, pull from them, as your climax begins to arrive. Law presses your lower belly, while he sucks your clit. “Come on, come for me” he says, muzzled by your anatomy.

You are about to burst, and Law penetrates you with his middle finger and ring finger. The licking, the pressure, the fingering… you come, squirting, bathing his whole torso with your juices, as they come out with such pressure Law is not able to receive it all with his mouth.

“Such a good girl” he says, letting your legs over the mattress. You are panting, that position somehow made everything better… “L-Law…?” you mumble, still trembling from the orgasm you just had.

“What, baby?” He asks while wiping the rest of your climax off his chin with the back of his hand. “Don’t you ever stop fucking me like this” you tell him, so naturally, so unplanned.

“I won't, I won't ever stop”.

Law lays in bed, next to him, enjoying how you come back to normal, and the blushed on your cheeks that screams how good your orgasm felt. But he wants more, and of course, you too.

“Come here” he says and helps you to turn around. He is spooning you; you feel his hard member over your glutes. Law passes his right arm under your neck, and the left one reaches your left nipple. He pinches it, twists it. Law takes his index to your mouth and makes you suck it. “Wet it real good” he commands. Your teeth graze the E tattooed on his finger while sucking it so sexily.

The same finger, shiny from your saliva, is now tracing circles again over your nipple. You moan, it feels so good. He gropes you with his dick, your back feels the warmth of his inked chest. You push your ass against his member, trapping it in between both cheeks. Law grunts, and moves up and down, frotting his hard shaft over your rear entrance.

Your hand reaches for the surgeon’s hip. You carve your nails on his skin, pulling you even closer to you.

“Fuck me, fuck me now”. “If that’s what you want…” he says, while he bites your neck. The hand that was playing with your nipple now grabs his dick. He aligns it with your entrance, lubricating the tip with your dripping arousal. He slaps the shaft against your labia, forming strings of precum mixed with your juices.

His gland playfully hits your clit, and you squirm with it. But you burn with the need of being penetrated, filled by him. “I want you inside, please” you beg. “You want me inside? How much do you want it?” Law says pressing his mouth against your cheek, his beard grazing your skin. “Fill me up, I want it so bad. Fuck me, now…” you whine.

“Ok, my darling. Just because my shirt suits you so well” he says and kissing the side of your mouth he penetrates you so slow, little by little stretching your walls. The feeling of the tip going in and out, without fully penetrating you deep, sends you to heaven as it grazes your g spot. You can only whine his name, feeling as he gradually goes deeper, in and out.

You can feel Law’s wicked smile over your cheek as he finally penetrates you to the deepest point he can reach. Your walls clench around his member as he speeds up the pace. “Babe, you feel so good, so tight” he moans in your ear. The sound of his voice could kill you if it was meant for it.

You moan soundly, sure the neighbours could hear you, but unable to hold back as Law is now fucking you mercilessly. Soon the climax road is taken, and you are sure getting to it.

“I want to see your face while you come” Law says, and quickly turns you around. Classic missionary position, the most perfect man over you, his whole anatomy, sweating, panting.

Law puts your arms up your head, grabbing your wrists together. His body lean over you while he pounds into you, violent, deliciously thrusts. The way the muscles of his torso tightens when his hips move in and out are art, the finest piece of art you have ever seen.

And inevitably, both of you reach orgasms. This time, Law focused on your face, he didn’t bite his lip, he didn’t choke you, he didn’t lose track of reality. Law this time was being driven by love, by the only need of loving you, of making you happy… of not losing you.

You come, and so does he. Law fills you with his creamy seed. He collapses over you, still with his dick inside you, pushing his milk deep in you. Returning his breathing back to normal, he whispers into your ear “I think I’m still in love with you”.

“Still? What do you mean?” You ask, confused...

CH.5