Bw

they/them ✨️ 21 ✨️ now multifandom 18+ ONLY!! Bryan Danielson and Bill skarsgård i write sometimes! if you have a request, lmk!!

[bryandanielson-yes]

MASTERLIST

I do not give permission for anyone to copy my work or to feed it into any kind of AI. The works below were all written by me. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Roman Godfrey

One shots:

New blood (Damon salvatore & Roman Godfrey X fem reader) NSFW - Summary: you had kinks you wanted to explore, A hot guy (Damon) takes you home and another hot guy (Roman) can't let Damon have you all to himself...well, it's your lucky day when you have stumbled into two vampires willing to please...

Surprise? (Roman Godfrey X reader) SFW - Summary: Roman gets upset after you plan a surprise for him. You end up being surprised instead (in a bad way)

Morning observation (Roman Godfrey X reader) NSFW - Summary: Roman spends some time letting his guard down.

Season 1 version | season 2 version | season 3 version

COMING SOON: Sucker (Roman Godfrey X Fem Reader) NSFW - Summary: You often go through phases with food. This time you’ve got an obsession with lollipops, Roman can’t stand the way you’ve got your lips around the lollipop instead of him.

Bill Skarsgård

One shots:

Insecurity (Bill Skarsgård X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: Your insecurities seem to be getting the better of you at Premier Bill invited you to in Paris. Bill tries to remind you that those thoughts aren't true.

Friendly favour (Bill Skarsgård X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: After coming off birth control your ovulation returns causing you some discomfort as a friend of the Skarsgård family you turn to Bill for help.

COMING SOON: Sweet desire (Bill Skarsgård X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: Bill's breeding kink comes in handy when you're trying for a baby.

COMING SOON: Mutual obsession (Bill Skarsgård X Fem reader) NSFW- Summary: you find yourself endlessly obsessed over Bill, as a family friend you decide to keep it secret, Bill finds out anyway.

Eric Draven

One shots:

The late shift (Eric Draven X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: Eric is the CEO of a company, due to some errors by other staff he has been working late almost every night for 3 weeks, you're desperate to have his hands on you, even if it means interrupting his late shift.

The unwanted return (Eric Draven x Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: You and Eric had been broken up for almost 2 years. A blind date accidentally brings you back to each other, the anger remains but so does the sexual tension.

The assistant (Eric Draven X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: after three years working for the notoriously difficult CEO Eric you hit your breaking point. jealousy and lust get the better of both of you.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3

Dirty mouth (Eric Draven X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: After you've been a little distant lately Eric decided to bring you back to him.

COMING SOON: Pick me up? (Eric Draven X Fem reader) NSFW - Summary: You call Eric to pick you up from the club, he isn't exactly happy about being woken up. He drives you home anyway but one thing leads to another.

Henry Pearl

One shots:

The Gallery (Henry pearl X fem reader) SFW - Summary: Henry has been offered a spot for his art in the local gallery, he can't decide what piece to hand in, you help him.

[thedevotchka]

The Ties That Bind Us (Eric Draven x Reader) (Part 1 of 2)

Summary: There’s a protocol to visiting him. Notify Eric that you’re going to enter, wait for him to slip into his restraints, and the light will go green. You’ve followed this protocol every day, multiple times a day, since Eric Draven was caught, tried, and committed to the sanitorium for the criminally insane. Taking care of a serial killer isn’t for the faint of heart, and every day spent looking into his green eyes and listening to the rough silk of his voice has you wondering whether your heart can survive him.  

Word Count: 10,479

Warnings: NSFW, BDSM elements, mild dub-con, mutual masturbation, hand jobs, spit, some description of violence

A/N: This fic got insanely long, so rather than editing it down I've split it into two parts. Second half coming tomorrow!

MDNI, fic under the cut

The buzzer on the wall screeches, and you wince. You hear that awful sound three or four times a day, yet it never fails to get under your skin. But despite how much you hate the sound, you’d never, ever consider entering the room without pressing the button. The light above the door goes green, and you swipe your keycard over the lock to release the mechanism.

He’s sitting at the little wooden desk in his cell, glaring at a charcoal sketch in front of him. That glare transfers to you as his head lifts. “I was in the middle of something.”

You roll your eyes at him. Grumpy today, then. “Lunch is at the same time each day, Draven.”

He sighs, tapping his fingers against his thigh. The thick leather straps on his wrists creak as he twists to watch you make a lap of his cell. “It’s the same thing every day, too.” He mumbles, eyes tracking you as you lift his pillow and fold back his sheets.

“What would you want if you could pick something else?” You ask, dropping to your knees to check under his bed.

Eric snorts. “Like my last meal? Morbid, doc.”

“Humor me.” You mutter, half crawling under to retrieve a thin stack of papers he’d tucked under the slats of the bed.

You hear the clinking of the chains binding him to the seat, and you know he’s looking at your ass as you wriggle out and turn to him, still on your knees.

There’s heat in the way he watches you now, and his tongue swipes out unconsciously to lick over his bottom lip. “And I thought you trusted me.”

You give him an exasperated look, glancing down at the papers. “Trust goes both ways, Draven. Do we need to go through these?”

Eric hums noncommittedly, and you perch on the edge of his bed to flick through the stack of sketches. Eric isn’t allowed pencils, just blunt charcoal and waxy crayons, but his art is brutally beautiful. When you’d started working with him he hadn’t even been allowed that, but you’d watched him trace patterns in the dust on the cell of his floor and seen potential for building a rapport. It had worked, incredibly well. He’d gone from saying nothing at all in two years to drawing his victims and talking you through each one. Eight families with closure, so far.

“I haven’t seen this guy before.” You say, finger ghosting over the broken body splattered against a sidewalk in a vacant parking lot.

“Edward Howard.” Eric says, shrugging his shoulders. “He killed his first wife and beat his second so bad she had a standing reservation at the ER.”

You swallow, forcing your face into an expression of neutrality before looking up at him. “You pushed him off the top of the garage?”

Eric’s smirk is sinfully unrepentant. “He jumped.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Maybe he realized he needed to atone for being a piece of shit.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, and Eric rolls his eyes. “Or maybe I’d already cut his balls off and he chose the cowards way out.”

You feel like your throat is closing, but you can’t let him see. Eric is a master manipulator, and over the eleven months you’d spent getting to know him, he’d learned you, too.

“When was this?”

Eric’s smirk drops, and he shifts in his seat, the leather straps around his ankles creaking in protest. “July 18th, 2009.”

A full six years earlier than the current earliest victim.

Eric knows this information is landing, he can see the way your eyes widen just slightly as you do the math in your head. Yeah, sweetheart. There are so many more than you know. More than you can comprehend.

“And this happened… at the start? Was he the first?”

“Strawberries.” Eric says, and your brow furrows. “My last meal, or whatever. I’d like strawberries.”

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and Eric tracks the movement. He feels the stirring in his cock at the thoughtful, scrunched up look on your face, and he tries to think about something else but everything leads back around to you again. It’s not like he can cover himself, with his arms and legs bound to the chair. He glances down just once and yep, the prominent jab of his thickening cock is outlined against his thin scrubs.

“We don’t execute people in here,” you remind him with a sigh. “I’m going to have to take these you know.”

Eric shrugs. “I figured.”

“And we’ll contact Mr Howard’s widow, once we verify your account.”

“I’m sure she’ll be fucking heartbroken.” Eric deadpans.

You press your lips into a tight line, because you don’t know what to say that won’t sound like you’re agreeing with him. Encouraging him. Because you’ve thought about what it would be like to get that call, to find out that your husband isn’t just missing but dead, and you’re not sure you could bring yourself to shed a tear. Not with the ache in your ribs every time you breathe in, despite the breaks healing years ago. Not with the way you look over your shoulder every time you leave the house, just in case.

The buzzer sounds again, and you jump. You always jump, Eric notices. Not just at the loud sounds, but anything unexpected. He’s seen it before, he knows the signs of abuse. He’d made it his mission to see.

“Lunch.” You say with a tight smile, crossing to the hatch in the door as it opens and a tray is pushed through.

“He giving you trouble?” The guard on the other side asks. Eric leans as far back in his chair as he can, but he can’t see the man’s face. He sees the way your shoulders straighten, though.

“Not at all. We’re having a good day.”

The man scoffs. “Right, a good day with Hannibal Lecter is still a bad day anywhere else.” He laughs, but you don’t, and Eric feels his stomach tighten.

“It’s getting cold.”

“So let it, that piece of shit doesn’t deserve-“

“See you later.”

You turn abruptly, tray in hand, and Eric watches you return to his desk and place the tray in front of him. “Sorry.”

Eric hums, scanning the plain white rice, the plain white chicken, the greyish green peas that are the furthest thing from fresh he’s ever seen. “Don’t be.”

You look him over, chewing your bottom lip. “I’ll see you in a couple of hours.”

Eric glances at his plate and back at you. “If you stay I’ll tell you about another one.”

Your breath catches in your throat. He’s never asked this before. It’s against protocol. “You need to eat.”

Eric drops his eyes to the soft plastic fork and twists his mouth to the side. “I’m not against you feeding me.”

You scoff, because you’re definitely not supposed to do that, but the thought of him talking to you, properly and unprompted… it could be the breakthrough you’d been praying for. The one you’d been promising the board, the proof you needed that Eric Draven was far from irredeemable.

“You’ll give me a name?” You ask tightly, and Eric smiles.

“I’ll give you his social security number, if you want it.”

You perch on the edge of the desk because there’s no second chair in his room. Nobody visits him and he’s not allowed in the rec room anymore anyway. You skewer boiled chicken on the fork as best you can, but the prongs buckle against the meat. “No silverware in here.” He says. “I just use my fingers usually.”

You swallow as you pick up a chunk of meat, holding it carefully towards him. “If you bite me, I won’t come back.” Eric nods, though you both know it isn’t true. Coming back to him is your job after all. Eric’s tongue brushes against your fingertips as he takes the chicken into his mouth, and you feel a bolt of arousal jolt through you so strongly you jerk you hand back like he did bite you. He chews slowly, swallowing with a grimace.

“Martin Johnson. November 6th, 2010. Child molester, thought he was meeting a ten year old girl in the playground behind the multiplex on 2nd.”

You feel your eyes go wide as your mouth falls open. “I remember that case.”

Eric draws his bottom lip through his teeth. “Unsolved, until now. Brilliant work, doc.”

You shake your head, plucking another piece of chicken from his plate and holding it to his lips. Eric accepts it gently, tongue licking against your fingers again. “They couldn’t identify him for weeks.”

Eric hums as he chews, and you don’t miss the way his pupils dilate. Though whether that’s the taste of your fingers in his mouth or the memory of what he did to Martin Johnson, you’re not sure. “He confessed to a whole lot worse than meeting up with kids for sex, before he died.”

“They had to remove the slide. Never replaced it.” Your voice comes out as little more than a whisper.

“He had it coming. If he’d told you what he told me, you’d understand.” You say nothing, because you understand anyway. Not that you could smash a man’s face against a metal slide so hard and so repeatedly that you pulverise his skull and shatter all his teeth, but you could still agree that he’d deserved it.

“Is this a… formal confession?”

Eric smirks. “Does it matter? He’s still dead and I’m in here for the rest of my life.”

You want to tell him that it’s not necessarily true. That the criminally insane can be rehabilitated if you can prove he’s not sick anymore. But he’s too smart to know something like that and not try to manipulate you, so you say nothing.

“Is the chicken any good? I’ve always wondered.”

Eric scoffs. “Not sure it can legally be called chicken, doc.” He says. “Try it.”

You pluck a piece from his tray and eat it, the dampness from Eric’s mouth still on your fingers. You let your own tongue trace the slick of his saliva, and Eric shifts in his seat as he watches you chew.

“Oh.” You mumble. The meat in your mouth tastes like ammonia, and you desperately want to spit it out. But that isn’t what’s diverted your attention. Your eyes have dropped into his lap, to the prominent bulge of his cock straining against his scrubs.

“Bad, right?” Eric asks, his eyes tracing over the way your lip curls back in disgust so he can draw it later. But you don’t look at him, and Eric follows your sight line to his crotch. “Oh.”

“The chicken is bad.” You force the words out, even though your throat is closing and you can feel the prickling of heat on your face as you blush.

Eric shifts again, the fabric of his scrubs dragging against his sensitive tip, and he lets out a little hiss. “And this is… bad, right?” He asks, eyes darting from his own cock to your face.

“That’s… a perfectly natural bodily function,” you breathe, trying to ignore the throb of arousal in your core as your clit swells. You press your thighs together hard, desperate for stimulation, and Eric’s breath hitches.

“You don’t mind, doc?” He asks softly. “I’d cover it up or do something about it, but-“ he lifts his hands, the chains clinking against the legs of his chair as he reaches the limit of the lengths.

“You really like the shitty chicken, or-“ You break off, wriggling a little against the desk. You don’t mean to. You really, really don’t.

Eric licks his lips. “Best I ever had.”

You should leave. You should tell him he’s being inappropriate and leave him to eat his own lunch. Instead you watch, disgusted, as you pick up another piece and push it between his lips. This time you don’t withdraw right away, and Eric sucks your fingers against the hot, wet muscle of his tongue as slick arousal soaks your underwear.

*

It’s a violation of everything you’ve worked so hard for. Sitting in your office, bringing up the camera feed to his room for the tenth time that morning. Just to watch him. Eric sits at his desk like he always does, sketching with broad, harsh strokes of charcoal across the paper. He slips over the boundaries, marking the metal surface with patchy smudges of black, and you lean in to squint at the design. It’s another person, surrounded by something you can’t identify in the jumble of pixels. He shoves abruptly away from the desk and you jump even though you can’t hear the screech of the chair legs against concrete. He paces the small room, crossing from one end to the other in just a couple of seconds each time. Too big for his cage. Too restless. As if in agreement Eric shrugs his shirt off and drops to the floor, the muscles in his back flexing as he runs through sets of push-ups. You should turn the feed off. You should at least look away, check your emails or drink the coffee that’s cooling beside you. You shouldn’t reach down under your desk to rub against your clit through your panties and the thin membrane of your tights. You think about his mouth, the flick of his tongue against your fingers, and you have to sink your teeth into your bottom lip to suppress a moan as your blood rushes south and the persistent dull throb between your legs intensifies.

It’s like he knows. Like he can sense you or smell you from across the building, because Eric pushes up off the floor and sinks down onto the edge of his bed, tugging his scrubs down to his knees and wrapping a fist around his half-hard cock. You slip your fingers into your panties now, desperate for more as the grainy Eric on your screen works his shaft, twisting his wrist over the head and tilting his face back to expose the inked flesh of his neck. His eyes find the camera and fix there, and Eric pretends the little blinking light means you’re watching him. It’s easier to find his release that way, thinking you’re there. That it isn’t wasted. Because this isn’t what does it for Eric. His hormones aren’t in control of his urges, never have been. He likes scars and bruises and breaks. He likes screaming and he likes the little slides of blood he kept as trophies, one for every victim. He’d read it in a book sometime and liked the idea, and there was something real satisfying about keeping all those little traces. Something thrilling about keeping the keys to his freedom in a little box under his floorboards.

You cum with a strangled little moan, your eyes closing just for a second before you force them back open in time to watch Eric finish, cock twitching in his fist as spurts of cum paint his toned stomach and soak into the fabric of his scrubs. He rubs his hand on his sheet and huffs a sigh, tucking his cock away and rolling onto his back to take a nap before your lunchtime visit.

Buzzer, wince, wait. Green light, swipe, beep.

The mechanism in the door clicks, and you push it open. Eric’s at his desk as usual, ankles and wrists shackled to the seat. He cocks his head to the side as he scans you over. Your cheeks are flushed and there’s a glassiness to your eyes that sends a rush of blood to his cock and all he can think about is getting your fingers in his mouth so he can see if he’s right.

“Mr Draven.”

“Doc.”

“I hope you’ve had a good moanin-morning.” You stammer, feeling your cheeks heat.

Eric’s mouth curves into a smirk as your eyes drop immediately to the little stain on the waistband of his scrubs. Oh yeah, you were watching him.

“Keeping busy, you know.” He drawls, leaning back in his chair. The chains clink against the chair legs, and his hands jerk to a stop half-way to the table.

“I hear you’ve been making trouble for the orderlies.”

Eric hums. “Me? Trouble? I’m good as gold.”

You purse your lips, fighting a smile. Eric is ridiculously charming when he’s in a good mood, and you suppose relieving some… tension this morning had helped.

“You stamped on the attendants foot so hard you shattered his cuboid and three metatarsals.”

Eric scoffs. “I thought he was wearing work boots. He should have been, right?”

You don’t concede the point, though he’s right. The orderly should have been wearing facility-issued boots, thick leather with steel toecaps. He’d been in his own trainers because he’d been running late that morning. An unfortunate series of coincidences, you hoped.

“Well, they’re refusing to work with you anymore.”

Eric hums. “I’m heartbroken.”

You perch on the edge of his desk, momentarily forgetting your room checks. “That means no rec time, no showering. Nothing outside of this room, until the board can figure out how to manage the situation.”

Eric feels his stomach drop out at that. He’d expected punishment, sure. Maybe some further restrictions on his already limited freedoms. But total isolation, in this room? That was the worst case scenario.

“Why can’t you do it?”

You blink at him. “I’m a doctor.”

“Right.” Eric leans forward, his hands snapping against the restraints before he drops them to his lap again. “You’re my doctor. Getting to see the sun every now and then… and fucking hygiene are important factors in my mental health, aren’t they?”

You swallow. “Your care outside of this room isn’t-“

“Answer the question.”

Your head snaps up, eyes focusing on the tight set of Eric’s jaw. “Yes, they’re important.”

Eric’s face softens into a smile. “Right. So you could do it, couldn’t you? Escort me outside, escort me to the showers. I’d be so grateful. Grateful enough to give you more names.”

“They’d never allow it… not after the violent outburst with the orderly.”

Eric tsks his tongue. “He had it coming. The things he was saying? Vile. Really vile shit. I’d never hurt you.”

You look into his eyes, his wide, sincere, beautiful green eyes, and you believe him. “I’ll talk to the board. Plead the case.”

Eric slumps back into his seat, offering you a genuine smile. “Lifesaver, doc. You really are.”

You push off the desk and cross the room, checking under his pillow and between his sheets before dropping to your knees to check under the bed. You hear the clinking of his chains as Eric turns in his seat to watch, and you stick your ass out a little further than necessary as you crawl underneath.

There’s nothing at all stashed between the slats, and you’re only a little disappointed. But then you pause, eyes fixing on the milky smear against his bedsheet, inches from your face. Don’t do it. Don’t fucking do it, you disgusting little- Your tongue presses to the stain, soaking the fabric and tasting the salt of Eric’s cum, and you let out a tiny, strangled moan of pleasure.

Eric watches the dip of your head, and he can all but hear the wet scrape of your tongue. His cock responds immediately, thickening and pulsing to strain against his scrubs as he imagines what your tongue would feel like licking against his sensitive tip. It’s been a really long time since anyone’s touched him. A really long time since he’s even wanted anyone to. But at the way you press your thighs together, on your knees in your little black pencil skirt as you lick his cum from his sheets? Eric feels something like desire stirring in his gut.

*

Approval takes three days. You make the request, and the ward manager stares at you like you’ve grown a second head, but he pushes it through. The lead psychiatrist calls you into her office and asks you if you’re absolutely sure, and you hear Eric’s voice in your head as you parrot his words to the doctor. Detrimental to his mental health, the progress you’ve been making, the trust you’ve built. You’d signed a liability waiver, and that had been enough. The hospital were still recruiting for new orderlies, but even at a good rate of pay people just didn’t want to work with criminal lunatics. You yourself had been on the verge of quitting when you’d been assigned to Eric Draven. The first time you’d seen him, the huge, wide set of his shoulders hunched in like he could will himself to disappear and the steady stillness in his big green eyes, you’d torn up your resignation letter and locked in. You could save this one. Just this one.

Eric stands under the spray of hot water, feeling the tension leak out of his shoulders and swirl towards the drain, and he thinks about how far you had to stick your neck out to get him here. You’d shrugged it off, telling him it had been a meeting and some paperwork, but Eric knew differently. He knew what he was and what people thought he was, and the fact that you were standing on the other side of the door right now, supervising his shower like a minimum wage worker meant something. It meant he was getting somewhere.

“Doc?” He calls, and he waits until he hears the grate of the slot in the door dragging open before he turns, so you get a real good look at all of him. Your eyes meet his, and your pupils have blows wide in a way that makes Eric’s cock stir to life.

“Everything okay?”

Eric hums, stepping out from under the water to approach the door. He licks his lips, and your gaze dips to watch. “I’d usually use this time to… uh, relieve certain impulses.”

Your brows knit before your eyes go wide. “You mean… the bodily function of…”

“My cock is so fucking hard,” Eric whispers, bracing one hand against the door and letting his eyes flutter closed. “I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable.”

You swallow, a little choked sound loosing from your throat. “I’m not… it’s… perfectly natural. Healthy, even.” Eric can hear the dip in your tone, the thickening in your voice as you get wet thinking about him, and he wonders how often you’ve watched the camera in his room. He should start jerking off more often, to make sure you catch it.

“It hurts,” he moans, and you squeeze your eyes shut and your thighs together.

“Then you should… relieve the tension. I’ll give you some privacy.”

Eric shakes his head. “Could you just… I just need a little help. Just a tiny bit.”

“I can’t come in there. And it wouldn’t be appropriate for me to do-“

Your words are cut off by the press of Eric’s hand through the slot in the door. “It’d help, doc.” He murmurs.

You glance at the deserted corridor either side of you, before you step closer and brush your lips against his fingertips.

Eric exhales shakily. “Spit.” The word shocks through you as you gather saliva on your tongue and spit into his palm. Eric withdraws his hand without another word, and your knees buckle at the soft moan and the wet, slick sound of him wrapping his hand around his length as he starts to pump himself in a loose fist.

“I should close this,” you whisper.

Eric whimpers, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth. “Don’t.”

“It isn’t… I shouldn’t watch you, it’s-“

“So don’t just watch.” Eric’s breath is coming out choppy, his words little more than moans. “Touch yourself.”

Your heart stutters over the words, even as your clit throbs with an arousal that borders on pain at his words and the throaty, deep sound of them. “I can’t, that’s completely-“

“You don’t want to?”

You shake your head. “It isn’t…”

“I watched you lick my cum from my bedsheets. You watch me on the- fuck,” he hisses, forcing his fingers to release his cock. He’s too close to cumming, and he can’t until you’re doing the same. Eric releases a shaky breath through pursed lips. “You watch me on the cameras. I know you do.”

“It’s my job to observe you.” Your own voice sounds reedy and far away, like you’re lightheaded. You suppose that’s true, considering all the blood in your body seems to have pooled in your core.

“You touch yourself when you watch me. I can tell.”

Your eyes snap to his, but there’s no judgement in his stare. Just hunger. Open, carnal hunger in the enormous pools of green and black. “I shouldn’t.”

“Fuck, doc,” Eric groans, running the calloused pad of his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock. “I’m so fucking hard for you. Please.”

You groan, fingers fumbling with the front of your skirt as you push your hand into your underwear and part your soaked folds. “Shit,” you whisper.

Eric’s smirk is smug as he squeezes the base of his cock, watching your eyes flutter closed. He can hear the sound of your slickness, even over the shower and the combined panting of your breathing. “Look at me, doc.”

Your eyes open reluctantly, pupils already expanding as you succumb to the pleasure of your own fingers rubbing electric circles against your swollen clit. “This is wrong,” you whimper, though your fingers only speed up, your hips jerking unconsciously.

“I’m wrong,” Eric moans, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip as his orgasm nears. He can feel the familiar tightening in his balls, though the thrill of you watching seems to heighten his arousal. “You’re… making it better.”

You whine at that, and Eric catalogues the information away for later. You get off on being told what a good doctor you are, though by all counts it seemed like you were a pretty fucking unethical one.

“Oh god,” you whisper, eyes fixing on his. “I’m gunna cum.”

Eric groans, quickening his pace until his fist is a blur against his shaft. “Cum for me, doc.” The guttural sound of his voice and him commanding you tips you over the edge and you cum with a writhing, unbearable pleasure, fingers seizing against your clit as you ride through the waves of your orgasm.

“God, Eric,” you moan, and Eric feels the tightness unravel in one, long stroke as he cums, painting the door and the tiled floor with his own release.

You drag your fingers out of your underwear and smear them over the front of your skirt, glancing back to find Eric still watching you. You can’t see all of him, but you know he’s finished. There’s a pretty pink flush to his cheeks, and his shoulders rise and fall like he’s worked out. The post-nut clarity hits with overwhelming shame, and you take a deliberate step back. “Finish your shower. I mean, clean up. Five minutes.”

Eric frows, feeling the space between you thicken into something that wasn’t there a moment ago, and he wonders if he’s fucked it up by pushing you too soon. He scrubs the evidence of the act from his skin and shuts off the shower, wrapping a thin, rough towel around his waist before returning to the door and knocking.

You reappear, and Eric realises you never closed the hatch. Maybe you watched him finish the shower. By the blush still staining your cheeks and the way you don’t quite look him in the eye, Eric thinks maybe you did. “I’m done.”

“You’re not dressed.” Your words are clipped and cool, and Eric swallows against a lump of something he can’t name cloying in his throat.

“I don’t have clean scrubs, they keep them in the closet out there.”

Your brows scrunch up. “Oh.”

You disappear from view, and Eric feels goosebumps break out across his back in the chilly, damp air as he waits. Your eyes reappear, and you lift a bundle up to show him. “I can’t… you have to open the door.” Eric keeps his tone low and calm, even though he’s starting to feel some type of way about how you’re acting. Like you regret it. And he can’t have that. He just can’t.

“Shit.” You mumble to yourself as you reach for the door. Eric’s hand wraps around your wrist and tugs hard, and you’re dragged over the threshold and into the steamy shower room with a gasp. “You can’t touch me, you promised you’d-“

Eric cuts you off as he lifts your hand to his face, examining your fingers where they’re curled protectively against your palm. It occurs to him that this is the first time he’s ever touched you, with his own hands. Your skin is warm and soft under his, and he can feel the thrum of your blood against his fingers through the thin membrane of your wrist. He lifts coaxes your fingers apart and sucks them into his mouth, swirling his tongue against the digits. There’s the faintest taste to them, but it’s been so long since Eric has been with a woman that he can’t really remember what pussy tastes like. Your mouth drops open as you watch him, and he can tell by the way your eyes darken that he’s got the right hand, at least.

He sucks hard enough to hollow his cheeks over the sharp plains of his cheekbones, before letting you pull your hand back. “Jacob Michael Smith. Connecticut, April 24th, 2012.” He speaks softly, his words ghosting against your damp fingers, and you shiver as you commit them to memory. Another name, a reward for your participation in… whatever the hell this is.

You don’t speak at all as you escort him back to his room, and Eric doesn’t push you. He lets you rechain his hands and feet together, even though you put the cuffs on too tight at the metal cuts into his skin.

*

Eric doesn’t know what to expect the next time he sees you, and the anxiety of not knowing thrums in his blood like the drugs he no longer has access to. He hears the buzzer and reaches for the chains wrapped neatly around the legs of the chair, clicking them into place on the leather cuffs around his ankles and wrists. The light above the door goes green, and the door opens.

You pause in the entrance, eyes scanning the corridor behind you like you’re considering chickening out. “Hey.” He says very deliberately, offering you a smile. Your shoulders drop a little, and you return the greeting with a tight smile of your own.

“How are we doing today?”

Eric shrugs. “Same old, doc.”

You step into the room, and Eric watches with relief as you settle into the space, into the routine of checking under his bed and sliding your fingers over his sheets and under his pillow. “I want to try something different with you today.”

Eric swallows, trying very hard not to think about all the things he wants to try with you. “Sounds interesting.”

You suck the corner of your bottom lip into your mouth, and Eric’s cock throbs. “You respond well to a… transactional dynamic. I was doing some research, and I think we could come to an arrangement.”

Eric’s cock actually twitches at your words. Were you suggesting… “You get me off, I give you a name?”

You choke on nothing, a series of unintelligible half-protests spilling from your pretty lips. “That is… not what I meant. At all.”

Eric lets his thighs spread wide, leaning back in his seat. “What else could you offer me? You got sway in here, but you can’t get my sentence reduced. I know that much.”

You tug a paper bag out of your jacket, and Eric cocks his head to the side as you glance up at the security camera. “Nobody watches that feed but you,” Eric teases.

Your face flushes as you unwrap the bag, but the smirk drops from his face at the sight of the contents. A plastic punnet of bright red strawberries. Eric feels something dangerously close to emotion threatening to choke him. “These were a bitch to get in here.” You say softly, smiling as you pry open the lid and pluck a plump berry from the container. “You want one?”

Eric nods, licking over his lips as his mouth waters. It had been years since he’d eaten anything sweet and fresh. You hold the strawberry out, and he wraps his lips around it, biting into the tart flesh with a squelch of sticky red juice. Flavour explodes on his tongue, an overwhelming, delicious cacophony of sugar and sharpness, and Eric moans.

You ignore the sick throb in your core as you watch him, focusing instead on the actual, unbridled satisfaction on his face as he chews. “Harrison Slaney.”

You frown, because the name isn’t new to you. “That doesn’t count, we knew about that one.”

“You don’t know why.” He hums, a thin line of juice running from the corner of his mouth. His tongue licks out at it, but he can’t catch it all before it reaches his chin to drip down onto his thigh. “Fuck.”

You hum, leaning over to swipe the liquid from his jaw. “Okay, tell me why.”

“He was in here for arson, right? Burned down that house and said the devil made him do it.”

You nod.

“Yeah. Well, the little boy in that house? The littlest one? He’d been abusing him for months. Snatching him on his way home from school and dragging him out to the woods, said he’d kill his parents if he told. Guy set that fire to tie up loose ends after he was done with him.”

You wobble on the desk, feeling nausea rise in your throat. You’d evaluated that patient. Only once, only initially, but you hadn’t had even the slightest reason to suspect he was this kind of monster.

“He told you that?”

“He told another guy. I overhead. People forget I’m there, most times.”

You scan his long torso, even folded into the chair. You found it hard to believe anyone could forget he’s there, considering your eyes wander to him unconsciously every five seconds.

“Do you feel like… why do you think it’s your job to kill these people?”

Eric presses his lips into a thin line. “Because nobody else will do it. Cops are incompetent, and it’s always the people that can’t defend themselves that end up victims. I’m big. I’m strong. Why shouldn’t it be me, instead of them? It’s justice. I’m… I’m karma.”

You hate how much sense he’s making. You hate how warmth is pooling in your stomach, something more complicated and much more dangerous than lust.

“Tell me about how you were caught.”

One side of Eric’s mouth lifts into a smirk. “Transactional, doc.”

You roll your eyes but can’t suppress a smile of your own as you press another strawberry to his lips. Eric lets you press it there for a moment, eyes meeting yours in a challenge. “Open, Draven. Be a good boy.”

His pupils expand rapidly as he parts his lips and bites into the plush flesh. He hums, eyes closing for a moment, and you take the chance to really look at his face. It’s easier to take in the other details when he’s not looking at you. The very fine lines around his eyes, the sharp point of his nose. The perfect, swollen rosebuds of his lips. The little tattoos, the delicate ones on his face and the thicker lines snaking into the collar of his scrubs. Pretty, pretty boy.

“Eric.” He mumbles, and you snap out of your daze to raise an eyebrow at him. “Draven.”

“Now that really doesn’t count.”

“I know. I just… I want you to call me Eric. “Nobody else. Just you.”

You nod your head gently, though you can feel the tingle of blood rushing to your cheeks. Somehow that’s more intimate than anything else he’s ever said to you. “I still need a name, Eric.”

Eric swallows hard. He knew hearing his name on your lips would make him feel a type of way, but he wasn’t prepared for just how much it impacted him. His stomach flips over, giddy, like he’s a teenager with a crush and not a criminal with a plan. It’s so fucking stupid, and he reaches out to kick the leg of the table hard enough to make you jump. You do, the unexpected shock of the sound sending you toppling off the edge and sprawling into his lap with a little yelp.

Eric’s hands lift to catch you, bracketing around your hips and pinning you to his lap. You’re about to thank him, when you realise he shouldn’t have been able to catch you. It’s like it happens in slow motion, looking down to see the leather straps around his wrists, and the chains curled uselessly on the floor.

“Charles Billingham.” Eric breathes, his thumbs rubbing circles against your hipbones. “January 1st, 2013. Philadelphia.”

You blink at him, and he digs his thumbs against you harder. “Breathe, doc.”

You drag in a shaking breath, exhaling harshly. Eric’s lips part like he’s tasting the air from your lungs, and you feel the telltale twitch of his cock beneath you. “You’re not in the… how did you…”

“Paul Marshall. October 12th, 2011. Jersey.”

“You shouldn’t be able to… how did you…”

Eric lifts his hands to your waist, dragging his long fingers up your ribs and grazing over the curves of your breasts. “Sam Worthington. December 25th, upstate New York.”

“Why are you… I haven’t even given you the strawberries.” You whisper, and Eric huffs a laugh.

“You’re giving me more right now by not pushing the panic button.”

You freeze. Patients aren’t supposed to know that staff even have those, little discreet switches on the sides of their keycards that will trigger a silent alarm. But Eric’s right, you hadn’t pushed yours. You hadn’t even considered it.

“How long have you been able to get out of those?”

Eric sighs. “Since the first day they installed them. Shitty installation. Shitty mechanisms.”

You can barely hear your own voice as your mind tries to make sense of this information. “So you’ve… never been restrained? The whole time I’ve been coming here?”

Eric shrugs. “You were never in any danger. You’re not… nobody good is ever in any danger with me.”

Good? You want to scream at him. You don’t know anything about me!

“I have to tell- you can’t be allowed to-“

Eric’s hands cup the sides of your neck, tilting your head down to his as he drags you closer and presses his lips to your own.

The chaos of panic in your head fizzles into hot, white static at the feeling of his lips on yours. He tastes like strawberries, and you rock forward against the hard bulge in his scrubs as his fingers lace into your hair and tug with enough force to make you whine into his mouth.

Eric moans, the sound vibrating through your lips and shooting straight down to your core, and you feel the slick of arousal as you soak your panties, rocking against his cock as he thrusts upwards to meet you.

Eric pulls your head back enough to disconnect your mouths, his tongue licking over your bottom lip. “You feel so fucking good,” he mumbles, dropping one hand to your hip to help you drag back and forth against his cock. It’s the closest he’s been to anyone touching him in longer than he can remember and precum beads on his tip and soaks into his scrubs as he ruts up against the soft heat of you.

“God,” you whisper, hips snapping frantically against him as you chase the edge of your orgasm. “I’m gunna… God,” you groan as your release washes through you, the drag of your slick cotton panties against your clit and the rough feeling of Eric’s fingers on your skin tumbling you over the edge as you jerk and whimper and wriggle on his lap.

Eric feels his own orgasm hit moments later, watching you fall apart and feeling the hot pulsing of your pussy against him. Your release soaks through to his scrubs, and the scent of you and the damp warmth against his cock has him shooting his load into his scrubs, coating his own crotch in sticky cum as he pins you against his lap and grinds up against you.

You’re gasping, fingers balled tightly in the fabric of his collar, chest rising and falling erratically. You look so small and so vulnerable like that. Eric releases his hold on your hip, resting his palm against your back instead. He leans forward to brush his lips against yours, relishing in the soft, hot silk of your mouth. “You’re safe, doc,” he whispers against your lips, and the words break through the complete haze of lust to settle in your gut. Doc. You’re his doctor. He’s a patient. This is unethical. This is dangerous. This is wrong.

You rip your mouth away from his, shoving against his chest as you tumble from his lap and stagger towards the door. Eric frowns, big green eyes bewildered as he watches you fumble for your keycard, but he doesn’t get up. He could! Your brain screams to you. “This isn’t- this can’t happen. You can’t- I’ll… shit,” you stammer as your card finally swipes the keypad and the door clicks. You push against it, your eyes never leaving him. The last thing you see before you slip into the corridor is his face, cheeks flushed and eyes wounded, and it’s the only thing you see every time you close your own eyes for a week.

*

Eric thinks he might be in hell. Being what he is, he’s used to pain. Used to expecting nothing but pain and shit and blood. Used to seeing the worst in people, up close and personal. Getting caught was almost a relief, an excuse to hold up his hands and say sorry, world, Eric Draven’s outta commission. He’d been ready to fade into nothing, been ready to welcome it, when you’d walked into his cell with your tense smile and your pretty eyes and spoken to him like he were a person and not a shadow. He hadn’t eaten a single strawberry after you’d left, and they sit rotting under his bed like a physical manifestation of how badly he’s killed his one little spark of hope. Because it had been days, and you hadn’t come back. One of the duty doctors had visited to administer meds and conduct room checks, and that had been all. No rec time, no showers. No orderlies willing to do anything more than shove his food through the slot in the door and slam it closed. Usually before he managed to get to it, so he was forced to pick through scraps on the floor after the tray toppled through the hatch. He didn’t have the energy to work out, and the smudgy charcoal sketches of you that he kept under his pillow made his stomach clench in a way he wasn’t even remotely interested in exploring.

By day six, Eric decides he’s done. Done with all of it, actually. His food comes three times a day, and he watches the trays clatter to the ground, one on top of another. It takes two more days for somebody to notice and come to clear it up, and Eric puts on the cuffs and connects the chains like it means anything.

The orderly that enters doesn’t look scared, and Eric wonders with a little jolt whether you hadn’t told on him.

“Expecting the good doctor?” The orderly asks with a sneer.

Eric says nothing. He knows better than to run his mouth when he’s so weak he can barely lift his head.

“You not talking to me?” The orderly coos, stepping closer. His boot squelches in a rancid puddle of decaying meat and he gags. “You’re a fucking animal, Draven.” He steps closer, lifting his boot to drag the smear of rotten food against Eric’s shin. “I’m surprised it took her this long to throw in the towel with you. Irredeemable. We all told her as much.”

Eric glares at the scratched surface of his desk, and still he says nothing.

“Not so cocky when you’re all tied up, are you?” The orderly leans down, big greasy face far too fucking close, and Eric flinches. “Fucking pervert piece of shit,” he spits, the saliva misting over Eric’s face moments before the meaty fist connects with his mouth.

Eric’s head is rocked back by the force, the sheer surprise of it. He just manages to keep his hands by his sides, and the orderly steps back, hocking a foaming wad of spit onto Eric’s thigh. “They don’t pay us enough to deal with you psychos.”

Eric’s fingers itch to wipe the remnants of the man’s spittle from his face, but he holds himself perfectly still as the orderly scoops up the worst of the mess on the floor and stacks his trays. “Better start eating, Draven. Or they’ll put you in the hospital wing and hook you up to a feeding tube. Nasty business.”

Eric doesn’t know whether your office is in the hospital wing, but the thought that it might be, that him ending up in a bed there would bring you out of hiding is somewhat cheering even as his vision goes spotty and his stomach aches like its eating itself.

*

Eric hears the buzzer, and he rolls his head to the side to watch the red light blink. He’s too weak to move, couldn’t haul himself into the chair to fix his sham restraints in place even if he wanted to. He frowns when the light turns green anyway, expecting orderlies to pour in and drag him to the hospital wing for force feeding.

“This isn’t how you get my attention, Eric.” Your voice is low and melodic, and Eric feels every word vibrate through him as you step into the room. At the sight of him your brows pinch, concern written in every line of your face. “Oh, God. When did you stop eating?”

Eric thinks he shrugs, but he isn’t completely sure. He opens his mouth, but his tongue is a wedge of sandpaper against his teeth and his throat is raw.

You cross the room, dropping to your knees beside his bed and pressing your cool hand to his forehead. “Shit, Eric. What the hell did you do?”

Eric wants to snap, but the words that rattle out of him are weak. “What did you do?”

“I took a vacation.” You whisper. “I needed… some clarity. Away from here.”

If he had the strength, Eric thinks he might throttle you. So he’s glad he’s too weak to move, actually. “You left me.”

You purse your lips. “I didn’t leave you. This is… my job. Other doctors would have covered my patients.”

Eric chokes out a laugh. “I’m more. This is more than that.”

You swallow around a lump. This is exactly what you were trying to get away from. The unhealthy, intense dynamic that had grown between you and Eric Draven. The bond that threatened everything you’d worked so hard to build.

“So you just stopped eating, huh?”

Eric thinks he shrugs, but he’s too weak to know for sure.

“What’s that…” you disappear from beside him, and Eric’s fingers grasp uselessly at nothing as you dip under the bed and retrieve the moulded punnet of strawberries. “Eric.” You sigh.

“I owe you more names.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I shouldn’t have made it into a game. It wasn’t professional. I… I’ve been doing some thinking, and-“

“I wanna play another game.” Eric whispers through chapped lips.

“No.”

“You tell me things about yourself. Not big things, just… like… trivia. And I’ll eat. Drink, whatever.”

You purse your lips as you look at the glassiness in his eyes and the severe way his flesh is drawn over his bones. “Just for today, Draven.”

Eric winces as you help him sit up, and you press the buzzer on the wall, waiting for the hatch to open. “Hey, doc. You enjoy your vacay?” Eric grits his teeth at the sound of the voice, the familiarity with which he speaks to you.

“It was good to get outside of this place. I need a couple of bottles of water and some food. Something basic, like… toast? Can we do toast? Or crackers?”

Eric’s stomach gurgles at even the suggestion of food.

“Assume you’ll clear the budget for it.”

“You know I will, wouldn’t wanna get you in trouble.” Eric hates the teasing edge to your words, but when you turn back to look at him you roll your eyes and the churning in his guts stops. You’re playing the game, that’s all.

You jump when the hatch reopens, and the orderlies meaty paw shoves three water bottles through. “Asshole finally gunna stop being suicidal?”

“Working on it.” You say tightly, taking the bottles under your arm and reaching for the tray of toast. You look at the dry, burnt slices and grimace. “No butter? Jelly? I think… I mean I’m not sure he’ll be able to swallow this, is all.”

The orderly dips his head to look at you, and you offer him what you hope is a friendly smile. “I’ll see what we got. For you.”

The orderly does manage to procure a handful of sachets of strawberry jelly, and you squeeze them onto the toast, smoothing it out with your finger. Eric watches with a knot in his stomach at the care, the consideration for him. It really had been hell, being away from you.

“You have… any pets growing up?”

You crack the lid on a water bottle and hand it to him. Eric’s hands shake badly as he brings it to his lips and takes a few gulps. His throat protests as he swallows, but he pushes through the pain because you’re watching him.

“One cat, one dog. Toast.”

Eric takes a slice and licks tentatively at the jelly before taking a small bite. The toast is like ash in his mouth, but the jelly helps. He takes another sip of water unprompted, and you smile.

“First CD you ever bought.”

“Uhh… I don’t know, actually. I could only afford singles, I don’t think the memory of which came first stuck.”

Eric hums, taking another bite of the toast. With the water soothing his throat it’s becoming easier to swallow, and his stomach screams at him to devour every single fucking thing he can get his hands on.

“Siblings?”

“This is… not trivia.” You warn, and Eric takes a sip of water to mask the sting he feels at you reasserting the boundary.

“Favourite movie.”

You smile softly. “Am I basic if I say Titanic?”

Eric smirks. “Yes.”

He’s finishing the last mouthful of toast, two empty bottles already crumpled on the floor and the third almost finished when you detonate the bomb. “I’m switching you to another doctor.”

Eric’s vision tunnels as you ramble on, spounting nonsense about healthy boundaries and professional treatment.

“No.”

You sigh. “Eric, please. It’s for the best.”

“No. You can’t. You can’t.”

“I can.” Your mouth sets into a hard line. “It’s my decision. I’m in charge.”

Eric feels panic welling up, and he switches tactic. He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his face and pressing his nose against your palm. “Please. Please don’t leave me.”

Your lips wobble, and Eric presses his lips to your wrist, tongue gliding out to trace the pulse of the vein beneath your skin. “I’ll be good. I swear. I’ll give you names. I’ll take the meds. I’ll do anything, I’ll do every fucking thing.”

“Eric,” you whisper, feeling your stomach knot and unknot.

“I’ll be good.” He trails kisses up your palm and over your fingers, curling your hand into a fist and kissing your knuckles. “I’ll be your good boy.”

“I’m not healthy for you. I can’t be… you deserve a doctor who can respect the professional-“

“If you leave I’ll never speak again. I’ll never say another word. I swear it.”

His face hardens, and you realise with a sinking sense of inevitability that he isn’t bluffing. A man like Eric doesn’t bluff.

“You can’t… blackmail me into treating you.” You whisper.

Eric make a frustrated sound in the back of his throat. “It’s not blackmail. I’m just fucking telling you. I won’t work with another doctor. You’re it for me.”

“We don’t… We’d built a rapport, a sense of trust. You were lying the whole time, Eric. You have me second-guessing everything you’ve ever told me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You let me feed you. You could have used your hands the whole time.”

“I could have hurt you. Could have stolen your keycard and escaped but I didn’t, did I? I wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. Ever.”

You believe him, deep in your bones. But the balance of power has shifted, and you don’t know how to make it shift back.

“Anything.” Eric breathes. “I’d do anything to earn your trust back.” The soft, pleading edge to his voice sends a bolt of arousal through you.

“If I told you I can’t feel safe with you unrestrained?”

“Call the orderlies. Have them cuff me or tie me to the chair or whatever. I don’t care, I’ll do it.” There is wide sincerity in his eyes, a desperate eagerness to fix things, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth.

In the time since you’d started these games, Eric had given up more names than he had in the months prior. Even if it was unethical, if playing with him closed cases and brought closure to more families, it was justified, wasn’t it?

You’re not sure you care, as you rake your eyes over his face and down his toned stomach, rippling under the thin material of his scrubs. “If I… tied you up myself. You’d be okay with that?”

Eric’s mouth goes dry, his cock twitching at the thought. “I trust you.”

Your legs shake as you push off the edge of his bed and collect the leather bands from beside his chair. The chains aren’t even connected to the goddamn floor, just looped around the chairlegs. If you’d looked at them just a little closer, you’d have seen that they were practically useless.

Eric’s watching you from the bed, his cock already tenting in the loose fabric of his scrubs. You notice, your eyes darkening as you turn the cuffs over in your hands. “How do these work, then?”

Eric hums, reaching for you. You hand him a cuff, and he leans down to wrap it around his ankle. “The release for the chain is here, on the top. Took me less than an hour to realise I could just…” he flicks his long finger against the mechanism and it pops open.

“That’s the worst design I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“I guess the board were on a budget.” Eric says with a smirk. “But if you put them on me the other way round, I can’t reach the release.”

You twist the cuff around, bracketing his wrist. “You can’t?”

Eric strains his fingers, but there’s no way to reach around to the release catch. “I’m stuck.”

You nod, fixing the other cuff to his wrist and then his ankles. “So now if I secure these to your bed…” you mumble to yourself as you pry open the end of the chain-links and tighten them over the railing at the bottom of the bed. You secure the other end to the cuff, and straighten. “You can’t get out?”

Eric tugs his leg, flexing his ankle this way and that. “Nope. Tight.” His voice drops an octave on the word, his breath hitching in his throat as his cock twitches.

“Good,” you mutter as you round the bed, securing his other ankle and then moving on to his wrists. “To the sides, or above your head?” You whisper.

“However you want,” he says quietly. You close your eyes briefly as a wave of arousal throbs through you, before lifting his wrist above his head and securing him to the headboard. His muscles bulge and strain at this angle, tattoos standing out against the hard flesh, and his pupils have blown wide as he wriggles against the restraints. “Okay. Shit, I really can’t move.”

You swallow, eyes raking over his bound form and committing every sinful inch of him to memory. “You like it?”

Eric groans, hips lifting off the bed as his cock throbs and leaks against the front of his scrubs. “Shit. Yeah, I like it. I’m… fucking hard.”

You hum, perching on the edge of the bed and ghosting your fingers over his erection. “I like you like this. I feel… in control.”

Eric whimpers at the way you touch him, bucking hopefully against your hand. “You’re in control. I’m… yours. I’m at your mercy. Whatever you want, doc.”

“Whatever I want,” you whisper, wrapping your hand around the outline of his shaft through his scrubs. “Loaded offer, Draven.”

Eric groans, eyes rolling back at the pressure of your fingers wrapped around him. “Please. I’ll give you names, I’ll give you whatever you- shit,” he hisses as you dip your hand beneath his waistband and rub over his slit, massaging his precum into the sensitive head of his cock.

“Whatever I want, right.” You coo, tugging his cock out of his scrubs and wrapping your fist around his length to pump him slowly. “Because you want to be good for me, right? My best patient? My best boy?”

Eric whines, hips bucking into your hand to fuck himself in the loose circle of your fist as you fumble with the waistband of your own pants. “Shit,” he whimpers, eyes fixed to your hand as you shove your soaked panties aside and circle your own clit with two fingers. “That’s… you’re so hot.”

You sigh, chasing the delicious friction of your fingers against yourself as you jerk your hand up and down his length. You pull your fingers out of your underwear and lean over, pressing them to Eric’s lips. “What was it you asked me, before? Hmm?”

Eric can only stare at you. He can’t think about anything other than the blinding pleasure of your hand on his cock and the tight, crushing feeling of the restraints pinning him to the bed.

“Spit, Eric.” You coo. He does, letting a thin stream of saliva slick over your fingers. You smile, holding his gaze as you shove your hand back into your underwear and use his spit to glide against your clit.

“That,” he gasps, eyes losing focus as you rub your thumb over his frenulum, massaging the sensitive spot. “Please.”

“You want to cum for me?” You murmur, squeezing his length harder as you pick up the pace.

“If it’s what you want.” He whispers, eyes wide and shining with tears as his hips buck.

“I do want.” You twist your wrist as you roll over the head of his cock, and Eric actually does cry out then. He’s had nothing but his own goddamn hand in years, and that had suited him just fine. But your hand, you looking at him as you brought him to the edge? It was too much. Eric whines as his release builds, cock throbbing and twitching as-

You remove your hand from him completely, and Eric’s eyes open in shock as his brows furrow and his bottom lip juts out in a pout. “Why did you stop?”

You hum, your other hand still working in your underwear, and Eric’s eyes drop to that point, mouth falling open. “Oh.”

“Me first,” you whisper.

“I wish I could… fuck,” Eric groans, straining against his restraints. “Wish I could touch you.”

“Yeah? Tell me.” You grit out, fingers circling your clit erratically as your orgasm nears.

“Wanna touch you. Wanna use my fingers. My tongue. Bet you taste so good. Fuckin strawberries,” he groans, cock twitching with the aching need to cum.

“Shit. Yeah. If you weren’t all… tied up for me,” you moan. “Fuck, Eric. I’m gunna cum. I’m gunna-“ you break off with a cry as your orgasm washes over you, grinding desperately into your own palm as you twitch through the waves of pleasure.

“That was… fuck. Please,” he whines, and you sigh as you withdraw your soaked fingers and lean over to press them against his lips.

“Suck.”

Eric draws your fingers into his mouth, laving his tongue between the slick digits to swallow down every last trace of your release. He moans at the taste, at the hot, sweet and bitter taste of you, and his eyes roll back as his cock twitches for a final time before shooting thick ropes of cum over his stomach.

Eric drops boneless to the bed, tongue running desperately over his lips to collect the last traces of your arousal where you dragged your fingers out of his mouth. You dip your head to peck his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue.

“Get some rest,” you sigh, pressing a kiss to his sweaty forehead. “I have notes to write up, forms to fill out. Some difficult phone calls to make. I’d already promised you to another doctor whose practically foaming at the mouth to get time with you. He’s gunna be pissed.” 

Eric can’t bring himself to feel sorry for you, not with the taste of your release in his mouth and your admission that you’d tried to trade him away like a fucking Pokémon card.

*

You’re sitting at your desk writing up notes and trying very hard to not bring up the camera feed to Eric’s room when there’s a light tap at your door.

“Come in!” You call.

You straighten at the sight of the lead psychiatrist, and you feel your heart drop into your stomach at the sight of the very official, suit-clad man standing next to her. “Do you have a minute? We need to discuss a patient of yours.”

You don’t need her to clarify. There’s only one patient she could be talking about, so you gesture for them to enter the room. She sits opposite you with a sigh. “We need to talk about your relationship with Eric Draven.”

Taglist: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld @loushaw131460 @goosegreenwood @lunaskye999 @stvalent @devilslittlehelper @kikibit @skysgard

[bryandanielson-yes]

This pairing is making me discover new things about myself that I was happy not knowing 😀

[thedevotchka]

If I remember correctly, Roman likes to draw. Please write a fanfic where he asks the reader to be his model, and at first she’s shy, but then she agrees. Sorry if this is vague—I love your work and decided to ask for this. 🩵🩵🩵

Like One Of Your Girls (Roman Godfrey x Reader)

Summary: You answer an ad for an artist’s modelling job because you really need the cash. When you turn into the driveway at the Godfrey mansion you almost turn around, but you really need the cash. You have no idea that Roman can draw, and that’s just the first of many surprising things you learn about him.  

Word Count: 4627

Warnings: NSFW, slight dub-con, oral sex f! receiving

MDNI, fic under the cut

The flyer is still clutched in your sweaty palm as you look up at the Godfrey Mansion. You’d turn around and forget the whole thing, but your cab is already most of the way down the drive and you spent your last ten bucks getting here, anyway. There’s a flicker of movement in an upstairs window, and you suck in a breath and march up the steps to the front door even as your heart pounds and your legs turn to jello. This has to be a joke. You hope it’s a joke, because Roman Godfrey has a reputation for making weird, unsettling things happen and you’re not at all interested in becoming a story whispered around school.

You unfold the flyer in your hand as you rap your fist against the wood, reading the words printed on the paper. FEMALE MODEL WANTED FOR PRIVATE LIFE DRAWING. GENEROUS COMPENSATION PROVIDED

You’d text the number on the bottom with a picture of your body, as requested. It had felt a little bit weird to do it, but you were clothed at least. You were aware that life drawing usually meant nudity, but it wouldn’t be terrible if it was for an art class. Clinical, even. You could put your airpods in and zone out with an audiobook or something.

The front door opens, and any hope that Olivia Godfrey was running a secret women’s art group melts out of you as you take in the imposing figure of Roman Godfrey leaning against the doorframe. “Yeah?”

“Uh.” You blink, holding out the flyer. Roman’s eyes narrow as he glances at the damp paper in your hand.

“What’s that?”

You frown. “You can’t read?”

You regret the words immediately, you regret them as they’re coming out, but you’re nervous and that always makes you a little defensive.

Roman’s lips curl up into a smirk. “Yeah, I can. Better than you apparently. Message said noon.”

Your mouth twists to the side. “It’s only ten after. My cab was late.”

Roman nods as though this information means anything to him, though he’s just pleased you showed up. It had been a fucking nightmare, sifting through endless conversations and selfies of boring strangers, waiting for you to take the bait. Worth it now though, with you shaking on his front step and looking as deliciously vulnerable as he’d imagined you would.

“Well you better come in then, or we’ll lose the light.”

That sounds like an artist thing to say, but your heart remains lodged firmly in your throat as you follow him into the house and hear the creaking of the door shutting behind you.

“This way.” Roman calls impatiently, and you realise he’s already half way up the stairs. You hesitate at the bottom, and he huffs something rude under his breath as he stomps back down to your side. “What’s wrong?”

“I… am I really here for life drawing?”

Roman’s smirk sharpens. “Sure.” He leans in, his breath ghosting too close to your mouth. “What else would we possibly be doing?” Your face floods, flushing crimson so quickly it makes you dizzy, and Roman’s smirk softens as he steps back. “You’re kinda jumpy, you know that?”

You nod, and his smile softens even further, turning dangerously disarming as he offers you his hand. And you kinda watch from outside of your own body as you take it, lacing your fingers with his and letting him tug you gently up the enormous winding staircase.

Roman’s bedroom is both completely unexpected and entirely predictable. He has an enormous bed, because of course he does, with silk black sheets and a mirror on the ceiling above. You feel your blush deepen as you think about what you would look like sprawled out in those sheets, watching yourself get fucked by Roman Godfrey. It’s not something you thought about much, but sometimes, sure. Every girl in Hemlock Grove and a good portion of the boys had thought about it at some point.

There’s an assortment of colourful rags pinned to the front of a bar cart, and it’s only when you get a little closer you realise they’re bras. Conquests. You have to look away to stop your face from spontaneously combusting. You can feel his eyes on you, watching you as you examine his space. You reach an easel, a well-used set of pencils laid out neatly on a table beside it. There’s a chair setup opposite, perfectly positioned to catch the best of the afternoon light through his window. “For me?” You ask, pointing to the seat.

Roman’s leaning against the door still, jaw set in a tight line, but he nods in confirmation and pushes off to join you by the window. “The light is best here. Best in the house.” As if he were trying to explain himself. As if he cared what you thought.

“And you want me to… take everything off?”

Roman swallows, his eyes raking down your body. “Only if you feel comfortable. I don’t…” He trails off, a faint pink dusting his high cheekbones, and you fight the absurd urge to reach out and touch his face. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t Roman. Apprehension prickles on the back of your neck again and you step away from him, taking a seat.

“Clothes on, then.” You swallow, looking everywhere but at him as he studies you. You don’t see the smirk curving on his mouth, have no idea of the challenge you’ve set him with your decision to stay covered up. You settle into the seat, looking out the window and not at Roman as your face comes level with his crotch. He watches you lean back into the chair, the way your skirt fans over the seat, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth. However fun it’s going to be peeling you out of your clothes, he can’t deny that there’s a beauty in the flow of fabric, the suggestion of your thighs beneath.

“Can I…?” He trails off, pointing to your skirt, and you nod like you have any idea at all what he’s talking about. Roman crouches in front of you, eyes raking over your body as his fingers reach for the hem of your skirt and drag it wide, smoothing a wrinkle from the fabric. “Yeah.” He hums. “That’s good.”

Your pulse thunders under your skin as he looks at you, and you swallow hard. Roman’s lips curl up into a smirk as he stands, brushing your hair back over your shoulder. He doesn’t ask permission this time, and your skin burns everywhere his fingers brush.

He crosses to his own seat, pulling a sketchpad off the easel and hooking his ankle over his knee to rest the pad against his calf. “Stay still.”

You nod, and he raises an eyebrow. “Still.”

You freeze yourself in place, and his smirk widens. “Good girl.”

Your body might be still, but you can do nothing about the way it reacts to hearing Roman Godfrey call you a good girl. Your cheeks burn and your clit throbs between your legs so strongly you have to press your thighs together.

Roman notices. He is drawing you, but only barely. Mostly he’s watching, the little shifts as your chest rises and falls with each breath, the parting of your lips and the quick dart of your tongue to wet them. So of course he sees the movement as you press your thighs together, and his cock twitches in response. He’d figured you might be into that, praise. A lot of girls were, sure, but there was something different about you.

Where other girls melted, you seemed to glow. When you were called on in class and gave the right answer, you’d glow at affirmation, even as your blood thundered so loud in your veins Roman was sure he could hear it clear across the classroom. Your face would flush so deeply it was almost concerning, and the sight of all that blood under your skin would get him fucking hard. Because you were a wallflower, you were shy, and you were going to be Roman’s. “You should draw like, professionally.” Ashley Valentine had said, at the sketch in his Math book. A girl at a desk, hunched shoulders and hair covering her face. You, without the pretty curve of your mouth and your deep, intelligent eyes. He’d shrugged and smirked and made an off-colour comment about exactly what he was a professional at, and Ashley had rolled her eyes and dropped it. But the idea had stuck. A way to legitimise his interest in you. Because slipping you a fifty and asking you to meet him in the parking lot wouldn’t have worked on you. Not on you. But hiring you as a model? Breaking the alternator in your car and then offering you exactly as much as you’d need to fix it? Yeah, that had worked.

“Is this…sorry.” You stammer. “Is this good?”

Roman tilts his head to the side, pressing the tip of his pencil against his bottom lip like he’s really considering it. Like he knows shit about art. “Sure.”

You squirm a little at the dismissive, flat tone. “I could… do better? I don’t know. If there’s a pose, or?” You trail off. You don’t know why it matters. But maybe you want to hear him call you a good girl again. At the sick throb between your legs, you press your lips together. Yeah, you want to hear Roman Godfrey call you a good girl again.

Roman hums, resting his sketchbook against the easel and uncrossing his legs. “I wanna try something.” You nod, eyes full of delicious apprehension as he steps in front of you and drops into a crouch. “You’re too nervous.”

“Sorry.” Your voice is barely a whisper, and Roman feels it in his cock.

“Don’t be. Just…” he reaches for your calf, pushing your legs apart, and you almost fight him on it. “Relax,” his voice is low and soothing, and you force yourself to loosen up as he pushes your legs apart and hitches the hem of your skirt up around your thighs. You feel the puff of air against you as Roman’s head dips between your legs, and you tilt your head back, eyes fixing on the ceiling. How had this happened?

You feel the tip of Roman’s nose graze against your inner thigh, and then his face reappears from under your skirt. His pupils are wide and there’s a faint pink blush on his cheeks. “You’re a classic.” He says. You’d think he was making fun of you if his face wasn’t so intensely sincere.

“A classic what?”

He smirks, and you tense as you feel his hands travel up the insides of your calves to rest on the meat of your thighs. “A classic beauty. Like something from the fuckin storybooks.”

You swallow, tensing the flesh of your thighs under his fingers. “That’s a weird thing to say.”

Roman hums. “I’m a weird guy.”

You don’t know whether to agree with that or not, so you say nothing, focusing on the brush of his fingertips against your sensitive skin. “What… uh,” you shake your head, hips lifting against his fingers as he ghosts them over the front of your underwear. “This isn’t how you draw someone.”

“You’re wet,” Roman whispers, prodding against the dampness over your swelling clit. “Anyone ever touched you before?”

You feel your cheeks burn with humiliation as you shake your head. “No I… no.” The last word comes out as a moan, and Romans fingers hone in on your clit, rubbing against it through your panties.

“A classic,” he sighs again, dipping his fingers just inside your underwear to brush through your folds.

You whimper, trying to pull back. “I don’t want-“

“Relax.” He says again, withdrawing his fingers just as quickly. He retreats to his chair, picking up his pencil and resting the sketchbook on his thighs.

You blink at him, feeling the pulse of arousal between your legs. Roman’s barely looking at you now, pencil flying over the page. His tongue pokes out the side of his mouth in concentration, and it’s disconcertingly cute. You’d wonder if you’d imagined the whole thing, if not for the fact that he keeps brushing his fingertips against his lip, and you can see the faint slick of your arousal still shining on them.

You’re lulled into a gentle trance by the sound of pencil scraping on paper and the soft in and out of Roman’s breathing. The room is warm, the dying sun heating your skin through the panes of his window, and you’re dangerously close to falling asleep when Roman drops his pencil to the floor with a clatter and tosses his sketchbook aside. “I wanna try something else.”

Your heartrate picks up immediately, the sudden, manic change in his disposition throwing you off. “What do you mean?”

“You ready to take your clothes off?” Roman asks, a mean delight dancing in his green eyes.

“I would prefer not to,” you mumble, swallowing around a lump of embarrassment.

“Would you… wear something else? Nothing weird.” Roman’s mouth curves into a conspiratory smile, and you feel a sense of dread as you nod your head in agreement. He crosses to an enormous closet, rummaging inside before pulling out a garment and twisting the hanger in his hand so the skirt twirls out.

Your mouth falls open as you look at the dress. Floor length, white silk with delicate embroidery covering the bodice. It looks expensive as hell. It looks like a fucking wedding dress. “Beautiful.” You mumble.

“Would you wear it? I’ve always wanted to draw it.”

You shrug, reaching for it with shaking hands. “I’m not sure it’ll fit.”

Roman scoffs. “It’ll fit.”

You chew your lip as your fingers brush over the fine fabric. “Can you wait outside?”

Roman smirks, but there’s something heated in his gaze as he watches you touch the dress. “I’ll turn around.”

Your eyes never leave his back as you undress quickly, feeling phantom eyes prickle against your skin as you strip down to your underwear and pull the dress over your head. It fits snugly, silk and boning moulding perfectly to the curves of your body as you adjust the bodice and let the skirts fall to the floor with a soft rustle. “I… you can turn around now, Roman.”

Roman does, slowly, his eyes dragging over every inch of you. His breath catches a little in his throat. You look so much better than he could have imagined. So much better than he’d pictured, when he’d stolen your sweater and a pair of your gym shorts and given them to his mother’s tailor with a vague but threatening demand. But nothing could have prepared him for how you look in it. “Good.” He says, the word choked out of his closing throat. His cock isn’t even hard, that’s how much he likes it. His heart aches, but his cock isn’t even hard.

“The chair, again?” You ask quietly, squirming under the intensity of the way he’s looking at you.

“Sure. For the, you know,” he trails off, gesturing with his hand.

“Light?” You supply, and he raises an eyebrow.

“Right.” He keeps his eyes fixed on you as you lower into the chair, smoothing the skirts out around you so the fabric falls smooth against the seat.

“Good?” You ask, fingers hovering over the arms of the chair. “Roman?”

He startles, shaking his head for a moment. “Good. Fuck, yeah. That’s good.” But he doesn’t move, his eyes travelling over your body with a dark, hungry look that makes your clit throb again.

“Roman,” you say again, softly. “Aren’t you going to… draw me?”

“Right,” he breathes, collecting his pencil from the floor and flipping his sketchbook to a clean page. “Hold still.”

As if you could do anything else, pinned under his unblinking stare. Roman’s gotten as far as drawing the shape of your skirt where it folds over the edge of the seat when he gives up the pretense of the whole operation. He tosses the sketchpad to the floor and it skitters away, under the bar. You flinch at the harsh sound of it thwacking against the floorboards, eyes going wide as Roman crosses the room and steps too close to you.

“What’s wrong?” Your voice shakes, and Roman has to close his eyes and absorb how scared you sound. Fucking classic.

He doesn’t answer, twirling the pencil between his long fingers before pressing the blunt end against your cheek. “You afraid of me?”

You swallow, blinking rapidly as Roman trails the wooden edge across your cheek and grazes against your bottom lip. “Yes.”

Roman’s cock does stir then, twitching heavily against the tightness of his boxers as you look up at him. Fuck, it’d feel good to trace the seam of your lips with the head of his cock and paint your mouth with his cum. You’d look so pretty like that. But he won’t do it, because you’re the art. He pushes the end of the pencil between your lips and your breath hitches at the feeling of it pressed to your tongue. You don’t suck on it, and Roman’s a little disappointed but he’s mostly delighted that he was right about you. You’re not a fucktoy. You’re not going to let him stick his cock in your mouth or your pussy or your ass or anything. You’re too fucking good for him. You’re above him. And he’s so into that it’s bordering on obsession.

He pulls the pencil out of your mouth and lifts it to his own lips, sucking the faint trace of your saliva from the wood before he sinks slowly to his knees and dips his hand beneath your skirt to run the wet tip of it up your inner thigh. “You just afraid of me?” He asks quietly, nudging the pencil over your clothed core just once before dragging it down the opposite thigh.

You let out a shaking breath, sinking your teeth into your bottom lip. “No.”

This pleases him too, Roman hums as he dips his head beneath your skirt and watches as he pushes the pencil against your folds, your pussy pressing around it as you shift and gasp. Without your eyes on him, he has to go by the sounds you’re making, and the deep, guttural moan you make when he presses his mouth to your clit has his cock throbbing.

“Roman,” you whimper. “Wait, you can’t-“ You break off with a whine as Roman’s tongue drags over the front of your underwear over and over again, soaking the fabric with his saliva and your arousal. He drags the pencil down lower, pressing it against your entrance through your panties, and you suck in a breath. “Don’t.”

Roman won’t, actually. Penetrating you would be a crime, it would be a desecration. Your taste fills his mouth, and Roman whines against you, fingers slipping into your underwear to pull it to the side. His eyes roll back as he finally flattens his tongue against the heat of your clit, licking long, rough stripes against your sensitive core.

You sob, mashing your knuckles against your mouth to stop yourself from crying out at the intense, overwhelming pleasure. Roman’s fingers spread you open, dipping to your entrance to circle the hole and collect your slick, but he doesn’t push inside you. He spreads your wetness over your clit, rolling the bud between his thumb and forefinger for a moment before suctioning his lips over it and sucking you firmly into his mouth, right against his teeth.

He pulls away so suddenly your hips chase his mouth, face reappearing from under your skirt. His lips are swollen and shining, and his eyes are so dark they’re almost black. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

The answer should have been obvious, but Roman wants to hear you say it. His fingers circle your clit slowly, lazily, and your eyes roll back. “Yes. Yes, I’m a virgin.”

“Never been touched by anyone before.” He says softly, resting his chin on your knee. It’s jarring, to talk to him whilst his hand coaxes you towards the edge of an orgasm.

“Whose dress is this?”

Roman presses his lips to your knee. “Did you know Templar Knights weren’t allowed to marry?”

You blink at him, trying to reason through the fog in your mind to focus on what he’s saying.

“The… why?”

Roman smiles, sinking his teeth gently against your knee for a moment. “Purity. To focus on their holy mission. No wives, no weakness.”

You squirm against the maddening pressure of his fingers, feeling your arousal slick to soak into the seat and the dress. “Whose dress is this?”

“I’d have liked to be a knight. I think I’d have been good at it. Protecting fair maidens.” Roman’s face is wistful and a little childlike as he looks up at you. “Don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” you whimper, grinding down against his hand. “I can’t… think.”

Roman sighs, his free hand wrapping around your calf and lifting your leg to drape it over the arm of the chair. He pulls his hand out of your underwear and sucks quickly on his fingers before hooking your other leg over the arm of the chair, spreading you wide. He leans back on his heels, staring at the soaked mess of your cunt as it sticks to your panties. White cotton with a tiny bow on the front. A fucking classic.

“You’d have made a good princess.” He says. “And I’d have protected you with my life, as your knight. Couldn’t have married you.” He hums, eyes flicking up to yours. “But I’d have taken care of you.”

“Roman,” you whisper. “Whose dress is this?”

Roman bites the corner of his lip like he’s fighting a smile. “You know whose. It fits you perfectly.”

You open your mouth, maybe to ask him what he means or maybe to beg him to let you walk out of here right now, but the words melt into a moan as he dips back under your skirt and drags his tongue from your hole up to your clit and back down again, pushing just inside you for a moment before flicking up to lap at your clit. “Fuck,” you squeak, and Roman’s teeth nip at your clit before he pulls away to tut.

“Princesses don’t have such foul fuckin mouths,” he chides, tapping sharply against your thigh. “Be a good girl for me.” He presses a kiss to your clit before sucking it back into his mouth, and you press your lips firmly together as your eyes roll back. You’re so exposed to him like this, unable to close your legs around his head or push him away, and Roman takes full advantage of the position. His mouth is everywhere, licking and sucking and kissing every soaked inch of your core until your thighs tremble.

“I’m gunna…” you break off, shame clogging your throat, and Roman pulls away to narrow his eyes at you.

“You’re gunna what, princess? You gunna cum for me?”

You nod, feeling your face flush, and Roman groans.

“A fucking classic. Jesus Christ.” He flicks his tongue against your clit in light, sharp flutters. “Cum for me. Wanna taste you.” He mumbles the words against you, but you feel them deep in your core as the tight winding of arousal snaps in your stomach and you cum with a sob, arousal slicking Roman’s face and soaking into the dress pooled under your ass.

Roman whines against you, lapping every last drop of your release into his mouth and swallowing greedily. You taste better than he’d imagined, too.

“Roman,” you whine, wriggling in your chair against the intense overstimulation as his tongue becomes almost painful against your sensitive core. “Please stop.”

He pulls away with a sigh, licking slowly over his lips as he remerges from under your skirt.

“You don’t like the way I take care of you, princess?” You push a steadying breath out through your lips. “I’m not… like this. I don’t wanna be one of your girls.”

Roman’s smile drops. “Never said you were. If you were one of my girls I’d have fucked you before we ever even got up here. This is… worship.” He pushes your skirt further up, bunching it around your waist so he can press his lips to your knee. “You’re different.”

You squirm away, but your legs are deadweights against the cutting in of the armrests. “Who says?”

Roman licks over your skin, the hot drag of his tongue making you clench around nothing. “I do. I’ve known for a while.”

“You’re supposed to be… drawing me.”

Roman makes an annoyed sound in the back of his throat and scrambles back for his sketchbook, dropping it into your lap. “I did.”

You open it on the half-finished sketch of you in the chair, and you feel your pulse quicken. Roman can draw, he hadn’t been making it up. You look pretty and almost… radiant in the sketch, looking at him with an expression of intense desire that you’re pretty sure your face isn’t capable of making outside of Roman Godfrey’s own mind. Your fingers tease the edge of the page, eyes flicking to his in a question, but he makes no move to stop you as you flip to the next page, and the next. All sketches of you. Not from today. You at school, you leaning against the railings outside while you wait for your friends. You in the bookstore, fingering the spines in the dark romance section where you’re not brave enough to make a purchase.

“What is this?” You ask quietly. Roman’s fingers are tracing small circles on your thigh as he watches you.

“You don’t like them?”

“I… they’re beautiful. I guess I don’t know why you’re doing it.”

“You do know.” His voice is almost petulant as he juts his bottom lip out, chin digging against the top of your thigh. “You’re different.”

“You don’t have to try this hard.” You say. “If you want a girl, you just… you’re Roman Godfrey.”

Roman sighs, withdrawing his hand and pushing up to a stand. “You don’t get it. Maybe it isn’t time.” He glances towards the window. “You should go, anyway. The suns setting.”

You peel the dress off as Roman rearranges his pencils in their neat tray. You don’t make him turn around, there doesn’t seem to be any point now he’s eaten you out and seen your most intimate part up close.

He watches you pull your own clothes on with his bottom lip drawn between his teeth, and then he walks you down to the front door in silence.

“New alternator’s four hundred. The extra will cover labour. If it doesn’t, call me.” He leans out of the door and runs his fingers over your mouth before hooking his thumb under your chin and tugging you close. “Even if it does, you should still call me.” He presses his lips to yours, feather light and jarringly tender, before pulling back and shutting the door in your face.

You turn on the steps, feeling delirious and bewildered, and descend the steps to wait for your Uber. It would be good to get your car fixed. And Roman was right; he’d paid you enough for the modelling that you could afford it. It’s only as you’re climbing into the backseat you realize he shouldn’t have even known your fucking alternator was broken, and a chill runs down your spine as you turn to look up at the solitary glow coming from his window.

Taglist: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld @loushaw131460 @goosegreenwood @lunaskye999 @stvalent @devilslittlehelper @kikibit @skysgard

[bryandanielson-yes]

I'm working on a bunch of fics rn, so I wanted to know which one yall want the most so I can prioritise it!! I probably won't do this often, but since I can't pick I'll let you 🤣💓

1) Mutual obsession (Bill Skarsgård X Fem reader)

Summary: Both Bill and reader have a crush on eachother but neither of them admits it. Reader is a friend of the family and a virgin who wants Bill as her first time 🤭

2) Morning observation part 2 (Roman Godfrey X fem reader)

Summary: After the effects of the last few months, Roman feels completely different, he observes again.

3) The assistant part 3 *final part* (Eric Draven X fem reader)

Summary: You and Eric have started dating, he doesn't do things by half measure, you get let into the world of Eric, and it's a little overwhelming.

4) Can I watch (Damon salvatore X Roman Godfrey X Fem reader)

Summary: Reader and Roman are now dating. He hasn't shown her how werid he can be. Lately, Roman seems to be interested in voyeurism so he breaks some of his personal rules 👁👁

which one do you want first?

1. mutual obsession

2. morning observation part 2

3. The assistant part 3 *final*

4. Can I watch

Voting ended onJun 28

[27reddieforjanuaryembers27]

Sorry but I’ve wanted to make this joke for so long

[delavegaaaaa]

“You can’t fix him” I don’t wanna fix him! I wanna FUCK him! I’m a pervert not a psychologist!

[thedevotchka]

[thedevotchka]

I know for a large portion of the world 34 °c is NOT particularly hot but for fragile lil me in the UK it is HELL. I am dying. In my current state i wouldn’t even let Roman Godfrey snuggle with me and that is SAYING SOMETHING

[thedevotchka]

Hi! I’ve had this idea living rent-free in my head ever since I read the characters' alphabet thing (which is absolutely BRILLIANT, girl, you did an amazing job).

The Boy has managed to maintain a steady relationship with his girl but is forced to hide it from Shaman, of course. So, the Boy can’t see her as often as he’d like, but he is happy just to know she is in his life, and he falls deeper in love with her with every date. Sometimes he disappears for weeks, so his girlfriend misses him a lot and starts to feel a bit insecure. She tries to keep it to herself, but the tension grows, and at some point, she snaps at him.

I'm really curious to see how he’ll behave during a fight, considering he is non-verbal. Maybe in a fit of temper, she kicks him out (and regrets it almost immediately), but then he'll find a way to show her how much she means to him and gather the courage to confess his love somehow. I'm sure he'll come up with a sincere and spontaneous way to confess because he’s just so sweet, isn't he? Of course, she'll forgive him, and it would be cool if they ended up having some passionate make-up sex.

If you write this, please feel free to change any details as you see fit and take your time with it ❤️

Resplendent (Boy x Reader)

Summary: You’ve been going steady with the shaman’s apprentice for three glorious, secret months. Boy can’t see you as often as he’d like, but you’re the brightest light he’s ever known and he’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if that means staying away from you sometimes. And you know it’s complicated, but you can’t help but feel insecure. When you see him accept a dried flower from another girl at the market, all your frustrations pour out at once and you snap.

Word Count: 4294

Warnings: NSFW, vaginal fingering, oral sex m&f!receiving

MDNI, fic under the cut

You’re watching at the window anxiously, as you so often are these days. People pass by, shawls pulled low over their faces as they shuffle past your house on their way home before curfew. You don’t want to be caught out in the streets after dark. Nobody dares break the rules, not after a decade of cullings. That’s how he gets away with it. That’s how your Boy slips unseen through the silent city, despite being a towering hulk of a man at 6’4. You spot the shift of his brown cloak across the street, briefly illuminated by moonlight as he darts between buildings, and you push your window open and step back as he climbs through with surprising grace.

His mouth is on yours before you have a chance to say anything, lips soft but insistent as he parts yours and sucks the breath from your lungs with a low gasp. Big, scarred hands lift to cup your cheeks, covering almost your entire face with his palms as his fingers lace into your hair and tug you closer, tilting your head to the side as he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and nips lightly.

Your body reacts to him instantly, as it always does. Heat rushes through you, your clit throbbing as arousal begins to kindle and slick between your thighs. You whine lightly into his mouth, and Boy untangles the fingers on one hand to skitter down your back and grasp a handful of your ass, dragging you against his firm body.

He finally pulls away from your lips to mouth ‘missed you’, and you push your hand against the stiffening bulge in his pants. “Show me.”

Boys eyes flutter closed for a moment, his brow furrowing in pleasure as his hips buck gently into your hand and the fingers in your hair tighten ever so slightly. You press your other hand to his cheek and his eyes open. “Show me.”

Boy watches your mouth make the shape, and the hand on your ass tightens, the strong muscles in his arm flexing as he lifts you easily against his body. You squeak in surprise as your legs wrap around his waist automatically, hands dropping onto his shoulders to steady yourself as your core makes contact with his clothed cock. Boy seizes your ass in both hands now, encouraging you to grind against him as he sinks his teeth into his bottom lip and watches pleasure flicker over your face. Because God, you’re pretty. The prettiest thing he’s ever seen. Resplendent. Having a very bright or beautiful appearance. Boy feels his cock twitch and leak against the heat of you as you roll your hips down against him, and your fingers travel up his shoulders and graze the sides of his neck before tangling in the short, sun-bleached strands of his hair. You pull him towards you, licking against his teeth until he releases his lip so you can suck it into your own mouth and trace the meat of it with your tongue.

Boy groans. He loves your tongue, he’s maybe obsessed with it. The delicate way you use it to trace his mouth or the veins on his neck. The feeling of it flicking against the head of his cock right before you take him into your throat. Transcendent. Going beyond ordinary limits; surpassing; exceeding. That’s how Boy felt, with his cock in your mouth and you on your knees, looking up at him with a hunger so intense it rivalled the aching pit of his own desperation.

You’re looking at him like that again, and Boy is about to release your ass so you can sink to your knees and show him when your head shoots to the side, to the open window, and Boy’s spine tenses.

“Whistle.” You mouth, and Boy drops you carefully to your feet, pushing you further into the room and away from the window as he looks out into the street. Jeopardy. Hazard or risk of or exposure to loss, harm, death, or injury. The hooded figure standing in the street below is small and slight enough to be a child, but Boy knows better. Knows the deadly shift in his gait, the tap of his staff against the bare earth. He doesn’t have to hear to know.

He turns, expression tight, and you nod. “I know. Go.”

Boy crosses the room, dipping his head to press his lips to yours and hoping, as he caresses his fingers against your cheek, that you understand. That he would stay, if he could. That you mean so much to him that he’d rather die than let anything happen to you. That he’ll stay away, if it keeps you safe. “I know.” You whisper against his mouth, and Boy feels the shape of the words against his mouth and the churning of regret in his stomach gets worse.

*

The sun beats unbearably hot on your back, and you duck into the shade of a canopy as you make your way through the market, purchasing your weekly staples and a few extra things for Boy. Three weeks. You hadn’t seen your Boy in three weeks. Not so much as a glimpse of him. No cabbages at the market, and the addicts of the city were getting… twitchy. Because no cabbages meant no little wrapped packages of dreamleaf, and that was what kept the most downtrodden of the population ticking over. The true trade of the Shaman, his real legacy. You hated that your Boy was mixed up in any of it. You hated that you couldn’t convince him to just leave, but you trusted him enough to know he had his reasons to stay. But knowing didn’t stop the ache in your heart or the pit in your stomach with each passing day.

You buy a cinnamon bun wrapped in parchment paper, the buttery, golden pastry flaking delicately as you slot it into your bag. You’ll place it in the window tonight, like the scent of the sugar might summon him. It would be a small price to pay to see him again. You’re thinking about feeding him the treat, about the feeling of the scar of his tongue prodding against your fingers as he sucks cinnamon from them, when you hear laughter. A high, sharp sound, so at odds with the low hum of tension that underpins market day and your head lifts to find the source.

The girl is a bright spark against a sea of brown and grey. Her blonde hair hangs over her shoulder in soft curls, and she bats her pretty, big eyes at a man as she twirls the stem of a dried desert flower between her fingers. You see the man reach for it, his big, tanned hand with the scarred fingers curling around the flower. Her fingers brush against his as she hands it over, and your stomach drops out with a sick jolt. You’d know those fingers anywhere. They’d been all over you, brushing over your cheek and pushing into your mouth and fucking you open more times than you could count. Seeing them touch her twists ugly in your gut, and you’re stomping across the market, shoving people out of your way with heat in your blood. The smile on the girl’s face drops as you approach, and you wonder just how monstrous your face must look to make her go so pale. The man turns too, face freezing in shock as you grab for his cloak and tug hard enough to tear the threadbare fabric. “Really?” You shout, slapping his shoulder with an open palm. “Three weeks.”

The Boy’s mouth opens and closes, eyes darting around the market and heart thumping hard at how many eyes are on him. On you. You’ve already drawn the attention of a handful of Van Der Koy guards, but for now they’re watching with interest rather than suspicion. For now. Boy has to get you inside somewhere private. He reaches for you, hand grabbing your wrist where you’re still hitting him. He hadn’t actually noticed, hadn’t registered the weak slaps of your palm against his shoulder through his own panic. There are tears in your eyes, and it’s the worst thing he’s ever seen.

“Three weeks.” You repeat, your lips shaking with sobs so hard Boy isn’t completely sure he’s reading you right. “You’ve been gone for three weeks, and then.” Your shoulders sag as you glance at the flower girl, and understanding lights in Boy. His eyes widen, mouth falling open as he lifts the dried flower. ‘This?’ He mouths, and you can barely even look at it as you nod. You’re staring at the ground now, and Boy tugs on your hand until you look back at him. ‘Home.’ He mouths. You shake your head. ‘Please’. He tries again, and your tongue licks out to wet your lips as you consider it. Boy’s eyes slip past you, to the group of guards that are still watching, and you realize just how dangerous you’re being, having this fight with him out in the open. How much danger you’re putting him in. So you let him pull you out of the market, following him down a winding maze of backstreets until he’s sure it’s safe to circle around to your house. He hovers at the door, and you push past him with a shove as you open the door and let him follow you inside.

As soon as the door is closed, a little of the tension bleeds out of Boy, and he sighs. You’re home safe. It isn’t over, because you’re across the room and your eyes are narrowed at him in a glare, but you’re safe. Betrayal. The act of disappointing a person’s trust, hopes, or expectations. That’s the look on your face, and it cuts Boy to his core. Boy presses his hands together, holding them out to you in a gesture of supplication. You suck your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment before meeting his eyes. “Who is she?”

Boy frowns, shaking his head before shrugging his shoulders deliberately. I don’t know. Never seen her before.

“She smiled at you like…” you sigh, shaking your head. “Shit. I suppose I can’t blame her for it.”

Boy takes a hesitant step towards you, breaking the clasp of his hands to push his hood off. He reaches for you, and you let him cup your jaw and trace the shape of your lips with his calloused thumb as he tries to push your mouth into a smile.

It sort of works, and you pull away from him as your lips tug upwards. “Don’t.”

Boy frowns, reaching for you again, and you take a step to the side to avoid his hand. “No. I’m mad at you.”

Boy swallows hard. He knows about anger. Knows how it feels to be on the receiving end of rage. But you’re not the Shaman, thank Christ for that. You’d never hurt him. And Boy absolutely hates that he’s hurting you. He reaches into his cloak, pulling out the dried flower. Some of the petals have come loose crumpled against his shirt, and they flutter to the floor. “I don’t want that. From her.”

Boy holds the stem steady and reaches for the remaining petals, stroking them as delicately as he can manage before holding it out to you again. ‘For you’, he mouths.

You swallow as your eyes dart between the flower and his face. His pretty, sincere face. “You… got this for me?”

Boy nods sharply, eyes lighting with pleasure at your understanding. He reaches into his cloak again for his coin purse, shaking it gently.

“You bought it for me?” Your mouth opens in surprise as warmth floods your stomach. The Shaman doesn’t pay him for selling his drugs. “How?”

Boy’s hands are moving again, complicated gestures that you think might be… chores?

“You worked for other people?”

Boy nods again. He wishes he could tell you properly. It would be so much quicker, if he could use words to tell you he’d mended fences and fixed a horse cart for someone from a nearby farm, and that he was saving every penny so he could take you away from the city for good. He wishes he could tell you that he’d seen the flower, a perfect, vibrant delicacy in a sea of dust, and it had reminded him of you so strongly he’d had to buy it for you. He knows your face would soften if he could tell you that.

“And the girl was just…” You swallow, feeling an embarrassed blush creep up the sides of your neck. “Oh.”

Boy twists his mouth to the side before taking another step towards you, holding up the tattered flower again. This time you take it, pinching the dried stem between your finger and thumb and bringing it to your nose to inhale. It doesn’t smell like much, the scent of the petals has long since dried up and it smells more like your Boy, like sweat and salt and the rich earth of the forest. You inhale deeper, trapping the scent of him in your lungs. “I’m sorry.” You say, lifting your head to make sure he catches it. Boy wouldn’t have missed a single syllable, with the intensity he’s fixed on you. His hand lifts to cup your face, and you don’t pull away this time as his thumb traces the seam of your lips.

‘I’m sorry’ he mouths, eyes full of sincerity, and you part your lips to suck his thumb into your mouth, laving your tongue against the pad of it in the way you know he likes. You watch as his eyes darken, his pupils expanding, and you don’t need to look down to know he’s getting hard. You release his thumb with a wet pop. “Show me.”

His free hand slips down your side, thumb rubbing circles into the bone of your hip for a moment as he lowers slowly to his knees in front of you and looks up through his lashes. You’ve always liked him like this, he can see it in the flush of blood to your cheeks and the way your whole body seems to coil tighter. “What are you doing?” You whisper, your throat bobbing as you swallow hard against a lump of emotion.

Boy raises his eyebrows, fixing you with a look that is unmistakable. Reparation. The making of amends for wrong or injury done. He presses his lips to your clothed centre, looking up at you with electric green eyes as his hands slide up to the waistband of your pants and hover.

You suck your bottom lip into your mouth and nod, and Boy drags the fabric down your thighs with careful, deliberate reverence. The scent of you hits him and his cock twitches in his pants, and he inhales deeply against the dampness of your underwear.

You whimper, your fingers lacing gently into his hair and scratching against his scalp in a way that raises goose bumps on the back of his neck. You tug lightly, and he looks up at you to read your lips as you whisper “Please.”

He needs no further encouragement, as his nose nudges against your underwear and his thumbs hook into the elastic to pull them down your legs. They join your pants on the floor around your ankles, and Boy holds your hip to steady you as you step out. His hand reaches for your calf before you can put your foot down on the ground, and his mouth curves into a smirk as he lifts your leg over his shoulder.

You’re grateful that he can’t hear the sound you make when the sharp point of his nose makes contact with the hood of your clit. It’s a primal, guttural groan. His hands tighten on your flesh, fingers splaying across the back of your thigh as he holds you against his face and wraps his lips around the bud of your clit, sucking it into his mouth.

Boy’s lack of a fully functioning tongue doesn’t matter so much when he buries his face in your cunt like he wants to suffocate there. The thumb still coated in your saliva presses against your entrance, a barely-there weight against your quivering hole, and your fingers tighten in his hair. Boy takes this as permission, pushing his thumb into you and pressing down against the sensitive flesh of your walls as he drags your clit lightly against his teeth before sucking hard.

Your eyes roll back at the feeling, cunt clenching hard around his thumb, and Boy withdraws from your heat to push two long fingers into you instead. He curls them inside you, probing against the tight muscles for the spongy, sensitive spot that makes you clamp down on him. His mouth curves into a smile against you as he drags his lips harshly against your folds, nudging his nose against your clit over and over again as your hips begin to rock forward. You’re grinding against his face, soaking him and whimpering a steady stream of filthy things he can’t hear, and Boy wonders whether he should make you mad more often if this is how it ends. Your arousal is leaking out of you, soaking down his fingers and pooling on his palm, and Boy resists the urge to drag his hand over his mouth. He’s never wished for a tongue as badly as he does right now. To push it inside you, to feel the tight, wet heat of you in his mouth rather than just on his lips.

You pull on his hair, trying to drag his face away from you as your orgasm approaches, but Boy’s grip on the back of your thigh tightens as he nuzzles against your slick, suctioning his lips around your clit and dragging it back and forth over his bottom lip as his fingers fuck into you. You moan as your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking and arousal soaking Boy’s face as your muscles flutter erratically against his fingers. Boy keeps sucking greedily, nipping at your sensitive clit and digging his nose against you until you stop rolling your hips up against his face.

He pulls back and gathers your arousal from his chin and his cheeks, running the slick palm of his hand against his mouth to coat his lips in you before releasing your leg gently back to the ground. And he’d be happy with that, if it was all you’d give him. But your eyes drop hungrily to the bulge straining against the front of his pants and the dark spot of precum where he’s leaking, and you hook your fingers into the front of his shirt, tugging on it until he gets the message and stands up.

Your hand is on him immediately, fumbling with the waistband of his pants and tugging his cock out to squeeze heavy in your palm.

Boy moans softly, pressing his lips together as his hips push against you, seeking friction. You reach for his face with your free hand, brushing the tips of your fingers against his cheek until he opens his eyes to watch your mouth. “I want to suck your cock. Can I?”

Boy nods enthusiastically as his cock twitches its agreement in your hand, and you rub your thumb over his leaking slit before releasing him and bringing your thumb to your lips to lick the salty trace of him. You turn then, and Boy is powerless to do anything but follow you like a lost puppy deeper into the house, to the little room at the back with your soft sheets and dim lighting. You push him down onto the bed, palm firm against his shoulder until he lies back on the mattress. He cranes his neck to watch as you crawl over his body, settling between his legs and wrapping your fist around the base of his cock again.

“Lie back.” You instruct softly. “Just enjoy it.”

Boy wants to tell you that watching you take his cock into your mouth is a really big part of the enjoying it, but at the sharp lick of your tongue against his slit his head falls back anyway, eyes rolling. You suction the fat head of his cock into your mouth, letting drool drip down his length to coat him and jerking him into your mouth with a loose fist. It isn’t long at all before his hips are lifting from the bed to thrust into your mouth, and you relax your jaw to let him fuck into your throat .

Boy makes a keening sound somewhere between a sob and a whimper, and you feel fresh arousal throb in your clit at the desperate sound of it. God, you wish you could hear his voice. Wish he could tell you how good it feels.

Ecstasy. An overpowering emotion or exaltation; a state of sudden, intense feeling. Boy’s mind is blank of everything now, everything but the wet heat of your mouth and the drag of your tongue along the vein on the underside of his cock and the tight squeeze of your fingers wrapped around his base. He knows he’s taking too much, can feel the way your throat spasms around him as you try not to gag, but he can’t stop unless you stop him. And you’re not stopping him, bobbing your head and pumping him into your mouth and encouraging him with the vibration of your moans against his length.

Boy’s hands fly to your head, tugging on your hair as a warning, and you tap his thigh in acknowledgement, the silent language of touch the two of you have crafter over the months of your secret relationship. But you don’t pull off, sucking harder and taking him impossibly deeper into your throat, and Boy cums with a startled, rough cry as his hips snap against your face and he spurts his load down your throat. You swallow around him, breathing through your nose as best you can with your face pressed harshly to his cock, still pumping his length into your mouth to milk every last drop of his release from him.

When his fingers loosen in your hair and his hips drop to the mattress, you withdraw slowly, licking over his sensitive skin and pressing your lips to the swollen tip of his cock before releasing him completely and rising to your knees to drink in the sight of him. Boy is boneless, his enormous, muscular body melting against the sheets as his breath leaves him in harsh pants. The sheets either side of his thighs are rumpled and damp from how he’s twisted them in his fingers, and you can see the pulse of his blood thrumming under the tanned skin over his throat. He’s a fucked-out wreck and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You crawl over his body, your soft chest pressing to his hard one as you press your lips to his. His arms lift to wrap around your waist, pinning you to him as his lips coax yours open, silently begging for your tongue. You lick against the inside of his mouth, and he lets loose a low moan at the taste of himself on your tongue.

It’s at that moment his stomach gurgles, announcing its emptiness, and Boy feels a blush heat his cheeks as you pull away from the kiss to tilt your head to the side, listening. Boy knows it makes a sound, though he can’t quite remember it. Your lips curl into a soft smile. “Wait here.”

Boy huffs as you wriggle out of his arms, shuffling into a seated position against your headboard and tucking his soft cock back into his pants. You pout as you return to the bed and see he’s covered up, and Boy rolls his eyes at you before fixing his gaze on the greasy paper bag in your hand. ‘For me?’ He mouths, pointing at it and then his chest.

You grin, climbing onto the bed and ripping the paper open to present the pastry to him. The scent of butter and sugar and cinnamon hits him, and Boy swallows hard. His lips part as your fingers shred a piece off the bun, lifting it to his mouth. He pulls the sweetness into his mouth, dragging the pastry to the back of his mouth to dissolve against the stub of his tongue, and his eyes roll back at the taste.

You sit cross legged in front of him and balance the open bag on your knee, shredding the bun into bite-sized pieces with your fingers as you watch his face contort in pleasure. And you’re not like… jealous of the pastry or anything, considering he’d looked just as blissed out when he was eating you, but you still press your lips to his between every bite, just because you can.

He’s watching your lips move as the last piece of pastry sticks to the roof of his mouth. He’s forgotten, momentarily, how to swallow as your words form the words. “I love you, you know?”

He can only stare at you dumbly as the words sink into his skin and wrap around his heart until it hurts. You love him. You love him back.

“You don’t have to say it. Or, you know, whatever.” You mumble. Boy squints at your mouth, not completely sure of what you’re saying.

Adoration. Fervent and devoted love. He cups your jaw in both hands and brings your face close to his, nuzzling his nose against yours before pulling back and mouthing ‘I love you, too’.

Taglist: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld @loushaw131460 @goosegreenwood @lunaskye999@stvalent @devilslittlehelper @kikibit

[bryandanielson-yes]

I never had a thing for boy...I think I've been converted 🤭

[bryandanielson-yes]

The Assistant (Eric Draven X Fem reader) Pt.2

NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Read part 1

A/N - I've never written anything like this before so go easy on me and I'm not sure I like this but I tried, this is very inspired by @thedevotchka so go and read her work!!

Content warnings: CEO Eric, a little bit of jealousy, mentions of masturbation (Male and Female), sub Eric, dominant reader, a little bit of angst, use of hand cuffs, oral (male receiving), unprotected P in V, cream pie, slightly immature reader.

Word count: 2931

Eric was convinced he had made a mistake. He’d been unprofessional, irresponsible and blinded by lust. He got back to his home and cleaned up his cum covered pants. God he was beyond embarrassed about it. But the look on your face when you noticed the patch had him getting hard again in his shower. He didn’t hesitate to wrap a fist around his cock and imagine it was your mouth around him. 

Post nut clarity hit him after each time he came to the image of you, your breathy moans were hotter than he ever could have imagined. He wasn’t going to fire you, he told you he wouldn’t. But he would have to keep his distance from you on Monday. He couldn’t lose control again. Workplace romances were not his thing, they were messy, not only was this a workplace issue but he was the damn CEO. His reputation would be in tatters if anyone found out. 

But how was he supposed to ignore you? He’d spent three entire years trying but your determination drawed him like a moth to a flame. A part of him couldn’t wait until Monday, Now he knew you might feel the same but another part of him dreaded it. Now he’d had a taste he wanted more. He hoped you’d feel the same but also hoped you’d come to your senses and decide it was a mistake so he didn’t have to decide it for you. 

He spent the rest of the weekend sitting in his bland house that looked so similar to his office. His house didn’t look lived in even though he spent the majority of his time there after work. He had all the riches people wish for but none of that could fix the people he’d lost to get there. You weren't aware of it but you were truly the highlight of his day, his office felt brighter when you were in it and his thoughts felt safer with you haunting them. 

You’d been considering getting a new job. Mr Draven was an ass and full of himself but incredibly sexy. Mr Russell (another CEO)  would have to find another personal assistant cause you weren't going to be it. You folded up your written out resignation and hid it somewhere in your pile of paperwork, out of sight, out of mind. Then deleted your drafted email to the other company. 

The weekend felt like it dragged out for a lifetime, you’d try to get rid of the image of Eric on his knees in front of you but it was no use. When you laid in bed at night it was the first thing on your mind. Inevitably your fingers circled your clit until you came with a choked moan with Eric's name spilled from your lips. 

Though come Sunday night you became riddled with doubt and fear about what Monday may hold. You and him had always been professional and you weren’t sure if you could do casual. But this was Eric or Mr Draven as you had always known him. Mr Draven was unreasonable, an ass really. But Eric? Not so much, he had a softness in his eyes you’d never seen in any other man and god he was hot. Who could blame you for wanting to sleep with your boss?

It didn't feel like a mistake at all to you, it kind of felt right. You’d dated plenty of people but they were all missing something, you still weren't sure what. But whatever it was, Eric seemed to possess it. You felt addicted and you’d barely had a taste. 

Monday came like a shock to your system, you dressed in your tightest shirt and short skirt, something revealing but still modest. You were secretly hoping for the typical office romance, he’d call you in for something that only a personal assistant could do, then he’d flirt with you and maybe bend you over the desk. You were getting wet at the thought of it, you shook your head as you tried to focus on the road while driving to the office. 

Much to your surprise he was already in his office when you arrived. There in his suit again, it looked dangerously similar to the one on Friday, this time he wasn't wearing his jacket or a tie which made for more eye candy for you. 

Eric noticed when you arrived. Your effortless movements made him pause as you sat down, the backs of your thighs visible and it made him crazy for no good reason. The reflection of your breasts on the computer screen almost sent him into a coma. He pinched the bridge of his nose and willed himself back to work. Though he didn’t miss your glances. 

A few agonising hours later you were called into Eric’s office. “Hey y/n can you come into my office please” he sounded deadpan but you couldn't help the excitement running through your veins. 

“What do you need Mr Draven?” you asked as politely as you could, as you tried to hide the teasing edge that wanted to escape from your lips. 

“I just need you to photocopy some of these documents and file them please” he didn’t look up at you. Again. You seemed to be back to square one, you felt the excitement deflate like a ballon. He slid the papers across to you and you grabbed them without a word, your footsteps seemed to echo through the room as you left, closing the door behind you. 

You stood at the printer spiraling a little. What did you do wrong? Did he regret his choice? Was it a one time thing? Could you handle a one night thing? No. no you could not, clearly. You stood there absentmindedly watching the printer. 

Shit. Eric felt like Shit with a capital S. He saw the way your eyes lit up when he called you to his office and he hated to be the one that killed that same light. But what choice did he have? He couldn't be delusional and he couldn't lead you on. But he may have already done that. He made sure to only send emails to you for the rest of the day. 

Eric and you left the office at a reasonable time. Awkward silence filled the office. You still managed to leave with your head held high. You couldn't do this. But you could make Eric’s day at the office a little slice of hell. 

When you arrived home you grabbed your resignation and made sure it was in your bag to hand in tomorrow, you wrote out that email to Mr Russell's company and sent it. You were practically guaranteed the job with a name like Eric’s on your CV and even if you didn’t get it you could afford to wait until you got another position. Then you grabbed one specific item you could use on Eric to hopefully make him regret fucking around with you. 

Tuesday went like every other day, you did all the usual bullshit. Professionally. Even Eric was shocked about how easy everything seemed to be going. You weren't your usual self but you weren’t causing issues and for that he was glad. Well except for the amount of work he had to do which meant he was going to have to be in the office alone. With you. 

After working 2 hours of overtime again, Eric was ready to leave. You watched him from your desk while he packed up his things and his office went back to looking like nobody occupied the room. This was your time to strike. 

You sauntered into his office, resignation in hand and a surprise in your skirt pocket. Without permission. Never in your three years at the company had you done that. Eric’s face was a picture. His eyebrows furrowed and he paused his movements. “Y/N, what can I do for you?” he sat back down and watched as you slid the paper across the table in the same way he did to you the day before. 

“This is my resignation. Effective immediately as per my contract” you spoke confidently, determined to go through with your plan. 

“What do you mean you're resigning? Just because of Friday?” The genuine confusion on his face made you happy to see it really did. 

“No it’s because I don’t want a shitty boss that can’t even look at me.” He sighed. Rubbing his temples, his eyes fluttered closed. 

“Look you don’t have to do this, I said I wasn’t going to fire you” 

“Well with me leaving, you don’t need to worry anymore” you crossed your arms over your chest, seeing Eric in a somewhat vulnerable position was making you a little aroused. 

“Yes I do have to worry, where are you going to work and where am I going to find an assistant as good as you in less than 14 hours.” he dropped his hands into his hands, you almost felt sorry for him but then again maybe not. 

“Why do you have to worry about where I work, Eric? You don’t. But if it worries you that much I guess I can tell you that I applied for a personal assistant job for Mr Russell.” you smiled then, really smiled and Eric hated it. His stomach dropped. You working for another man? This might have been his worst nightmare. 

“You can’t work for Mr Russell Y/N. He's unprofessional, he’s full of shit. He's an asshole!” he looked you in the eye, jealousy was peaked through his gaze. You couldn’t help but love it. 

“So what, you're an asshole too.” you laughed as you said it and Eric couldn’t say you were wrong. He felt like shit. 

“What can I do to make you stay?” he mumbled. That same submissive look from Friday was back now. Eric didn’t have another choice, it was either give you whatever you wanted or watch you walk away. That simply wasn’t an option.

You stayed silent, your hand drifting to your pocket to pull out the handcuffs you brought with you. They hung off your index finger as the tension hung in the air. “You want me to use them on you?” Eric asked. 

“Nope” you began to walk around to Eric’s chair “I want to use them on you”  

Eric was nervous as hell, he accidently showed you he was slightly submissive and now you wanted to use handcuffs on him? But even he couldn’t deny that it was a hot idea. Especially when the metal touched him, you gently pressed it to his skin and watched as he shifted around. 

“So, can I?” you leaned down to press a kiss on his red star tattoo right next to his ear and his reaction was simple but priceless. He took a deep breath in, trying to hide a gasp. Caving in immediately. This was going to be easier than you’d thought. 

“Yeah, you can do it.” he breathed. He felt his cock beginning to leak just from the simple gesture. 

The air around you both seemed thick, full of tension. This was not healthy, like at all. But maybe being healthy is overrated. Talking is boring while actions are fun. Just like the action of closing the handcuffs over Eric's wrists, restraining him, his bound wrists resting on his thighs. While he watched intensely. His eyes were blown out waiting for your next action. 

You dropped to your knees and gave Eric a warning look “keep your hands to yourself” you watched as Eric obeyed and clasped his clammy hands together lifting them awkwardly up to his chest. 

“God you're such a good boy when you're not being my boss. Eric let out a groan clearly affected by your words. 

You watched as his head lolled back when you unzipped his trousers, palming his already hard cock just a little. He began biting his bottom lip as an attempt to muffle the sounds begging to leave his throat just from the little amount of friction you provided. 

You didn't wait. You pulled out his dick and wrapped your lips around the tip, your tongue applying pressure tasting his pre-cum. You’d never felt happier, you absentmindedly pushed your thighs together. Your hands rested atop Eric’s muscular thighs. He was desperately fighting off the urge to fuck your face. He wanted to be good for you. 

You relaxed your throat and managed to take him deeper, spit gathered at the sides of your mouth, Eric gasped above you, fascinated by your dedication. He felt embarrassingly close already but he held himself back. You hadn’t given him permission to cum. You knew he was close, his whines were getting higher and his dick started twitching in your mouth. 

“Y/N- wait” he managed to choke out, his jaw still dropped when you looked up at him. 

“What’s wrong baby boy?” your hand kept stroking him 

“I- felt close, you didn’t say I could cum” his head fell back again, his chest was heaving. But his hands were still clasped together, you smiled. You hadn't even said that was a rule, he was so focused on being good for you that he imposed the rule upon himself. 

“God you’re so fucking beautiful like this, like putty in my hands huh?” you stood up lifting up your skirt and slipping off your panties. Maybe this one time, Eric deserved a reward. 

You straddled his hips, somehow you fit perfectly. Eric looked at you like he was in physical pain and you couldn’t help but love it. “Don’t worry, you’ve been surprisingly good, just be good for a little longer and you can cum in me, okay?” he nodded weakly somehow spent from getting his dick sucked. 

You lifted his arms from his chest opening up a few of the buttons on his shirt, then you pulled his arms over your head, effectively trapping yourself in, his handcuffed hands landing on the small of your back. The intimacy of the moment couldn’t be missed. 

You kissed his neck as you lifted yourself off his thighs, a little bit of your wetness on his trousers. You hovered over the tip of his cock, then slowly ran it through your folds, earning a gasp and a moan from both of you. 

You sank down in one motion “Shit, fuck you’re so big Eric” his eyes were clampped shut, trying not to cum, your walls felt so tight around him. 

You began to bounce in no time, finding a steady rhythm you looped your arms around Eric’s neck and his hands on the small of your back slid down to your ass helping you keep momentum. The only sounds either of you could hear was each other. Heavy breaths, gasping moans, curses and the sound of your wetness sliding up and down his cock. 

Eric’s moans only seemed to spur you on, even when your thighs began to burn, your head tilted back as you continued chasing your own thread of pleasure “Eric fuck, i’ve thought about this for so long” 

“Me too, god you feel better than i ever could have imagined” he kissed your neck gently. Still trying to be good for you. 

Your hand came down to circle around your clit, your middle and ring finger rubbing roughly. You finally began to see the end of the thread “Eric, baby you can cum, cum inside me” you leaned forward and kissed him roughly and he reciprocated his moans leaving vibrations on your lips. 

“Please” he whispered, sounding kind of broken. 

“Baby I already said you can cum” you told him kissing him again. 

He pulled away slightly, your noses still brushing, while you continued getting closer to your orgasm. “No I meant please don’t leave, don’t go and work for Russell, please Y/N” 

You began clenching around him, your body almost bracing for impact. “I’ll stay” 

That was all it took for Eric to cum inside you, his breath became staggered and his hips moved causing him to bump something inside of you. Your jaw dropped as you came, his name leaving your lips while you hid in the crook of his neck. 

As the waves subsided for both of you Eric simply held you there, completely worn out. His handcuffed hands were still holding you.

“So you’re really not going anywhere?” you leaned back looking him in the eye 

“I said I'd stay. Forget about my resignation, if Russell accepts my application i’ll decline it.” you kissed him again, deeper this time, tangled with emotion. You pulled back smiling, he was too. 

“Here let me un-cuff you” he lifted his arms from around you, he presented his wrists to you and you happily grabbed the key out of your pocket and released him. It didn’t even look like he had been wearing them since he hadn’t tried to fight against them, there was no way Eric Draven was real. 

You winced as you lifted off of his flaccid cock, cum dripped down your thighs and Eric watched in awe as he tucked himself away. You grabbed your resignation letter, opened it and let some of the cum drip onto the paper ruining the words beneath. You silently folded it back up and put it in Eric’s top draw. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m guessing you don’t do casual then?” he questioned as if the answer wasn't abundantly clear. 

“I think I can do casual, but not when it comes to you.”

General tag list (Comment to be added!) @thedevotchka @coryoslut @macynacym @kikibit @wiseyouthinfluencer @lunaskye999 @brightnessluvworld @skysgard @elyseesarchive @devilslittlehelper

[bryandanielson-yes]

Hey!! I just wanted to say thank you for the love I've received for morning observation! I was nervous to post it because it's fairly different from the usual smut 😂 I was originally going to post 3 parts (one for each season of hemlock grove) but I wasn't sure if anyone would like it, but I just started part 2 and I again just wanted to share my gratitude 🥹💓

Part 2 begins with the line "Roman is stuck behind a barrier of his own creation"

[bryandanielson-yes]

Morning observation (Roman Godfrey X Fem reader)

season 1 version!

One shot - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Summary: Roman spends some time letting his guard down.

A/N - sorry I disappeared for a little bit i needed a bit of a break, I'm still writing up your requests, I'm hoping to get them out a little quicker now, but for now have this little thing I thought of!

Content warnings: mentions of sex, self-doubt and hatred, mentions of alcohol and drugs (briefly), and Roman being...Roman.

word count: 1138

Consciousness drifts back into Romans' blurry view. His eyes feel heavy as he tries to blink away the hangover clinging to him from the night before, the memory of doing lines off his mirror plays behind his eyes. Then the memory of drinking champagne comes rushing back, too. The memories feel hazy at first, and then another person standing next to him appears in the flashbacks. Then, finally, he realises he can’t feel his arm, his eyes drift over to where you lay fast asleep on his arm. You’ve kept your hands to yourself. They're tucked under your chin innocently, and Roman uncharacteristically softens at the sight.

Roman has accepted that he’s completely unloveable. He’s a monster who isn’t worthy of love. Nor does he know how to give it. He attempts to move off his back, it’s stiff and cramped but he moves quietly, wincing at the movement but, careful not to move his arm and wake you. He finally rolls onto his side and gets a proper view of you. For a second Roman lets himself imagine that he could get used to this, just having one girl in his bed. Just you. He knows it’s what you want but he’s not sure it's something he can give.

But he lets himself imagine. You lay there letting out steady breaths that fan over his chest, you look peaceful like this, your hair is a little messy but he assumes that’s from last night's activities since he can't see a shirt or bra strap over your shoulders. The rest of you is hidden under his soft duvet and it kills him that you feel safe under the covers with him because you shouldn't.

your scent seems to cover him and he's slightly ashamed that he likes it. He feels owned by it. It fills the soft sunlight air and Roman lets himself close his eyes as more memories of last night begin playing again.

You're beneath him laughing as his shirt gets stuck on his chin. When he finally gets it off he looks down to see you still laughing, your eyes shut, hands covering your stomach and your cheeks red. He kisses your nose as your laugh dies down. Moments like this are the reason he calls you. But he'll tell you he called cause you're a good fuck and he needs a distraction.

Roman opens his eyes again and they land straight on you, unmoved. Roman is used to feeling lust but this? He isn't totally sure what this is. His eyes sting and his vision becomes blurry as tears fill his already bloodshot eyes. He tries desperately to hold them back but the tears roll regardless forming a wet patch on his pillow next to his temple.

He knows his usually strong emotional wall has dropped, along with any high he had last night. He brings his free hand up to the ends of your hair, touching it gently, treating you as if you're fragile. He moves his hand up to your scalp, his thumb rubbing gently and you lean into it a little, trusting him unequivocally. Roman doesn't know what the fuck to do that with information. People don't trust Roman. Roman doesn't even trust himself.

He takes a steady breath as the tears subside. He hates this. Seeing something he can't quite have right in front of him. Well something he won't let himself have. Something he’ll destroy if he has. The worst part is you look so fucking pretty, he doesn't deserve you. But he knows you're wrapped around his little finger.

But he lets himself indulge in a moment of weakness. He moves closer to you as slow as he can keeping an eye on you in case you wake. And he gently places his nose in your hair, he inhales slowly. Savoring the rewards of his weakness. He should move, let go before you wake up but instead he places a chaste kiss on your head and he feels his heart pounding, the sound rings in his ears.

Roman freezes as you move closer to him, wrapping your arm around his torso. He knows you're still asleep cause your breathing evens out immediately. So he keeps indulging. He lets himself hold you. Not because he wants to fuck you but because he cares. He's not sure when the feeling got under the wire but it has and now he's stuck with it.

He sighs low and quietly wishing you could stay asleep forever so he can keep indulging you like an addiction. Roman has told himself he can quit a million times but he knows he can't. The world outside doesn't matter when you're both locked away in his room for hours on end.

Your eyes start to flutter open, you take a deep breath and his scent hits you like rain hitting the pavement. You feel warm, almost cared for and you quickly notice the arms holding you tightly. Roman's breath seems to be even so you press a light kiss to his chest and then begin untangling your heavy limbs from his. You move carefully but Roman wakes up anyway.

“sorry I wasn't trying to wake you” you keep your voice low and Roman nods lazily.

“it's fine, don't worry bout it” he takes a deep breath “want me to drive you home or somethin?” he rubs his eye with the back of his hand, they look sore as he'll.

“it's ok I got it” you slide out of the bed sliding your clothes on in peaceful silence. And Roman can feel his chest getting tight. The bed feels cold without you in it. He wants to ask you to stay, he'll make you bacon and eggs. Instead he lays there silently watching.

You finish dressing and slap your thighs “I best be going I've gotta get to work soon, I'll see you soon?”

“yeah, yeah ill call you later” he barely gets out. His voice sounds wrecked probably from the alcohol you think. You do a polite nod and then leave.

The moment the door shuts, Roman's wall hits the floor again. He moves over to where you just were, holding the pillow close. Then he looks down to where you kissed his chest, pressing his hand to it, hoping it will stain his skin. You didn't know he was awake but you did it anyway.

He calls you that night, begging you to come to the mansion and he sounds so far gone already, but you go anyway he doesn't try to fuck you that night and you wonder why. Instead he makes you laugh. While he attempts to memorise the crinkles by your eyes. You fall asleep in his bed and he watches you again.

He could have you. But he'll stick to morning observations

General tag list @thedevotchka @coryoslut @macynacym @kikibit @wiseyouthinfluencer @lunaskye999 @brightnessluvworld @skysgard (Comment to be added!)

[thedevotchka]

Hii, Im not sure how this works, but I had the idea of stalker neighbor Tony Kiritsis? Like maybe he’s got a thing for reader but hes way older than her and he kidnaps her

The Boy Next Door (Tony Kiritsis x Reader)

Summary: You don’t know much about Tony. You can hear him yelling at the radio sometimes through your shared wall, and he seems friendly enough if you pass him in the lobby. When you wake up tied to a bed in an apartment that mirrors your own, you realize you may have seriously underestimated your mild-mannered neighbor.

Word Count: 5505

Warnings: Uhh, dub-con (maybe non-con?) vaginal fingering, oral sex m&f!receiving, PiV sex, exhibitionism, kidnapping

A/N: OKAY I am not the happiest with this, but Tony is HARD to write for! I need to maybe write more to get into him, I guess. But I hope you like this anyway.

MDNI, fic under the cut

You swear under your breath as a fine line of bright red blood bubbles up across the pad of your index finger.

“Oh, no.” You look up into the face of your neighbor, brows pulled down over his green eyes as he looks at the blood dripping onto the floor.

“Papercut.” You say with a shrug.

“This is a communal area. You shouldn’t… you should open your mail within the privacy of your own home you know. Anyone could be watching. The government, the landlord. The banks, they’re always watching. Always lookin’ for a way to step on the little guy.”

You nod, fixing a polite smile on your face as you back away towards your front door. “Thanks Mr Kiritsis, I’ll bear that in mind.” He’s still staring, and you feel your cheeks heat as he licks over his bottom lip.

“And put a band-aid on that.” He says gruffly, pushing open his own door next to yours with his shoulder before disappearing inside his apartment.

You don’t know much about Tony. He’s lived next door since before you moved in, and you can hear him yelling at the radio sometimes through your shared wall, but he seems friendly enough if you pass him in the lobby, offering you a quick nod and holding the door open for you on your way out of the building. He’d never seemed all that inclined to talk to you, and you’d not thought too much about it either, before the papercut. He’d stopped at the sight of the blood, watched it drip onto the floor with the kind of precise attention that made you notice him. And the next morning, when you’d heard the familiar sound of DJ Fred Temple on 105.2 through the shared wall, you turn your own station down to listen to the mumble of Mr Kiritsis’s voice as he talks back to the host. He’s got a nice voice, a nice, low cadence, and you think you’d maybe like to have a real conversation with him some time. Just to be neighborly, of course. Nothing to do with how electric the green of his eyes were when he looked at you. Nothing to do with the glide of his tongue over his bottom lip as he watched your blood soak into the carpet. You check the calendar on the fridge as you pour yourself a glass of milk. Nothing on the little white square, no real plans for the day. You need to take a trip downtown to collect your last pay from the grocery store, and you might buy yourself something pretty with the money.

You sigh as you step into the quiet of your apartment building, the dead heat of the lobby a comfort after the chill of the outside. You rub your hands on the thighs of your pants as you head for the mail cages, retrieving your bundle of letters with stiff, numb fingers. Maybe you should have bought some gloves instead of the wildly impractical, black lace underwear set, especially seeing as you don’t have a boyfriend and may lose a finger to frostbite. You begin flipping through the letters before remembering your neighbors warning, and slot them under your arm to open when you get home. Not that you’d mind another lecture from Tony Kiritsis, actually. The stern set of his features and the way he towers over you… you press your thighs together as you step into your apartment, tossing your mail on the entryway table and heading straight for your bedroom.

It’s surprisingly easy to work yourself up, thinking about him. Thinking about the moustache over his lip, and how it would tickle against your sensitive flesh if he pressed his lips to your pussy. The glide of his tongue against your clit, and the wide spread of his palms over your thighs as he holds you down. Or ties you down. It doesn’t take long at all to reach your climax, rubbing aggressively at your own clit until you cum with a breathy whimper.

You take a shower and throw on some old sweats before settling on the couch with your mail and a book. Two catalogues, a postcard from your friend’s honeymoon, and… oh. A letter for Tony, left in your mail cage by mistake. You run your finger over the print of his name. Tony Kiritsis. The envelope is inked with the emblem of a bank downtown ‘Meridian Mortgage’. You replace that letter on the entryway table, already thinking about the moment you’ll get to hand it to him and maybe see what he looks like when he smiles.

But by five PM you’re curled up on the bathroom floor dealing with the onset of the worst period cramps of your life, and you can do little more than collapse into bed with a hot compress and a tub of ice cream. The worst of the cramps have passed by Thursday, and you finally feel well enough to take a shower and put on some clothes and actually leave your apartment. With the pain and the blood and the misery you’ve forgotten about Tony’s letter, and you brush right on past it on the way out, already picturing the pastry you’re going to buy to treat yourself for surviving the ordeal of your dreaded monthly.

There’s someone walking behind you, but you think nothing of it as you reach for the door to the stairwell. But then an arm hooks around your waist and you’re pulled back against a hard body, and you open your mouth to shout but a rag that tastes like electricity is shoved against your nose and mouth and your vision splatters with purple blotches as you inhale burning chemicals.

Your eyes open and you wince at the bright light streaming in through the window in your bedroom. Why hadn’t you shut the drapes? You turn your head away from the source of the light only to find it gets brighter, and you force your eyes open properly. You’re staring out of the window, but the view is… wrong. And the window is on the wrong side of the room. And… shit. Holy shit. You try to roll over but you can’t move. Your legs are pinned to the bed, spread wide. Tied, at the ankles. Your hands are clasped together, and there’s the clink of metal as the cuffs shackling your wrists brush against each other where they rest on your stomach.

“I wouldn’t try to fight it.”

You freeze, jerking your head up and noticing the man standing in the doorway for the first time. “I… Mr Kiritisis?”

He’s leaning against the frame, taking up all the space with his surprisingly broad shoulders, but he pushes away from the door and steps into the room. “They’ll only get tighter if you pull.”

You swallow hard, feeling panic bubbling up your throat. You’re not in your room. It’s almost the same, like a funhouse mirror where everything is back to front. You’re in his room. In his apartment, and you’re tied to his bed. As you stare into his unblinking green eyes, you realize you may have seriously underestimated your mild-mannered neighbor.

“What’s going on here?” Your own voice is small and shaky.

Tony sighs, stepping closer and reaching out a hand to brush his fingertips against your tied ankle. He’d taken your shoes off, but you’re otherwise dressed, thank God. “I didn’t wanna do this.” He says softly. “But they drove me to it.”

“Do what?” You ask in a whisper. You struggle against the restraints, you can’t help it when every nerve in your body is screaming at you to escape.

Tony ignores your question. “They set you up to try to take everything that you’ve got, like the mafia. They’re everywhere. How long have you been working for them?”

“Mr Kiritsis, please, I don’t know what you-“

“How long have you been working for them?” He snaps, his fingers tightening like a vise around your ankle.

“Who?”

“YOU KNOW WHO! Meridian Mortgages.”

You blink at him, your brows furrowing in confusion. “The… the loan company?”

Tony’s eyes light up and he releases your ankle to take another step closer, his finger jabbing right in your face. “You’re goddamn right the loan company.”

“I…” You lick your lips and swallow hard. “I don’t work for them.”

Tony hums, grabbing for your bound hands and wrenching you into a seated position. “What did they offer you?”

 “Please, Mr Kiritsis, please don’t hurt me.”

He sucks in a breath, his thumb caressing over the sore pulse-point on your wrist.

You close your eyes against tears. “I don’t work for the… mortgage company, Mr Kiritsis.”

“Tony.” He snaps. “You make me sound old, I’m not that much older than you.”

“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay, Tony.”

“We’re just gunna talk.” Tony says, nodding to himself as he releases your wrist. “Can I… get you something? Water? Glass of milk?”

You lick your parched lips. “That’d be… sure. Thanks.”

Tony nods again, smoothing his moustache down with his thumb and index finger. “You want ice?”

“In the milk?”

“Sure in the milk, you never had ice in your milk before?”

You shrug, feeling hysteria bubble up at the absurdity of talking about milk with ice whilst you’re tied to your neighbors bed.

He leaves the room and you lunge for the rope around your ankle, prying at the knots with a growing sense of desperation even though you can’t quite get your fingers into the right position with your hands still cuffed together. You can hear the clink of ice against the glass as he approaches, and you sit back up against his headboard, folding your hands in your lap.

He knows, immediately. The rope binding your ankles is tighter, almost tight enough to cut off your circulation, and his lip curls. “I told you not to mess with those knots.”

“Are you gunna… is that for me?” You ask, nodding at the glass in his hand. Tony looks at the glass and then back at your ankle for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Sure. Sure it is.” He rounds the bed and holds the glass out to you.

“Uh, I.” You lift your bound wrists. “Could you take these off? It’s not like I can run.”

Tony’s lips curl up into a smirk. “No, I suppose you can’t. But I can’t much trust you when you’ve been messing with those knots, now can I?”

“It’s just… I can’t hold a glass like this.”

“Oh.” He steps closer, trailing his fingers over your cheek and your breath hitches at the contact. “Well don’t you worry about that.” His fingers slip around to lace into your hair and he tugs your head gently until you tilt it back. He brings the glass to your lips and you open your mouth to swallow the milk. “There it is,” he whispers. “That’s it, that’s a good girl.”

You choke a little, and milk spills from the corner of your mouth. Tony pulls the glass away, placing it on the bedside table before he brings his thumb to your chin and wipes the stray droplets away. “Thank you,” you gasp.

Tony’s thumb rubs over your mouth slowly, and you part your lips to press a tiny kiss to the pad of his thumb.

“I’ve been watchin you a long time, you know.” He says quietly, thumb pressing harder to your lips. “Knew there was somethin about you. You got a nice face, you know that? People tell you that?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as his thumb breaches past your lips and you suck on the digit.

Tony makes a sound like he’s clearing his throat, and the hand in your hair tightens to push your mouth further onto him. “Pretty. Pretty little girl. How’d they get you to spy for them, hmm?”

You graze your teeth against his thumb and look up at him, shaking your head slowly, and he withdraws his thumb only to suck it into his own mouth. “I don’t work for anybody, Tony.”

“No?” He sighs, reaching into his back pocket and retrieving a folded piece of paper. Your eyes drop to read the front, the name and address and the emblem of ‘Meridian Mortgage’ in the top corner. Oh.

“I… that was left in my mail cage by mistake I guess. I was gunna return it to you, but then I got… sick. And I mean, it’s just mail.”

Tony taps the envelope against your cheek before slicing it open with his finger. “Just mail, huh? Dear Mr Kiritsis, we write to inform you that due to nonpayment your account now sits in- it’s bullshit. It’s complete bullshit. Those assholes stole from me. They conspired to ruin my life. And you.” He climbs onto the bed, sitting heavily on your legs as he wraps a large hand around your throat. “You helped them. You lived right next to me, spying and reporting on my business and now I’m on the verge of losing everything that I own. My land, this apartment. Everything.” His fingers tighten against your throat, and your lips part around an involuntary and ill-timed moan. Tony’s eyes drop to his own hand, and he flexes his fingers against your flesh. “What was that?”

“I… nothing. You’re… I can’t breathe, Tony.”

He shifts the pressure from his fingers to his palm, pressing against your throat until your breath eases out of you on a thin whine. “There it is again. That little sound you made. I know that sound.”

Your clit throbs insistently between your legs and you try desperately to shift away from him, but his weight holds you down.

“I’ve heard that before. Through the wall.” He leans close and past you, knocking his knuckles against the thin plaster behind the bed. “At night, when you’re all alone in there. I hear that nice little sound.”

“I hear you too,” you whisper, feeling your heart thump in your chest at his proximity. “Talkin to the radio. Talking to yourself maybe.”

“Hmm.” He pulls back, long fingers sliding up over the side of your jaw. “You listen to Fred Temple on WCYD. Voice of Indiannapolis.”

“Through the wall.” You mumble.

“He’s the voice of the people. He’s gunna… I’m gunna call him one day. I got plans. Real big plans. Gunna blow this whole thing wide open, baby.”

“I think that’s… a really good plan.” You whisper, unable to concentrate on anything but the slow drag of Tony’s fingers against your jaw.

“Yeah?” He shifts back a little on the bed, hooking your cuffs with his fingers and tugging on your hands. “You know your testimony would go a long way toward getting people to see the truth. You just go ahead and confess your part in all this.”

“You’ll let me go if I do?”

Tony nods, releasing your throat completely, and you try to mask the disappointment on your face at the loss of contact. “Man of my word.”

“And if I… don’t confess? What happens then, Tony?”

“Hmm.” He trails his fingers down the front of your shirt and you swallow hard. “I suppose I’d have to make you.”

“You gunna hurt me?” You ask breathily, and Tony’s brows furrow for a moment before he leans in, his knee pressing firmly against your core as he looms over you.

“I would. Don’t think I wouldn’t.”

You shift against him, desperate for some contact, some friction against your aching clit, and Tony’s eyes drop to watch as you rub against his thigh. “Oh ho.” He chuckles darkly, dragging his thigh against you harder. “Ohhh, you naughty girl.”

If you’d thought you would be able to seduce him into untying you, you were wrong. But you can’t quite bring yourself to feel disappointed as Tony yanks your pants and underwear down to your knees and buries his face against your aching, wet pussy. The rough drag of his moustache against your clit has your eyes rolling back and your hips rolling back, and Tony groans against you as his tongue licks slowly through your folds. “Goddd,” you whimper, hips lifting to grind your soaked pussy against his face.

“You like that, baby? You like what I can do?” Tony’s voice is gravelly with his own arousal, and you can see the way he’s thrusting his hips into the mattress between your legs.

“Please, Tony. Let me touch you, too.”

Tony hums against your center, sucking your clit into his mouth and rolling his tongue against the sensitive bud. “Goddamn that’s a nice offer. That’s a nice thing to say.” He laps at your arousal, fingers splayed wide to push your legs further apart as he drags his mouth over you.

“Just uncuff me. You can leave my legs tied,” you whimper. “Just please, I wanna touch.”

And Tony knows better. He knows you’re a trickster, and that anyone on the payroll for Meridian can’t be trusted. But he also can’t stop picturing your pretty fingers wrapped around his cock. But he’s been lead on before, he’s had girls pretend like they like him to get to somebody or something else they want better, and he’s not gunna take that risk with you. Not when he’s so close to making you break.

“You don’t need your hands for that, baby.” He crawls up your body, careful not to sit his weight down on your chest as he frees his cock from the confines of his pants and boxer shorts. Your lips part as your eyes drop to stare at the stiff, throbbing length of him, and you stick your tongue out and crane your head forward to lick the bead of precum pooled on his tip. “Fuck,” he hisses, bringing a hand to the back of your head to hold you steady. “Fuck, just like that, huh?”

You lick languid stripes against his sensitive head, leaning closer to suction your lips around his length and draw him into your mouth. Your neck aches at this angle, and claustrophobia threatens to overwhelm you, but fresh arousal floods through you and soaks into the mattress between your legs as you take as much of his cock into your mouth as you can.

“Jesus, you’re good at that. Actin like you want it.”

You can’t pull back with his hand on your head, and you feel the burn as his cock pushes into your throat. You can only look up at him, watch the flex of his stomach muscles as he thrusts into your mouth. Tony licks his lips, free hand wrapping around the base of his cock so he can guide himself into your mouth with more force. You feel the moment he cums, the tension and the thickening in his length before he buries himself down your throat and cums with a growl that is so animalistic and deep your clit throbs like you’re about to spontaneously cum too. You choke on his load, there’s just so much of it and you can’t pull off his cock enough to breathe. Your throat spasms around his sensitive tip and Tony withdraws with a low hiss. “Goddamn, baby. I mean goddamn I haven’t had it like that in, well.” He breaks off, smoothing his thumb and index finger over his moustache. “Long time.”

“I could tell.” You mumble, running your tongue over your swollen lips. “You’d have liked it better if I could have used my hands.”

Tony sighs, crawling to the end of the bed and working the complicated knots with his long fingers. You wince as blood returns to one ankle and then the other.

He turns his head, eyes trailing down your body to your aching, neglected pussy. “You ready to tell me the truth? About Meridian?”

You swallow hard, feeling anxiety twist in your stomach. “Could I… have another glass of milk. My throat, after, you know.”

Tony’s tongue flicks across the seam of his lips as he looks at you. “Well, alright. Of course. I mean, where are my manners, when a young lady does such a nice thing for me.” He slips off the bed, tucking his softening cock into his boxers and pulling up his pants as he goes.

You make it as far as the hallway. Tony tackles you as you hurtle past the kitchen doorway and you both tumble to the floor. He pins your bound hands above your head, dropping his weight down the length of your body as you buck and twist and cry.

“Why’d you have to go and do that? Huh?” He snaps, reaching a hand down between your body and his to shove his fingers into your folds. “Why’d you go and do a thing like that after we were startin to get to know each other?”

You moan, your eyes rolling back at the rough feeling of his fingers probing against you and the sharp bite of the cuffs pressed into your wrists. “I’m sorry, Tony,” you whine.

“Ohh, I know what it is.” He coos, dipping his fingers into your entrance and circling the sensitive ring of muscles. “You didn’t finish. That was selfish of me, wasn’t it?”

You sob even as your cunt pulses, muscles squeezing against the tips of his fingers where they press inside you. “There it is. There you go. I fucked your face and didn’t return the favor. What kind of a host. I’ll make it right. I’ll make it better, baby.”

His fingers leave you and his weight is just gone as he sits up, snatching the chain between your wrists and pulling you up with him.

“Tony, what-“ “You’re gunna ride my face. C’mon now, take a seat.”

Your face flushes as he lowers onto his back, right there in the hallway, and drags you forward by your cuffs. “I don’t, I haven’t, oh Godddd,” you moan as he lifts his head and pokes his tongue into you, pressing past the tightness of your entrance to wriggle against your walls. He wraps his hands around the backs of your thighs and pushes you further apart, pulling you down against his face as he fucks in and out of you with his tongue. The rough thatch of his moustache creates so much friction against your clit that it’s almost painful, but you roll your hips down against his face anyway. “God, Tony,” you moan. “You’re gunna make me cum.”

Tony moans against you, his tongue slipping out of your hole to focus on licking your clit with rapid little flicks that drag you closer and closer towards your orgasm. He doesn’t have to help you now, you rock back and forth against his face, covering his mouth and nose and chin in your arousal as you as you ride him.

With your hands bound together you can’t brace yourself on the walls either side of you, so you’re forced to rely on Tony’s hands against your thighs as the muscles begin to shake with the effort of holding yourself over his face. The coil of pleasure in your stomach is winding tighter and tighter, and you’re so unbelievably close to cumming when suddenly you’re pulled away, lifted easily. You hadn’t realized just how strong Tony actually is, but you can feel the taught flex of muscle as he lifts you over his head and rolls to his knees behind you. “On your belly now,” he snaps, placing a hand on your back and pushing you until your legs give out and you go sprawling against the carpet with your hands up over your head.

There’s no warning at all as he mounts you from behind and pushes his cock into you. You whimper at the slight burn as you’re stretched open, and Tony brushes kisses against the back of your neck as he pulls half out and pushes back in. “You’re tight.” He spits, wrapping an arm around your neck to pull your head up and restrict your airflow. “But you’re so wet for me. I can feel it.”

You can only groan at the low rumble of his words and the slap, slap, slap sound of his flesh smacking against your ass as he fucks into you. “If you won’t tell me what I need to know.” He says, panting harshly against your ear, “Then I’ll just have to keep you.”

Your eyes roll back as your orgasm finally hits. Your clit is dragged over the carpet with every rough thrust and Tony’s cock pummels into you, the tip kissing against your g-spot as you clamp down on his length and press your face against the floor to muffle your cries.

“I’m gunna fill you up, baby.” Tony coos, pressing up onto his forearms to give him better leverage as he thrusts into you. “You can tell M. H. fucking Hall how good I made you feel. Can take that to the goddamn bank.” He cums with a strained moan, burying himself in you to the hilt as his cock twitches and coats your walls.

Tony collapses on top of you, reaching up to brush your hair away from your face so he can press his lips to your cheek. His moustache irritates your skin and you turn your head away. Tony’s nose nuzzles into your neck instead, his breath sighing over your flesh and sending goosebumps down your spine.

“I have to go out for a while.” He says, finally rolling off of you and pulling you to your feet. His cum drops out of you and drips down your thigh, and you desperately wish you had something to clean it up with.

“Are you… leaving me here?”

Tony’s brows furrow and he cocks his head. “Well of course I am, babydoll. I said I gotta keep you, didn’t I?”

“I don’t… if you let me go I wouldn’t tell anybody. And I’d be just next door. Maybe we could… date, or something.”

Tony chuckles. “No need for all that when I already got you here, is there?” He hooks his fingers into the chain at your wrists, leading you back into the bedroom and pushing you down onto the mattress.

“Not the ropes, please.” You say quietly. “What if I need the bathroom?”

Tony smirks. “I can always change the sheets.”

“I need to… clean up. This.” You gesture at the slick on your thighs, and his smirk widens into a feral grin.

“No, I like that. I like you all covered in me. Maybe it’ll stick, another little Kiritsis to take home on the holidays.”

Your stomach flips over at his words, nausea and anxiety mixed with something else you can’t name. “You can’t keep me in here forever.”

Tony dips his head, brushing his lips against yours. “Not forever. I got a plan, like I told you. And once I’m done the whole goddamn world will know what they did to me. I’ll be a hero. I’ll have… I’ll have land, and money. And me and you can build something real, something proper.”

There’s a mad glint in his eye, and you feel dread settle over you. “Don’t do anything… stupid, Tony. Please.”

His eyes darken. “I’m not stupid. And I’m not fucking crazy, no matter what they say about it. This is gunna work, baby. This is gunna work and all the labor, all the goddamn meetings and paperwork and bullshit is gunna pay off. I promise.” He kisses you again, and you let yourself lean into it, let him push his tongue into your mouth as his big hands lift to cup your cheeks and brush away tears you hadn’t realized you were crying.

“I hope you’re right.” You say when he finally breaks away, your voice thick. “I hope you come back for me.” Because if he doesn’t, there’s a chance you’ll die here. There’s a chance he’ll kill you even if he does come back, judging by the pile of guns and wires and sinister looking devices laid out on his dining room table. You’d only gotten a half-glance at them as you ran past, but it was enough to scare you right back into compliance.

Tony’s hand drops between your thighs, his fingers working against your over-sensitive clit and stirring it back to life. “I’ll come back for you. And for this.”

He leaves you whimpering and wet, scooping a long rectangular box off the hall table as he goes, and you can do little more than press your palm against your aching core and wait for something to happen.

There’s a man with a shotgun wired to his neck sitting at the dining table. He stares pointedly at the stack of books in front of him and not at you, sitting opposite him. Your bound hands have been attached to the other side of the gun, and Tony is on his knees under the table with his tongue buried inside you. The rules are simple. Move, and the gun will blow Richard Hall’s head off. Cum, and Tony will strip you down and make you bounce on his cock until you pass out. Confess, and it all comes to an end. And you’d confess, if you could. If you understood what it was that you were supposed to have done. If you’d had a chance to read that fucking letter from the mortgage company. If the cowardly man across the table would just look at you, so you could figure out a plan.

You press your lips into a hard line to suppress a moan as Tony’s fingers trail up the inside of your thigh and he drags his tongue out of you to flick against your clit. He pulls away completely, looking up at you with big, glazed green eyes. “You going to talk?”

“I got…” you groan as he pushes two fingers into you, curling them against your most sensitive spot. “Nothing to confess, Tony. I don’t work for him.”

“She doesn’t, Tony.” The man across the table says. His eyes are still downcast, but there’s a blush staining across his cheeks as he’s forced to listen to the wet sounds of Tony pumping his fingers in and out of you.

“No?” He asks, dipping his head to press a single kiss to your clit before he rises to a stand. “Take a look at her. I mean really look at her.”

The man doesn’t. “I… I don’t need to. She doesn’t work for us.”

“What?” Tony snaps, tapping his wet fingers against your lips until you part them. “You don’t like lookin at pretty girls? I’m sure your wife won’t mind you just lookin.” He pushes his fingers into your mouth and you hollow your cheeks obediently, sucking your arousal from the digits. Tony hums, and eye-level with his crotch you can see the tightening in his pants as he gets hard. “It’s not like I’m making you touch her. I wouldn’t, she’s mine.”

“I know, Tony.” Richard says with a sigh.

“You people have taken enough from me.” Tony’s about to start ranting again, and when he gets into a loop on this particular subject it’s near enough impossible to snap him out of it. You pull your head back and push against his fingers until he withdraws them.

“Lets go into the bedroom, Tony.” You plead in a low voice. “Leave him out here to think on it and I’ll take care of you.”

Tony frowns as your eyes trail slowly over his erection. You don’t flinch, you barely even breathe as he assesses you. “Now isn’t that nice.” He says, turning his head to smirk at Richard. “See now that’s a good girl, right Dick? Thinkin about me and my needs above her own. God I bet you’re so jealous you could spit, right?”

“Sure, Tony.” The man’s voice is small and solemn. “She’s great.”

“I’m a lucky man.” He waggles a finger at Richard as he leans on the table, fiddling with the wire attached to your cuffs. “A lucky man and don’t I know it. Not taking this for granted, no sir.”

There’s a click, and Richard flinches across the table, but Tony’s successfully disengaged the wire and you drop your hands gratefully into your lap.

“There you go.” Tony says, hooking his finger into the chain and tugging you up from your seat. Your lower half is completely bare and your thighs and pussy glisten with slick. Richard looks away again, though you don’t miss the bob of his throat as he swallows hard. “See now, the young Mr Hall is a gentleman, baby.” Tony smirks, quirking an eyebrow at his prisoner. “You got your pretty pussy all out and he didn’t even steal a glance.”

You shrug. “All for you anyways, Tony.”

Tony’s smile widens into a grin as he wraps a hand around the back of your neck and drags you against the hard lines of his body. “Yeah? Why don’t you show me, babydoll.”

Taglist: @coryoslut @thewolfcubofkaermorhen @elyseesarchive @nqarxne @brightnessluvworld @loushaw131460 @goosegreenwood @lunaskye999@stvalent @devilslittlehelper@kikibit

[bryandanielson-yes]

Hey!! Sorry I haven't posted any fics for a little bit, I've been having a bit of a rough time with my mental health (I'm okay now) I just needed a break 💓 I'm going to try and get chapter 2 of the assistant out next! Thank you all for your patience I appreciate it more than you know 💓

[b-skarsgard]

Bill Skarsgård on Sirius XM Urban View with Mike Muse June 10 NYC

[bryandanielson-yes]

I'm putting him in my pocket actually

[b-skarsgard]

Bill Skarsgård at the Tribeca Festival Artists Dinner June 8 NYC

[bryandanielson-yes]

That strand of hair is a paid actor Holy shit

[b-skarsgard]

Bill Skarsgård at the Chanel Tribeca Festival Artists Dinner June 8

[bryandanielson-yes]

Oh god I have NOTHING appropriate to say 😭😭😭 I think imma go write a one shot 💀✋🏻