CAN YOU PLEASE DO KOMODO X DRAGON X READER!!! where they all meet at a concert or party or something and reader is like super shy but keeps looking at them and komodo goes over and flirts with them... heh..
you can have my soul please
anon I dont need your soul. giving me an excuse to think about meeting Komodo at a metal concert is more than enough <3 I hope you enjoy as much as I did
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You had come to this Rob Zombie concert with your friend, but for several songs now they were nowhere to be seen.
You were annoyed, but it wasn't a huge deal. They said they were going to try to pick up chicks. Usually they came right back, defeated, but maybe they had been succesful for once. Or they ended up front of the crowd dancing.
While looking around for them, you spotted two men right next to you in the crowd. Very attractive men. The big blonde one was wearing a shirt he must've bought at the merch counter before the show started, and the slender one was wearing a ratty black shirt with some presumably obscure black metal band logo plastered across grotesque imagery. His long black hair flew gloriously through the air while they headbanged to the music.
Your breath caught in your throat and you quickly looked away, but the slender one made eye contact with you right before. He must've seen you looking, because he turned his head toward you and flashed a wide smile before continuing to headbang.
Your throat tightened more and your face felt hot. You could see his face much better at that angle - devious green eyes and facial piercings made his smile shoot straight through you.
Suddenly everything felt much more overwhelming. You couldn't focus on the music anymore. You couldn't focus on anything except those two. The crowd felt so much hotter, the lights so much brighter, music so much louder but blurring together into a wall of sound. You tried looking at the stage through the crowd, but you couldn't help but steal another glance towards to two - and saw both of them looking at you this time.
They were both smiling. At you.
Your body felt like it was vibrating. You couldn't handle this. There was no way they were into you… right?
The slender one stuck his tongue out playfully. It was split down the middle.
You seriously couldn't handle this. You needed fresh air. You pushed your way through the crowd to the back of the venue where you could collect yourself. Near the bathrooms there were a couple water fountains that you took a long drink from. It felt so cool and refreshing compared to the hot, humid atmosphere in the middle of the crowd.
When you turned around… The slender one was standing there. Had he followed you!? The calm you had collected instantly evaporated. A hot flush crept up your neck and face again.
"Hey," he said, way too casually for what he was making you feel. That sly smile still there. The music was quiet enough back here that you could actually hear him at a reasonable volume.
Your brain was short-circuiting. Your tongue felt clumsy in your mouth. "H-hey," you finally managed back.
"My friend and I think you're cute." He motioned back toward the crowd with his head. Your gaze followed the motion, and saw the big one standing back at the edge of the crowd. "Are you here alone?"
Thinking was getting hard. You couldn't believe it. They thought you were cute? "Well… I came here with my friend, but… They disappeared a while ago…"
"Oh, that sucks." He took a step closer to you, looking you up and down, obviously checking you out. His friend smiled at you. "Do you wanna hang out with us instead? The name's Mike. He's Jace."
You swallowed hard. Yes. Yes, of course you did. If your friend was trying to score, why couldn't you too? These two were way cooler than your friend was, anyway. You looked at him, then at Jace, and smiled bashfully. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."
"Great!" He held out his hand. Leather and metal bracelets covered his forearm, along with the concert band. His fingers were long and slender, like the rest of him, and his nails were painted with chipped black polish. "Come on."
You took his hand, and followed him back into the crowd.
if fic requests are still open, could I suggest Wolfie and Wild playing in the mud?I just think it would be a funny scene. (:
Wait actually stop that’s adorable. 0: This was so much fun thank you
The chain was wrapping up for the night, And Wild was taking off his boots and gear, setting it down on the floor of the inn room. The sound of skittering paws on wood rang through the hallway, as Wolfie skidded to a stop in-front of the open door. It had just started raining, and the inn was in a woodland environment, so Wild knew exactly what this meant. Mud. The fantastic mushy and dirty substance that he and his brother loved the most. He dropped what he was holding with a grin, causing Wolfie to wag his tail ferociously, hitting the two sides of the door. He stood up, running out the door with Wolfie right behind him, bursting out the inn and running to the field, before getting pushed down into the mud by an overexcited wolf. “Oh no you did not.” Wild said with a laugh before tackling the wolf into the mud, rolling around with him. Wolfie let out a bark, before pushing the Hylian into the mud, covering him in the sticky substance, making Wild let out a yelp in surprise. Time watched with a small smile from where he leaned against the inn doorframe, watching the two idiots tackle each other. Sky joined him, looking at the scene and holding in laughter. “That’s gonna take a long time to clean up.” Sky said with a laugh. “Yes, Yes it is.” Time said with a chuckle, before walking away with the skyloftian next to him, leaving the two mud covered brothers to do what they do best, make a mess.
psst you should write a sleepy kiribaku morning or an aged up thing where one of them comes home from a shitty day and the other makes it better
((This is probably different than what you were thinking of when you sent this ask but, this is what my brain brought out. I hope you still like it though anon! I’m going to place it under the cut only because it got a little longer than I had hoped.))
“Damn it all to fucking hell!” Katsuki slammed the door shut, pulling his gauntlets off his arms. Tossing the gauntlets on the table next to the door, he yanked his boots off and threw them in the bin.
“Katsuki? Everything okay?” Eijirou turned the corner and stared at his boyfriend. He wiped his hands on the towel he was holding before slinging it over his shoulder.
“Fuck. Just fucking damn it all to hell.” Katsuki stared at Eijirou before moving to wrap his arms around his boyfriend’s neck.
Eijirou fumbled slightly, moving to wrap his arms around Katsuki’s waist to hold him still.
“I fucking hate everything right now.” Katsuki mumbled against Eijirou’s neck, feeling the warmth of the other against him. “Fucking everything sucks right now.”
“Babe, come sit. We can talk about it then.” Eijirou rubbed small circles into Katsuki’s lower back, moving backwards slightly towards the couch.
Katsuki holds onto Eijirou as he moved, tightening his grip as he tried to control his tears. For the first time in years since he became a pro hero, someone got hurt because of him. He let his pride get the better of him, and someone got hurt because of it.
“Katsu?” Eijirou moved a hand to caress his cheek, lifting his face so Eijirou could see his eyes. “Babe, what happened?”
“My fucking pride got in the way today. I swore I fucking took out all of those villains. Then fucking Sparky shows up and gets too close.” Katsuki closed his eyes, turning away slightly as the tears started falling. “I didn’t realize I missed one, and when I went to fucking blast him, Sparky got hurt too.”
“How bad was it?” Eijirou used the hand still on Katsuki’s back to rub small circles again, trying to calm him down.
“It wasn’t too bad but, fuck. I could’ve seriously fucking hurt him. I shouldn’t be a hero, all I fucking do is let my pride get the better of me.” Katsuki moved to lay his head against Eijirou’s shoulder, feeling his throat tighten at the thought of his friend getting hurt.
“Hey, he’s alive right? He’s going to be okay.” Eijirou shifts so Katsuki’s legs are draped over his lap, head against his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay babe.”
“I shouldn’t be a hero Eijirou…” Katsuki wrapped his arms around Eijirou’s neck as he hiccuped, the tears soaking into Eijirou’s shirt.
“You’re a damn good hero Katsuki. Denki’s fine, you’re fine. We’re going to sit here, and watch stupid comedy movies until you fall asleep.” Eijirou kissed his boyfriend’s forehead, holding him close with one arm as the other reached for the remote.
“I shouldn’t- I don’t understand why you still believe in me. I don’t even fucking believe in me.” Katsuki tightened his grip on Eijirou, throat tightening up as he hiccuped again.
“I believe in you, because you save people. You’re a hero Katsuki, and everything’s gonna be alright.” Eijirou held him close, rubbing his back and kissing his forehead again. “It’ll be okay, so just try to relax and sleep babe. I’m not going anywhere.”
Katsuki nodded, trying to process the words his boyfriend spoke as he closed his eyes. Hiccupping a few times as the tears slowed down to the point of stopping. He felt Eijirou’s heartbeat against his chest, and he fell asleep to the sound of Eijirou laughing at a movie.
For once, he felt like he could be safe in someone’s arms.
lawrence topping a captive strade pls 🥹? bonus points if theres a struggle
this is suuuuuuch an underrated ship dynamic <3 this is actually about 1000 words cuz I was so inspired <3 also this made me realize i don't... really know how to write about punching/fighting
Strade tries to kidnap Lawrence and instead suffers head trauma, and Lawrence enjoys some Strade hole
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Lawrence is pissed off.
This man - he'd introduced himself as Strade - had been way too friendly when they met. Lawrence automatically didn't like him. That kind of friendliness was always fake, especially so when directed toward him. Nobody was ever that friendly to him, unless they wanted something from him.
Then, he had followed him into the alley and attacked him. Strade tried to shove him against the wall. It caught Lawrence off guard, but he was able to shove Strade off and landed a punch to his head that left him dazed. Strade staggered forward, a look of utter shock on his face.
And now, he's refusing to be quiet.
He'd been pretty easily herded back to the apartment, in an almost trance-like state, only weakly trying to escape the whole way. But once they'd gotten in the apartment, Strade seemed to get a better bearing on himself. He must've realized something very bad was about to happen, because he attacked again with a sudden surge of energy. He hit Lawrence right in the face, but Lawrence was stronger. He grabbed him by the shirt and had only punched him twice when Strade collapsed to his knees. Lawrence didn't stop. He beat him until he was fully subdued on the ground, and quickly slapped duct tape over his mouth and around his wrists.
It all seriously pissed Lawrence off. But… it's kind of turning him on, too.
Strade is growling and grunting and writhing under Lawrence. His eyes are wild and frantic with fear and anger. Wide amber irises and pinprick pupils dart around. Or at least, one pupil is a pinprick. The other is blown out much wider. Blood drips from his nose. He almost looks like he's having trouble focusing on Lawrence. He must be concussed. He… looks pretty like this.
Staring down at Strade's uneven pupils and dazed, fractured gaze, Lawrence realizes he's rock hard. He did this. And he can do whatever the hell else he wants now, too.
He rocks his hips into Strade's, and something registers on his face. He's realized Lawrence is hard, too.
Lawrence grabs his trusty short knife, and gets to work slicing through Strade's pants and underwear. Strade thrashes more, trying to kick Lawrence away, but his movements are clumsy and he only manages to cut his thigh on the knife. Lawrence throws the scraps of fabric out of the way and pushes Strade's thighs open. Strade wails through his gag.
Lawrence frowns, and leans in close to Strade's face. "Be quiet," he hisses, breath uneven from arousal. "Or I will make you quiet."
Hot angry tears are welling up in Strade's eyes now. His face is contorted in rage, staring shaky daggers into Lawrence. One single tear escapes and drips down his cheek.
Lawrence leans in even closer, and licks up the tear. Electricity shoots through him at the contact. Strade thrashes again. He is so tense, every muscle taut and straining, his whole body brimming and overflowing with such an intriguing mix of emotions.
Lawrence has to know what this feels like from the inside.
He licks two fingers and lifts up Strade's balls to reveal his entrance. Strade, somehow, struggles even more. Lawrence can't actually see his hole in all the copious hairy flesh, but he knows it's buried there between Strade's thick thighs and soft ass cheeks. An overpowering smell of sweat and pungent musk wafts up to him. It's such a masculine smell. A masculine smell for a masculine man, he thinks. It feels so good to be on top of this.
His fingers dig through the damp, fleshy crevices and find the hot ring of muscle. There's so much heat radiating off of him here already. Lawrence pushes in. There's a little resistance, but not nearly as much as he was expecting. Strade is making some kind of guttural groaning like he's choking, and his sphincter clamps down hard around Lawrence's knuckles. Trying to push him out but inadvertently sucking him in further.
Lawrence moans. It's so hot inside. So wet and so soft. Shockingly soft, compared to the rest of him. The rest of Strade is rejecting him, but the inside of him is welcoming. His whole pelvis is rigid and twisting in the air, wrenching at Lawrence's hand. But the inside of his hole remains pliable and pillowy.
He looks at Strade's face. He looks like a caged wild animal. More tears run down his cheeks and his face is flushed red with blood. The hatred is palpable. But he also looks tired, like everything is catching up to him. Adrenaline can only take one so far, and it further it takes you, the harder the crash.
Lawrence needs more. His cock throbs in his pants. Strade's penis is, unsurprisingly, still soft. But Lawrence is achingly hard, and Strade's asshole is practically begging his fingers for more.
He pulls his slick fingers out, and for a moment Strade looks relieved, until he frees himself from his clothing. His underwear is already damp from precum, and more beads up and streams down his shaft as he spits in his hand to lubricate himself better.
Strade's breathing is audibly heavy, and his eyes roll into the back of his head when Lawrence pushes into him. There's a lot more resistance this time, as his hole stretches to accomodate something so much bigger than fingers. His soft insides pulse and throb around Lawrence, and he lets out a long moan.
"You're fighting me…" He keeps pushing in slowly. Strade squirms weakly, making more ragged noises, eyes flitting open and closed. "But," he pants, "Your insides are welcoming me." He fully sheathes himself. "So soft inside. S-so warm, and soft. I-" He groans as he pulls back, feeling the smooth muscle of Strade's gut slide along him. "-never would've guessed you'd be so soft-"
Strade is growing quiet. He's quivering and gently gurgling. Lawrence isn't sure he can even hear him. But his guts are still constricting around him, still so soft and warm and tight.
Helloo i’m new here, maaybe could i request a mini fic about a corpse Lawrence was having his way with suddenly comes back from the River the way Lawrence does.Yes in the middle of it.
this was a really fun one to think about :)
It's what it says on the tin. Lawrence has sex with reader's corpse and they come back to life in the middle of it
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You'd been so lovely in life. Even moreso in death, Lawrence thinks, now that you're quiet. Now that you can't judge or reject him. He wants to touch you - he can't stop himself. And why should he?
The blade of his knife slices easily through your underwear, revealing your intimate areas. He blushes a little at the sight, and slides his hand up your leg. The first time with them like this is always a little flustering. It's like he's reintroducing himself, like he's gotten a second chance to do it all over again, where this time he knows everything will go right.
The skin of your thigh is cool under his palm, but when he increases the pressure he can still feel the warmth of your flesh. You're barely cold, and still limp and pliable. You've only been dead for half an hour, maybe 45 minutes at the most. He knows it hasn't been an hour yet. If he acts fast, he can still enjoy your residual warmth for a little while longer.
He situates himself between your thighs. They spread easily, jiggling a little as he moves them. Kisses peppered up and down your neck and chest while he cups your genitals gently in one hand. Blood rushes to his face and pelvis when he finds your entrance and pokes his middle finger in. You're so warm here, warm and just ever so slightly moist, like the inside of a body should be. The mucus membranes grow taut with a dry stretch as he pushes in further. Up to the first knuckle. Then the second. Then his finger is fully inside of you, buried up to the knuckles.
Your insides are so warm still. Completely relaxed but still so firm, so… together. Like muscles and tissues are supposed to behave. On a bacterial level you've already started to come undone but visually your body looks pristine. You're momentarily untouched by decay. Everything is still so perfectly intact.
It's almost like you're still alive.
He groans hard at that thought, keeling into your body and grinding against you. He spits in his hand to lubricate himself and lines up with your entrance. The tight squeeze makes him shudder. Usually they're a little looser, a lot wetter with purge, starting to come apart. But it's like your life still lingers in you, like you're not quite fully gone even though he'd watched you die. It feels incredible. He moves in waves. Fully hilted, then slowly drawing back, then burying himself into you again. Savoring the way your innards cling around him.
He's so distracted that he doesn't notice you twitch. He doesn't notice the subtle flush returning to your skin or the resumption of your pulse, or that your muscles are tensing up. He doesn't notice anything out of the ordinary until your eyes fly open and you take a huge, guttural, rattling breath.
"AHH!"
His whole body stiffens. The hairs on the back of his neck prickle and dread lurches in his gut. He thinks he heard himself scream, but now everything is silent and still again. Did he… imagine that? Your mouth is open, but it had been hanging open, hadn't it? But, your chest, it's rising-
"WHAT THE FUCK?"
He's frozen in place. This isn't possible.
Now you're squirming under him, trying to get up. "What happened? Where am I?!" Your eyes dart around frantically, wild and crazy. "Where am I? Who are you?" Something shifts on your face. Recognition. Anger. "You! It's you!" It sounds like an accusation. You hit his body while feeling around with your arm, realizing he's on top of you. "What are you…"
Oh.
In a panic he pulls out to get away and shove himself into his sweatpants. It makes a loud shlurping sound and both he and you feel his full length slide out of you with resistance. You're both in shock, mouths hanging agape, unable to form thoughts much less words. Then you both look at each other, incredulous, as if to say, 'did that really just happen?'
"I-I…" He starts, but what is there to say? What can he say? There's no way he can explain this. Panic gives way to shame. Shame, and confusion. And more panic. His face feels hot and his body ice cold. How is this even happening? "You're… supposed to be dead."
"What?" You don't believe him. He can tell. You're quiet for a moment before repeating, "…What? Then why- what the fuck were you doing? Why were you-"
He lunges to grab you and slaps his hand over your mouth way harder than he means to, but he can't handle it being said aloud.
"Shh!" He hisses between his teeth. "Don't. Say. Anything."
You go still, staring at him with wide eyes.
He should just kill you again. It would be the easiest. But there was nothing natural about what just happened. He knows you were dead. You were definitely dead, and now you're not. If there was any chance of getting to talk to someone who'd come back like he had… surely this was it.
But first, he has to figure out how to move on from… what just happened. Or if he even can. He really might just have to kill you.
Can we get some angst/comfort Lawrence pretty please your writing is amazing and I crave some angst with comfort ❤️🩹❤️🩹🙏🏼
reader finds Lawrence upset and crying and tries to comfort him <3
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Lawrence has been inside the bathroom for what feels like hours now. You try to give him space when he needs it, but you really need to pee. So, tentatively, you knock on the door.
"Lawrence? I, uh… I need to pee."
A moment of silence passes before his muffled voice replies, "The door's not locked."
You take that as an invitation to open the door. When you do, you don't even see him at first. It takes a second of really looking to spot him. He's facing away from you, curled up in a ball in the tub half behind the shower curtain, hugging his legs tight to his body. You're about to lift the toilet seat cover, when you hear him sniffle.
"…Are you okay?"
He stays quiet for a long time, too long. You figure he's simply going to pretend you aren't there, like he often does when he's like this.
"No."
You're kind of surprised he answered. You can hear how stuffed up from crying he must be from that single syllable. Your heart aches at hearing it, but you're also unsure of how to proceed. He rarely ever cries in front of you, instead choosing private places out of eye-and-earshot.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
Again, you expect silence or another no. But again, he surprises you.
"Nobody likes me. Nobody wants me around." His low, strained voice wavers. "People h-hate me."
Oh... Had something bad happened at work or while he out? Usually he rejected the idea of being around or accepted by other people, but a single bad social interaction could send him spiraling. "You have me. I love you."
"No, you don't," he replies too quickly.
"I'm here, aren't I?"
"…You're just using me." His words are quiet, more breathed instead of spoken. "Everyone is."
You feel indignant at the implication. "What could I be using you for? What could I possibly be getting from you that I couldn't get somewhere else?" It's a mean thing to say, but it's ridiculous to imply that you're using him. If anything, he's the one using you. "Lawrence, I care about you! I- I could get drugs and a free place to live, and companionship from so many other people if that's all I wanted-"
He interrupts, glancing at you before looking away. "You're just afraid of me." He keeps staring at the corner of the tub. His eyes are wet and glassy. New tears well up, and a single one escapes to run down his cheek. "You just ended up here. You never would've chosen to be here, if…"
If… if everything that happened, hadn't.
"Well…" He wasn't wrong about being afraid of him. How could you not be, after all the things he's done to you and the things you've seen him do? It would be a lie to deny that, and he knew it. You both knew it. But… "I've never tried to leave you." Cautiously, you reach out to touch him. You are afraid of him, of what he might do to you for seemingly no reason at all. But you still want to comfort him. He jumps a little, but stays in place. "It would've been easy for me to try to run away. While you were at work, or asleep. But I never did. I asked to stay here with you. And I've never left you."
His body is shaking now. He sniffles again. You climb into the tub with him and hug him from behind. There's a small bottle of some clear liquid laying next to him in the tub that he must've been using to calm himself down. Gradually, he relaxes into your touch. He sniffles again and wipes his face with his sweatshirt sleeve, already soaked in tears and snot.
"I'll never leave you. I could never imagine leaving you. I belong here with you. I love you. It's okay if you don't believe me. I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it."
He breaks his curled position to place his hand on your arm. You squeeze his body in your arms in response. "I'll always be here for you." He whimpers, and leans into you more. "I'll always love you, Lawrence. Always."
A silent sob wracks his body. He fully embraces you and loudly, openly weeps. His face is buried in your neck and he grips your shirt in a fist so tight his knuckles turn white.
"It's okay." You hold his head and gently caress his hair as he snivels and shakes in your arms. "I'll stay here as long as you need."
His voice is thin and strained, and he struggles to speak through the sobs and shaky breaths, but he manages out a small, "…thank you..."
Couuuld i pretty please ask for a mini fic about a hacker and Lawrence chatting online as “friends” and the hacker secretly spies on him from his laptop camera and watches him jerk off to their messages and once he’s done they text him something letting him know they’re watching
Reader spies on Lawrence while they chat :)
Contains discussion of rotting bodies, masturbation, and voyeurism. It's implied this is something the reader does a lot to a lot of people
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pushingupdaisies: After about a week they get pretty nasty
pushingupdaisies: During the summer
69reaper69: yeah? how so
pushingupdaisies: Gas build up. Gases and putrid fluid bubbles out of every hole in their body
pushingupdaisies: And the swarms of flies
pushingupdaisies: It smells really bad
You smirk. The way this guy's talking, he sounds like he some real experience. You wonder what he looks like. Usually, they look shockingly normal. They look like any ordinary person you'd pass by on the street. Sometimes you get someone who looks like what you'd expect, and sometimes you get people who are incredibly conventionally attractive, but most are perfectly average. You'd never guess what disgusting, taboo things they're into.
You turn his camera on.
It's mostly dark, with a pale face washed out to nearly white by the light of the computer screen, but you adjust pretty quick. He's disheveled and messy, and looks really tired. Or high. Maybe both. And sure enough, his hand is down his pants. Sometimes you'll see someone who really is just casually holding their junk, but his arm is moving in that tell-tale motion. And you can see on his face. The heaviness in his gaze. The flush of his cheeks. The furrowing of his brow.
He's getting off on this.
And you want to see more.
96reaper69: what does it smell like?
pushingupdaisies: Well
He pauses on the screen, before typing with his one free hand. You're mildly impressed with his ability to do it so well.
pushingupdaisies: Rotten raw meat is the closest thing I can compare it to but it's not very close
pushingupdaisies: Meat is just meat. Bodies have a lot of other things too
It's very obvious now that he's jacking off. The motions of his arm are getting much faster, and his face twitches. His loose ponytail is slumped over his shoulder and moves with every stroke. Two black bands tattooed around his biceps peek out from under the sleeve of his t-shirt as he moves.
He's actually pretty cute. But the longer you look at him, the more something about him seems… off.
69reaper69: like blood
69reaper69: and their organs breaking down and stuff
pushingupdaisies: Yeah
This set-up doesn't allow for sound, but you can see him grunting and gasping.
69reaper69: do they smell different from roadkill
pushingupdaisies: Yeah they do
69reaper69: like a lot different?
He pauses again. He closes his eyes for a second and bites his lip, really losing himself to the pleasure for a moment. His whole body is moving at this point, frenzied in the heat of arousal.
pushingupdaisies: No its subtle. But it's definitely different
69reaper69: interesting
He doesn't move to type again. Instead, he pulls himself out of his pants. You can see the top half of his erection as it bobs up and down. A little sweat beads up on his forehead. He's using both hands to touch himself now, pressing his free hand down on the muscles right above his cock and furiously stroking himself with the other. He does this for about a minute before his eyelids flutter and his body shudders rhythmically. Jizz shoots out of him and lands all over his clothes. He keeps fucking his hand and another spurt of jizz shoots out, and another. Then, out slides a tiny drop, and he lets go.
He sits there and catches his breath, shuddering a little again in the throes of the afterglow. His eyes drift to the keyboard. Finally, he wipes his hand on his pants, and you see him type with both hands for the first time. He smiles a little bit as he does.
pushingupdaisies: Yeah, it is
This part's your favorite. Your hands tremble as they fly across the keyboard.
69reaper69: thanks for sharing
69reaper69: btw
69reaper69: you're really cute
He frowns.
pushingupdaisies: what?
69reaper69: i like your tattoos and ponytail ;)
He freezes. He just stares at the message for a long moment. Disbelief, anger, and shame flash on his face. Then he stares directly into the camera. He looks absolutely horrified. You think he's shaking, but you can't quite tell.
He jumps up from his chair with a start, and slams shut his laptop. The camera feed goes dark.
HELLO your lawrence fics are genuinely truly honestly the best i’ve ever read i think. you write him so perfectly in character sometimes i think you’ve got him in the room with you …… thank you for sharing with us <3
COULD I maybe possibly get lawrence x a fem reader who matches his levels of sadism and in turn masochism i suppose ….. it’s a healthy relationship because they bash eachother in the head with beer bottles when they’re mad ❤️ THANK YOU IN ADVANCE !!!
haha, no, i totally don't have him in the room with me, it's not like he's tied up and gagged in the corner or anything, what're you even TALKING about....... Seriously though, this is legitimately the single best compliment you could ever give me and I could not stop smiling for a solid 10 minutes straight when I first read this. Thank you so, so, so very much. I'm so honored <3
To be honest I struggled a lot with this for some reason and it ended up going in a direction I didn't plan, which is just the nature of the beast sometimes. So. uh... I hope I didn't disappoint. It also ended up feeling quite romantic so here is one of my favorite romantic Lawrence songs - Touched by Vast
Lawrence & fem reader exchange some mutually enjoyed choking, biting, and hair pulling. Starts off slow and grows in intensity, but stays consensual
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Lawrence's head rests on your breast.
It's his favorite place to lay his head down. It's so pillowy and soft and, 'so warm,' he always murmurs into your skin. He loves to put his ear to your sternum and listen to the sound of your heart and your breathing.
You wrap your fingers delicately around his neck. His adam's apple bobs under your palm as he swallows. You feel a light moan rumble in his vocal cords, and he tips his chin up to you, exposing more of his throat. Asking for more.
You increase the pressure. You squeeze down on his trachea, and feel his pulse quicken. He makes a soft squeaking sound, and you squeeze harder, fully around his trachea and up into his jaw. He turns his face fully up toward you, though he isn't looking directly at you. His eyes are clouded with arousal, and his lips gape open slightly, taking in soft, shallow breaths.
You squeeze harder. His fingers and toes twitch. He's whimpering now; his pulse beats rapidly in the crook of your hand. Blood rushes to his face and his eyes grow wide and glassy. He just lays there, whimpering, and you can tell how much he's enjoying it. Not just from the fact that he could stop you at any time, but you also feel him getting erect against your leg.
"You look… so cute like this, Law."
His whole body shifts in response. Further tipping his head up as far as he can to expose more of himself to your hand, cock fully hardening against your leg, nestling his head further into your chest -
Until suddenly, his hand shoots up to your throat. The glassiness in his eyes is still there, but there's also a hard, sadistic gleam. In one swift motion, he pushes himself up over you and squeezes. The corner of his lips are turned up in a subtle smile.
But he doesn't try to make you let go.
You can't help but smile back at him. His movement makes you lose your tight grip on him, but your hand remains in place. His arteries under your fingers thrum even faster now as he leans in by your face, panting in your ear. His voice is heavy and dark. "Your blood…" He swallows hard against your palm. "I want to feel your blood, too."
Now it's your turn. His fingers dig in to the soft tissue under your jaw bone, pinching off the flow of oxygen. You can still draw air into your lungs, but very quickly you start to feel lightheaded. Your face and neck feel so hot underneath his freezing cold fingers, and your eyes roll back into your head. Your pulse picks up its already fast pace and thrums hard under your skin, against his palm. You feel high.
Your hearts beat together in sync, connected by their rhythm. Your blood separated by just a few millimeters of skin. Hearts locked away from each other in their own rib cages. But still making contact through their rhythm, in spite of the separation.
He fully sits up and pulls you up into his lap so that your chests are pressed up together. The sudden flood of oxygen to your brain makes you feel woozy. Here, you can feel each other's hearts beating directly through your ribs. Your hands fall away from each other's throats and find their place elsewhere on each other's bodies. He half growls, half laughs against your shoulder. You nestle your face in the crook of his neck, and laugh too. His lips part on your skin, and the points of his teeth ever so gently prick into your flesh for just a single moment before he bites down.
You moan, and bury your hand in the base of his loose ponytail. As he bites harder, you pull his hair harder. He moans in response. He makes his way down your chest, leaving a trail of hickeys and bite marks. With one hand on your ass, the other gropes and lifts one of your tits up to get a full bite of it.
That hurts. You yelp, and twist your hand deeper into his hair to yank his head back away from you. He looks surprised. It takes a moment for his hazy eyes to refocus on you. His lips hang open, red and swollen and slick. Broken strands of saliva drip from them, and the tip of his tongue rests loosely over his bottom teeth.
Before he can do anything, you clumsily mash your lips together, hitting them on his teeth. Neither of you care. He kisses you back hungrily, sucking on your lip before pulling back. A string of spit connects your lips for a moment, and breaks.
His grin is lopsided and wild now as he extends his neck, inviting you to sink your teeth into the place where his neck and shoulder muscles meet.
He looks drunk on you.
You feel drunk on him.
He groans loudly when you sink your teeth deep into him. His free hand up runs up the curve of your ass, up along your spine, and firmly tangles into your hair to hold you in place as he bites back down on you.
You both moan into each other through bared teeth. Bodies pressed together as tightly as possible, fingers intertwined with each other's hair. Alternating desperate breaths as if you have to steal air from each other. Pushing and pulling like a primal dance. Moving to the beat of the blood pulsing through your veins.
