[Warnings: Weed use, fingering, slight oral (f receiving), p in v sex, dirty talk, thigh riding, possessiveness, infidelity themes, tattoo kink, pet names]
Porn with plot. MINORS DNI
Just trying out his latest product, as usual you did it together. Just being his “favorite customer” gave him the invitation inside your apartment as you complained to him about your boyfriend for what seemed to be the 100th time.
Your room smelled like strawberries, lip gloss, and just a hint of weed—and Law fucking loved it.
He leaned against the doorframe, black hoodie hanging loose off his shoulders, hands deep in the pockets of his sweats as he watched you bounce back onto your bed, pink LED lights casting everything in a cotton-candy glow.
“You always look this good when you get high?” he asked, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.
You giggled, already a little floaty from the first hit. “Only when I’m testing your shit.”
He crossed the room in a few steps, sliding the branded ziplock bag back into his backpack before flicking his lighter. The flame sparked as he lit the blunt you’d already rolled with shaking fingers. You inhaled deeply, the strain hitting warm and heavy behind your eyes, and you flopped back into your bed with a soft groan.
“This one’s good” you murmured. “Feels like I’m melting.”
Law’s golden gaze swept over your body—bare legs, short shorts, your baby pink tank top riding up just enough to show a peek of tummy. He grinned, slow and wolfish. “That’s the idea.”
You didn’t even notice him kneeling on the bed until his palms were spreading over your thighs, warm, big, inked fingers gripping your soft skin like it belonged to him. Your head fell back against the pillows, breath hitching.
“You high?” he asked, voice low and thick.
You nodded.
“Good. I want you floatin’ while I play with this pretty pussy.”
Your eyes fluttered open. “Law—”
He shut you up with a kiss, deep and slow, tongue sliding into your mouth while his fingers toyed with the waistband of your shorts. You weren’t wearing panties, almost like you were expecting this. He grunted when he felt how wet you already were.
“Shit, you always get this wet when I’m around?” he teased, dipping one thick finger between your folds.
“Mhm..” you breathed, hips twitching.
That earned you a wicked grin. “That’s ‘cause you know I treat this pussy better than your bum-ass boyfriend ever could.”
As if on cue, your phone buzzed on the nightstand—3 texts from “No Good [boyfriend/name]”. Law saw it. He didn’t care. Instead, he sank two fingers into your cunt, knuckles deep, curling up just right.
“Oh my—f-fuck” you whined, legs already closing in but his left hand held you open.
“That’s right. Let him text. I got my fingers in his girl’s pussy while she soaks my hand, ‘makes you my girl now don’t it?.” His lips brushed your jaw, then your neck, biting softly. “He ever make you cum like this?”
You couldn’t answer. Your back was arching, thighs clamping around his wrist as he picked up the pace, thumb finding your clit with practiced pressure.
“Law—!”
“Say my name when you cum. Not his. Mine.”
It didn’t take long. You came hard, gasping his name, fingers twisted in your bedsheets, your whole body twitching. Law didn’t stop. He just slid down, kissed your thigh, then licked a slow stripe up your pussy like he had all night.
“Mm. I’m not done,” he murmured against you, voice muffled by your thighs. “Told you—you’re my favorite customer. I always take care of what’s mine.”
Your thighs were still twitching when Law kissed his way back up your stomach, slow and unbothered like he hadn’t just made you cum so hard your vision blurred. His hoodie hung over your body like a blanket, the scent of weed and him wrapping around you warm and sticky.
“You good?” he asked, though his lips were already brushing your jaw.
You nodded, dazed and breathless. “Still high.”
He smirked, licking his lips. “Good. ‘Cause I’m far from done with you, baby.”
His hands—those tattooed, ring-clad hands were everywhere. Squeezing your hips, stroking your sides, slipping under your pink top just to palm your tits lazily, thumbs flicking your nipples. The contrast of his calloused fingers on your soft, sensitive skin had you moaning again, brain fuzzy.
Then he sat up and dragged you with him, settling you on his thigh.
“Grind on me.”
You blinked, lips parted. “…What?”
He cupped your face with one hand, thumb brushing your bottom lip. “I said” he murmured, voice low and rough, “grind on my fuckin’ thigh, princess.”
You were already soaked—your pussy leaving slick heat against his sweats. He flexed his thigh, the muscle firm under you, and your hips moved on instinct. The pressure made you gasp.
“Atta girl” he muttered. “Take what you need. Don’t think. Just feel. Babygirl”
You whimpered as you rocked against him, your bare pussy dragging against the fabric, your clit rubbing just right. He kept a hand on your lower back, guiding you, his other one gripping your jaw to keep you looking at him.
“You like riding my thigh more than his dick, huh?” he growled. “Bet that weak-ass motherfucker never made you cum like this.”
You nodded fast, breath catching. “Uh uh—!” you moaned, hips moving faster, desperate and messy. “Only you, Law—fuck—”
His thigh flexed again, making you cry out. He looked high off your sounds, high off you, eyes dark and burning under the glow of your bedroom lights.
“Such a needy little thing” he purred. “All this pink, all this pretty….you were made to be my girl. Made to be my pillow princess. Let me fuckin’ spoil you.”
Your orgasm snuck up on you—sharp and overwhelming. You clung to his hoodie, forehead pressing against his neck crying out nonsense as your whole body trembled, riding out the waves.
Law didn’t move. Just held you there, kissing your shoulder, whispering in your ear.
“You think he could ever do this for you? Keep dreamin’, baby.”
Then your phone buzzed again—another message from your boyfriend. Your hand reached for the phone but before you could get it it Law grabbed it, glanced at the screen, and chuckled.
“He wants to ‘talk things out’? Nah…Not tonight.”
He tossed the phone aside, then flipped you onto your back again.
“I’m not lettin’ you go till you forget his name.”
Your body was spent, wrecked in the prettiest way—thighs shaking, lips swollen, skin sticky with sweat and slick. You were still wearing that tiny pink top, tits peeking out as Law hovered over you, hoodie long gone, chest tattoo on full display under your soft lighting.
He’d already made you cum twice, and he looked like he was just getting started.
“Face down” he growled, grabbing your hips. “Ass up, I wanna see how messy this pussy’s gotten.”
You moved without thinking, too fucked-out to be shy. Your cheek hit the pillow as you arched for him, moaning when he grabbed a fistful of your ass and spread you open.
“Goddamn” he muttered with a groan before tugging down his sweats. “Look at this pussy…you gon get it right with me, ‘ain’t nobody gonna feel like me princess.”
You gasped when he rubbed the thick head of his cock between your folds, teasing your entrance—slow, so you could feel all of it. Then he pushed in, inch by inch, burying himself to the hilt.
You nearly screamed. “L-Law—fuck!”
“That’s it, baby,” he groaned, hands gripping your hips so tight you’d have bruises. “You feel that? That’s what a real man feels like.”
He pulled back, then slammed into you, hard enough to knock the breath out of your lungs.
“You let him fuck you with that weak-ass dick?” Another thrust. “That sorry little boy who thinks he owns you?” Another, deeper now, dragging a broken sob from your throat.
“N-No” you whimpered. “He never—fuck! Law—he never fucked me like this.”
“Damn right he didn’t.”
 He grabbed a fistful of your hair, yanking your head up just enough so you could speak.
“Grab your phone.”
“What—?”
“You heard me. Text that sorry motherfucker and tell him it’s over. Now.”
Shaking, you reached for the phone. Fingers trembling, you opened your messages and typed with one hand, the other bracing you as Law kept fucking into you, cock dragging against that perfect spot inside you.
“We’re done. Don’t text me again.”
You hit send. Law grabbed the phone from your hand, smirking.
Then he angled the camera—snapping a shot of you from behind, face buried in the pillow, drool at the corner of your mouth, ass in the air, his thick cock splitting you open.
He sent it without hesitation.
“She’s mine now. Stay the fuck outta her life.”
Then he tossed the phone aside and grabbed your throat, not hard—just enough to make your pussy clench around him.
“You feel that?” he growled in your ear. “That’s what being owned feels like. Not that weak shit he had you under”
You shattered on his cock, crying out his name like it was the only word you knew. He followed right after, slamming into you with a guttural moan as he filled you up, cock twitching deep inside.
When it was over, he stayed there for a moment, chest to your back, one hand stroking your hip while the other gently brushed your hair from your face.
“You okay, baby?” he murmured.
You nodded, dazed and glowing. “Never better.”
He smirked and kissed your shoulder, pulling you onto his sweaty chest. “Told you I’d treat you better.”
thinking about plug!law who’d fuck you while your shitty boyfriend just had to call you. “you better plan on fucking dropping him soon,” he’d grunt, thrusting further into your warmth. “‘s pussy’s mine now. bastard doesn’t like it—“ law would grunt, adding one extra forceful thrust. “—he can kick fucking rocks. answer it.” of course you’d do as told and would expect him to stop the moment the call connected but nope! plug!law would continue fucking you, and he’d add in the clit rub mix for free just to get a reaction out of you. it’d be hard for your sweet voice to even ask what your boyfriend wanted, because you’d be too caught up in trying not to whine out for law to fuck into you harder. your soft moans are not missed as your boyfriend aggressively questions why you weren’t paying attention to him. plug!law would hear the commotion on the other end of the line and grin proudly as he’d lean down to suck on your pebbly nipples, your entire body just ready to submit under his command. with a not so subtle pop! sound, he’d tease by muttering, “you gonna tell him what our smoke sessions really consist of, or should i?” when you’d press your pretty manicured fingers along the lines of his abs and down near his pelvis, the dirty drug dealer would chucke malevolently before placing his own hand on your neck.
I honestly didn’t expect this story to be this loved but here’s pt.3💗
Genre: ModernAU! NSFW 18+, Smut, Soft Dom dynamic. Princess treatment]
[Warnings: Explicit language, Violence, Weed use, p in v sex, riding, pinning, dirty talk,Couch sex, possessiveness, infidelity themes, pet names, first exchange of “I love you’s”] MINORS DNI
He wasn’t used to it—but the idea of you made him switch. it’s no longer just hook-ups and high nights. It’s official. It’s Law choosing to show up for you, making it known: he’s yours now. Fully. And he’s going to do it right—his way.
You didn’t even hear the knock at the door.
You just got a text.
‘Law🤍’
come outside, ma. wear that brown dress you like. hair down too.
You blinked.
Wasn’t a request. Wasn’t a question. But your heart still skipped like it was your first time seeing him.
You got dressed—brown slip dress hugging every curve, hair falling soft down your back, lip gloss just a little extra.
You stepped out into the dusk.
And froze.
Law was leaned against a car you didn’t recognize from his others, matte black ‘74 Cutlass, his hoodie swapped for a fitted black tee and a gold chain you’d never seen him wear before. His rings were polished. His hair clean and shaped up. He looked like trouble in the most intentional way.
But the thing that hit you hardest?
He had flowers.
Big ones. Soft pinks and peaches. Wrapped in white tissue and held like they were the most fragile thing in the world.
He looked up and grinned, all slow teeth and heat.
“There she is.”
—
—
He took you out the city—somewhere coastal, away from all the noise. A little rooftop place with dim lights, ocean air, and no cameras. Law had a table reserved already, tipped the hostess before you even sat down.
“You’ve been here before?” you asked, surprised.
He shook his head. “Heard it was your vibe.”
That was Law.
He didn’t ask what you liked. He just knew.
Dinner was soft. Warm.
He listened when you talked. Really listened.
Asked questions. Told you stories he hadn’t shared before—about the first time he got arrested, how he started dealing to cover his father figure’s hospital bills, how he never planned to be this deep in, but “fuck, I’m good at it.”
You saw him raw that night. Unpolished, honest.
And it made you fall harder.
—
After dinner, you ended up parked at the edge of a cliff, wind rushing through your hair, the city lights a soft blur behind you.
You leaned against the car, dress swaying, heart loud.
Law lit a blunt, passed it to you, then leaned close, his voice low.
“I ain’t ever done this before,” he said. “Dates. Feelings. All that shit.”
You looked at him, eyes soft. “Yeah?”
He stared at you for a long second.
Then slipped something out of his pocket.
A box.
You froze. “Is that—”
“Relax,” he laughed. “Not a ring.”
He opened it.
A gold chain. Thin. Simple. With a little charm on it:
L.
“You’re mine now,” he said. “To really lock it in.”
You bit your lip, throat thick.
“I been yours.”
He stepped closer, clasped it around your neck himself.
Then pulled you in and kissed you like it was sealed.
—
—
—
3 months later, Your necklace still never left your neck.
Neither did Law.
You were solid now—together. He slept at your place more than his. You stocked snacks he liked. He had a toothbrush in your bathroom. You started calling each other “baby” out loud and not just in texts.
And tonight? You were going to a party. Something chill—close friends, music, drinks, rooftop. You were invited by your girls. Law by his clients, but you were going together.
You wore a black fitted dress with sheer sleeves and a glossed-up smirk that made Law kiss you before you even made it down the stairs.
“Don’t start unless you ready to cancel,” he muttered, eyes low on you.
You laughed, pulling your bag over your shoulder. “You can handle it.”
He could. Until he couldn’t.
The rooftop was packed—but familiar. Music bumping, smoke in the air, drinks in red cups. You made your rounds with Law tucked close behind you—always a hand on your waist, kept his eyes on you when his hands were busy making business. You were glowing, and he was proud of it.
Until it happened.
You felt it first.
That weird chill up your spine.
And then—
“Damn… still fine, huh?”
You turned.
Him.
Your ex.
The one who barely texted you back but always wanted to “talk” at 2 a.m.
The one who called you dramatic when you cried.
The one who never, ever showed up.
The one who was only here cause he was chill with Vivi’s boyfriend.
Law turned his head, slow. Making his way back to your side.
“Something you need, bro?” he asked, jaw tight.
Your ex smirked. “Just saying hi.”
“Keep it pushing.”
He laughed. “What, you her security guard now?”
“Nah.” Law stepped forward, tone sharp, “I’m her man.”
That’s when your ex made the mistake.
He looked at you and said, “For now.”
And that was it.
Law swung. Without thought, hesitation or care.
The fight was fast but ugly. Fists, shouts, bodies pulling them apart. The ex got one good hit in—but Law made his land. Security came. Loud sirens then Cops followed. Someone had called it in.
Next thing you knew, Law was being cuffed with force, yelling over his shoulder at you as he got dragged into the vehicle—thankful that he sold his last gram before getting into that altercation.
“PINK SHOEBOX—CLOSET—BEHIND THE STACKED ONES.“
You watched as the police car drove away, the flashing lights fading in the distance, confused to what he meant till you made it back to his apartment.
Deep In his closet, hands on the pink shoebox you recognized from the day he took you shopping, giving him a personal fashion show at home that turned into rough nasty sex with empty shopping bags & boxes scattered across the floor.
Your hands tucked the box open and the confusion went away.
“Holy shit…” you coughed out a whisper.
It had to be at least 20k in stacks. Rubber bands securing the wads of cash together. You pulled out a few wads and tossed them into your purse. Putting the shoebox back into his secured spot before rushing to the station.
—
Six hours later.
Law sat in your living room, a towel pressed to his split lip, hoodie half off, ribs bruised.
You were pacing, heart pounding.
“You know how scared I was?” you snapped. “You couldn’t just walk away?”
He scoffed. “That man disrespected you.”
“And you getting locked up fixes that how?”
Silence.
He looked at you—really looked at you.
“I’m not used to walking away,” he said finally. “I spent years having to fight for everything. I see someone threaten what’s mine? I react.”
Your voice cracked. “And if they had kept you?”
He stood up.
Walked over slow.
Took your face in both hands.
“They didn’t. Because you came for me.”
You swallowed.
“I’m not built for this street shit, Law.”
“I know, baby.” He kissed your forehead. “I don’t want you to be.”
You looked up at him.
“I’m scared of losing you.”
His voice dropped. “I been scared of losing you since the first time I woke up in your bed and didn’t wanna leave.”
You stared at him—heart cracked wide open.
Then?
You kissed him.
Hard.
Desperate.
—
You didn’t even make it to the bedroom.
Your dress was halfway off, your body still vibrating with adrenaline and anger and love as Law kissed you like he was trying to memorize you with his mouth.
You barely made it to the couch.
His hoodie was gone. Your dress was peeled down your arms. The necklace he gave you swung lightly between your breasts as he laid you out across the cushions, eyes dark and hungry.
He took his time at first—hands roaming your thighs, your hips, your waist. Every touch said mine. Every kiss was layered with frustration and fire. You tangled your fingers in his curls and pulled, and he groaned against your throat like it undid him.
“You mad at me, baby?” he muttered, lips brushing your collarbone.
“Yeah,” you whispered, breath catching.
“Show me.”
You climbed onto his lap, straddling him, pushing him back into the cushions with your palm on his chest. The other hand sliding off your panties like it was muscle memory. His hand tugging down his waistband lazily to free his dick. Already stiff-hard, needing you on it ASAP.
His hands gripped your hips as you moved, grinding your heat against his cock slow and deliberate, your rhythm fueled by tension and heat and love that had nowhere else to go. His head tipped back, jaw tight, assisting you as you finally wrapped a hand around his shaft, positioning it up and lowering yourself down to the base.
letting you take control—but his grip on you stayed firm, grounding you, steadying you.
“You look so good like this.” he groaned. “Riding like you own me.”
“I do,” you panted.
“You do.” He repeated.
You kissed him—biting, deep—and kept going until your legs started to tremble, the burn building. Law noticed.
His hands slid down to your thighs, steadying you.
“Getting tired, baby?” he asked, voice low, hoarse, teasing.
You swallowed a whimper. “Shut up—”
“Mm.” He grinned. “Let me take care of it.”
And then he moved.
One arm curled under your back, the other hooked around your thigh as he flipped the two of you, pressing you into the couch, pinning your wrists above your head.
His hips met yours in a slow, devastating grind. Over and over. Deep and steady.
You gasped—words lost to the rhythm of him. He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“I got you,” he murmured. “You’re safe with me.”
And when you finally shattered beneath him—legs shaking, eyes glossy, voice raw—he followed soon after, buried in the crook of your neck, breath hot against your skin.
You lay tangled on the couch, his fingers still gently stroking your ribs.
It was quiet for a long time.
Then you whispered, voice shaky
“I love you.”
He kissed your shoulder. Then your lips.
“I love you too.”
And for the first time, it didn’t feel scary. It felt inevitable.
[Warnings: NSFW, Violence, Mention of drugs, Firearm usage, Explicit themes, Soft dom!, p in v sex, makeup sex, aggressive language/behavior.]
MINORS DNI
He left without a trace, like he never cared. So why did he seem care when his phone flashed with that notification?
He was still signed in.
Still getting every motion alert from your doorstep.
And now he was watching—watching this man corner you, watching you scream for help, watching your hand scramble toward the doorframe—
Then the screen went black.
You didn’t remember much after that.
A neighbor opened their door and screamed. The man ran. You got inside, barely able to breathe, hands shaking so bad you couldn’t lock the door right.
You collapsed in the hallway, sobbing.
Then your phone rang.
Unknown number.
You answered with a shaking hand. “H-Hello?”
His voice hit you like a freight train. The sound of his V8 roaring in the distant background.
“Where are you?”
You choked on a sob. “Home.”
“Did he touch you?”
“Law—”
“Did he fucking touch you?!”
“No—but he almost did.”
Silence. Static. Something rustling.
“I’m on my way.”
“Where were you?” you asked, voice cracking. “Why’d you leave me?”
More silence.
Then, just before the line went dead
“…I thought I was the threat.”
—
LAW’S POV
The fight hadn’t even been the worst they’d had.
But something about the way her voice cracked—“you could’ve died, and now you’re handing me the tools to watch you die again”—it buried itself in his chest like another bullet.
He left because he knew she was right.
Because he didn’t want to put her in a position where loving him could get her killed.
Because if she was gone, he wouldn’t survive it. He already knew that. The hospital made that clear.
He thought silence was the safest thing he could give her.
But silence became something else.
He hated the way her name lit up his screen. He hated how his fingers hovered over the answer button every time she called, but he didn’t press it. Not once.
Because if he heard her voice, he’d cave.
And if he caved, he’d crawl right back into her arms and bring the danger with him.
He was on a couch in some no-name trap when his phone buzzed with the Ring notification.
Motion detected at front door: 11:38 PM.
He tapped it out of habit. Then he saw her.
Panicked. Cornered. Backed against the wall.
Some dude in a red jacket grabbing her.
Law’s world stopped.
He didn’t think. He grabbed his keys. Didn’t say goodbye to the boys. grabbed his piece. Didn’t even grab his shoes.
All he saw was her.
Screaming. Backed against the door. Alone.
And he’d left her there.
—
—
You didn’t even know you were still on the floor when the first knock hit the door.
You startled, still crying, barely able to move.
Then the second knock came.
“Baby. It’s me.”
You scrambled up, unlocked the door with shaking hands, and—
There he was.
Hair messy. Hoodie halfway zipped. Face wild with panic. He looked like he’d been running for miles.
“Are you okay?”
You didn’t answer. You just threw yourself into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, fisting his hoodie like he’d disappear again if you let go.
His arms wrapped around you instantly.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
You pulled back just far enough to look at him, hands on his jaw. “What the fuck is wrong with you—Why didn’t you come back? I called 46 times”
His expression cracked then. Breaking into tears as he held you tighter.
Like he’d been holding everything back until now.
“I thought I was the thing hurting you” he whispered. “I thought the best way to protect you was to stay the fuck away. But seeing that video—you—screaming for help, and I wasn’t there…”
He trailed off, throat working as he pulled you back into him.
“I’m not built to lose you. Not after everything. Not like that.”
You shook your head, tears falling fresh. “You left me alone, Law. I didn’t know if you were dead or just done with me. You shut me out.”
“I know” he whispered. “And I hate myself for it.”
You pulled away again, barely able to breathe. “You gave me a gun and vanished. That’s not love, Law. That’s not how you protect someone.”
“I thought you’d be safer if I wasn’t around.”
“And I wasn’t!” you snapped. “Don’t you get it? You leaving doesn’t erase what you’ve done. It just takes you away from me.”
His eyes locked with yours tearfully.
For once, no walls.
No ego. No deflection.
Just pure, bone-deep regret.
“I’m sorry” he said, quietly. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You grabbed his hand, placed it on your chest, over your heart. “You want to protect me? Then stop trying to disappear when things get hard. Be here. With me.”
He nodded. Slowly. Sincerely.
“I’m not going anywhere again.” His hands reached out in concern towards your arm that was still slightly trembling after slipping on the pair of slides he forgot by the door. “But for now let’s go, I’m getting you checked out.”
His car remained the same as you remembered, all black interior, the scent of sativa mixed with the black ice air freshener. The little pink gems on the dashboard spelled out in your name on the passenger side.
—
You hadn’t said much since the hospital released you.
A bandage peeked out from your jacket sleeve where the bastard had grabbed you. Your neck still ached from the chokehold. The bruises hadn’t bloomed yet— but Law saw them anyway, every time he blinked.
He hadn’t let go of you since.
Not when you flinched unlocking the apartment door. Not when you quietly checked the locks twice. Not even now, sitting on the edge of the bed, your knees pulled up to your chest, his hoodie swallowing you whole.
Law sat across from you, elbows on his knees, eyes glued to the floor.
His voice was low. Gravel.
“I should’ve been there.”
You didn’t answer.
“You wouldn’t’ve been alone if I’d just fucking answered the phone. Or stayed. Or—” He stopped, jaw tight. “—Or never put you in this shit to begin with.”
Your throat burned.
“I could’ve died, Law.”
He nodded slowly. “I know.”
“I thought I was going to.”
He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot, guilt swimming in the brown you loved so much.
“I was screaming” you whispered. “He had me on the ground. If the Ring camera hadn’t sent you that alert…”
Law’s fists clenched on his knees.
You broke. Quiet, broken sobs, shoulders shaking as you finally let the fear spill out of your chest. “You said I was safe with you. That this life wasn’t gonna follow me anymore.”
He was already moving before you could say more — crossing the room, pulling you into his arms with a gentleness that split you open. You clung to him like the last solid thing left in the world.
“I’m sorry” he whispered, lips pressed to your temple. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You shook in his arms, hands twisted in the fabric of his shirt.
“I can’t do this forever, Law” you breathed. “Looking over my shoulder. Praying the people who hate you don’t come for me instead.”
He nodded into your hair. “I know. I know.”
Then silence.
Heavy. Thick. Until he finally said the words that would shift the ground beneath your feet.
“I was gonna wait to bring this up. But not after tonight.”
You leaned back, eyes searching his face.
“I want to marry you.”
You froze.
“I don’t care if it’s stupid timing. If we’re too messy. If the world’s still fucked. I almost lost you, and I realized I’d die never having called you my wife.”
Your heart thudded.
“I know I need to clean it all up. Tie off the streets for good. Move smart. But I’m already yours” he said. “Let me make it real.”
You stared at him. Bruised. Shaken. But completely his.
Your voice cracked. “You want to marry me after all this?”
“I want to marry you because of all this” he said. “Because if there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that I can’t afford to ever take you for granted again.”
You lunged into his arms again, pulling him close, your lips crashing into his. A kiss that tasted like tears and truth and desperation.
“I want that too” you whispered. “But only if you swear you’re gonna protect us the right way. For real this time.”
“I swear” he breathed against your lips. “No more lies. No more slips. I’m done with that life. You’re the only future I want.”
—
—
Law wasn’t the same after that night as the months passed.
You noticed it in the small things first—the tension behind his eyes when he kissed you good morning. The way he double-checked every lock, every window, every car parked too long on your street.
But it was more than paranoia.
It was resolve.
It started with phone calls. Quiet meetings. That old duffle bag you used to pretend not to see under the bed replaced with spreadsheets and wire transfers.
“What are you doing?” you asked him one night, watching as he tapped something into his laptop, gold chains low on his bare chest.
He looked up at you, blinking slowly. “Washing.”
You blinked. “Washing?”
“Dirty to clean. I’m done moving weight. I’m investing it now. Quiet shit. Real estate. Trucking. Crypto that ain’t trash.”
You raised a brow. “Seriously?”
“I told you I was done” he said. “That shit almost cost me you. I can’t keep walking like that and expect to keep the crown.”
You walked over and sat on his lap, letting his arms slide around your waist. “It’s gonna be hard.”
“I know.”
“You gonna stay out?”
His eyes darkened slightly, but not in the way that scared you. In the way that said he was thinking about every move like chess.
“I’m getting out smart. That means slow. Quiet. And permanent.”
You nodded, burying your face in his neck.
—
Then came the next part—the one that made it all feel real.
“I want us gone” he told you two days later. “Out of this city. Somewhere they can’t touch you.”
Your heart sank. “But my girls—my whole life is here.”
“I know. I don’t wanna take you from what you love.” He took your hand gently. “But if I don’t take you away from here, it might take you from me.”
You looked into his eyes—and saw it. That fear he never said aloud. The fear of another night where he had to watch you through a phone screen, helpless, as someone tried to take what was his.
“I’ll still bring you back whenever you want” he said softly. “Fly your friends out. Spoil you. Give you everything you dreamed of. But we gotta start over. Just us.”
You swallowed. Nodded.
“Okay.”
—
The day he handed you the Glock again, you flinched.
“I don’t want this” you said, stepping back from the case.
“I know.” He didn’t push it. “But I need you to know it. Just in case.”
“Law…”
He gently took your hands and placed the gun into them. “I never want you to use it. But I want you to know how.”
The training didn’t last long—just enough for you to stop shaking as you held the gun in the range. He kissed your temple every time you hit your mark, held your waist down every time he caught you shaking. His eyes told you it wasn’t about turning you hard—it was about making sure you lived.
You weren’t just his girl anymore.
You were his wife-to-be. Even if there wasn’t a ring—yet.
And he treated you like it.
Princess treatment came in full waves: late-night bubble baths, luxury lingerie laid out for no reason, boxes arriving at your door with things you only mentioned once in passing. Trips out of town. Safe houses you didn’t even know he had.
One night, as you sat curled up in his hoodie, new silk bonnet tied, your feet in his lap, he looked at you over the rim of his glass and said
“Tell me everything you want in a house.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Your dream house. Every detail. No filter.”
You raised a brow, but he didn’t budge.
You listed it all—bay windows, walk-in closet, garden tub, light pink tiled bathroom, a kitchen with gold finishes. A backyard with enough space to read under the sun.
He nodded through every word.
Then kissed your ankle and said, “Done.”
“You serious?” you asked, voice soft with disbelief, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips. “You’re really about to build me a dream house?”
Law didn’t look up from your feet—his thumbs pressing slow, perfect pressure into your arches.
“I said tell me everything you wanted” he murmured. “You think I ain’t been listening all this time?”
You giggled softly. “You never look like you’re listening.”
“That’s ‘cause I’m too busy staring at your pretty ass mouth while you talk.”
You playfully nudged him with your toe. He caught your foot mid-swipe and pulled it forward, pressing a kiss to your ankle.
It was gentle at first. Reverent.
Then his lips lingered. Warm. Intentional.
You stilled.
“Law…”
His eyes met yours. Dark. Focused. A storm behind them, barely restrained.
“You got any idea what it does to me?” he said lowly, his voice husky. “Thinking about waking up to you every day, in that house. Watching you walk around in nothing but my shirt, barefoot in a kitchen you designed.”
Your lips parted as he slid his hands up your calves, slow and firm, spreading warmth and goosebumps in his wake.
“Watching you in our bed, in the sunlight…” His hands reached your thighs now, pulling you closer until your legs bracketed his lap, until he was staring up at you like you were the one who built the world.
“Law…”
He pulled you down gently, letting you straddle him on the couch. His hands never left your body. The way they slid under the oversized tee you were wearing—his, of course—made your breath catch.
“You know I’d give you the world if you asked.”
You rocked your hips against him slightly, and he growled low in his throat, cock twitching under the soft fabric of his sweats.
“Yeah? Then give me you,” you whispered. “Right here.”
His mouth was on yours instantly—desperate, deep, teeth grazing your lower lip as you rolled your hips again, grinding against his growing bulge. He grabbed a fistful of your ass, pushing you down harder.
“Fuck, baby…” he hissed, breaking the kiss, burying his face in your neck. “This how you say thank you?”
You nodded, breathless. “It’s how I say don’t stop.”
“Good, ‘wasn’t gonna”
In one smooth motion, Law pulled his sweats low enough to free his cock—thick, veiny, already leaking for you—and lifted your hips.
“No panties?” he growled, grinning against your throat. “You knew what you were doing.”
You bit your lip and nodded again.
He dragged the head of his cock through your slick folds, teasing your entrance, both of you moaning softly at the contact.
Then—slowly—he pulled you down onto him.
You gasped as he stretched you, inch by inch, filling you so deep your thighs trembled around his.
“Shit—Law…”
“You take me so good, baby” he groaned, gripping your hips tightly. “Always so fucking tight f’ me.”
You rocked your hips slowly, both of you moaning in sync, your bodies moving like they were made to do this. Like they always did.
His hands slid under your shirt to grab your tits, rough fingers pinching your nipples until you arched into him.
“Love these” he growled. “Love you.”
You leaned forward, pressing kisses along his jaw, whispering the filthiest things in his ear—how good he felt, how badly you needed him to ruin you on this couch. You both were freaked out to the max.
But your thighs started to burn, your rhythm faltering.
He noticed immediately.
“Tired already?” he teased, breathless.
You nodded with a whimper.
He chuckled darkly, hands gripping your waist tight.
“Then let me take over.”
He flipped you onto your back in one swift motion, pressing you into the cushions as he drove his cock back into you, hard and deep.
You cried out, fingers scrambling for purchase as he fucked you slow, then fast, then slow again—each thrust measured, claiming, worshipful and possessive all at once.
“Mine” he grunted. “You hear me?”
“Yours—fuck—always—”
“You’re gonna cum for me, baby?” he growled, thumb rubbing fast circles against your clit. “Soak my dick, just like that.”
“Law—!“ You shattered around him, walls clenching, body jerking beneath his as you moaned his name like a prayer.
He followed soon after, cursing low into your skin, filling you deep as he collapsed against you, breath hot and uneven.
For a long moment, the only sound in the room was your combined breathing, the faint buzz of the record spinning somewhere behind you.
Then he kissed your forehead.
“I meant it” he whispered. “The house. The new life. You’re getting all of it.”
You wrapped your arms around him.
“I already got everything I want.”
—
You stood barefoot in the kitchen, the same oversized hoodie hanging off your shoulder, a bowl of ice cream in hand. The sound of your spoon clinking lightly against the ceramic bowl broke the silence, and Law, shirtless, leaned against the counter across from you—still watching you like you were dessert.
“You’re staring” you murmured, licking a bit of vanilla from your lip.
“You’re doing that on purpose..” he said lowly, voice still gravel from earlier.
“I’m just eating?” you teased, sliding the spoon between your lips, letting it linger.
“You really think I was gonna let you eat that and walk away clean?” he murmured, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
You shivered under his touch, your voice barely a whisper. “I thought you were tired.”
His fingers dragged downward, slow and heavy, until his grip wrapped firm around your waist. “I was. Until I saw you sucking on that spoon like you forgot what my mouth just did to you an hour ago.”
You let out a soft gasp as he pressed his hips into yours. He was already hard again, the heat of him undeniable through the thin barrier of his sweats and nothing else.
“You’re trouble” he growled.
You leaned back into him, tilting your head. “You like trouble Mr. Convict .”
He spun you, lifting you onto the counter in one smooth motion, the cold marble sending a shock through your thighs. His hands slid up beneath the hoodie, pushing the hem higher, revealing more and more of your bare skin.
“You know what this hoodie means when you wear it, right?” he asked low, eyes locked on yours as his fingers slid along your inner thighs. Turning you back around to face him.
You nodded, breath catching. “Yours.”
His mouth crashed against yours with no hesitation, tongue deep, demanding. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, heels digging into his back, trying to pull him closer, harder.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his voice thick. “You gonna stay quiet, baby? Or you gonna let the whole building know who’s making you feel this good?”
Your fingers tangled in his hair. “The walls aren’t that thin.”
That was all he needed.
He slid the hoodie up your thighs, groaning at the wetness already coating you, his touch purposeful, claiming. He teased you just long enough to make your back arch before aligning himself—hot, hard, and ready—and sliding into you in one slow, deep stroke.
The moan that tore from your throat echoed off the kitchen walls.
He cursed low under his breath. “So fucking tight—like you were waiting for me to do this again.”
his pace picked up, hips slamming into yours, the sound of skin on skin competing with your gasps and his name spilling from your lips.
Every thrust was deep and punishing, and yet—somehow—he never lost that control. One hand gripping your hip, the other cradling the back of your head like you were fragile even as he broke you open.
You locked eyes through half-lidded lashes, your voice barely a whisper.
“Don’t stop…”
His jaw clenched, sweat beading on his temple. “Not till you’re cryin mama.”
He shifted your leg higher, changing the angle, and you felt it instantly—how much deeper he could reach, how perfectly he filled you.
Your body responded before your words could. The heat, the tightness, the dizzying pressure—until everything unraveled in white-hot waves. You clung to him, riding it out, gasping against his neck as he followed with a low, guttural moan, hips stilling deep inside you.
He stayed there for a moment—forehead pressed to yours, both of you breathless and trembling, wrapped in the silence of satisfaction.
“We’re really gonna build that new life, you know?”
You smiled, touching your nose to his. “Yeah. One kitchen counter at a time.”
[Warnings: NSFW 18+, Violence, Weed use, infidelity themes, p in v sex, riding, oral sex, birthday sex [😉]Emotional tension, mentions of pregnancy🌚 this is a long one guys]
MINORS DNI
“Why the fuck is there a gun in your car?”
Law didn’t move. His expression didn’t shift. But something in the air changed.
“It’s just precaution” he said after a beat.
“Precaution? What the hell does that mean?” You sat up straighter, eyes wide now. “Do you use it?”
He looked away, jaw tense. “Only if I have to.”
“That’s not an answer.”
He sighed and ran a hand over his curls. “Baby, you know what I’m involved in. You knew when you got with me.”
“I knew you dealt” you said, voice shaking, “but this? You didn’t tell me you were out here carrying guns. You didn’t tell me it was this real.”
“It’s protection.”
“From what, Law? Who the hell are you protecting yourself from if you’re doing this ‘quiet’ like you said?”
His silence was loud.
You stared at him, mouth dry.
“Have you used it before?”
More silence.
Then,
“Yeah.”
It wasn’t said with pride. Or guilt. Just truth.
Your chest tightened. You felt suddenly small in that passenger seat.
“This isn’t the life I want” you whispered. “Not for you. Not for me.”
His eyes cut to yours.
“And you think I do? You think I want this forever? I carry that because I got too much to lose now. You. Us. I can’t have people thinking I’m soft just ’cause I fell in love.”
That stunned you.
He looked away, swallowing.
“You’re not in danger. I keep all this separate. But if someone tried something? I wouldn’t hesitate. I’d protect you. Every time.”
You didn’t speak for a long moment.
Finally, you whispered: “I don’t want to lose you to a bullet or a sentence.”
His hand found yours—squeezing tight.
“You won’t,” he said. “But if you need me to walk away from all that—for real—I will.”
You looked at him, eyes glassy.
“Promise?”
His thumb brushed over your knuckles.
“I promise, baby.”
You weren’t sure if you believed it yet. But in that moment, the honesty, the tension, the fear and love all braided together—it felt real.
—
You never asked him to stop.
You could’ve. You thought about it a hundred times—when he came home late with tense shoulders, or when his phone lit up with names you didn’t recognize. You saw the look in his eyes sometimes, quiet and calculating, like he was always five steps ahead of someone you couldn’t see.
But he always came home.
He never lied to you.
And most nights, he worshipped you like you were the only thing in his world untouched by all that dirt.
He spoiled you. Softened you. Let you see parts of him no one else got—his low chuckles when you teased him, the way he buried his face in your neck when he was overwhelmed, the late-night skin-on-skin talks where he’d run his fingers down your spine and confess things he couldn’t say in the daylight.
You never said it out loud, but you were scared.
Every time he left, that fear coiled low in your stomach. Not because you didn’t trust him—but because you knew what that life came with. And you loved him more than your pride wanted to admit.
So when your birthday came around, you didn’t expect much. You never did.
But Law had different plans.
He told you to pack a bag—just a weekend one. Didn’t say where. Just picked you up around sunset in his newly detailed car, eyes dark with something between lust and pride when he saw you step outside in that short, tight dress.
“Damn” he said, tongue grazing his teeth as he helped you in. “Birthday girl’s tryna kill me early.”
You smirked. “It’s my day, right?”
“It’s your world.”
The resort was just outside the city—private suite, balcony hot tub, candles lit like the place had been prepped by hand. And it had.
You barely had time to compliment the view before he was on you—spinning you around, lips on your neck, hands gripping the backs of your thighs.
“Didn’t even get to dinner yet” you teased.
“Dinner can wait” he muttered, voice already thick.
He lifted you with ease, laying you out on the bed like he’d dreamed about it all day. His mouth left heat wherever it touched—your collarbones, your stomach, the inside of your thighs.
“Let me take care of you tonight” he said, fingers already sliding under your panties, “just you. No stress. No outside shit.”
You nodded, breath hitching, your body already trembling from the way he touched you like you were breakable.
But his hands didn’t stay soft for long.
He had you moaning within minutes, head thrown back, his tongue deep between your thighs, working you slow until your legs shook against his shoulders. He didn’t stop until you were begging.
Then came the teasing—grinding his hips against yours without giving in, letting you feel just how hard he was while he whispered in your ear
“You gonna ride it for me, birthday girl?”
You nodded fast—real fast, already pulling his dick free, already aching to be filled. Licking a long stripe up his shaft before repositioning yourself in his lap. sank down on him slow, mouth falling open as you stretched around him, his hands gripping your hips tight.
You started to move—slow, deep rolls of your hips, using him just the way he loved watching you do. His hands slid up your waist to your tits, gripping, squeezing, his head tilted back with a groan.
“Just like that—fuck ‘ma” he said, voice low. “Take what you need.”
You rode him until your legs couldn’t take anymore—until you were panting, shaking, falling forward into his chest.
He didn’t mind.
Law flipped you with ease, taking over, thrusting into you deep and steady, each stroke hitting perfect, his hand gripping your thigh high, thumb rubbing circles on your clit.
You came again under him, gasping his name, and he followed with a grunt, burying himself deep, holding you close like he couldn’t bear to let go.
—
Later, you laid tangled in sheets, your head on his chest, heart still fluttering.
“You okay?” he asked softly, brushing hair from your face.
You nodded. “Better than okay.”
He hesitated. “I know you don’t like what I do. I know it scares you.”
You looked up at him. “I don’t need you to be someone else. Just… promise me you’ll be careful.”
His jaw flexed. “For you? Always.”
And just when you thought the night was done, he stood, walked to the closet—and came back with a tiny velvet box.
You blinked. “What is—?”
“Open it.”
Inside, a delicate diamond necklace. Thin, sparkling, with your initials twined into the center in gold.
Not a ring. But something close.
“I want people to know you’re mine” he said. “Even if I’m not ready to give you the last name yet.”
You smiled, heart aching with how full it was.
“You’re really trying to ruin every man for me, huh?”
He smirked, leaning down to kiss you again, slow and deep.
“That’s the plan.”
—
—
The week after your birthday trip, everything should’ve been golden.
You were still glowing — from the sex, the gifts, the way he made you feel like the only girl in the universe. You were wearing the necklace he gave you, his initials warm against your collarbone, curled up on the couch in one of his shirts, flipping through menus for takeout.
But Law had been pacing.
Phone in hand. Jaw tight. Chain swinging low over his chest with every slow turn.
You didn’t want to ask.
You knew that look too well.
Eventually, he stopped in front of the door and turned back toward you.
“Gotta step out real quick” he muttered, grabbing his jacket from the back of the couch.
Your heart dropped, just a little. “Right now?”
“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long.”
“Is it serious?”
He paused. Just for a beat.
“Nah. Just checking someone.”
You stared at him, lips parting to say don’t go—but you swallowed it. Nodded instead.
“Be careful” you said quietly.
His expression softened. He crossed back over, leaned down, kissed you deep—once, then again, like he didn’t want to leave either.
“Always am, mama. You know that.”
—
You tried not to spiral, but hours passed. No texts. No updates. It was supposed to be ten minutes.
You were going to tell him that night.
The test sat hidden in your purse, wrapped in a tissue, your fingers tracing the edge of the stick every five minutes like it would change. Two pink lines.
You were pregnant. Nothing official besides the clearblue test you took.
Your heart had been racing all day—caught between excitement and dread. You weren’t ready. He wasn’t ready. But still… it was his. Yours.
And somehow, deep down, that made it feel okay.
He said he’d be back before midnight. “Just a drop-off” he told you. “Ten minutes, tops.” So why was he late?
So you waited.
And waited.
And when your phone rang at 12:47AM, it wasn’t his name on the screen. It was Kilo’s. One of his guys. Voice tight. Shaky.
Pink cloudssssss we need moreeee😫😩😩🙏🏾🙏🏾 you been feeding us good PLZZ
LOLLLL YALL have been pressing me😭😭 HERES the longest chapter of this story it’s been sitting in my drafts [I can’t believe this is really turning into a series wow, lmk if I should continue]
DONE WITH GAMES [Pink Clouds pt.4]
Pairing: Plug!Law x Fem!Reader. [ P.t1] [ Pt.2] [ Pt.3]
[Genre: ModernAU! NSFW 18+, smut (multiple scenes), Soft dom!, Princess treatment, Romance, Angst—happy ending?, porn with lots of plot basically.]
[Warnings: Violence, Weed use, Relationship turmoil, Heavy vulnerability, makeup sex, p in v sex, Riding, Missionary, Luxury romance, Heavy language, Emotional tension]
MINORS DNI
Every relationship has its ups & downs, what happens if one button gets pressed too hard, how will you both deal with it? Will you both deal with it?
It started with something small.
You didn’t even remember what.
A tone. A comment. Law being snappy. You snapping back.
But it spiraled—fast and sharp.
You were in the kitchen, arms crossed, voice tight. He was pacing by the window, hoodie half-off, chain swinging as he got louder.
“Why do you always do that?” you snapped.
“Do what, ma?” Law bit back, voice rising. “Call you out when you pretend shit don’t bother you?”
“You don’t call me out. You shut me down. You don’t listen. You just react!”
“Oh, I’m sorry—was I supposed to be calm when I found out you went out with your girls and didn’t tell me your ex was there?”
You blinked. “He showed up, Law. I didn’t invite him—”
“You didn’t leave either.”
That cut.
It wasn’t what he said—it was how he said it. Cold. Accusing. Like he didn’t trust you.
Like you weren’t the one who bailed him out. Loved him. Stayed.
You stepped back.
“I don’t need permission to go out.”
“No, but some respect would be nice.”
You shook your head. “You’re not mad about respect. You’re mad because you’re insecure that you can’t even trust me.”
That did it.
His jaw clenched. “Wow.”
“Yeah. Wow.”
He laughed bitterly and grabbed his keys.
Your heart thudded. “You’re leaving?”
He paused at the door, voice low, dangerous. “If I don’t, I’ma say something I can’t take back.”
You didn’t stop him.
You wanted to.
But you didn’t.
—
—
Two days passed.
No texts. No calls. Nothing but silence.
You cried once. Then twice. Then stopped eating. Stopped sleeping.
He didn’t come home.
You didn’t reach out.
The necklace stayed on—but you hadn’t touched it since.
You missed him.
But your pride kept your fingers off your phone.
Until the third night.
Until the dark wrapped around you tight, and the space beside you in bed felt hollow, and you broke down—chest heaving, heart aching, tears soaking your pillow.
You grabbed your phone, hands trembling.
Are you up?
No reply.
You waited ten minutes.
Then
I’m sorry.
Still nothing.
So you called.
—————
One ring.
Two.
Then—
“Baby?”
His voice was hoarse. Tired. Like he hadn’t slept either.
You couldn’t breathe. You couldn’t talk.
Only sob.
“Baby—baby, what’s wrong? Where are you?” His voice got louder, you could hear him forcing the grogginess away to listen to you.
“I—I miss you.. I’m sorry Law” you choked. “I didn’t want you to go.”
“I didn’t wanna leave.”
“But you did.”
“I know,” he whispered. “I fucked up.”
You cried harder, the tears you dried out from crying earlier resurfaced.
“I was scared, alright?” he said, breath shaky. “You out with your girls, he’s there, and I just—I panicked. I didn’t trust the situation, and I took it out on you. I was wrong.”
You sniffled.
“I hated the way you looked at me,” he said, voice cracking. “Like you were already halfway gone.” His tone softened, allowing you to hear the background noise from his end—wherever he was it did not sound like his apartment at all, too loud, the sound of an engine rolling maybe. The one of his favorite car, the one with the passenger seat decked out with your personal touches.
“I wasn’t,” you whispered. “But I could’ve been.”
Silence.
Then
“I’m outside.”
You froze. The line ended, and you hurried to go wash the puffiness off your face.
He knocked seconds later. And when you opened the door, he looked like hell—hoodie up, eyes red—not the type from getting strained out. like he’d been replaying the argument over and over.
You didn’t say anything.
You just launched into his arms.
He held you tight. His chain was cold against your cheek. His heart beat wild in his chest.
“I love you,” he murmured into your hair. “I’m sorry. I’ll do better. Don’t leave.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered. “But don’t make me feel like I should.”
He pulled back just enough to look at you, brushing your tears away with shaking hands.
“Never again.”
—
—
Law’s arms didn’t leave you for a long time.
You just stood there in the middle of the apartment, your face in his neck, his breath in your hair. He didn’t speak unless you did. He held you like he was afraid to let go again—like you might disappear if he blinked too long.
Eventually, you pulled back just a little, hands still clutching his hoodie.
“You eat?”
He shook his head. “Wasn’t hungry.”
You looked at the clock—1:13 a.m.
With a sigh, you tugged on his hand and led him to the kitchen.
You moved quietly—pulling out bread, eggs, cheese, whatever you had to whip up a sandwich. Law sat at the counter, eyes on you the whole time. Not possessive—just quiet. Grateful.
When you set the plate down in front of him, he hesitated.
Then stood up and kissed your cheek.
“Didn’t know how much I missed this,” he murmured. “You taking care of me like this.”
“I didn’t know how much I needed to.”
He ate in silence, and you just leaned on the counter, watching him—watching the way his shoulders dropped, the tension slowly leaking out of him.
And then, without a word, you both turned in for the night.
The bed felt different now.
Not because of distance—but because of everything that’d cracked wide open between you.
You laid down beside him, your back pressed to his chest, his arm around your waist. You thought you’d sleep easy, heart finally full again.
But twenty minutes passed.
Then forty.
Then your chest started to ache.
It crept in quietly at first. That horrible, thick feeling. The fear. The echo of his voice saying “If I don’t leave, I’ma say something I can’t take back.”
And the silence that followed.
You broke.
Your shoulders started shaking, soft sobs muffled into your pillow. You didn’t want to wake him.
But Law was already leaning up behind you, voice groggy and concerned. “Baby?”
You shook your head. “Sorry. Sorry—I’m okay—”
“You’re crying,” he said, sitting up, pulling you into his lap. “Come here. What is it?”
You gripped his shirt, forehead pressed to his chest.
“I hated that night,” you whispered. “I hated thinking I’d wake up and you’d be gone for good. It scared me so bad, Law.”
“I know, baby. I know.”
“I don’t care how mad we get,” you said through tears. “Don’t leave. Please. Don’t walk away like that again.”
He cupped your jaw, thumbing away the tears. “I won’t. I swear to God, I won’t. I’ll sit on the damn floor if I have to, but I’m not walking away again.”
You just stared at him, bottom lip trembling.
And then—so softly you barely heard.
“Let me hold you right.”
He kissed you.
Not rough. Not urgent.
Intentional.
Like every part of him needed to remind every part of you—you were his. Still. Always.
Law’s mouth was on yours before you could say anything else, hands already roaming your waist like he needed to feel every inch of you to believe you were still his.
The kiss was rough at first—like he was angry at himself, like he needed to say I’m sorry without words. But then it softened, his lips dragging slow over yours, lingering. Savoring.
You climbed onto him again, straddling his lap, your hands in his curls, tugging as his tongue slid past your lips, deepening the kiss. His hands gripped your thighs, then your waist, then up your back, like he didn’t know where to touch first.
When he pulled away, his voice was low and hoarse. “Let me see you, baby. All of you.”
You lifted your shirt slowly, your eyes never leaving his. His hands were there before you finished, tugging it off the rest of the way, pressing his lips to your collarbone, your chest, the center of your stomach like he was grounding himself in the feel of your body.
You could feel him hard beneath you, pressing up against you through his sweats, and your hips rolled without thinking.
His breath hitched.
“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” he warned softly, but there was no bite in it. Just need. Just reverence.
You leaned in and kissed him again, moving against him slowly, teasing the friction between your bodies until he groaned, tilting his head back, giving you a view of his neck, his jawline, the strain in his throat.
“You gonna ride me?” he whispered, eyes fluttering half-shut. “Make up for all that silence?”
Your fingers slid under his hoodie, tugging it off him, revealing inked skin and lean muscle. His chest rose and fell beneath your touch as you leaned down, kissing your way along one of his tattoos.
“I missed you,” you whispered against his skin.
“You got no idea,” he muttered, his hands sliding down to your hips again, guiding you as you ground down harder.
Eventually, you pulled down his sweats, freeing him, your breath catching at the way he twitched against your inner thigh. He looked wrecked already, watching you slide your underwear to the side as you sank down onto him slowly—inch by inch—his name already slipping off your lips in a breathless moan.
He hissed in a breath, eyes locked on yours.
“Fuck, baby…”
You rolled your hips slowly, letting yourself get lost in the feel of him stretching you, filling you, the heat between your bodies dizzying.
You rode him until your thighs trembled, until your rhythm faltered, and he noticed. He always did.
“Come here,” he said, voice thick, and flipped you onto your back in one smooth motion.
His pace picked up—deep, steady thrusts that left you gasping, gripping the sheets, your nails digging into his back.
You wrapped your legs around him, heels pressing into the small of his back as he drove into you harder, each stroke pressing you deeper into the mattress.
“Look at me,” he growled, thumb under your chin. “Let me see those eyes when you fall apart.”
You did.
And when you came—your body arching beneath him, moaning his name like it was all that kept you tethered—he followed with a deep groan, burying himself inside you as he came undone.
For a long time, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, breath mingling, hands still stroking gently over your waist like he was afraid you’d vanish.
“I’m still here,” you whispered, brushing a hand over his damp curls.
He kissed your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“So am I.”
—
—
Things had shifted since the night of the fight.
He started spoiling you harder.
Not just with gifts—but with presence. Time. Thought. He learned the way you liked your coffee without asking. Paid attention to which songs made you hum in the car. Took you shopping and never let you touch the door. If you admired something—even once—it showed up in a bag the next day, neatly wrapped.
You were his girl. And he made sure the world knew.
Lingerie from boutiques you used to scroll through but never buy. Reservations at candle-lit rooftop spots. Nights wrapped in Egyptian cotton, his chain swinging low between your bare bodies, fingers running through your hair while you drifted off on his chest.
Princess treatment wasn’t a phrase anymore. It was your lifestyle.
But not everything glowed.
Not everything glittered.
One night—late, after the city had gone still—you two were driving. His hand rested on your thigh, the other on the wheel, smoke curling from the joint between his fingers. The music was low, bass heavy, something ambient and soft, almost hypnotic.
You were high, warm in your seat, his hoodie around your shoulders, the city lights bleeding past you in a blur.
He pulled into a quiet overlook—trees framing the skyline in shadows—and passed you the joint with a smirk.
“You good, baby?” he asked, leaning in, lips brushing your ear.
You nodded, lazily. “Better than good.”
You reached for his glovebox without thinking—searching for napkins or gum—and your fingers froze.
There it was.
A black Glock. Clean. Cold. Sitting like it belonged there.
Your buzz vanished.
You slammed the glovebox shut, pulse suddenly hammering in your ears.
He noticed.
“What’s wrong?”
You looked at him—heart pounding. “Why the fuck is there a gun in your car?”
[Warnings: NSFW, Violence, mention of drugs, mention of injuries, mentions of assault, gang violence. ]
MINORS DNI now when I said this one was long, it’s LONG.
The emergency room smelled like antiseptic and trauma. You pushed through the doors with no bra, no jacket, heart threatening to give out.
“K—Kilo. Where is he?” you asked, breathless.
His eyes were red. “They said he was stable. He—he got hit. Drive-by. Some East Side dude thought Law was settin’ up shop too close.”
“What?”
“He wasn’t even armed. Just talkin’. Got clipped in the side. He lost a lotta blood.”
You couldn’t hear anything after that. Just static. Just your own breath in your ears as your knees gave out beneath you.
⸻
The wait felt like a year.
You were slumped in a chair in the hall outside the ICU, fingers digging into your thighs, phone buzzing non-stop with people trying to check in. But all you could think about was the blood. The way his voice sounded the last time he called you. The way your hand had rested low over your stomach earlier that evening with a nervous breakdown on how he’d react to it.
And now he might not even make it. Might never hear about it.
When the doctor finally came out—young, exhausted, but with a faint smile—you stood up so fast the room spun.
“He’s out of surgery. Lost a lot of blood but… he’s strong. He’s gonna make it.”
You cried so hard your body folded in on itself.
You were allowed in an hour later.
He looked… pale. Hooked to machines. Bandaged tight across the ribs. His lashes were too long for someone who looked this wrecked. The monitor beeped steady and slow.
You sat beside him and just stared.
“You asshole” you whispered, voice cracking.
And then the tears came again.
“I was so mad at you for leaving” you sobbed. “I was gonna yell when you got home. And then I was gonna tell you that I’m pregnant. That I—I don’t know how to do this. That I need you.”
Your head dropped onto the edge of the bed, forehead against the back of his hand.
“I need you, Law. I don’t care how bad it gets, I just—don’t die on me.”
—
—
3 weeks earlier
He’d come home late, tired but wired, pulling you onto his lap on the couch. You’d kissed for hours, barely making it to the bedroom.
“You’re so fuckin’ soft” he’d murmured, pressing kisses down your chest. “My lil’ pillow princess. My girl.”
You were on your back, legs open for him, his fingers in your hair, his voice in your ear. “Take this dick like I know you can. Just like that, baby…”
He’d kissed you slow while he fucked you, his thrusts deep and thick and perfect, and you remembered now—how his hand had drifted to your lower belly when he came inside you.
He’d murmured, “You’d look so good with my baby in you.”
You laughed, half dazed from both the weed & your orgasm. “You seriously tryna baby trap me? Ring first buddy”
He shook his head with a smile “That’s the plan princess, whole future wit you.”
Now, days later, he lay unconscious in a hospital bed, and that image haunted you—because it might never happen.
You didn’t sleep.
You just sat there, watching the rise and fall of his chest, whispering please to anyone who might be listening.
—
—
It happened on the fourth night. You were asleep on the little couch in the corner, curled into a tight ball when something shifted in the room.
A groan. Low and strained.
You bolted upright.
“Law?”
Another groan. Then—
“Shit…”
You were at his side in seconds, grabbing his hand, pressing the call button.
“Hey—hey, it’s okay. You’re okay. Just breathe.”
His eyes fluttered open, dark and glassy, darting across the ceiling. Then they landed on you.
“…Baby?”
Your heart broke.
“I’m here. I’m right here.”
His fingers squeezed yours, weak but sure. “Where am I?”
“You’re safe. You got hit but you made it. You scared the shit out of me.”
He blinked slow, lips dry. “You cried for me?”
You let out a sharp laugh—half sob, half relief. “Of course I cried for you, dumbass. I thought you were gone.”
The door opened, nurses rushing in. You stepped back, wiping your eyes, watching the wires and beeping monitors flutter to life.
He was really awake.
He was still yours.
—
They moved him from ICU to a recovery room the next day.
The tension, though — it hadn’t gone anywhere. Not really.
He knew it. Saw it in your face every time he caught you staring when you thought he was asleep. The way you flinched when his phone buzzed. The way your hand kept drifting low, brushing your belly like it was second nature now.
“You gonna tell me what you’re not saying?” he asked finally, voice raspy.
You looked at him. Exhausted. Guarded.
“I was going to” you said. “That night. Before you left.”
His brow creased.
“I took a test.”
He sat up slightly. “A test?”
You swallowed. “I might be pregnant, Law.”
The air thinned.
“I found out right before you got shot. And I didn’t know if I’d even get to tell you. I just sat in that room for three days holding it in while you bled.”
He stared at you, frozen. Like time had stopped again.
Then—softly.
“You’re serious?”
You nodded.
“I’m gonna be a dad?”
“You might” Tears stung your eyes. “If you’re ready to stay. I can’t do this if you’re gonna keep almost dying on me, Law.”
He shifted, face scrunching from the pain in his side, but his hand reached for yours.
“I’m done with the streets” he said hoarsely. “I swear to God. I was already thinkin’ about pulling out. Now—fuck. You think I’d keep risking that with you possibly carrying my kid?”
The tears spilled before you could stop them.
“I was so scared” you whispered.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
—
Law’s recovery moved slow, like the city when it rains—fogged, aching, a little bit heavier every day.
The hospital room had gone quiet now. No more beeping monitors. Just him, propped up in bed with his stitches stiff and healing, his palm brushing absently over your belly whenever you got close enough. He hadn’t said much about the baby. Not in the way you expected. No grand outpourings of joy. Just quiet gestures—calmer hands. A changed look in his eyes.
He was processing.
You both were.
Until the test the nurses had ordered for you came back negative.
False positive. You were relieved, sad—confused about the emptiness feeling though you knew you both weren’t ready. But at least one of the things to stress over was done. But the next? Hit you both worse.
—
It started two days after he moved out of the ICU.
Two officers showed up in plainclothes—badges tucked into their belts, expressions taut and polite in that fake, we-know-who-you-are kind of way. You were sitting beside his bed, feeding him bites of sliced apple while he complained about the hospital pudding.
“Mr. Trafalgar” the taller one said. “We need to speak with you. It’s about your ‘injury’.”
Law’s body tensed beneath your hand.
“We understand you were shot. And per medical protocol, all gunshot wounds are reported. We’ve been looking into the incident.”
“I already told your guys,” Law said flatly. “Wrong place, wrong time.”
“We pulled footage from the alley. Witness statements. Seems like there’s more to the story.”
You stayed quiet, fingers digging into the fleece blanket draped over your lap.
Then the second cop spoke.
“And there’s also the matter of your past record. We reopened a few files—distribution charges that were previously dropped. And we’ve received some new tips since this incident. Mind if we search your residence?”
“Get a warrant” his eyes flicked to you for just a second. Just long enough.
The cops left, for now.
But you knew the storm was coming.
—
That night, he handed you a small, black ledger notebook.
Inside were clean handwritten pages. Bank account numbers. Safehouse addresses. Codes only you two would understand. And a note,
If anything happens, it’s yours.
You looked at him across the bed. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the only one I trust.”
—
The bust happened three days later.
His apartment was raided—twice. But by then, everything was gone. Flipped. Re-routed. Accounts emptied into your name. Laundered. Dissolved. What they found was scraps. Dust. A handful of old burner phones and empty baggies.
Still, it was enough.
They arrested him right there in his hospital room—still healing, still weak, still bruised. You watched them cuff his wrist to the bed. You watched his jaw flex as they read him his rights.
But he didn’t flinch.
Not once.
—
The trial was long.
back-and-forth. You showed up to every hearing, every bail review, every prep meeting with his lawyer. Exhausted. Constantly nauseous. The weight of it all dragging at your shoulders.
The prosecution tried to paint him as a repeat offender. A gang affiliate. A dangerous man who walked with a pistol tucked in his waistband and dirty money under his floorboards.
But his lawyer was sharp.
Clean suits, Sharper tongue.
They argued lack of concrete evidence. No cash found. No product recovered. An old injury report and empty history files do not equal an active case. He’d been clean for nearly a year. Owned a repair shop. Paid taxes.
The day of sentencing, you couldn’t breathe.
He took your hand before they read it out, fingers warm over your wrist.
“Whatever they say, I’m coming back to you” he whispered. “This ain’t the end.”
You nodded, throat burning.
“Mr. Trafalgar” the judge said, “based on the evidence presented, you are hereby found guilty. You are sentenced to two months in county jail. Time served will be credited. You will be monitored following release.”
Two months.
You thought you’d feel relieved that it wasn’t too Jurassic of a sentence.
But all you felt was Two months without him.
Two long months of talking behind a glass, watching him in that jumpsuit, hair messy, Exhausted and stressed. He still looked as fine as ever, but your heart couldn’t carry the idea of him being incarcerated.
Finally came his release. You stood outside by his car, waiting for him to walk out those fences, immediately crashing him into a hug when he did. His calloused hands wrapping around your frame tightly. You were his home.
The unspoken weight between you two after his injury never really left the hospital room—it just followed you home.
He moved quieter now. Watched corners more often. You noticed the second burner phone he carried, the late-night murmurs with Kilo near the window. He wasn’t flashy with it anymore. Precaution, he said. Control.
But it still scared you.
—
The gun came next.
It wasn’t wrapped in anything special. Just placed in a box on the kitchen counter like it was a new pair of earrings.
“Glock 19” he said casually, sipping from his water bottle. “No safety. No jam. Clean. Just in case.”
You stared at it like it might go off on its own.
“Law…”
He didn’t look up. “It stays in the closet. I’ll show you how to use it.”
“I don’t want to use it.”
He glanced over then, eyes sharp. “You rather not have it and something goes down?”
You clenched your jaw. “I’d rather you not be putting us in that kind of danger to begin with.”
That hit him.
Hard.
His mouth set in a firm line, and he turned, walking out of the room without another word. The silence that followed stretched for hours. Even when you passed by him on the couch, his eyes were glued to the muted TV. Not you.
You hated that damn gun. But worse—you hated the way he pulled away from you when you spoke out.
So you left. Not for good. But just to catch some air.
You texted Vivi to meet up at the lounge near South Ave—somewhere not loud enough to drown out thoughts but just busy enough to feel normal again.
It helped. At first.
Two drinks in, Vivi made you laugh for the first time in days. You were leaned against the bar, smile creeping back in, your lip gloss catching the low neon lights—when they approached.
Three guys. Chains heavy. Faces way too familiar.
One of them nodded toward you, grinning. “You Law’s girl?”
Your blood ran cold. “Who’s asking?”
The one in the red cap stepped closer. “Heard about him. Heard he’s out the hospital now. Moving quiet but still runnin’. You know how it is.”
You grabbed Vivi’s wrist. “We’re leaving.”
But the guy blocked your path. “Relax. We just wanted to say hi. Make sure he knows we’re watching.”
You flinched as one reached for your arm.
Then suddenly, a flash—loud voice, your voice
“Back the fuck off!”
They hesitated for a moment too long. You slipped past them, dragging Vivi with you into the nearest crowd. Heart slamming, throat dry, panic roaring in your ears.
You didn’t even realize you were crying until you made it to the car.
You got home shaking.
Law was on the couch, hoodie off, white tank clinging to his chest.
His head snapped up the moment he saw your face.
“What happened?”
You dropped your purse, storming past him to the kitchen. “You happened.”
He stood immediately, eyes narrowing. “What?—Tell me what the fuck happened.”
“Three guys” you spat. “At the lounge. Said they knew you. One grabbed me.”
His whole body went rigid.
“Did they touch you?” His voice was low now, almost too calm.
“One tried to. I screamed. Got away.”
He was already reaching for his phone.
You grabbed it before he could call. “And what? You gonna go shoot somebody?! You think that’s gonna make me feel safer?!”
His jaw locked, but he said nothing.
Tears streamed down your cheeks.
“I’m tired of this, Law. I’m tired of living like this. Wondering if I’m next. If a stray bullet or some stupid beef is gonna be how I die.”
He was quiet. Too quiet.
And then he said it. Voice low. Measured.
“…and if I wasn’t who I am, you wouldn’t be living like this.”
Your chest ached.
He looked away. “Maybe you shouldn’t be with me.”
That broke you.
You walked past him, straight into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind you.
—
He left.
No slammed doors. No shouting match.
Just silence.
You woke up the next morning and he was gone. Clothes, hoodie, phone charger—gone.
At first, you thought maybe he just needed space. He’d done that before. Cool off, come back.
But that was before he completely disappeared.
No calls. No texts.
Not from him. Not from Kilo. Not even from Nez, who used to hit you up just to say Law was “handling shit.”
Now? Nothing.
Like the relationship never existed.
Like you never meant anything.
—
You called. And called. And called.
Left voicemails you wished you hadn’t.
Tears soaking your pillow every night, eyes glued to your phone until it died in your hand. He didn’t block you — but he may as well have.
No response.
Even Vivi was helpless.
“I don’t know what’s going on, babe. Maybe he’s tryna protect you, but this shit ain’t right.”
You weren’t sleeping. You barely ate. You sat in the apartment that still smelled like him, staring at the locked closet where the gun was hidden — a gift you hated. A symbol of all this chaos.
You were alone.
And he wasn’t coming back.
—
Four nights later.
You worked up the nerve to go out again. You just needed air. Vivi begged you to let her come, but you insisted on going solo. You wanted to feel normal again.
You shouldn’t have.
You felt it the second you got off the train. Heavy footsteps behind you, too slow to be casual, too steady to be coincidence.
You sped up. So did they.
Your building was only a block away, but your heart was already slamming.
Maybe you’re just paranoid.
You reached your front steps and fumbled for your keys, praying you were wrong—
Then someone grabbed your arm.
Hard.
You spun around, eyes wide, scream caught in your throat.
The man was unfamiliar—but the way he looked at you wasn’t.
“You Law’s bitch?” he spat, voice low and thick with venom. “He think he can cross people and hide behind a pretty face?”
You shoved him, stumbled back, keys dropping to the ground.
He followed.
“You better tell that motherfucker his time’s coming. You too, if you keep living under his name—”
A flash—ding.
Your Ring doorbell lit up.
And somewhere across the city, Law’s phone lit up with it too.
[TO BE CONTINUED] [Uploaded here]
[I was thinking about adding the next part here but this chapter is already so long omg😭. Next part out soon guys dw maybe an hour]
omg law + breeding kink just makes sense. it’s clear that in reality he’s a very tidy and well kept person. law will go crazy if even a single note from his doctor’s book is missing. but when it comes to you—he’s the messiest person ever, especially with cumming inside you.
at first, law was against it. no, cumming inside you was too risky. he knew the effects birth control had on you and didn’t wanna rely solely on that to keep you from conceiving. the least he could do was his part and at least try and pull out on time (hard to when it’s literally your cunt he’s in every other night but whatever).
having sex with you is honestly the only time law gets to turn to his other side; the dark, messy part of him that lacks the self control popular law has. no, the law that fucks you is the part of him he tries his absolute hardest to lock away, it’s no surprise only you got to saw it.
when law has sex with you, self control doesn’t exist. the moment he’s inside your tight, gummy walls, its almost as if the biological primal male instinct in him completely takes over, and his only goal in life is to breed you. maybe not even for the sole purpose of impregnating you, but marking you. completely digging his territory and spiritually letting others know that your womb was his—whether you liked it or not.
law felt at home when he was between your legs. it was almost as if your velvety cunt made all the stressors of his day wash away the moment he came in contact with it. your tight grip on him like a vice was enough to send him in a haze. each thrust he gave you as if it were his last.
at this point, the sex wasn’t even for you, it was for him. and not in some selfish, asshole way; law always made sure you came at least twice before he focused on getting to the true work. but instead in a way where he spent hours sometimes just edging himself to a point so that when he finally nut inside you—it was gonna be worth the torturous wait.
it’s almost as if his version of heaven is calling his name at the gates when law feels himself reach his peak. he didn’t even have to do much to get to this point; you were doing it all for him. just laying on your shared bed, legs wide open and awaiting him as your gold anklet with his initials rested right over his shoulders.
when law cums, his eyes nearly rolls to the back of his head. it’s so good, it all becomes overstimulating for him. the lower half of his body practically trembles as he releases long ropes of his hot white cum into your pink cunt, not stopping once after you were clearly filled. to make matters worse, he pulled out and finished all over your breasts, significantly marking you. all his.
