rott

(in the process of being fully up 2 date, works that arent linked havnt been posted over yet)

Borderlands

🔞 eat you alive [handsome jack] trust me [rhys strongfork] 🔞 want this too [rhys strongfork] 🔞 lost puppy [brick] 🔞 f0ur [zer0] 🔞 in the mirror [handsome jack] 🔞 scrapper [brick] 🔞 w4rm3r [FL4K]

Dorohedoro

🔞 wanna share [aikawa | risu] 🔞$ show it pt.1 [risu | aikawa] 🔞$ show it pt. 2 [risu | aikawa] 🔞 hell of a blue night [shin | noi ] need you [risu] 🔞$ moth to a flame [dokuga]

Fist of the North Star/Hokuto no Ken

🔞 slow [ein] 🔞 word of god [toki] 🔞 fantasy pt. 1 [juza] 🔞 fantasy pt. 2 [juza] 🔞$ tenacity [raoh] 🔞$ like a storm [raoh] 🔞$ burning together [raoh] 🔞 loathe you [souther]

Genshin Impact

🔞 by the horns [arataki itto] 🔞 all his [il dottore] 🔞 pet project [il dottore] 🔞 sick and twisted and all too pleasurable [il dottore] 🔞 feels good [arataki itto] 🔞 my favorite thing [il dottore] 🔞 overheat [arataki itto] 🔞 lovely in red [il dottore] 🔞onikabuto [arataki itto] 🔞 resent me [il dottore] 🔞 bloodlust [childe]

Golden Kamuy

🔞 satisfaction brought it back [vasily pavlichenko] 🔞 masterpiece [vasily pavlichenko] 🔞 attention [ogata hyakunosuke] 🔞 tease [genjirou tanigaki]

Jojo's Bizarre Adventure

🔞 breathe [jean pierre polnareff] 🔞 see god [muhammad avdol] 🔞 you minx [joseph joestar] 🔞 boa [thunder mcqueen] 🔞 mon dieu [jean pierre polnareff] 🔞 rough hands [mountain tim] first meeting preferences 🔞 not very nice [joseph joestar] 🔞$ angel [jean pierre polnareff] 🔞 his fire [muhammad avdol]

Lupin III

promise? [arsene lupin iii] 🔞 jewels i can fuck [arsene lupin iii] 🔞 small death [jigen daisuke] 🔞$ spoil me [jigen daisuke] 🔞 pearl strings strangle [lupin iii] 🔞 i like you [goemon ishikawa xiii] 🔞 there is no god now take off your panties [jigen daisuke] 🔞 make sure i can't be found [jigen daisuke] 🔞$ cooperation [koichi zenigata] us [jigen daisuke] kissing them preferences

Mass Effect

🔞 soft n hard n heavy [jaal ama darav] 🔞 93 [jaal ama darav] 🔞 anything at all [jaal ama darav]

One Piece

🔞 generous [crocodile] 🔞 hooked [crocodile] 🔞 bite [arlong] 🔞 storm [enel] 🔞$ control [crocodile] 🔞$ pierce [mihawk]

Yakuza/Ryu Ga Gotoku

🔞 your blessing [ryuji goda] 🔞 a thing for you [jun oda] 🔞 bully [taiga saejima] 🔞$ bite [goro majima] 🔞$fuck ya stupid [ryuji goda] 🔞 spoil you [shun akiyama] 🔞 own ya [ryuji goda]

Slashers/Horror

🔞 first time preferences trying to leave preferences scars preferences sleeping preferences 🔞 heated [bo sinclair] 🔞 envy [bo sinclair] pretty husk [bubba sawyer] 🔞 sorry for stabbing you [michael myers] 🔞hurt [kazan yamaoka] 🔞$ worthy [kazan yamaoka] 🔞 still him [philip ojomo] 🔞$ jealous [chris walker] 🔞 like wax [bo sinclair] 🔞 gentle lie [eddie gluskin] 🔞thing in the alley [eyeless jack] 🔞the stranger [bo sinclair]

Short Stories

🔞 starry eyes [thouzer] 🔞 hatchet [toby rogers] walls [brahms heelshire] 🔞 lambskin [thomas hewitt]

ETC

        It was obvious. The way she'd been looking at him. And the way he was looking right back. The slip of her hand over his shoulder and his over her leg. The smell of what you thought was her perfume on his neck. You should have seen it fucking coming. Nothing could quite describe the cold fury that had consumed you when you saw your stupid ass boyfriend kissing someone who definitely wasn't you.

        It was too bad it'd taken you this long to see it. Because now you're out in the middle of God knows fucking where on some stupid ass road trip you didn't want to go on in the first place. And you don't intend on going back to that camp site quickly. Your pride is wounded and what stings more than the rage in your veins is the hurt. The betrayal, the fact that you knew, this was more than just a kiss. More than just a mistake. It'd been a long, long affair and you were too stupid to see it.

        Fuck.

        You wrapped your arms tighter around yourself as you walked aimlessly down the side of a road. It's torn up and full of potholes and it looks like it hasn't been used in decades. Great. You hope it'll take you somewhere better than back there, though. Stubbornness keeps you from turning back. Hatred and spite too, probably. You're never going back. Fuck, you hope that he thinks you got murdered or some shit so you can keep him awake at night until the day he dies. You want him to hurt like he hurt you. You want the worry to eat him alive. Like the paranoia that had eaten at you for months while that affair was happening right beneath your nose. 

        Once you'd wised up and confronted him about it. But he told you that you were crazy and jealous and that nothing was going on. And you believed him. You backed down. Oh how you wish you'd stuck to your guns because you'd been right the whole fucking time. Recounting the memory filled you with bitter wrath once again and your nails dug into your skin. 

        It's cold out for a summer night. Dark too. 

        Despite your theory that the road you were traveling along hadn't been used in decades, you heard the hum of an engine and the soft squeak of breaks. You move farther off the road to make room for whatever poor soul is trying to get by at this hour of the night. Why couldn't relationship ending fights with your cheating ass significant other happen at a comfortable 2 PM instead of 2 AM? How melodramatic. The world may never know. 

        The hum of the engine doesn't subside and for the hell of it, you cast a glance over your shoulder. It's a truck, obviously, fuck else kind of car would someone be driving around here? There were probably only rednecks and hillbillies her for miles. That'd only made you feel more out of place. You had to have stuck out like a sore thumb. You squint against bright headlights as the driver pulls up alongside you. Your arms cross tighter over your chest and you continue walking, but you don't speed up. The window rolls down.

        "Goin' somewhere?" asks the strange man leaning out of it with a bit of a smirk on his face. 

        "I dunno," you shoot back, unable to keep the obvious irritation out of your voice. What can you say? You just broke up with your boyfriend of two years and you're tired and cold. You figure you shouldn't be taking your anger out on some stranger, especially when you're all alone with him, but you can't help it. 

        At your bitterness, he seems to cock his head, his smile growing a bit. He seemed...entertained by your antics. Which only irritated you more. You rolled your eyes and let out a bit of a huff as you continued on walking. You wondered if you should split off from the road and go hide in the forest until this creep fucked off but something compelled you to stay. 

        A bit of a chuckle escaped him as you shivered a bit and wrapped your arms around yourself even tighter. He tilts his hat up slightly to scratch at his head. "Ain't it a lil' late to be out all on your own?" he asks, the southern drawl in his voice long and lazy. 

        "Maybe," you bit back. "What time is it?"

        "Hmm, 'bout three."

        A single "fuck" escapes you to the driver's further amusement. Had you really been walking for an hour? The realization seems to set exhaustion in your feet like lead and the ache in your heels gets a bit more obvious. 

        "You wrap those arms 'round that body of yours any damn tighter and yer gonna snap right in half," the stranger mused. He raps his knuckles up against the outside of the driver side door. "Y'know...I don't usually offer free rides but..." 

        You fixed him with a glare. "Who said I even asked you for a ride? Maybe I don't want to get into a truck all on my own with a stranger at three in the morning." 

        "D'ya?" he asks, that charming smile on his face again, his fingers drumming slowly on the side of his truck instead. Like he can't physically keep himself still. You briefly notice the thick ring. There's odd marks wrapped around his wrist. 

        Still, you scoff. "I-I don't know, to be honest with you. Maybe. Haven't made up my mind yet." 

        "I don't mean you no harm, sweetheart, if it's any reassurance at all," he tells you, which doesn't reassure you at all. "It just...don't feel right leaving you here all on your own. At least lemme drop you off at the nearest town." 

        You bite the inside of your cheek, indecisively. You don't know if it's the hour or spite making you let your guard down like this for a stranger, but you're much too tired to really dote on it for long. You feel suddenly...impulsive. What better way to get back at that asshole then to just fuck off to who knows where with the first guy who approached you? Even in your brain, it read like an awful idea that would either get you trafficked or killed. But you didn't care.

        Time to make bad decisions because really what the fuck else were you good at anymore? 

        Still, not wanting to seem too easy, you give the stranger a bit of attitude, although your mind is clearly made up. With a roll of your eyes you click your tongue. "Fine." 

        "You're an angel," he tells you, a hint of sarcasm in his tone, slowing the truck down from a crawl to a full stop.

        You shrug your shoulders dismissively as you make your way around to the passenger side. The door was already unlocked for you. A soft grunt escape you as you pull yourself up onto the seat, shut the door, and readjust your shirt as you cross your legs and then your arms once more over your chest. 

        His hat's on the dashboard. 

        It's one of those older model trucks, which had been obvious from the wear and tear of the exterior. But the interior was missing the center console present in more current models. There's nothing keeping him from you. It shouldn't have been the first thought that popped into your mind, but it was. You sink back further into the plush seat. You don't bother with the seatbelt. It's not like it'd make what you're doing right now any less dangerous.

        He scoffs. "No need to get so stiff, darlin', I don't bite..." 

        "Can you just drive? I'm not really in the mood," you snap back. Was it an ill choice to actively be a bitch to a generous stranger who had offered you a way out of this cold? Yes. Were you still going to make it? Yes. 

        Weirdly enough, your attempts to set him off don't seem to work. He just seems...amused by your snappy bitchiness. But you sense that his patience would quickly run out if you kept it up. You could see the way he gripped that steering wheel, and the muscle in his jaw tensed when he looked back to the road and the truck started moving quicker. 

        "Oh," you say, offhandedly, just for the sake of adding more fuel to fire because you're already on a roll and don't intend on stopping. The man glances over at you. "By the way, if you try to kidnap me, I don't care, and don't bother." 

        He laughed again. "Now what exactly has got you so worked up, huh, girl?" He asked, casting another look over at you. He's got blue eyes. 

        You let out a heavy sigh and sink back into the seat again. You angle your head straight up, so you can stare bleary eyed at the roof of the car. He's a stranger, why the fuck is it any of his business? But you still talk, almost too desperate to vent. "You know that moment when you see your boyfriend who said he'd love you forever kiss another girl right in front of you?" 

        "Can't say I have..." He glances over at you, raising a thick brow. "So that means you're nice and single then, huh? Not that it'd make much of a difference to me..."

        How very ominous. But also... the confidence is kinda hot. 

        You look over at him. You feel like your reaction should be one of dismay or anger at the insensitive flirting. But you don't feel it. Instead, you can only feel a sort of amusement. This could be it. Your little opportunity for revenge. A strange excitement seemed to fill your chest as a bit of a half smile appears on your face. Your elbow rests upon your knee, cheek pushing into your open hand.  

        "Yeah," you tell him. "Guess I am." 

        He briefly looks off to the side, at you, taking in your expression. For a moment, he looks taken aback that you'd started flirting back of all things. You seem like a wildcard. And he'd be lying if he said he wasn't into that. He shot you a bit of a smile back before looking back to the road. You noticed his hand tighten a little bit on the wheel, knuckles whitening. He cleared his throat.         

        "Where you off to anyways, honey?" 

        You shrugged a bit carelessly. "I dunno. Don't care. Nothing matters anymore."

        An exhale of unmistakable amusement comes from him at your exaggerated melodrama. 

        You decided to be a bit bold. Fuck it, why not? It's not like this night could get any fucking worse. You could only go up once you'd hit rock bottom right? At least you considered wandering a country roadside at odd hours of the morning after a nasty break up in nothing but an oversized shirt (your EX boyfriend's) and some underwear, kinda drunk, to be rock bottom. You shift a little closer. Before, you'd been as far away from him as possible, practically pressed up to the door. 

        "Wherever you want, I guess. You said something about a town." 

        Your driver laughed. "Wherever I want, huh?" he repeated back, seeming very much pleased by the idea. He doesn't acknowledge the second part of your sentence.

        See, thing is a lot of people that go into that town don't come outta it. Kinda the point of luring them there, he figured. He originally wanted you to be one of those people, in the worst possible way. After all, why not? There's always an empty seat waiting in the church. And that nasty attitude of yours woulda earned you a one way ticket there, typically.

        But this is a rather atypical night, and you're too fun to play with so far. He can't imagine anyone else's hands on you now. 

         The stranger's hand reached over and before you knew it, his palm was resting on your thigh, fingers pressing into your skin. The warmth was somewhat welcome, but the cold metal of the ring on his hand almost made you flinch. You kept your cool, recounting once again what you were about to get yourself into. 

        Was it stupid to be fooling around with a stranger? Especially one that had picked you up so willingly off the side of the road for reasons you thought might have been a little deeper than the goodness of his heart? Yes, but he was kind of hot, so did it really matter? It could have been worse. The point was you wanted this revenge. If your now ex-boyfriend was going to shamelessly cheat on you, you were going to do the exact same thing. All the times he'd groundlessly accuse you of cheating on him swam through your head and that same spite filled you again, giving you confidence. 

        Fucker. 

        You look the stranger up and down again, like you're still having trouble making up your mind. He's older than you, sure, but it's not like he's that old. Just enough to make this more wrong than it could be. He's different. New. And the less he looked like your ex, the more the thought of the stranger between your legs instead made you hot. 

        And he can tell. It's not often whoever he's picked up in his truck is all that eager to be near him. There's always this wariness that makes his hunts all the more fun. But bit by bit, yours is subsiding. 

        "Yeah," you said, leaning more towards his side of the truck, into his hand on your leg. He feels your hand come to press down over top of his, making his fingers squeeze tighter. "Wherever you want." 

        He grins. "Hm...I think I know a nice lil' spot for me n' you, honey..." 

        You're not leavin' town either, but it's not 'cuz you'll be dead. No. He likes you too much for that now. 

        Finding thrill in playing into all of this, you lean even closer to him, enough to feel the heat coming off his body and through his shirt. It's funny. He's dressed like he just got off of work. Why was he even out driving around at this hour? You wonder for the quickest of moments, one more time, if this is a bad decision. The answer comes just as quickly. 

        Nah.

        His rough hand starts to creep further up your leg, thumb rubbing slow circles into your skin.

        Shamelessly, you find yourself leaning up against his side. Eyes half shut, your let your head rest against his shoulder. Your fingers wrap tighter at his wrist, trying to encourage his hand further up your body. He doesn't look at you. His eyes are on the road ahead, lit by the beams of the headlights. It's pitch black all around.

        You really are in the middle of nowhere now. 

        "How far is it?" you ask, a bit huffy. Impatient and aroused, maybe a little afraid too, which you'd never admit outwardly. You'll just blame it on more frustration from your unfortunate little situation. But there's an unmistakable flush in your face as his fingers drift closer to your panties. 

        "Couple minutes, maybe. But I'm sure you'll think of somethin' to keep yourself entertained in the mean time."  

        His hand leaves your thigh to push at the buckle on his belt, as if you didn't get the message. You definitely did but you don't mind the extra help. Despite you fake confidence, born mostly out of spite, your hands were shaking slightly, and you didn't want him to see if you went to undo his pants yourself. 

        Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you sink lower, spine curving. Your hand leaves his scarred wrist, to palm at his growing erection beneath his pants. He bites into his cheek slightly, as you keep rubbing at his clothed cock. The way his breath hitches in his throat even now...it's a little pathetic. Not really his fault. He's been busy. It's been a long while since a woman's touched him like this. 

        Your thumbnail clicks up against the button on his jeans, and he feels the denim loosen at his body. You tear the zipper down. He shifts beneath you, and you feel his hand come to rest at your back, between your shoulders. Your breath is so warm, sinking through the fabric of his boxers. He feels your lips press up against him, cock straining at the thin material. You kiss him again and he swallows with a soft groan, hand reaching higher to grip at the base of your neck. 

        His other hand is tight on the steering wheel. That ex-boyfriend of yours has to be a fucking moron.

        Your drag your tongue over his boxers, letting your saliva stain up against it. Such a tease. He squeezes at the back of your neck. Maybe a warning. You don't really care, you'd been getting too impatient to keep this up anyways. The stranger's head tilts back just a little bit, as your warm hand grasps around his shaft, now pulled out from beneath his underwear. You rub at him slowly, smearing precum from the head down the rest of his skin.

        One of your hand braces against his thigh, as your head leans down closer. You give the head of his cock a small taste, pushing it slightly into your mouth. Somehow, he keeps the wheel steady, fingers kneading into your skin. You start taking more of his length into your mouth. It's not that he's a terrifying size, but he's certainly thicker. Exhaling slow through your nose, you do your best to get closer to the base of his cock. Your hand, once wringing slowly at the base of his cock, leaves to stroke up through the thick swarth of hair lining down. 

        He's all man. All gritty and rustic. Nothing like what you've had before. It's like going from chicken wings to a prime cut of steak. His musk fills your nose. Your nails dig into his thigh a little bit, even through the thick blue denim of his pant leg.

        The stranger's calloused hand moves further up, to grab at your hair at the nape of your neck. Your pace quickens, as your mouth slides up and down his shaft, tongue curling at the underside of his cock. There's such a prominent vein there. He gasps out, voice all deep and kinda desperate. A noise comes from the back of his throat, like a growl, as you suck him. 

        "Atta girl," he murmurs, grip only gaining intensity. "Just a little more. C'mon now."

        You don't know if the last part is for you or himself, but you continue. You can tell he's getting closed. He's so hot inside your mouth, and you can't stop thinking about how good he'd feel buried deeper inside of you. With his groans and soft curses in your ear, you shift your thighs together, stomach in knots. The hand at his thigh abandons its post. He glances down after a moment, breathing getting heavier, to see where it's gone. 

        You've got it between your own legs, making him wish his own hand was free of the steering wheel. He's too stubborn to move the other from the back of your head as he gets closer and closer to cumming. With how rough he is in your hair, you're kinda surprised he hasn't tried to force your head down on his cock. 

        The truck jerks to the side a little as you finally taste his release. Your instinct is to jerk away, naturally, at the new warmth. Judging by his hand in your hair, you don't think he'll let you get far. Your brows knot as you whimper a bit, trying to remember to breathe through your nose. Your fingers have ceases toying beneath your panties--you're too focused on him. 

        "Fuck, honey," he breathes out, his body still tense beneath you. 

        The pressure at the back of your head lessens, and you're able to slowly take your mouth off his cock. And you swallow. He barely realizes before you give his cock another few drags of your tongue, practically licking him clean. He twitches against the flat of it, gritting his teeth together.

        Jaw clenched, hot breath puffing hard from his nose, he suddenly jerk the wheel violently to the side, pulling the truck off to the side of the road. He slams on the breaks, hard enough to almost pull you off his cock entirely, the force then pushing him back down deep into your mouth. Almost choking, you lift your head to complain about his dogshit driving. He grabs you, by the shoulders first, pushing you up and off him. Before you can even take in a breath, his large, rough hand is at the back of your head again and his lips are on yours, like he can't resist the way you mouth shines with him. His other arm wraps around you, pulling you closer to him as both of your bodies crash down onto the expanse of seat.

        "I wanna take this to the back," he drawls, voice low and breathy, between his heavy kissing. His teeth flash in the darkness as his lip curls. "You want me to take you to the back, don't'cha?"

        A low groan comes from him as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you feel his teeth on your skin. He bites down, he sucks, and you shiver beneath him, a soft moan of your own pulled from your throat. Something jerks the truck again-- at some point he took his hand off you to put the truck in park, headlights still blasting into the gnarled brush he'd so gracefully crashed into off the side of the road. The vehicle shakes a little under his weight and movement.

        His cock, still wet from your mouth and his orgasm drags against your bare thighs as he humps up against you. He adjusts his position, if only to grind it against your crotch, pinning the fabric of the shirt to your panties. It's not enough--there's too many layers between you and him. 

        "Y'ain't tell me what to call you," he murmurs in your ear. 

        You shake your head. "Don't ruin this." 

        You don't wanna know him. You don't want him to know who you are either. 

        "Shame." But he doesn't pry further.

         He'll find out at some point regardless. No way he lets someone like you go after this. But for now, just as you wish, you can be some poor, nameless, lonely thing he plucked off the streets at odd hours of the night. 

        For a minute, you think you pissed him off, when he ceases his assault on your lips and neck and sits up off you. He turns to open the driver side door of the truck, halfway tugging his jeans up over his legs to stand. Then his strong hands go to grab your ankles, dragging you out as well. You yelp as he takes you into his arms, grabbing you entirely before popping you up over his shoulders. The wind outside hasn't ceased--it chills you all over. 

        "Ah- what the fuck-" you start, giving him a little bit of a struggle as he wings open the back door on the same side of the truck.

        His hand reaches up to smack your bare ass, causing you to cry out again.        

        "Stop movin' n' watch your head," he tells you, even though you struggling like that on his shoulder gives him a very familiar and disturbing thrill.

        Your fingers grip at his shirt as he ducks down into the back of his truck, like you think he'll drop you. It's the last thing on his mind. His weight settles on top of you as your back pushes into the seat. He reaches back, only to shut the door and trap the heat back in the truck. All the same, being out there so suddenly had chilled you. You can't help but shiver as the man looks down at you. He notices. 

        That strange half smile of his pulls at his lips once more. "Don't'chu worry, honey. I'll warm you right up."

        Oh the spontaneity of this all sends thrill spiking through your nervous system, as you grip on him doesn't lessen at all. Fucking this guy in the back of his truck? Fun as hell.

        "Is this the place you had in mind?" you ask, barely able to keep the shaking out of your voice as he descends upon you, like some animal on it's prey.

        In your ear, his voice is heavy--raspy with desire. "Hell no. But I can't fuckin' take this. I want you right fucking now. I want your legs wrapped around me." His hand takes ahold of your jaw, band of his ring cold and digging into your skin. "Just wantin' to return the favor. Saw your hand down there, all desperate."

        "Good ol' southern hospitality, huh?" You respond, a bit sheepishly, choosing not to acknowledge his pointed observation.

        He must have shifted his jeans back down based on how you can feel him starting to push his hips into yours again. You part your legs wider for him, heart beginning to race. He reaches down to grab your thigh from beneath, wrenching it further open. Your knee hits the back of the front seat. His other hand moves between your bodies to jerk your panties out of the way. Your leg stays propped up without his aid. 

        There's a sort of brutishness to his movements that make you feel like maybe this won't be as fun as you thought. Maybe he can see the sudden nervousness flicker in your eyes. The tip of his cock starts rubbing slow against your cunt. The hand at your jaw tightens so you can't squirm.

        "Shhh, I'm gonna take good care of you, sweetheart, understand?"  

        He closes the space between the two of you to kiss you again. For a moment, you relax, leaning into it, feeling his tongue brush over your bottom lip. The sound of your heavy breathing combines with his, as your head drops to rest fully on the seat. His lips follow you down--there's no avoiding him.

        Not that you want to. That'd be silly after going this far, wouldn't it?

        Just as your eyes start to fall shut, you feel his cock starting to push inside of you. As aroused as you'd been before, it's not a substitute for actual preparation. He swallows your whimper with his kiss, tongue pushing past your lips to slide into your mouth entirely. He'll have you inside and out, a stranger he'd plucked from the roadside. 

        You could be his woman. Even for a little while. You didn't have to go back to that cheating son of a bitch and those horrible little friends of yours. They must be, letting you wander off into the Louisiana wilderness all on your own like that. You could be something he keeps for himself.

        Usually he didn't care much for tenderness or any of that shit. He'd just wanted to get off and go on about his night, typically. But it's all different this time. Your fingers are still gripped tight at the back of his shirt. His free hand pushes at the juncture of your thigh and your pussy, spreading you wider for him. Your brows knot, maybe with pain, maybe with pleasure, as his cock inches deeper inside of you. 

        Why isn't he tearing you apart? 

        Rough but gentle all at the same time...it doesn't seem right for a shady man like him. 

        He starts to pump quicker into you, shifting the truck beneath his weight with every movement. He breaks the kiss, if only to suck in air, as he heaves another breath. Just like he wanted, your other leg goes to wrap around him. He's burning hot inside of you. The ache of the stretch starts to fade away, but you tear up all the same. 

        His nose is almost to yours, a vice grip still at your jaw as he watches those tears brim. There's such an intensity in his half lidded blue eyes. You think you're breaking a sweat now, overwhelmed by the heat of his body on and inside of you. His pace doesn't falter, even as your cunt tightens around him with your first orgasm. You don't know it's your first of many, of course, as you fall limp beneath him, gasping out for air.

        The stranger's thick cock stays buried inside of you. His hand finds the hem of your shirt and finally pushes it up your body. The flat of his hand smooths over your lower stomach, stroking over your quaking body before he starts to thrust into you once more. He likes watching how your release coats his cock a softer shade. 

        "Ngh- wha-" you start, head shifting in his hand, almost escaping his grip as your brows knot in confusion. How does he have the energy to keep going?

        "What'd I say?" he mumbles against your skin. 

        His hand gropes at your naked breast, squeezing along the side of it, thumb rubbing over your nipple. 

        "Such a pretty one," he sighs out. Your leg trembles, knee against the back of that front seat still. If it wasn't there, you wouldn't have been able to hold it steady.

        He fucks into you harder, hips cracking up against yours. The smack of flesh almost drowns out his deep groans, and your own sounds. The tears finally roll down your cheeks. He feels their warmth briefly at the tips of his fingers, extended over your face. The windows of the truck fog. Not that you could tell, it was just so dark out.

        His breath's burning on your skin as your writhe beneath him. He's reaching the deepest parts of you, lips drawn back in almost a snarl. Sweat slicks his dark hair to his forehead and the back of his neck, though you're sure you're in no better of a state. You're so wonderful, pinned beneath him, gasping out for his mercy. For release again.

        Greedy.

        But he thinks you deserve it. You deserve him too. 

        "Fuck," the stranger snaps, fingers squeezing into your chest. The veins traveling over the back of his hand strain and you cry out again.

        He cums first, so much so it's starting to leak out of you, squeezed between your walls and his cock. It gathers at his base, as he gives a half assed couple of thrusts to finish riding out his orgasm. You're quaking, but not like you should be. Sloppily, his hand drops from your breast, to grab between your legs, rough, unsteady thumb pressing up against your clit. 

        He wants you unconscious. 

        He doesn't stop, not even after you finish again. Frantically, one of your hands drops down from his back to grab at his brawny, hairy forearm. Your efforts don't really mean anything to him, but it gets him hot and bothered all over as you cry in sheer bliss. You might have begged him to stop, he couldn't recall for sure. It's not what you really meant. He's sure. 

        The shallow scratches you'd left over his scarred wrists blend with the reddened tissue. 

        You're sure making a mess of his back seat. But there have been worse, messier things soaking into the old cushioning. 

        The hum of the truck engine, as well as the blood pounding in your ear has you slowly nodding off, leg still quaking and slowly lowering down. You're so sensitive, every movement feels too much to make. He'd leaned down, pressing a kiss to your hair. Then his weight was off of you.

        You don't think he's on top of you anymore. And you think the truck might have been moving. 

      It would have been completely stupid not to take the job.

        When shit went south in Alabasta and then somehow a little bit north again at Marineford for Crocodile, you'd majorly lost any sort of contact with him. You used to be one of his best sources of intel at his casino in Rainbase, back in his glory days. A lot of dumb people talked there when they got enough drinks in them. Especially to someone with a face like yours. You'd never considered yourself some drop dead gorgeous model, but there was a reason Crocodile kept you around, beyond your usefulness to him.

        You'd be hard pressed to find any woman that isn't beautiful in his casino. He's very picky about that.

        You also just have one of those faces people inherently trust. Maybe it's the look in your eyes. Something inoffensive and harmless. 

        You considered yourself to be a neutral party when it came to the whole Alabasta debacle. It was never your homeland and never your place, in a manner of speaking. Nothing really ever felt like home to you, not even the region you were actually born in. Forever cursed to wander, feeling out of place, Crocodile's casino actually made you feel like you were a part of something.

        And his money was worth discretion and unquestioning loyalty. It's not that you can't stand to know what nefarious things a man like him was up to. It was just that you didn't particularly see any reason to care about it. You'd never been terribly involved with him outside of the incredibly contrived game of secret telephone.

        Apparently, however, you'd proven yourself useful enough for him to call upon in his latest venture. 

        You don't really care for the functions of this 'Cross Guild' as he called it.

        He'd had the head of it established, with himself and some other guy. A different warlord you think...uh....Mihawk. Yeah. That was his name. And then there's the clown. Ugh. Some of these pirates are too much to really keep up with. Either way, they're dangerous men. Regardless of how the clown one bitches and cries almost constantly.

        There wasn't anything left for you in the old world anyways. You'd always been pretty devoid of any measly attachments. "Go where the berries are" tends to be a solid piece of advice in a day and age of pirates versus marines. Crocodile had always appreciated that trait of yours. You're easy to buy.

        What you didn't expect is how fucking boring a desk job of all things would be. Standing around in a dimly lit casino, ears open, all sultry-like is one thing. Pencil pushing is kind of another. And it's not like you're the kind of person to back out after accepting a deal. That's another thing Crocodile liked about you as an employee. Even if you didn't want to do something, you generally would.

        It sounds like such an average trait to desire in a pawn, but it's quite rare in actuality. All that free thinking and doubt and morals makes it a pain in the ass to find someone with tight lips and a lack of general interest in pretty shady dealings. 

        You don't mind being a pawn or a cog in some machine you don't understand. All you care about is living comfortably and never tasting a day of poverty ever again in your lifetime. That isn't hard to figure out at all. 

        Maybe it's your familiarity that makes you less afraid of a hulking man like Crocodile. Buggy's....well a joke, isn't he? Like a pet? Or a mascot? You don't know. You'll call it part of the keeping your head buried in the sand strategy. 

        The one you're actually kinda scared of is Mihawk.

        Seriously, just looking at him sets the hairs on your arm and the back of your neck on end. Maybe it's just...the ferocity on his face. Like he's never been relaxed a day in his life. It could also just be the permanent scowl and the way his brows are always drawn the way they are. All tense. He's quiet too.

        At least Crocodile's enough of an egotistical ass to like the sound of his own voice.

        You just...you don't know what's up on him. It's impossible to get a read. He's the most mysterious of the three, that's for sure. It's a mystery you don't care to investigate whatsoever. Because involvement of any kind is just too dangerous in this line of work.

        Once, though, Mihawk had looked at you. He'd never done that before. 

        You'd been happy invisible to him. Scared, but invisible.

        His head had turned, and that piercing gaze had fixed onto you. Like that giant, black sword of his is stabbing straight through you too. It's a horrible stare. One that makes your heart pound in your chest and anxiety flood every single nerve you possessed. You'd frozen up, a stack of new bounties to be posted, gripped so tight in your hands, your sweaty palms had dampened them.

        Then, he'd looked away. Like it was nothing at all. Like you were nothing at all.

        He makes you feel small. Which doesn't make sense, because you'd never really felt that way about Crocodile, who was twice Mihawk's size.

        Dracule Mihawk.

        What a terrifying man.

        You thought that was kind of the end of it. That you'd just try to do your damn job, collect your berries, and live your life as you always had. It's not like you'd been flat broke before receiving Crocodile's offer, but your savings were certainly running thin enough at that point to take it without a doubt.

        You'd never really had an uncomfortable workplace before. Risky and shady, yes. But this? No. It's not like working for Crocodile at his casino before was all that amazing either. However, you'd always felt fairly in control of what was happening. You usually felt nothing at all, regardless of what kind of job you worked. Get too emotionally involved in anything nowadays, and it's 100% guaranteed to blow up in your face or get used against you.

        That's just what happens when you work with ruthless pirates. 

        If you sell your soul and work with the marines, it's really no different.

        It's something you came to accept. Another thing Crocodile liked about you. It was part of the reason he'd vouched for you and practically handed this position to you on a silver platter. All that really mattered is that you didn't snitch to the navy that the Cross Guild was behind a shit ton of the bounties being placed on their guys. 

        That and someone had to help out with communications. Those three are too high and mighty to dirty their hands with something so minimum wage. You don't understand most of the outgoing and incoming messages, with all the coded phrases and such, but all that matters is someone's there to receive them, organize them, or pass them along.

        So. Pretty easy gig. It'd be stupid to quit just because you didn't like the way an ex-warlord stared at you one time. 

        You're not one for unnecessary dramatics. 

        You'd sighed on the couch, stretching out and shutting your eyes briefly. Your shirt lifts, exposing your lower stomach just a tiny bit.

        They're not cruel, y'know? You get breaks at least. With everyone out and about, busying themselves with the latest schemes, you don't mind taking up some space in this office for once. 

        Until a very familiar and dreadful voice clears a throat. You're not exactly subtle with the look on your face at the sound, eyes snapping open and ice flooding your veins. You guess bolting upright like you've been caught with your pants down isn't really helping your case either. 

        Mihawk was standing in the doorway.

        "S-Sorry," you managed, scrambling to get off the green cushions. It's kind of an ugly couch, but you just had wanted a break from your usual chair at your usual desk doing your usual menial tasks.

        He stares you down with those piercing eyes of his, as you quickly shuffle past him, trying your very best to make it look like you don't even notice. He was close enough to grab you if he wanted to. Right by the arm. And he'd squeeze, just to hear you gasp out, maybe pull back. Just try to resist. All for nothing.

        But Mihawk doesn't do any of those things.

        He allows you to pass.

        What the fuck is his deal? You think to yourself, face hot. You feel like his eyes are burning into your back, but you know you're far too trivial of a person to even have him turn his head to watch you go.

        But all the same, you swear you feel it. 

        A shiver passes through you, even when you're seated back at your desk. You still had another ten minutes of your break but looking extremely busy seems to be the preferable option at the moment in comparison to interaction with Mihawk.

        It went on like this there for a while. To the point where whenever Mihawk was in the same room as you, you felt like you couldn't even breathe. If Crocodile notices, he doesn't care. Your emotional state in the workplace isn't really a concern of his. And it's not really his problem that you're terrified of Dracule Mihawk. Most people with any common sense in their head should be. It's the healthy thing to be.

        But it's different. Because it would have been fine and all, being gently tortured and made so uncomfortable during daylight hours. However, now it's starting to invade your once peaceful nights.

        No matter what you may have said or done in your lifetime, or what events you might have caused in the past, all from being a part of Crocodile's intelligence ring, never really kept you up at night. You're entirely detached from it all. In fact, you generally slept like a baby, regardless of all the lives you may have indirectly impacted or ended. You liked to think you just didn't care. 

        That sort of passiveness has always given you power in such a strange world.

        So to finally have something bothering you so badly, it has you bolting up in the middle of the night is an equally unwelcome, awful change. 

        They're such...strange, unwanted dreams. You're not sure if there's therapists in the new world yet, much less ones that won't charge lucrative prices. However, you figure they'd give some sort of psychosexual explanation for these odd visions. Something's buried deep inside you, well beneath your subconscious, that only emerges when you dream. When you're most vulnerable.

        In your mind, beneath your sheets, you feel his hands sliding up your body, against your skin. And you feel his breath on you. The way his mustache and beard scratches on your neck and his teeth graze over. And you feel him pumping inside of you. Then you awake bitterly empty. Sweating. Panicked. And embarrassingly enough, checking your side like he'd actually be there, in your bed. You'd even check the corners of the dark bedroom, like he's there, lurking.

        It's even worse when you can't help but let your hand sink well beneath those sheets, between your legs. You try not to pretend that it's his. But it's just easier to get it over with, cum, and roll over to go back to bed somewhat satisfied. Then, you wake up early the next morning and try to pass that part off like it was some far off dream as well. 

        It's horrible and shameful. Entire unprofessional and the exact opposite of passive and uninvolved.

        It's dangerous is what it is. He's dangerous.  

        Of course, one day, you're left alone with him.

        You hadn't really known that until you happened to dare to wander into the room he favored most--where that ugly couch was. Ever since he'd interrupted your break some time ago, you had never wanted to near it or rest on it again. But this time, you just wanted to stretch your legs, and sometimes aimless pacing helped out.

        It was something you'd meant to do in private.

        Instead, you find yourself coming to a stop in the doorway, upon seeing Mihawk lounging there. He's been so quiet this whole time it's no wonder you hadn't realized he was here. 

        He doesn't look up at you, hat obscuring most of his face. 

        "You're not busy at the moment, it seems. Won't you brew me a cup of tea?" He requests suddenly, from the couch, barely sparing you a glance. That trademark, massive, black sword of his is leaned up against the corner, near the couch. Like he'd just returned from whatever business required him today. 

        The blade gleams. Spotless.

        His voice is so quiet. But all the same, you feel threatened. He's never spoken directly to you. Much less made a demand of you. So, thickly, you swallow and nod, scurrying out of the room before he actually turns to look at you. It'd only take you a few minutes to fulfill such a simple request. Part of you wants to feel indignant, having to serve him. He's perfectly capable of brewing his own damn ex-warlord self a cup of fucking tea. 

        But it's really not like you have anything better to do. It's been a slow day. From what little you know about the way the Cross Guild functions, that's probably not a good thing. Maybe the bounties are getting placed on higher ranked, more powerful marines (you know no names nor faces of course) and all those murderers for hire aren't taking them down. 

        You suppose that could be troubling, as you return with the cup of tea. Maybe doing him this favor will make him less scary to you. However, as you come before him, closer and closer, you find that idea growing more and more foreign. It's like getting closer reduces your ability to even draw a full breath. Can he tell that? Does he care if he can?

        Mihawk ignores you, standing before him.

        Your face starts to grow hotter than it already is. Wordlessly, awkwardly, you remain motionless. Like you're waiting for his permission to move. Which you don't need, because last time you checked, Crocodile's responsible for your paycheck, not Mihawk.

        So why are you acting like this?

        After the world's worst waiting game, he finally speaks.

        "On your knees."

        "I-" you sputter out before you can even fully form a reaction, much less a thought, "uhm- what?"

        He still doesn't look up at you. Tone unchanging, demeanor unflinching, he repeats himself.

        "On your knees."

        You're dumbfounded. But compelled, you obey. Lips tightening with anxiety, as you do your best not to spill anything from the cup, you settle upon your knees in front of Mihawk. Finally, he looks at you. He might be the only person on the planet you could be almost eye level with and still feel small. You shrink under those piercing eyes of his. 

        They're unblinking. Magnetic. You could fall into them forever.

        You don't want to.

        He sees your bottom lip quiver a little bit. Tentatively, Mihawk reaches, taking the cup of tea from you. He drinks it. Your heart only speeds up and it's very difficult to swallow. He seems entertained by your bout of nervousness. After another long, pensive, torturous sip, he settles the tea cup somewhat precariously on the arm of the couch. 

        "Don't play so coy. Don't act like you haven't done this for Crocodile."

        You're confused, and filled with another bout of indignance. You're only brave for a moment. "I've never done that-"

        "Don't lie."

        Your lips thin again and you shake your head. "I'm. Not."

        A bit of a huff of air escapes from Mihawk. You realize it's his attempt at a laugh. You've amused him. 

        "Then what possible purpose could you serve for him?" He remarks, a bit snidely.

        He reaches forward suddenly, hand still warm from the cup. You're surprised by that. You'd always expected him to have skin like ice, not unlike his demeanor. He takes your face in his grip, squishing it a little bit, slouching his shoulders so he can lean in closer. He turns your face. To his mild, further amusement, he finds that you're resisting. Just a little bit. 

        You're quiet. You don't have a reply for such an implication. You'd always been apathetic towards Crocodile, and he'd shared a similar regard for you. And this whole time Mihawk had imagined you were in some kind of sexual affair with him? How would that even work physically?

        You don't know why you're wasting time trying to wrap your head around that, when there's a much bigger issue at hand, like Mihawk's fingers at your chin, and his face getting dangerously close. You try to move your head again, out of his grip, with little luck. It's steadfast. A soft whimper comes from you.

        "It's no matter," he muses. Then, he releases your face of his own accord, leaning back with a sigh on the couch. "But I've had a rather long and aggravating day. So if you don't mind, I'd like to make use of you myself."

        You should stand up and slap him across the face. His legs prop open wider. He'd already been starting to get hard as you'd struggled in his grip, tears at the corners of your eyes. And that soft, little whimper certainly hadn't helped. Such a wonder that you were capable of such a sound. 

        "No one needs to hear of this."

        Something in your throbs and you hate it more than anything in the whole world. You feel like at any moment you might wake up with a start, off your desk. Guilt gnawing away at you, skin crawling. His legs part, lazily. Tentatively, you inch a little closer.

        You should have stood up and left. Don't even give him the dignity of a slap to the face for trying to demean you like this. Something to knock that ridiculous beard and mustache right off his...

        The bulge in his pants makes you lose your train of thought. Like it's not even your own, your hand moves, and your fingers slide up his thigh. Slowly, the trail, closer and closer to his belt. You hesitate.

        A soft hum comes from Mihawk.

        "Come now. I haven't all evening."

        A bit hastily, you reach for his belt buckle. He watches you undo it, unzipping his pants next. You reach for him again, hand starting to shake as you touch along his muscled lower abdomen. A chill passes through you at the feeling of his skin. Cold like the dead. You're trying so hard not to let your mind wander back to your restless, conflicted nights. It's...it's just easier to do as you're told right now, right?

        It feels like your body and your brain have a disagreement.

        "I don't really...want..."

        The words die on your lips under his fierce gaze. 

        Thick, coarse hair lines down to his impressive cock. It's a little sparse above his belt, but you have a hard time believing that's a result of shaving. He's not a man to care about something so petty.  He's already half hard from your hands along his legs. As nonchalant as Mihawk tries to be, the simple fact is he usually has neither the time nor care to indulge in something like this. 

        It's been a good while since he's been touched. 

        Blush furious and rising visibly up your neck, you stroke over him, a bit shyly. Like you're hoping he'll change his mind or get frustrated and shove you away. He doesn't. Mihawk's hand reaches down to envelop yours, tightening your soft palm around his cock. You flinch again at his touch, and he feels you go to pull away entirely. But there's no backing out now.

        You start to understand that as he makes you jerk him off, slowly, tightly. At the pace he desires. 

        His hand stays on yours the entire time, controlling your every move. You can only watch, helpless and flustered. Then you realize maybe you can still control one thing--and it's where you're looking. Brows scrunching, you look away, overwhelmed with the burn of shame. His breathing's getting heavier, and you hear a soft groan come from him. 

        With how close you are to the couch, his hand easily reaches up from your face to the top of your head. You startle a bit, as his fingers stroke through the thick of your hair. Then, he suddenly grip it firmer, jerking your head straight and bringing it closer to his cock. He's close to cumming, the head of his cock glistening with pre and reddened from the friction and arousal. 

        You watch, up close as he finally releases. A bit of it spurts onto your face, and you flinch again. His vice grip in your hair keeps you from shrinking away. He watches you, keeping you like that for a few moments too long.        

        He shakes his head suddenly, feather pinned to his hat swishing with the motion. "That just won't do, (Y/N). We're not finished here." 

        "I-I really should-"

        You're not able to move away from him with his fingers in your hair. With such little effort, he jerks you up, towards him, until you're splayed out awkwardly on top of him, a leg spread over his open one, face wrenched in pain from his pulling. Your face burns so red. He can see it beneath the light amount of makeup you had on. You're breathing hard, shaking your head, body quaking too.

        "Ow, stop-" you start, before he cuts you off, voice still level. 

        It's so eerie how calm he is. That face of his had only slipped for moments when he was in the thralls of pleasure before. 

        "I'm a thorough man," Mihawk said, sharp eyes boring into you. 

        You don't know why you feel so powerless under it. 

        "N..." the syllable dies on your lips again. 

        Mihawk reaches now, for your belt, jerking you closer, holding you in place momentarily. Then, he undoes it. You're paralyzed as he unbuttons your pants, dragging them down over your hips to reveal your underwear hugging your form. One of his fingers delves beneath the material, tracing along your hip bone. You shiver under his touch.

        He thinks of the time he'd walked in on you spread out over the couch, arms stretched upward so that your shirt had lifted a little. It'd shown just a hint of your lower stomach.

        "It's a shame if you're telling the truth," Mihawk muses suddenly, finger dragging down, dangerously close to your pussy. "To not take advantage of this is so...unlike him." 

        Between the two, your money also would have been on Crocodile to be the more lecherous. This makes you feel so...dirty. Pointless. It's like he doesn't even really care about doing this. It's just another little distraction to stave off his boredom. Something he won't ever pay mind to going forwards, but you'll never be able to escape from.

        He'll haunt your thoughts and your body forever now. But maybe he'd already been doing that for awhile now.

        His hand leaves your hair, only to secure at the small of your back, keeping you from trying to wriggle off his lap. Not that you were even fighting back all that hard to begin with. Part of him is almost starting to think a real fucked up part of you is into this. It really doesn't matter to him. He's just trying to blow off some steam after all.

        "Well?" he asks, impatiently, cock fully erect once more, brushing over your skin. 

        Face starting to screw up more, awkwardly, you shift your weight, lifting yourself. So he can just keep having his way. You hover above his cock briefly, like unsureness is taking over again. Like you think you can change your mind now. Mihawk lets the head of his cock drag slowly through your folds.

        "You know," he comments, voice starting to take on a somewhat scathing tone, "As bashful as you try to appear, your body seems to tell a different story." 

        You're wet. For him. From the moment he'd ordered you onto your knees and you'd just...done it. 

        You stiffen entirely when he begins to push his length inside of you. Your legs tremble as you try to keep yourself from sinking down onto him. You're so nervous you're not sure you could fit him all even if you tried. It's not like he's horrifically sized, like Crocodile would have been (ugh, why are you even thinking about that right now?!). 

        You're just scared.

        Mihawk doesn't really care about that either. Nonchalantly, his hand moves, right at the top of your ass, and he forces you down more. You whimper out, ducking your head to try and bite back the sting of the stretch. Your legs eventually give out, unable to handle the strain any longer and a sharp gasp escapes you. It's more from the shock of the movement than anything else. 

        He's starting to feel good, as his hips shift, and he rocks his hips up into you. Still a bit stiff, you bring either of your hands to his chest, almost like you want to push him away. There's really nowhere for him to go. Mihawk feels you putting more and more of your weight onto him. And he feels how your fingers start to knead into his chest with each little roll of his cock into your body. 

        All your little stammering gasps and moans...he thought you'd sound something like this. 

        "Perhaps you just remind him of a time when he thought he'd rule the world," Mihawk started up again, a bit pensively. Probably one of the only men on the planet that could have some philosophic moment while buried inside a woman. You whimper out again, at his lazy pace. 

        Your hands stay planted at his bare chest. You're trying so hard to keep distance from him, even with him inside of you, pumping slowly. Torturing you. The pleasure is starting to rise inside you. You can't stand that. You make a motion to lean further away from him, and Mihawk clicks his tongue disapprovingly, a hand shifting back up to the small of your back to keep you exactly where he wants you. 

      Such a strangely gentle touch. 

        But then his eyes fully fix on you, off of the wall, and you feel petrified all over again. His voice comes again, much firmer. 

        Maybe you're the only one that feels like you're just not cut out for this. But it wasn't like you ever had a choice in the matter. 

        They'd started out as mere villages. Just groups of people that had banded together with the common desire to survive. You ancestors had made the right deals, the perfect moves, the wisest marriage arrangements--whatever it took to climb and unite so many fragmented groups of people on the fringes of Alabasta. Together, you were stronger. That's what you'd always been taught.

        When the responsibility falls into your lap, as the chain of command and strict bloodline laws dictated, it was something you didn't want, but were desperate to uphold all the same. You'd do anything not to be the weak link that brought down a functioning, successful society that had flourished quietly against all odds. 

        It's already kind of a bad look that you're ruling alone, without a king or a lord or whatever at your side. At the very least, they'd expected you to have some kind of partner. Something, that inherently promised these people that the bloodline would continue on. For it to end, would mean change and uncertainty. Thing had been done a certain way in these fringe sovereignties for years. 

        The last thing you want to be is the one who upset the order and balance. To fade away quietly, only mentioned in a sentence or two in their history books, was all you really wanted.

        But the simple fact, is that in the age you are alive, things in Alabasta are changing. You don't think it's for the better, but change is always inevitable. 

        You suppose the benefit of leading such a small amount of groups is that your family had been able to avoid most of the usual central power drama that had raged on. Rumors of a civil war beginning soon had threaded through the sands and dunes, all the way here. You didn't want to play dense when it came to the shifting politics of the country. However, you'd always been advised that a better use of your time was to continue protecting the trade routes that had been established for decades now. They're the most valuable thing of all.

        And the water. Protect the dwindling water. 

        It's not like that's a secret. The whole country's been deep in the worst drought in it's history. There's no sign of it releasing it's chokehold. But wasn't that always the way of the desert? 

        Maybe it's your inexperience that leads to your misunderstanding of it.

        While you may not have a ruling partner at your side, as everyone else in your lineage had, you were certainly not alone. There's a trusted, small amount of advisors and council members that tended to tackle the smaller community issues. But...it's just a lot. All of it's a lot. Like, all the time now. Maybe a result of the rising tensions starting to swallow Alabasta whole.

        You hate to think that it's inescapable. You have nightmares of these territories collapsing and it being all your fault.

        Sometimes you catch yourself just staring into the bathroom mirror, hands placed firm on the edges of the porcelain sink. You look tired. You always look like that. It's no wonder--you toss and turn through most of your nights, forever restless, ensnared in the stresses of just...well...being you. 

        And of course, it can only get worse.

        Apparently, you need to arrange a meeting with some local hero from the more central parts of Alabasta. That's where all that drama had been stirring up. It'd been an idea from your advisors, as they'd received a letter from his people. Something about a dinner or a business meeting for the greater good of your fellow communities and blah blah blah your head hurts. You kinda wonder if that makes you a bad leader for not wanting to do this at all. Was it so awful to just do as your forefathers had done and turn a cold shoulder to the rest of the world?

        These people had thrived in isolation. They need you to uphold the order they'd relied on for decades. To turn and open negotiations to a total stranger, regardless of his prestige just didn't feel right. And from what rumors whisper, he's deeply embroiled with the conflict in Alabasta. A 'national hero' of sorts. He was very much involved with the communities and marines alike. 

        In your opinion, that's too many potential enemies to be making. 

        The meeting drones on. So many mixed opinions and speculation and discussions of rumor. And you need to placate all of this. You can feel them stealing glances at you, silently demanding you jump in. Speak up. Right all that's wrong. That's your job. This is what you were born for. 

        It can't be a band-aid fix. You have a feeling mishandling this is gonna bite you in the ass later. There's no ignoring that man's invitation. But if you take it too eagerly, you could be setting yourself and all these people up. You press a thumb briefly at the bridge of your nose, before clearing your throat.

        "Let's all just be honest," you finally speak, silencing the quarreling representatives. You hate how silent they fall for you. You should have to fight for your voice to be heard, same as them. They place so much of their faith in you. "He's a potential threat, isn't he?"

        A murmur of agreement passes through. 

        Nothing good comes out of tangling with warlords. Even gallant, heroic ones that have the other 90% of the country falling head over heels in love with him. You're quiet for a moment, thinking of how to phrase the next few sentences.

        "The letter just requests a meeting. No alliance. No promises. No oaths or exchanges." Silence hangs in the room. "So I'll go."

        The room starts to rise with outrage, reminding you for the billionth time why you toss and turn at night. A whole lot of what if's and hypotheticals flying around. Eventually, it dies down again. Especially when you put up your hand, thoroughly fed up with all the bickering. It's kind of a wonder this order of cities has even lasted as long as it had with how much their representatives love squabbling at these meetings.

        Because their leader is just and powerful and wise and fair. You need to be all those things.

        "It's just for the sake of pleasantries. Not diplomacy." You lean a bit forwards. "That man has Alabasta under his heel. Whether that's a good or a bad thing is not our problem, because we've survived as we have for decades now. And we'll continue doing just that, without him. But if he's taken an interest in us, I need to find out why, and we need to act accordingly."

        There should be other representatives of different sovereign communities throughout Alabasta attending, right? So his gaze might even pass you right over.

        Can't be that hard. Show up. Smile, giggle, "thanks for the drinks, such wonderful food, isn't Alabasta such a beautiful country? Oh yes yes, I'll just have to journey back out to this part of the country again some time, how utterly charming". And then become marvelously busy and engrossed in some petty conflicts at home that don't really deserve all your attention. Then you're much too occupied to lend any kind of resources or forces, right?

        It's a flawless plan that usually works fine.

        And if it really is resources he's looking to squeeze out of you, you're sure there's some that can be quietly spared on the condition that these people and their cities are left alone. You wonder if you're a coward for already settling on a backup plan like this. But it's the smart thing to do. You're not so stupid that you can ignore the tensions stirring at the center of the kingdom. It was best to stay away from it all. That's what your father had told you.

        You wished you paid more attention when he was imparting such boring wisdoms onto you. Don't get involved in possible oncoming civil war is pretty stellar advice, you think.

        It's been years since any sort of representative from this territory had agreed to attend a meeting held by other powers. As quiet as you want this to go, you have a creeping, horrible feeling it'll be anything but. What choice do you have, though?

        The travel arrangements were made, and you have a letter drafted and sent back to him, to this Sir Crocodile. You'd love to join him for an evening. Yadda yadda. All that other stuff. You'd just told the scribe to write whatever sounded most polite and non offensive. But keep it boring. Wouldn't want him taking more of an interest than he'd already had. 

        Sometimes you really feel like a fraud in this position. 

        You find yourself pondering as you gaze out at the passing night sky, stars brighter than ever. That's the one good thing about this country. The stars are so easy to see. It's smarter to travel at night, out of the heat. It's easier to bundle up and throw on a few layers. A soft sigh left you.

        It's not like you didn't care about all of this. Of course you cared. You'd had the weight of this all on your shoulders since the moment you became mentally conscious as a child. You'd always known this was what fate held for you. That's what everyone told you. 

        You shut your eyes and you don't open them until you reach Rainbase. 

        Crocodile was a large man, imposing and as intimidating as you'd been exaggerating in your head the entire journey here. You hadn't managed to even drift off into a restless sleep. He feels your eyes sweep over him, how they falter. A nasty looking scar tore across his nose and cheeks. 

        "Princess (Y/N), I presume?"

        Such a raspy, harsh voice.

        And he'd offered a large hand to you, so he could take your own. You try not to pale too much as he brings your knuckles to his lips gently. His rings are cold. Why is he so cold, even as the early morning sun started to beat down on you both? 

        "Just (Y/N). Please." 

        He chuckles, and a tendril of discomfort runs deep through you. "Of course. Such humility. Such a rare thing, now, isn't it? Your father raised you well."

        Why would he know anything about...?

        You just give him a bit of an awkward nod, and he releases your hand. He'd held it for far too long, in your humble opinion. So far, you're failing to see how this man's charmed the whole of Alabasta for almost 15 years. He smiles at you, close lipped, and it doesn't reach his dark eyes. 

        He'd been generous enough to offer you the guest house on his estate. It was a private villa, only taking up a small fraction of his expansive property. Part of you wonders why you even need to meet with him and play nice if he clearly has enough money to pay for all of this. It's far grander than anything back where you'd grown up. Sure, it's a nice palace, but it's of simple marble. None of these jewels, none of these unnecessary wastes of precious water, or fine silks. You'd always like that about your home.

        All of this...extravagance made you uncomfortable. 

        You'd arrived in something very plain. It was purposeful of course, to double down on the idea that he's overestimated whatever it is he thinks he can gain from you and your community. The same applied for whatever other greedy reps might be attending.

        When had you become so withdrawn and mistrustful? It was to protect yourself and your people but...it didn't feel good. You feel all horrible inside. 

        If you make your people look too impoverished, it's not good, because Crocodile would overextend a helping hand, sure to come at a price. If you look too wealthy, he'll want a slice of the pie. So somewhere in the middle. Something mediocre, so his gaze will simply pass you over. Maybe he'll even consider this all a waste of his time.

        But he'd sent that letter for some reason. Sure, the guy can play nice, but he's been around decades longer than you have, throwing his weight around in the public sphere. He'd never contacted your father when he had your position, from what you can remember. Or...maybe he had and your father had simply declined. Unlike you. Should you have turned him down from the beginning?

        Does Crocodile think you're weak? Is he trying to take advantage of you being young and inexperienced?

        That bothers you.

        So you're up for most of the day too, chin rested on the balcony overlooking the private swimming pool you didn't care to enjoy. 

        The country wide drought comes to mind once more.        

        You could only catch a few hours of poor quality sleep before the appointed dinner time. You kept waking yourself up, wrought with anxiety. 

       Crocodile had booked out the entirety of some fancy restaurant. You think he might have owned it, actually. So clearing it out couldn't have been too difficult. Awkwardly, you take your place at the table. You think your position is far enough away from Crocodile for you to get out of this pretty unseen.

        Unfortunately for your being unseen plan, Crocodile arrived pretty early as well. You damn yourself for wanting to make a good impression. To be honest, damned if you do, damned if you don't. Showing up late would have had heads turning your way. It would have been outrageously disrespectful. It would have made you sovereignty look bad. So the more reasonable option was to be early, at the risk of standing out in that manner.

        Your head aches from all the overthinking. All for nothing, too.

        He beckons for a waiter almost as soon as he's taken his obvious seat at the head of the expansive table. He must have had it moved in here just for tonight, based on how the rest of the floor is cleared. It's made of a rich, dark wood, with banana gators carved into the edges. Part of you wonders if Crocodile is his real name or if he was just a really big fan of big, dangerous scaly things with teeth. 

        He gestures a hand towards you. Not a finger. It's rude to point at a lady. 

        You kinda wanna go find a nice big sand dune to bury yourself in.

        "Switch her to here." He taps the spot closest to him. "Whoever's there, give him her spot."

        Yeah, you're gonna kill yourself.

        You watch, awkwardly, as the waiter obeys, swapping your nametag over. You glance down only briefly at the new one. You don't recognize the name on it. Another nobody, like you, pretending they're not a nobody. You hope this person didn't expect to be seated close to the esteemed Sir Crocodile tonight. You're motionless initially, his gaze trained on you. 

        You tell yourself this could be about ten times worse, and other people could have shown up early to witness this embarrassment. 

        "Ohh, that's, uh-" you look for your professional, resplendent leader of a sovereignty words, "Soo...very generous. However, I'm not one to upset the order set."

        Yeah that sounded good.

        Crocodile waves a hand, thick fingers glittering with gem studded rings. "You're too kind, my dear. It's especially why I'd like your closer company tonight."

        Good lord, what is his deal?

        Truth be told, he's absolutely loving how uncomfortable you look. You and nervous. Like putty in his hands, if he wanted it to be so. Your father had been too tough of a nut to crack, in all of his isolationist stubbornness. Crocodile hadn't forgotten how that man had insulted him. And of course he'd arranged for this insult to be appropriately dealt with in ways that could not be traced back to him. A hero cannot have dirty hands.

        Regardless, his efforts had been better spent throughout the years expanding his reach to the more...reasonable cities and their leaders, scattered across the great expanse of Alabasta. At the end of the day, it doesn't matter where you're from or how you lead your people. Everyone loves gold, jewels, and water. 

        It'd always bothered Crocodile that he hadn't been able to sink his teeth into the place you stood for, earlier on. It's like the one that got away. And now here you are. Only a few feet down the dining table. Everywhere else had desired him with open and desperate arms as the drought worsened.

        So it would bring him such wonderful pleasure to have you by his side tonight.

        Realistically, there's nothing to do but move. So you do. Awkwardly, you settle down, and the waiter pushes the seat in behind you. No escape. Your knee brushes against part of his thick leg, which makes you even more determined to find that sand dune and bury yourself in it after this wall over. He ignores it, being the very classy gentleman he is. 

        But then he starts talking to you of all things. About your nation. About how much work it must be for someone like yourself, and how commendable you  are for braving it alone these recent years. 

        "You're doing very well," he praises you. "Very well, indeed."

        "Thank you."

        Such a curt, little response. Crocodile leans in a little bit, voice lowering, even though there's really nobody else in this room to hear him.

        "But should you ever need aid, come to me. I can ensure you're taken care of."

        Your irritation starts to slip through a little bit. Which is perfect, because it's exactly what Crocodile wanted from you.

        "With all due respect, Sir Crocodile--I've managed thus far. I'll continue to."

        Ah, there's that stubbornness your nation is so damn famous for. Such a headstrong people. It'd be worthwhile to have that under his thumb. Maybe it's what you've been trained to say, conditioned, in a manner of speaking. However, Crocodile is no fool. He sees those dark circles under your eyes. He can tell your heart isn't quite in your words. It's just some script you're picking dialogue from.

        That is something to be used against you.

        He'll yield to your oh so powerful will. Just for now. "Of course, my dear. But you've misunderstood me--I meant no offense. You have my full faith."

        You just give a nod for the sake of not being rude. This is already getting kinda sour and dinner hasn't even started yet.

        Your many prayers are answered when the other representatives start to file in. Maybe coming in late would have also saved you  the embarrassment of being the only one seated, and directly next to Crocodile of all things. You think you  saw the guy got switched with looking a little irritated, finding his name card so far down the table. 

        It doesn't escape your notice that you're the only woman here. 

        Throughout the dinner, you're relieved that all these people seem to be vying for his attention. And Crocodile gives it, but selectively. Like he's drip feeding them validation and praise. You start to understand exactly how he's come to be the man that he is. Why people think the world of him. He controls this room like it's nothing at all. He's in the spotlight, but he doesn't even break a sweat.

        A horrible, envious part of you wishes you could do that. Maybe it's just something you weren't born with, but it was certainly something everyone in your life had wanted to see from you. It wasn't fair.

        Out of the corner of his eye, Crocodile sees how you seem to shrink into yourself as the dinner drags on. His food had been brought out first, and of course, put on his plate first. You didn't seem interested in your own, only sipping tentatively at the glass of water in front of you. 

        As he speaks to the others, you watch his fork move. Like it's the most normal, familiar thing in the world, he moves some of his food over to your plate. It's nothing shabby either--a beautiful cut of steak. Pre-sliced, because he can't do it himself on account of his hook. You guess you'd never considered that aspect of missing a hand. 

        It gets a couple of looks from the other representatives that have you thinking about that hypothetical sand dune again. 

        Don't be rude.

        Hesitantly, you take a few bites. It's really good. Better than anything the kitchens at home could make. 

        Crocodile's a big man. It's a wonder why he keeps giving you more of his food. Doesn't he need that? Like, his maintenance calories had to be somewhere in the 5,000's, right? How's he not hungry? Especially lugging that giant, gold hook around...

        You get your answer when he lights his cigar. Most of the other men take the queue to start lighting up themselves. Total appetite killer. Yours kinda fades too, just from the overwhelming smells. Gently, you push your plate away, hoping it didn't catch anyone's attention. The room was already getting misty with the smoke.

        Your eyes water a little.

        You don't belong here. You really don't. 

        Quietly, you excused yourself. 

        You pick your way down the hallway, eventually finding your way to the door of a grandiose bathroom. You hadn't meant to end up there. But it seemed quiet and far away. And it wouldn't be all that suspicious if someone ran into you.

        It's more mirror than marble or any other material, which doesn't make sense with how dim it is in here. What's the point of nitpicking everything about your reflection if you can't see jack shit? Nothing ever makes any sense to you lately. A soft sigh comes from you, your heart pounding in your chest, as you place the heels of your palm flat on the counter. 

        Your gaze falls down to the sink.

        Maybe it stayed there for too long. You hadn't meant to be in here, unmoving, for so much time. You'd simply lost track.

        The door creaks open. You ignore it, although you really shouldn't have. There weren't any other women at that table. You sense him behind you. A bit meekly, you look up, at his reflection in the mirror, looming behind you. His hand comes to engulf your shoulder, dim light catching in his slicked back, dark hair. 

        "Heard of knocking?" you mutter, a bit shortly. There's a slight tremor in your voice. "This is the ladies' room."

        "I own the building."

        "Right. How could I forget? You own everything in this town."

        Maybe that comes off more bitter than you meant for it to be. So, you fall quiet once more. You don't know why, but the silence prompts you to have such a sobering thought. It's one that chases all of the other conflict and panic straight from your mind. The cacophony is gone, but at such a cost. 

        Your voice comes again, so quiet, it's honestly pathetic. But it's the kind of thing that makes Crocodile want to sink his teeth into you entirely. The sort of sound that has the hairs on the back of his hand raising. 

        Defeat. 

        "How do you do it?"

        His hand tightens a little bit on your shoulder. 

        "Just...control a room like that? Does it feel right to you? Have you always done it?"

        It's as natural as breathing to a man like him. Crocodile smiles, eyes meeting yours in the reflection of the mirror. "With control, comes power, (Y/N)," he rasps, "That's the way of the world."

        You shake your head. "I don't believe that."

        "A truth is a truth, whether you want to believe it or not. Doesn't change a thing." He shifts the cigar in his mouth. There's smoke in here now too. No escaping it.

        You look even more trouble now. All the smoke in the room from before was still making you woozy, maybe. And it didn't help that it'd followed you to here. Crocodile's hand hasn't left your shoulder. You feel that dread sinking deeper and deeper into you. Like you need to get the fuck out of this place as fast as possible. But you have a feeling that you can't.

        He won't let you. 

        Crocodile's hand starts to move down your body, caressing slow over your side, further down your back. It comes to grip directly above your hip. HIs gold hook lifts and the thinner point comes to rest directly at your lower stomach. You swallow, nervously. He wouldn't...

        "Your heart isn't in this. It never was. You don't have what it takes to wield the power you do the correct way." Through such thin clothes, you can feel how cold his thick fingers are. "It's wasted on you."

        "You don't know a damn thing-"

        "Ah, ah." The tip of his hook comes dangerously close to your stomach, grazing just along it, prompting you into silence. "I'm not finished." 

-his hand starts to move down your body, caressing slow over your side, down your back. it comes to grip, directly above your hip. his gold hook lifts. the thinner point rests directly at your lower stomach. you swallow, nervously. he wouldn't...

        His fingertips search over your clothes for an opening, A place to snake in beneath. He finds it with embarrassing ease. Of course he has. He'd been thinking of the fastest way to touch you since he'd seen your outfit tonight. He'd always been a meticulous planner, always ten steps ahead.

        You tremble beneath his touch, fingers tightening to fists on the counter. His massive, rough hand slides down over your stomach, fingertips beneath your panties. His skin is rough. 

        Your breath catches in your throat as he forces his hand between your legs. The fabric of your clothes shifts and you feel his chest and stomach pushing up against your back. 

        "S-Stop-"

        You go to struggle, realizing exactly what's happening and what he's doing to you. The curve of his hook shifts around your thigh, jerking it open wider so he has more access. You lose your balance at the force of the motion, and he aggressively shoves his hips up against your ass. You're pinned to his thick arm. 

        Just barely his finger grazes over your clit. With the sheer size of it, it would have been impossible for him to miss. You stammer out, a sharp exhale of panic leaving you. Pleasure, horror, everything...

        "Inexperienced," he comments in your ear, finger kneading up against you. Your squirming is just making it worse. "That's what you are. You've no interest in the power that has been granted to you. All for free. You may have your people fooled, but you have certainly not fooled me, my dear."

        His breath is warm on your skin. 

        "I see through you. I understand you. And I may very well be the only man who can help you."

        You can't steady your breathing, as his thick finger circles you, sending sparks of pleasure rushing through your body. He's being too rough, dull pain throbbing as well. You grit your teeth.

        "N...No," you mutter. 

        Crocodile feels you try to squirm out from under him again. He won't let you. His weight increases and you gasp out again. He shushes you. The cigar on his breath overwhelms you entirely, as does his expensive cologne. You can feel the heat at the end of it so dangerously close to your ear. 

        "Let me take it all away from you."

        You try again to shift your body away from his hand, but there's just no room to struggle anymore. No where to go. And his hand is too big to escape. His fingers slide down, his thumb taking their place. Slowly, they start to push into you. Whimpering, you shrug your shoulders, tilting your head forwards from the dull stretch. No need for aggression. He's a man who's always taken his time when it came to getting what he wanted. 

        He can tell you don't want to touch him. He can tell you're trying so hard to lean away from his chest, but it only leans you forwards into his hungry, waiting fingers. They push a little deeper inside of you, and the pain becomes sharp. You cry out, halfway to sobbing. Frustrated, you move your head again, back of your head nestling again into his chest. 

        Desperately, your hands leave the counter, to try and grab at his arm, pulling at the sleeve of his suit. A soft huff of amusement comes from him, feeling your chest around him. How you claw at this sleeve, trying to move him. He circles his thumb faster over your clit, and you tremble, faltering against Crocodile. 

        You squeeze your eyes shut, for the sake of not looking into that fucking mirror, at him, but it only makes it all the harder to ignore how he's reaching parts of you your own fingers have never been able to. How that horrible bliss is slowly rising through your body. A soft moan comes from you, and Crocodile's grin spreads. You can hear him. Laughing in your ear. 

        Such awful noise. 

        This is so embarrassing. 

        "You could stay in Rainbase. Live a cozy, wonderful life in the place I've given you."

        You writhe on his fingers. He doesn't expect it, almost biting through his cigar to secure you once again, up against the counter. 

        Frantically, you shake your head. "N-No, I can't-I can't do that-"

        "Why not?"

        You hate how his question hangs like a noose in the air, waiting for you to put your head inside. You whimper out again, turning your head to the side. His hook lifts. You feel the cold metal press to your cheek. The wicked point's right near your eyes. You grit your teeth harder as he works you closer and closer to an orgasm. 

        You're so snug around his thick fingers. If he had the time, he'd keep you like this for hours. 

        "Answer me, (Y/N). We don't have all night."

        "I ca-can't betray them," you manage. Hot tears start to burn at the corners of your eyes. They'll start spilling any moment now. One last push is all it'll take.

        "Such a misguided view..." His fingers won't stop pumping inside of you. His thumb won't stop stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs, getting you closer and closer. "You poor thing. Is that what you've been told all your life? With all those heavy, impossible expectations on your shoulders?"

        Crocodile's head lean down. The cigar drops from his lips, like it's nothing more than trash to him now. Just something in his way, right before his lips press to your shoulder. A shiver passes through you. The cigar rolls into the sink, from the counter. 

        Another kiss. Again and again. Tears track down your cheeks. 

        "They were never meant to bear that burden."

        ...

        No. No, you can't believe a word out of his slimy mouth. He's just manipulating you. He's just telling you want to hear, he's just-

        "I know what you want. I'll give it to you." Crocodile's laugh is muffled by your skin. "My dear, you shouldn't continue to suffer in such a position."

        A position you'd never wanted. The one you always felt like such a fucking fraud in. A waste of energy and royal blood and time...

        You think of all the restless nights you'd spent, wishing that maybe you'd been born a different person. One without a fate and responsibility so heavy.         

        He shouldn't have known that about you. There were tons of things he shouldn't have known. Could he really tell from just a glance?

        Your crying is getting louder. Your breath catches again, as you realize you're cumming onto his fingers, no longer able to stand the massaging and thrusting of them any longer. They're too big to even fit fully into you, his rings cold against your entrance, slick with you. Your legs tremble, and you're weak against his arm, your full weight falling against it. Your hands are still desperately clenched in his sleeve, practically hugging him. 

        His hook drops away from your face, as you gasp out for breath, shaking, and trembling, hot in the head. 

        "Again...I like hearin' you cry like that, doll. Been wanting to hear it all night."

        His thick fingers, once idly toying with your cum, rubbing along the rim of your cunt, thrust back inside. He arches them a little harder, tries to force t hem a little deeper. It doesn't take nearly as long for you to become undone on his hand, oversensitive from his fingering before. You shudder with pleasure, unable to stop the tears now. 

        Your jaw clenches, and you try so hard to bite back all the noises Crocodile wanted so badly to hear. It doesn't matter to him. You won't be able to help it in a matter of moments anyways.

        His hand leaves you, and you shudder at the texture of the gems encrusted on his rings scraping raw against your inner thighs. 

        Crocodile pushes you down fully onto the counter, thick hand at the base of your neck to pin you. One eye peaked open, you see his cigar in the sink. There's a dent in it where he'd nearly bitten through. You whimper as he pulls up the length of your clothing with his hook. What clings to your legs, stained with shame and pleasure, gets dragged down. He'd been thoughtful enough to prepare you.

        You'd appreciate him for that.

        You can hear his belt being undone. He'd been hard before, grinding into your ass as he'd pushed his fingers inside of you. But now you feel the full length of his cock, rubbing slow between your legs. They're not open wide enough, squeezing slightly around him. Crocodile groans out and you quiver. Just to make sure you fully understand how grateful you should be, he rocks his hips against you slow, so you can feel where his thickly haired base is. You feel light headed.

        He's big. You'd never done anything like this before. Almost reading your mind, Crocodile leans in, body completely curved against yours, not allowing for an inch of respite. It's him, or the counter, and nothing else at all. Guiltily, you almost wish you still had his arm to cling to. Something less...hard and cold. You could have pretended it was something else. Anything else but him.

        "You don't need to worry. I'll take good care of you. Understand me?"

        His cock is starting to push inside you, aided by your cum, still wet between your thighs. You don't like how easily he sinks into you. The pain of being stretched around his fingers meant his cock wasn't going to tear you as badly. He fills you in a way you'd never felt before--it's indescribable. You feel sick. Sickened by the slight burn. 

        By mistake, you glance up into the mirror, and catch sight of your reflection. The veins are prominent in his hand, shoving you down on the counter harder. His brows are strained with pleasure and the scar across his broad face twists with his smile. This one does reach his eyes. He's all too thrilled to be doing this.

        Crocodile glances up, to meet your own gaze in the reflection.

        He's moving deeper inside you. The burn starts to melt into pleasure, just as the discomfort his fingers brought had. You whimper out, but he shushes you all over again. He doesn't want to hear another word. 

        "Let it all go," he coaxes you, voice like oil. 

        You gasp out as he ruts slow and hard into you. A soft whimper comes from you at each shift of his body. You're shaking so badly now. His fingers tighten around your neck. 

        "A-Ahnn.."

        "All of it."

        ”You humans are so strange,” he comments, voice laced with fascination.

        Not disgust. Which is strange, because he’d always spoken of humans with a general aura of repulsion from the start. You’d always excused it as a robot thing. Nothing to get particularly caught up about since your goals had been the same. It's just in his programming, and there's not much you can do about it. He wasn't trying to actively kill you so it shouldn't have mattered all that much.

        Now you’re not so sure. 

        Maybe you should have paid attention to all those little comments Wheatley had made about humans. About you specifically. All the little awkward jokes, maybe the bit of flirting you couldn't possibly take seriously...maybe it all lead up to this. 

        A wire snakes around your waist. As if the mechanical arms weren’t enough already, keeping you suspended above the ground. Your arms are pinned to your sides and your portal gun laid far below, abandoned on the ground. You hoped the damage from the fall wouldn't be to severe to its functions--then you realize you have much bigger things to be worried about right now.

        Wheatley’s optic narrowed as his massive chassis shifted freely about you, taking in every inch of his work. 

        “…Why are you being so quiet? Are you planning something in there? Is that what you’re doing right now?” The wire around your waist tightens dramatically and you gasp out. “Don’t. Seriously, luv.“ 

        You don’t reply. It creeps up, under your tank top, sliding heavy between your breasts. He sees your nose wrinkle with discomfort. It just pisses him off more. Now you think you’re too good to be touched by him? To be held?

        Once he'd watched you shiver in one of the catwalks behind the walls of this place, when the two of you had run from Her. He'd attempted to make his way over, inching with his handlebars, until he was at the tip of your toes.

        He'd offered to warm you up. He can do that you know? Just raise the temperature of his body. Absolute madness--why would the scientists that built him even give him that function? Not for long though, he'd warned you, otherwise he starts frying rather important circuit boards. But you'd taken him up on his offer. You'd held Wheatley's spherical body closer, between your chest and your knees, trying to get the most of the warmth he'd offered you.

        You'd wanted to touch him then. 

        He's a robot. An artificial personality, programmed for such a shallow and stupidly insulting purpose. So being in your arms then shouldn't have felt right. Because he's a robot, so what does he care of that? But now he's the boss of this place. He'd subverted the purpose of his programming, the design of those scientists, and his fate. So what does it matter that he's a robot? Why should that hold him back?

        He wished you could see that.

         Wheatley wills the wire to wrap around your throat for good measure. Just to see the spark of animal fear in your eyes.

        Robots don’t do that.

        ”Oh… I see…” he muses, drawing closer to you. “You think you’re too good for your old partner, Wheatley, now is that it? Just seeing me like this, getting everything I worked for makes you jealous, doesn’t it? You feel just plain...useless now, don't you? Now that I don't need you, right?” 

        “S…Stop it,” you moan weakly, in the onslaught of his shallow questioning, and he finds with a start that he enjoys it.

        ”Ooo…I like that sound, luv.” 

        Another thick wire shoves beneath the hem of your sweatpants leg. Weakly, you try to kick it away, and the length around your waist squeezes tighter, threatening to push out all of the breath in your body.

        His voice clicks with a tongue he doesn't have. "I know," he says, as if he's been thinking of a solution for all your little problems for you, "I think I can find a way for you to be useful to me. How does that sound, hm?"

        His chassis shifts again, so he's 'face' to face with you. Panels flared, his optic flicks up and down your form, and how tight that wire is around your waist. Showing the slightest bit of mercy, seeing how pale you're becoming from the lack of circulation, he seems to ease it. Just a little bit. Enough for you to suck in a fuller breath. Even your gasping's kinda getting him going.

        Maybe some leftover code from this body. A subject gasping for air means the subject is working hard to solve the puzzle right? And that's a good thing, so that's why it feels so good to hear it. Wheatley can't recall ever receiving such a euphoric jolt before being connected to this chassis. Maybe once. From the time when he'd been nested snug between your knees and your chest, cradled close.

        It's never left his memory. You can't do that to him now. He's far too large. 

        Oh well.

        "She kept test subjects like toys, didn't She?" he mutters, and you're not sure if he's still talking to you. "So I'll keep you too. Just in a moreee...personal way. Yeah. Definitely. Doesn't that sound nice? Stuck here with your old pal Wheatley, instead of those horrible little testing chambers? Wouldn't wanna get rid of you after I worked so hard to keep you alive and whatnot."

        A bit of an awkward chuckle comes from him. It's like he can't even keep his processing straight. One minute you're useless, the next he worked hard to keep you alive? Does he seriously buy into his own bullshit?! God the robots in this hellhole. 

        You realize he's being unusually quiet. Waiting for a response. And he's gonna get pissed again if you play silent and stoic. That wire around your throat is still there. They're warm, which startles you, almost like they've a life of their own, pulsing quietly against your skin. Restlessly, they shift. The currently moving slow under the hem of your pants does not escape your notice. 

        "I don't..." your voice creaks with disuse. "I don't know."

        Seriously? You should have told him he was a rat, that he was crazy, that he was no better than Her, and that you should have thrown him down the first air duct you saw when you first met him. That you'd take back that tender moment in the catwalks a million times over, and tell him to go fuck himself instead. 

        A bit of a deadpan expression flicks onto his optic, his upper eyelid lowering. Even though his handlebars are gone, a lot of his expressiveness remains, which kinda disturbs you more. 

        "'You don't know'," he repeats back, a bit of a sting in his voice. "That's--that's ridiculous, I mean here I am giving you a choice, and you don't even care!"

        "Wheatley-" you try, and he cuts you off, with a shake of his 'head'. His optic darts moodily, glancing down at the ground. 

        "No, no, no. That's fine. Just bloody peachy. Fine. I'll make it for you." He fixes you with that blue light of his. "I'm not sending you back to Her chambers."

        "Test subjects, don't you need a test subject?" you try, mind racing, as that wire clenched around your leg just keeps moving. 

        Wheatley scoffs. You hadn't realized the wire wrapped around your throat still had a considerable amount of length. A heavy curve of it lifts up, to slide slow at your cheek, almost caressing and cupping your head, through your hair. You grimace, visibly, even if you know it's gonna irritate him worse. 

         That other damned wire continues climbing, through your pant leg, twining around your limb. It's between your legs, you can't help but notice. He's probably got the strength to tear your leg clean off if he wanted to--with this god-like power leant to him by this damned facility. 

        "You'd probably kill yourself in there just to spite me, wouldn't you, luv? You're just trying to trick me so--so you can get away from me, because you. Think. I'm. A. Moron. Just like Her." His voice drips with acid, as he tries to poke holes in your pathetic excuses and distractions. It's a wonder how he hasn't just tried to suffocate you himself yet.

        You guess it's a matter of his pride now, to keep you to himself, far away from the depths of this facility. To strip you of your own pride and autonomy. You still don't understand. If he's so mad at you, he should be fine with trying to kill you. But now he wants to 'keep' you? Fuck's the matter with him? He's not a moron, he's a raving lunatic, if anything else. 

        And you don't want to be this raving lunatic's toy. At least GLaDOS was obsessed with something obvious, and that was testing. Maybe your suffering, but even that was easy to see and understand. Wheatley is different now. He's unstable and unpredictable. And you don't know why he's doing this.

        What had you ever done to him?!

        You're tempted to ask, but figure it'll just send him flying into another tantrum. That's the last thing you need with his newfound powers--equivalent to that of God's in this place. 

        The wire around your leg tightens suddenly and you whimper. His optic narrows again, and he looms closer.

        "What sort of noises do you think you'll make it if I do this, hm?" 

        It grinds with more intensity against your clothed pussy, startling you. Automatically, you go to squirm, prompting the rest of the wires--his grip on you--to tighten considerably. All you can do is clench your fingers into a fist. But even that, he wants to take away from you. As the thick wire between your legs continue to shift and pulse mercilessly against you, thinner ones emerge from the mess already wrapped around your body. And he can feel through each one. He lets them snake down to your wrist, force themselves between your shaking fingers as your breathing gets more uneven. In your palm, more wires press, wrapping around your hand, clenching the space between your fingers, until you're holding them against your will.

        Holding Wheatley.

        "Your face is getting all red," he observes, leering too close once more. 

        You're hot all over, the mass of tendril like wires he's wrapped around you only adding to the heat. It's in your head. In your cunt. Inside you. It'd been a dull ache at first, from his cluelessness. But from the rough friction alone, it's starting to get to you. 

        He's close enough to where the ragged breath escaping your parted lips condense at the cold metal plates that construct his frame. You close your eyes, brows drawn, for the sake of shutting out the bright blue that shines from his optics, like a flashlight on your face, darting and anxious and wanting.

        It hadn't taken him terribly long to track you down. Silly you, thinking you could outrun, out hide, or even outsmart the man downstairs. You'd thought maybe because it was dark you had a fighting chance. That if you stayed still enough and held your breath for long enough he'd simply pass you by. Just another disgusting phantom this hellhole had to offer. But no.

        His obsession is palpable.

        He'd been coaxing you, begging you to come to him. Promising you that things would be far worse and far more tragic if he had to find you himself. And after the hours of psychological torment and hell you've already faced in this place, you just can't help but start to believe his promises. 

        You could tell Eddie was angry when his hand had wrapped around your wrist. The intensity of his grip on you betrays him, no matter how soft he tries to make his voice. You're just scared, he tells himself. It's not your fault your fears overwhelm your mind and senses. But all the same he's angry. 

        "I worried you'd continue your little games," he'd told you, reeling you in closer and closer. 

        You don't pull away or try to yank out of his grip. Lord knows how badly that'd go for you. He's bigger. He's stronger. And you wouldn't put it past him to dislocate your arm if you attempted anything. But to his irritation, you don't fall into his arms. Not like he wanted you to. You should have been smiling, happy to see your groom. 

        He's lucid enough in this moment, delusions aside, to know he is the best possible option for you in this place. He's a gentleman. He knows how to treat a lady. The other men here are no more than rabid dogs. Pigs. And that description certainly doesn't fit him, he thinks, smoothing back his hair. Some strands had come loose when he'd been chasing you earlier. The sweat helps keep it back.

        When Eddie wraps his arms around you, you don't fight it. He's...he's so warm. It's cold here. So very cold. His rage subsides when he feels your body sink into his. Even if this nonviolent touch comes from one of the most depraved inmates here, it's shamefully welcome. The guilt floods you. Maybe he's hearing things (when isn't he?) but perhaps a weary sigh leaves your bloody, exhausted frame. He hadn't drawn this blood from you. No. Some other cretin did that to you here. And he grows angry all over again, that you didn't relinquish yourself sooner. He could have protected you. That's what a husband is supposed to do for his wife, for God's sake, and you're too stubborn to see it. 

        Eddie would fulfill his duty to you. And you'd fulfill your obligations as his wife tonight. 

        But for now, he lets you rest in his arms. You feel his chin tuck over your shoulder, and his arms tighten around you. 

        You're not getting out of this. 

        It's better this way.

        That's what you'd convinced yourself when Eddie had suddenly swept you off your feet, like you weigh nothing at all. He takes you further into the depths of the asylum, far out of reach of any other man. Any other soul, as a matter of fact, because he's just not the sharing type. 

        "You'll be loyal to me, as I am to you, won't you darling?" he'd asked you, an unusually anxious tinge to his voice. 

        You don't know what to say. Even if you did, you don't think you would have had the courage to breathe a word. Your heart can only race in your chest as he shoulders through various doors and hallways. It should have been relieving that the screams and voices of the other inmates here are all fading away. But all it means is you'll be completely alone with him. At his mercy. Zero chance of interruption.

        Those interruptions were what had given you the chance to break away from him the first time. Another variant had come out from a nearby hall and sucker punched him in the head. You think he might have been aiming for you, with how loudly you were screaming and yelling, but a well time ducked had the variant's fist narrowly swinging over you and straight into Eddie instead. You think if you had been hit, it would have pissed him off either way. Not as much as it did when you'd made an ultimately unsuccessful break for it, though.

        "You screamed so loudly before," Eddie suddenly sighed, his own scattered mind apparently having wandered alongside your VERY VERY INTACT AND NOT INSANE one. His gaze drifts down to you. "Are you nervous now? Too afraid to say a word?"

        You can't keep track of your surroundings. If you get a window of opportunity to run again, all you're going to do is get yourself hopelessly lost. And he'll find you again, twice as angry. As much as a gentleman as he claims he is, a proper man, you have a feeling that his traditional values won't prevent him from hitting a woman. Your wrist still aches from how tightly he'd wrenched it, when he'd sprung around the corner to snatch you. 

        He'd been scarily quiet for a man so large. He's calculated. He's smart. And that's what makes him the most dangerous man here. Maybe more so than the big lug with the chains that had also been tailing you. Bitterly, you think to yourself that at least you won't have to worry about seeing that variant again. 

        But regret fills you entirely anyways.

        You should have never come downstairs.

        You wonder if death would be better than his gentle touching, the way he pets over you, whispering in your ear, once he's laid you down on one of the mattresses. The pathetic metal bed frame creaks under his weight and every movement he makes. A soft whimper leaves you when you feel his teeth on the delicate, soft skin of your ear. Combined with his hot breath, it makes you shiver wholly. 

        "There we are," he murmurs. "I love to hear your voice, darling. You'll scream for your Eddie tonight, won't you?"

        Your brows draw a little bit as you attempt to stay quieter. His lips drift down the side of your neck. He presses slow kisses to you, even if all he desires tonight is to tear your clothes off now and make love to you. His lips are textured, rough from his scarring. It's an odd sensation, one that makes your skin crawl. Something inside you shifts, and you dread it. 

        "Don't keep yourself from me," he says, voice pushed into your flesh. He can't bring himself to separate from you to speak clearly. "Don't you dare."

        Either of his hands stroke up your body before he grabs fistfuls of the flimsy, distributed patient uniform shirt. Your heart begins to race as you can hear seams start to pop, as he pulls his handfuls in opposite directions. Your hand jumps up to his arm. Not to stop him, he realizes. You want something to hold onto. Something to feel safe. And maybe you even want to feel how strong your new husband is.

        He can show you. He can show you that he's strong enough for you to relinquish yourself. Strong enough to protect you from the world. So you'll only ever need him.

        His jaw sets as he tears your shirt clean off. You gasp out as the cold air bites into you. It's not like the canvas like material of the shirt had been doing much to protect you from it in the first place, but the nakedness is jarring. 

        Even if it's dim in here, you feel Eddie's eyes raking over you. On top of you, he moans out, calloused palms stroking up your torso, uninterrupted. He cups your breasts in his large hands, bringing his thumbs over your nipples. You try not to squirm, biting down on your bottom lip. 

        It shouldn't feel good. It shouldn't hurt this good. It shouldn't make you clench around nothing at all as he continues to play with you, just to watch your breath hitch and your body seize beneath him. Another, louder whimper comes from you, only encouraging him to continue. Eddie leans down to press another kiss to your neck, working his way up so you're forced to lean your head back. 

        The smell of him fills your nose. He's overwhelming. You can't think. And all you can feel is his hands and lips on you. 

        "W...Why?" you finally manage, voice hoarse. 

        He pauses. "What do you mean, love?" 

        "Why are you...doing this to me?"

        Eddie clicks his tongue. He's a bit disappointed you don't already know the answer. Or perhaps you're so neglected you don't have the faintest clue. Excitement makes his heart race in his wide chest more than it already is. But he restrains himself. For your sake. Just barely.

        A lesser man would have lost control. They would have ripped your pants off too, and ravaged you. His cock twitches in his pants at the thought. 

        "This is how I love you," he eventually said. "How I...admire your womanly form. Untouched. Unflawed. Made for me alone and sent by God." He nuzzles into your neck, breathes you in. He can't get enough. His hand trembles a little now, resting on your chest. 

        A chest that he didn't have to rectify. To find a true woman is so rare. In fact, he doesn't think he's felt one, much less seen one in years. It's a testament to his manners that he's able to hold back. But he feels his frustration building regardless. His desire for you greatly outweighs any adoration he might have had for hearing your voice. For having you finally speak to him.

        You shake your head. "No...no I just...I thought you were going to hurt me. Um, for running."

        Eddie laughs, and it startles you. But he doesn't let you shy an inch away from him. You can feel the crotch of his pants flush against your own. And you can feel how he's starting to get harder with every word you say to him. With every sound you make. Hell, with every second that passes with you, here, beneath him.

        "Love is such a fearsome thing," he mulls, with that strange smile on his broad face. His teeth flash a little in the dimness. "You were scared and lost and wounded and you just didn't know you needed me."

        "...Needed you?" you echo, voice small, and it's enough to make him want to cum in his pants now. 

        No. No he must save it all for you.

        "Although..." his smile becomes strained. Eddie leans back in close. "I tire of your antics. Of how your womanly emotions seem to take over whenever I touch you...So you'll have to forgive me for my...uncouthness tonight."        

        He puts a hand, flat to his own chest. His other one stays on yours. He feels your breathing pick up a little. It's not fear, he tells himself. You can't be afraid of your loving, devoted husband who only wants what is best for you. 

        "I am only a man in love. You understand that, don't you darling?"

        Before you can reply, he suddenly reaches to tear your pants down your legs. You cry out in shock, stunned by his sudden aggression. Your leg lifts, to kick him, and he pins down your thigh. Glaring down at you, his other hand drops to his belt. You flinch at the clink of metal, and then the sound of his zipper. Shifting fabric...good God. You turn your head to the side, closing your eyes and bracing yourself. 

        Gone is that gentle lie. 

        He takes a hold of either of your thighs, propping them up high, pushing them towards your head. He spreads you wider and you cry out in pain. Eddie positions himself flush at you entrance, cock rubbing up against you. Either of his massive hands take your ankles, keeping your legs positioned how he wanted them. That grip is merciless. Another whimper comes from you at how hot it is, dragging through your folds, giving you an idea of his size. He's thick. You shudder as the slick from your previous arousal coats him.

        He scoffs, apparently insulted by this. "You shy away like a little virgin, but I know you're a filthy fucking slut. See how your body begs for me?" His voice turns to a hiss in your ear as he leans in closer. "And you've been trying to hide it. You've been lying to your husband."

        What the fuck is he even talking about?

        There's no point in trying to reason, or understand this man. 

        He's here, in this place for a reason. 

        If you truly are godsent, he is devilspawn. 

        He shoves his cock into you, and you scream out at the stretch, not expecting him to move so quickly. Your cunt is tight around him, dragging a throaty groan of pleasure from his throat. Wasting not a single moment, Eddie begins to pump into you, feeling your body spasm beneath him, even if there's no way for you to squirm away. There's not a single inch of space between you and him. His breath is hot, heavy, hungry on your skin. 

        Within only a few moments, you feel his seed spilling inside of you. He has the nerve to call you a slut when he'd been working himself up just as much as you. In an attempt not to provoke him any further, you try to restrain yourself from making any noise. Apparently the wrong move. 

        "You ungrateful little whore..." Eddie's voice is filled with venom. Then, a shaky chuckle comes from him. "Aha~ you want more don't you? More of my seed...yes...you need it. I'll pump you full. And your womb will carry our child...my legacy..."

        Although his hips shake (he's only human, after all), his cock starts to move inside you once again. With his cum as lubrication, his movements are smoother and he...he feels better. The moans start to leave you shamelessly as he thrusts into you, deeper and deeper. Some of his cum starts to leak out of you, gathering at the base of his cock. His length is embedded inside of you--he won't take any chances. 

        Your hands stayed above your head, like you've forgotten you can even use them. No...you don't want to use them to push him away any longer. Eddie feels an even deeper love blossom through him. But it's paired with disgust all the same. How dare you play so difficult to get earlier. 

        Your tits bounce with every aggressive, sharp thrust of his hips.

        "Fucking slut," he breathes out. "Ohhh...your body. Harlot. Jezebel. All for me. Just for me." It sounds like he's on the verge of tears. Still, he punctuates the last syllable with a rather nasty jerk of his hips, slamming you into the mattress, straining your legs back more. You cry out. 

        "Ah- ah," you manage, head twisting to the side in building bliss regardless of all the filth leaving his mouth. 

        He's so warm. He's hot inside of you. Burning. The fire is swallowing you whole. 

        This place is cold, you think fuzzily to yourself, as the bed continues squeaking and Eddie moans out your pet names, swapping back and forth between praise and nasty insults. 

        It's too much. 

        He feels your cunt suddenly clench around him, coaxing another thick spurt of cum from his cock. He gasps out, grip faltering on your ankles, his weight beginning to fall on you entirely. It bottoms him out completely inside of you. Screaming out, you feel the threads inside you snapping, and you cum as well. You think he's cursing you again, as you come down from your orgasm, twitching beneath him.

        For a brief moment, the two of you gasp out, breaths joined, bodies still joined. He stares into your eyes, with a sort of intensity that makes you nervous all over again. 

        His hand drops down from your ankle. Shaking still, you let your leg fall down over his shoulder. You flinch, feeling like it was gonna piss him off. But he doesn't react. Instead, he just grits his teeth in another depraved smile. The type that wrinkles his nose like he's a beast. 

        Nothing more than an animal.

        When he gives you control, you wouldn't trade it for the world.

        Having a man like him, helpless, in front of you makes you feel downright wild. Exhilarating. That's what it is. And he digs it too. Maybe it's because he knows how deeply you love him, his body, the work he puts into it. Plain and simple, it's attractive. 

        Your pointer finger traces over his chest, heading down towards his bicep. The thin rope cuts into his flesh, but that's how he likes it. Tight so it leaves marks. It feels nice having your lips press to the indents once they're off. 

        He feels your hand come to hold at the muscle. With a bit of a smirk curling his lip, he feels you squeeze. Just because he can, he flexes his arm, prompting you to smile too. It strains against his bonds, and they threaten to snap. He knows he could do it if he wanted to--just break out of all this and jump on top of you and have things his way tonight. Adrenaline still pumps through him from his earlier victory in the ring. 

        But Takamura likes letting you do whatever you want. 

        Your palm leaves his arm to start sliding lower down his body. His cock twitches between his legs, begging for attention. There's bruises all over him. Sensitive. A soft, strained moan leaves the back of his throat when you bow your head at his abdomen to kiss at one of the tender marks. 

        "Now that's a champion's body," you muse to yourself, flattening your hand onto his stomach, dragging it down slow. He's fully erect now, with that shit eating grin. Even when he's in a position like this, hands tight and helpless behind his back, ankles pinned behind his body, he seems to naturally find his way to power. 

        "Damn right it is, baby," he replies. 

        Precum beads at his tip. 

        He watches you sink lower, hands coming to rest at his hips. Your warm breath on his cock makes the muscles in his legs tense. You notice it, pressing a softer kiss to the junction of his thigh and crotch. 

        "Tease," Takamura mutters through his gritted teeth. 

        "Me? Nooo..." 

        He's musky still, sweat having dried hours ago from the match. You can't help that he just always smells so good to you. Especially now. Especially here. He feels your fingers grip at his body a little tighter, like you're scared he's just gonna disappear out from under you. He watches your back expand as you inhale deeply, then heave a sigh. 

        Heaven. It's wherever he is. 

        Takamura's not sure how much more he can take, with you practically face first in his bush. Your cheek rubs up against him. Cute, admittedly, but he feels like he's gonna burst at any moment. Frustration floods his senses. Before he has the chance to goad you further, he feels your lips at the base of his cock.

        His arms strain against the rope. He wants to grab a fistful of your hair. Not to force you or anything. Just to have something of yours to grab onto. 

        Dull throbs of pleasure fogs his senses when he feels your tongue starting to stroke his cock, trailing slow to his tip. You're tracing along a prominent vein--you'd told him it was one of your favorite things about his body once. Strange. But you're his weird, strange little thing and entirely perfect. You give him and his body the kind of attention he obviously deserves. 

        He guesses looks can be deceiving. Half the guys at the gym couldn't even believe a girl like you would even give him the time of day. Obviously he's not a pig, he's not about to go blabbing about the shit you do together in the bedroom because that's for him and him alone. Butttt, he can't help but get a bit smug about it and hint at your depravity now and then. Just to properly sew in some jealousy. 

        On the contrary, you still can't believe you went from fanatically following Takamura's matches to fucking him. It'd taken awhile for you to finally shed that starstruck daze on your face whenever he'd even looked at you. He's glad you have. You used to be a lot shier then. 

        He's flattered you save this part of yourself for him. 

        You take his cock into your mouth and he groans out again. You feel his muscles strain under your fingertips. You squeeze him back as you let your mouth sink down on him, tongue curling at his skin. You feel that vein of his against the flat of your tongue, before starting to suck him. A violent shudder passes through Takamura's body. 

        "Haa..." 

        His sigh of pleasure gets you hot. You let a hand slide off his body, to reach in between your own legs. It's hard for him to watch, tied up an unable to do a thing about it. If it were up to him, he'd be the only one to touch you in the world. How can he get jealous of your own hand? The guy's so petty he manages it.

        It's hard to stay mad with the way your head bobs, and you keep sucking him. Takamura lets his head fall back, and sinks into the rising bliss. He feels your hand steady at his thigh, your weight pressing into him as you try to take more inches of him into your mouth. It's not impossible, but you're kinda sensitive and the last thing he wants to hear is you gagging yourself on him. The concept had been hot, but the first time it actually happened, he'd just grown overly worried that you were pushing yourself too hard. 

        You moan against his cock, your own fingers rubbing harder at your clit. His arms keep straining against his bindings, like he wants so badly to touch you. His hips buck a little into your mouth unexpectedly. You can taste the salt of his cum as he moans out, red in the face, body quaking. He gasps out, watching you continue to suck him a little longer. 

        Evidently, you've given up on making yourself cum, or you've forgotten in your obsession with his cock. Through his haze, Takamura watches you finally tear your mouth away from him. Glancing up at him, you press the flat of your tongue one more time to the underside of h is cock, dragging it up, collecting the mixture of your saliva and his cum. 

        He can't take it anymore. 

        You hear threads start to snap. He's fighting against those bindings now so hard it's biting into his tanned skin. 

        His favorite part. Breaking out of it all. You usually tie it loose or just use cheaper material. His muscles flex as grunts, practically tearing through the restraints on his arms. He's able to wrap them around you now, pulling you closer to him. He comes over top of you entirely, enjoying the stretch of his stiff muscles. He liked sitting pretty for you, just the way you want him to, but it feels even better to get his turn.

        You let out an exaggerated cry of surprise as he presses his face to your neck and starts kissing and biting along it, just to feel you writhe in his arms. 

        "Think ya can get away with just torturin' me like that?" he asks, voice muffled by your skin. His voice is low, but you can feel his smile against your neck. 

        "Maybee--aagh! Mamoru, st- ow!" 

        He'd bitten down particularly hard and started sucking. Because he's an asshole that likes to leave you lined with hickeys. You practically look like you were walking out of the ring too when it came to bedroom activities with him. With his arms locked around you like this, pinning your arms to your side, there's not much you can do about it. 

        Brawny thighs straddling your body, he finally unlatches from your neck, to kiss you properly on the lips. His hard cock rocks between your legs as his lips move against yours. Hot and nasty--this is how he likes it. How he likes to have you, as you moan out against his lips. Equally desperate huffs come from him, head of his cock twitching up against your pussy. His body's so warm against yours and he's oh so overwhelming, you're already breaking a sweat without him even inside of you.

        Takamura's thick arms squeeze around you tighter, causing you to gasp out. He's never tied you up before, and he's never really felt the need to. Because this right here is way better in his mind. No rope. Just his muscles and your body against them. He's still aching from his match, but he doesn't care. You're the only thing on his mind right now. 

        Usually he gets out of the ring unscathed, with what a beast he is. But maybe this time his mind had been somewhere else. Distracted by your promise of a fun night, probably. Doesn't matter though. He won didn't he? You told him you'd only do this with him tonight if he won, so there'd been no choice in the matter. The stakes had just been too high.

        "My turn now," he reminds you between kisses. His arms squeeze around you even tighter and you wheeze out a little bit, before nodding vigorously. You feel like one day he's gonna fold you in half, but man, what a way to go.

        Luckily, he seems to remind himself that you're not a battle-hardened opponent, and are, in fact, his very wonderful girlfriend. His grip around your body loosens enough to permit you air as he shifts his hips to line up with your opening. Neglected, you jerk your hips closer to his, rubbing your pussy at the reddened head of his cock. Takamura's jaw clenches a little as he slides into you. 

        With your arms bound to your side by his powerful, huge arms, you can't go to throw them around his shoulders as you usually do. He feels the way your arms strain a little, and considers letting you free. But having you bound as well gets him harder, somehow. His cock twitches inside of you, as he pushes in another few inches. He strokes up against your inner walls and you moan out, body tensing against his. All it does is reinforce his decision to keep his arms wrapped tighter around you.

        As he starts to fuck into you, all you can do is rest your head at his shoulder, eyes falling half shut with bliss. No matter how hard you might have tried with your own hand earlier, it's just not the same as him. You moan out softly, each little breath punctuated by the movement of his hips up against yours. His breath is hot on you.

        Takamura feels your leg lift a little bit, your foot sliding down his calf, to hook at the back of his leg. More closeness. You whimper out the first few syllables of his name, as he takes you closer and closer to your climax. 

        You'd like to stay like this, wrapped tight in his arms, as long as you can tonight. 

        He can tell you're holding back on him, trying on purpose not to cum. Frustratedly, he pounds into you, teeth gritted. He manages to angle his hips just right, where his cock keeps rubbing along a particularly sensitive spot inside of you. You cry out for him as you finally cum, body shaking against his. 

        "How 'bout a little more action with the champ?" Takamura breathes out, cock still buried inside you as he continues slowly pumping in and out of you.

        "Such an honor," you murmur in response, with a smile. 

      Fighting. That's all he's good for. That's all you ever want to do with him. 

        That is the only reason Childe matters to you at all.

        He's utterly worthless outside of it. 

        That's what you keep telling yourself. Again and again, as he rains blows down on you and you can only bide your time, keep your guard up, and wait for the opportunity to hit him back twice as hard. The only pleasure you get from being with him is seeing his blood spatter the walls. The satisfaction of looking in the mirror after, exhausted and bruised and all fucked up, but able to see the flecks of that man's blood scattered here and there across your face, unnoticed before.

        It's a sight he's grown to love, whether you'll hear him tell you that or not. 

        That's why when you dream of him, you see him wiping the blood from his nose, always so red from being sensitive to the cold air of this place. That's why you wake up, still able to see how it streaked across his face from a haphazard wipe of his sleeve. That's why you can hear the sound of him spitting a glob of blood and saliva into the snow. That's why it won't stop echoing in your head.

        If only you knew that he dreamed of the same. Of how the bruises mottle your skin so beautifully in the days after your little brawls. How he can leave all those cuts and gashes on you and watch them heal over time. It's even better when they're torn so deep they scar forever. Marks that he made.

        On you for eternity. 

        Such a special kind of love reserved for you. 

        Maybe you'll say you hate him, but Childe knows your truth. Why, it's like looking into a mirror sometimes, as the two of you pace about one another, stalking slowly, waiting for the other to drop their guard, if only for a second. He's rather proud of himself for figuring you out so quickly. It'd only taken a few fights, and even fewer conversations. That had to have been months ago now.

        You just don't know how to love or how to be loved. You don't know how to touch someone or be touched. An average person would want those things wouldn't they? So very badly. Maybe every punch is a kiss and every slice or jab of your chosen weapon is a tender embrace. That is your language, and Child just so happens to be very fluent in it. 

        I love you. I want you. I need you.

        Don't leave.

         Nobody but you. More. 

        Once you'd just been some low rank nobody in the Fatui. You joined because you were hungry. That's what you'd told him when you'd been transferred to his command. Childe had laughed it off, thinking you were rather shallow. Food-driven? Not much of a base to build loyalty on, he thinks.

        Anyone can feed a dog. 

        But you had meant something else entirely, which he came to understand after seeing you in action. 

        After that, he didn't care where you came from or what had happened to you or why. Because Childe knew that you belonged here, with him. If not at his side, then facing him. Not as an enemy of course--he'd be quick to obliterate you. No, you face him as a favorite out of his ranks. 

        Most of his men don't try nearly this hard in sparring matches, fearing his tenacity and intensity. Not you, though. You're first in line when the opportunity to punch your commanding officer in the face springs up. To your credit, he'd severely underestimated you in your first match, and you had, managed to land a fantastic hit square in his mouth.

        He'd thought about that so much. Thought about you far more. 

        When Childe shuts his eyes he can see your every move with perfect clarity. Sometimes when he's bored, and you're off doing something else (although he wishes that was never the case), he fantasizes about what stunt you might pull off in the next match. He reminisces on the most recent bruise you'd left on his outer thigh. The dull ache of it gets him a little hot beneath the collar.

        You'd never say it out loud, but he's willing to bet you feel the exact same way. 

        You're just like him.

        Maybe that's why he can tell you're lashing out a little harder tonight. You'd managed to sink an unexpected sucker punch into his gut, sending him across the private training quarters. He'd been lost in the intensity of your eyes. Something was just...under your skin tonight. There's no usual focus or strategy to what you're doing. And you've hardly been blocking his own attacks. You just...take them and push on forwards.

        Like you want him to hit you and hurt you. You want to feel him. 

        Childe's jaw clenched as your fists barely cuts past his cheekbone. He feels the wind whistling in his ear, stirring at his earring. The amount of times you've tried to play dirty and rip it out of his ear isn't zero. Part of the reason why he keeps it in though--he likes baiting you into trying again. You're breathing so heavy now, sweat dripping down your forehead, into your eyes, stinging you. But you don't even blink the salt of your perspiration away. 

        Your eyes are locked on his. 

        In a few hours it will be morning. 

        He hadn't been able to sleep, restless with what his next mission from the Tsaritsa would bring. Apparently, you, being the most perfect, amazing mirror reflection of himself in all of Teyvat, had also been rather restless. In fact, you'd been pacing the private training quarters first, in nothing more but a night shirt, jabbing your sword, half interested at the nearest beat up wooden dummy. Even if nothing leaves your mouth, you'd perked up so quickly when he'd walked in as well.

        The way his empty eyes had momentarily trailed over your bare legs hadn't escaped you. There's still bandage wrapped around your thigh from a healing slash. Not one of his making, sadly. Something you'd received from a spat with some hilichurls out near the borders. He hadn't even realized you'd been hurt in that scuffle until receiving a usual report from the medic. 

        Maybe you'd been too embarrassed to let such sloppiness show. 

        Was that why you were trying to hit him so hard now? He'd disarmed you minutes earlier, leaving you with nothing but your fists. He didn't mind that. What's more grounded than a little fist to fist action? No blades to separate your skin and hands from one another. It's the most intimate form of fighting there is.

        He'd managed to strike you square in the face. Your nose is bleeding bad, but he's sure it's not broken. Part of him would say he'd hate to damage your lovely face, but a much realer part of him knows he'd love the idea of it being forever changed by his hand. A broken nose, not healed right, done to you by him? It's a dream.

        A dream that would not become reality tonight, it seems, as you've only grown faster in dodging more of his strikes aimed for your face. You grow and adapt to his fighting. 

        "You mad at me?" Child asked, ducking to avoid another swing from you, that eerily resembles a move of his own from earlier. "Feels like you're mad at me."

        You don't reply. You almost never take his verbal bait. It serves fantastically as a distraction when he's fighting people who don't expect it from him. Taunting is one of his specialties, of course. It's a little frustrating to get silence in response. So, when you lash out again, he grabs your fist, directing it away from his face and holding it tight in his own hand. 

        You, naturally, go to jerk away from him. Using your own weight and direction against you, he leans into your motion, shoving you.

        Childe forces you back against the wall, slamming you into the stone. A huff escapes you. The tension in your arm as you fight his hand doesn't leave. His other gloved hand was held tight over your throat. He could have smashed your skull into that wall much harder if he wanted to. You wonder what stops him. 

        He cocks his head in the dimness. "...Are you?"

        Your jaw sets. "No. This is just what we do, isn't it...Sir?"

        You still have to remind yourself to tack on formalities. Childe understands why you forget. Maybe, like the way he thinks of you, you regard him as something a little closer than a commanding officer. Which, once again, you'll never openly admit to him or anyone else, even though he may prod and tease as much as he can.

        But there's a sort of thin reediness to your voice that suggests you're extremely tense tonight. 

        Childe's head leans forwards, until his lips brush over your ear. "I think I know what's bothering you," he whispers.

        The hairs on the back of your neck and arms stands on end, as a chill sweeps through. And it's not just a cold night. 

        His hand drops from your fist. If you wanted to, you could have struck now. But to his pleasant surprise, you subvert his expectations. You don't take advantage of his closeness, of how impossible any sort of defensive on his part would be with such a limited range of motion. Everything he may have ever taught you to do in the position, you don't. 

        However, your fist remains clenched in the air, motionless, like you haven't totally made up your mind. Childe takes the opportunity to put his hand up against your side. His knee wedges between your legs, parting them. 

        "Cause as fun as beating the hell out of each other is..." his hand drifts lower. "It's just not the same as what we really want to do to each other, is it?"

        You don't say a word in response, but you don't need to. Your eyes betray you and captivate him whole. They always have, but he's never had an opportunity like this before. Alone, sweat mixing with sweat, breath mixing with breath, fervent and bothered...it's all so right. Only the stupidest man alive wouldn't take a chance like this.

        Hand still tight on your throat, pinning you to that wall, your commanding officer leans in closer. You see him glance down at your lips, then back up into your eyes. The blood is warm, dripping from your nose. It flows down over your lips and chin. It'll clot soon. But he doesn't care. He kisses you, soft at first, like he's ready to pull away if you choose to bite. 

        But you don't. Which he finds odd, because you're the first person to find a reason to cause him pain. A new bruise or two you've delivered personally to him this beautiful, dark, and early morning throb dully, to remind him. So does his cock in his pants, as he deepens the kiss and you let him. A heavy breath comes from his nose, alongside a muffled groan of satisfaction, as he tastes your mouth, your lips, your blood. His hand drifts higher up, thumb arching at your jaw and jabbing into it. 

        When he finally pulls away to breathe, he continues keeping his grip firm on your face. With a bit of a smile, your blood piercing red on that snow white skin of his, he squishes your face in his hand. So. Fucking. Cute. Usually it's way harder to tell because your nose is all twisted in rage and your eyes are nothing more than angry (E/C) slits when you're facing off with him.

        You're so angry all the time. Angry and hungry--a dangerous combination.

        But Childe likes to play with dangerous things. 

        He returns for another kiss, hips pressing up against yours, pinning you entirely to that wall. That hand that had been sinking lower (he thought he was being sneaky about it) comes to rest at the small of your back, grabbing at your body. You wince when his fingers dig into a particularly sore spot. Maybe he'd kneed you there or something a few weeks back, you're not sure. You're not a freak like him. You don't keep meticulous track of every scar and every mark and every bruise left on your body.

        He does. Especially when you've put them there. You know that about him. Once or twice when you've left cuts too shallow on him, he asks you playfully if he should keep reopening the wounds to make sure they scar forever. Reminders of you. Reminders of how he needs to be stronger. 

        Lord knows he keeps track of the ones on your body too. 

        "Remember this one?" he breathes out, through a lusty haze. His fingers trail along a particularly deep scar he'd left you across your lower back. 

        Ironically, it escapes your memory pretty often, as you don't concern yourself with what you actively can't see. 

        He'd given it to you during one of your earlier sparring sessions gone too far. They'd started off tame once, believe it or not. But the two of you just kept getting meaner and meaner until well...no one really wants to intervene anymore when either of you take things too far. Most of his forces just try to look the other way. Others excuse it as him just...putting you back in line. 

        Lord knows how he'd loathe it if that ever discouraged you from sparring with him again. 

        "I remember it," he continues on. "You were in the infirmary for weeks. And you kept trying to sneak out, and they'd keep," he takes in a breathe, "y'know--putting you right back in bed. But all you wanted to do was fight again, huh? I get that."

        "Enough with the heart to heart," you mutter, eyes meeting Childe's dead, empty ones, "We doing this or not?"

        Something in those empty eyes sparks. A sort of fire only you can really light inside him. The loose night shirt has already been riding up your body with how roughly he's got you against the wall. It'd been hard for him to ignore how your thinly clothed pussy had been pressed to his own crotch. He lifts his hand, only for a moment, to take his glove off with his teeth. It drops to the ground. His bare, calloused hand smooths up over your thigh, a finger curling under the waistband of your underwear. He drags it down, rest of his fingers wandering closer to your center. 

        He himself was in uniform, unable to sleep in anticipation of what the day would bring. He'd long abandoned his coat when he'd heard you in here, knowing it would have restricted his movements. Nothing like a fight with you to warm him up. He figures a little fucking will offer him the same heat. 

        Childe wants to feel if he's gotten you as aroused as he is. If somewhere beneath that cold, severe exterior you're dying for him all the same. You're too stubborn to tell him how you want him, he knows that. But you show him with every graze of your knuckles over his skin, with the way your eyes burn into his. It's all the more amazing when Childe realizes he's right. With ease, he pushes two of his fingers inside you, and watches how you grit your teeth and swallow back any potential noise. 

        "You don't want them to hear?" he asks, voice gentle, "Or do you just like making me work for it?"

        You scoff a little through your tight jaw. "We get caught and they're transferring me or kicking me out. You want that?"

        "Mmm..." he feigns contemplation obnoxiously, slender fingers stroking inside of you. He feels your pussy clench around him. You can't help it. His skin is so rough, built up callouses from his tireless work with his bowstring. 

        He hates that thing. But you heard once it's his weakest weapon, so he was determined to master it. Based on the way he smashes that thing over his foes' heads, you don't think that day is coming anytime soon. 

        Childe hears the way your breath catches and repeats the motion, feeling your hips suddenly jerk closer into his palm. He guess your body will always betray you. But that's just fine. It's exactly what he wants. If he didn't have to work for this, it just wouldn't be any fun at all. Rewards are worthless without a challenge.

        His head dips closer to your face, and you feel his tongue flat and hot against your cheek. The hand still at your face keeps you from jerking your head away from his mouth. He sees how your nose crinkles in disgust and just smiles, before pressing a kiss to your damp skin. 

        "I'm hungry. All the same as you. We're a lot a like, you know?" Childe's breath is equally heated on you.

        You feel so cold...and in such little clothing...he just wants to warm you up too. 

        His thumb starts to jam up into your clit, moving slow and steady. Your eyes fall shut. You don't want to look into his eyes as you cum. Anywhere but there. The back of your head hits the wall as you moan out. 

        "Fu...fuck," you manage. 

        Childe feels your fingers curl into the sides of his shirt. The cold air brushes over his stomach. His fingers push a little harder against your inner wall as he strokes, and he feels you finally come undone. A heavy sigh comes from you, as you still try vainly to restrain any noise. 

        "Shhh..." he hushes you, bringing his lips to meet yours. You want to be quiet? Wish granted.

        As you can't help but buck your hips into his hand, still moving against you, fingers sunk deep inside of you, thumb rubbing faster circles over your clit, Childe kisses you. His tongue pushes through your lips, forcing up against your own. He overpowers you entirely, feeling the spasms of pure pleasure start to extend through your whole body. You try to open your mouth, turn your head away from his, to suck in a breath. You're barely able to as his moving lips catch yours again, and Childe gets more forceful.

        You cum again, legs starting to shake. He won't let you fall.

        Childe's fingers leave you, but only so he can rip your underwear down your legs. You hear the shift of the fabric of his steel grey pants. In the dimness, you can glimpse the paleness of his thighs. Scattered beauty marks line them, like the freckles and spots sprayed over his face and neck. His hand leaves your face too. And his tongue is gone from your mouth. His hands clamp around either of thighs, shifting beneath them. Without thinking, he lifts you up, dragging your back up the frigid wall. You'd have winced from the pain if he wasn't grinding his thinly clothed erection directly into your cunt. 

        With his weight pinning you fully to the wall, just for a moment, he's able to reach down to free his cock from his own underwear. It slaps up against your open thigh. Childe's eyes lift to lock onto yours, his brows contorted with lust. He's panting, face stained with the blood from your nose. It's only now beginning to dry. Slowly, his tongue swipes over his lips, tasting your blood.

        He's line up with you, and between the two of you, a sort of understanding is shared. Something that needn't be said. Just like always.

        It's easy, pushing his cock into your pussy, with how he'd pleasured you before. Childe imagined it'd feel something like this. Another strained moan comes from you, and you break eye contact, turning your head to the side. He takes the opportunity to kiss you again, this time on your unguarded throat. He shoves his shaft deeper inside of you, marveling at your warmth.

        "Like this," he breathes out, heavily, against your skin, "I've always thought of you like this."

        Childe starts to pump inside of you, slow at first. Not for your sake of course, just to fully feel your cunt around him. You groan out, the soreness of the wall against your back through your thin nightshirt not entirely ignorable. He gets off on the sound, obviously, based on how his pace starts to quicken. His fingers clench harder against the flesh of your thighs. A soft hiss of pain escapes you, when he knowingly jams his finger up against the bandaged wound he'd noticed earlier.

        You clench around him a little, which only encourages him to keep doing it. 

        The mix of dull pain and cold pleasure is starting to become too much for you again, body already oversensitive from his fingers before. His cock is just as warm, and you feel sweat start to drip down the side of your face. You don't even remember feeling this hot, with the coldness off the room all around you. 

        "You wanna cum again? I know you do," Childe murmurs. "I'm gonna make you."

        His lip curls a little before he shoves you harder against the wall, weight entirely on you now. For a man as leanly built as he is, you're surprised he's this heavy. His cock bottoms out inside you with the motion and you moan out. But you don't cum. Not like he promised. Maybe that frustrates him, based on how much more angrily he starts thrusting inside of you.

        Vigorously, Childe fucks you up against the wall. You think he's trying to hurt you. But you don't care. Not even as he bites into your neck and starts sucking. Not even when the nails on his ungloved hand dig so hard into your thigh you think they might break skin. 

        Maybe he hadn't realized how quickly his own orgasm was building. You feel him cum inside you and stiffen momentarily, as his once violent pace falters. He breathes heavy against your neck. Apparently, not charmed by your stubbornness, you feel him give that fake smile. It doesn't reach his eyes. Not even now. 

        The love bite he left on the side of your neck throbs dully. He starts to thrust into you once more, hips rolling into yours. He breathes another threat into your ear.

        "You can play hard to get all you want. I'll just keep fucking you until the sun comes up."

        He hears you scoff, but feels your body twitching with bliss. It betrays you all over again. You'll cum for him again soon. Maybe he'll just keep making you until you're fucked stupid. Until your weigh is dead against him, and your eyes are rolled back, and your head lolls all limp.