Oh I Want To Write Something Based Off Of This, I Dont Know What But Anything Will Work (by The Way Support

Oh I want to write something based off of this, I don’t know what but anything will work… (by the way support the creator they’re writing is amazing 😭)

so… guess who is still alive? *giggles and twirls hair*

anyways, do people still like swtcw? no??? well… fuck everyone then

If you ask Fives on what he expected when he (bashfully) volunteered to join General [Name] on scouting around the area as the rest of the 501st and Nova squad set camp, Fives would absolutely say he did not expect… this…

“O-oh… sir!” Fives half whines, half moans as [Name] push both his fingers knuckle-deep inside his hole. The poor clone let out more pathetic noises as [Name] moved his fingers, scissoring Fives slowly as he was trying to prep Fives as much as he can before he shoves his cock inside the clone.

Fives was a flustered and whimpering mess. Not only was he laid before his commanding officer, strip out of his uniform, and he was also acting like a pathetic mess.

It was all that kriffing flowers fault! Fives was sure that red odd flower that spat pollen on his face earlier had made him… so vulnerable and… his body hot. Granted he might have some part to blame as he did take off his helmet and didn’t heed [Name]’s warning about the fauna of this godforsaken planet was odd and freaky— but still!

Fives shut his eyes tight as he buries his face in his folded arms as he remembered what he did. Fives didn’t know if he can look at the general in the eye after this. Acting like a fucking shiny and whimpering so pathetically that he felt hot and weak as he had unconsciously grinded on [Name]’s thighs earlier.

“K… kriff, sir… please,” Fives weakly whined as he unconsciously grind on the ground, trying to get some simulation on his red, aching cock. [Name] only let out a chuckle at his plea. It was adorable as Fives continued to grind on the ground so desperately.

[Name] paid more attention to the mess laid before him. Fives’ cock was pressed in between his stomach and the brown cloak that belonged to the Jedi, leaking precum onto both the clone’s stomach and the cloak. [Name] frowned a little at that, it seems like Fives made a mess on his cloak. He hopes the others won’t notice he wasn’t wearing his brown cloak when he gets back.

Hmm, maybe he can get Fives to clean it up later. [Name] knew there was a river nearby and maybe he can make the clone lick his own precum off the cloak—

“A-ah— sir!” Fives cried, arching his back as he came. Fives didn’t know whether to be embarrassed at how easily he came undone just by [Name]’s fingers or feel relieved about some of the unbearable hotness his body felt was gone a little bit.

— ah… he definitely wasn’t going to use that cloak anymore. Fives was going to pay for this mess.

[Name] pushed his fingers deep inside Fives in annoyance, the clone letting out a loud gasp as [Name]’s fingers hit his prostrate. Fives’ eyes snapped wide open as he let out a sob. Ah, kriff… Fives has a strong feeling this is one of many orgasms [Name] was going to fuck out him.

small Lucifer request about Male!Reader who's Lucifer's younger brother and both Lucifer and Chloe find out his dating Chloe's mom Penelope Decker please

Sure! I’ll write it next up!

so how about mha mount lady X Male Reader who's an ex villain and she wants to roleplay villain wins and hero loses and Reader uses her horns as handle bars during sez

Sure!! I’ll write it soon!

Info:

Hey, I’m a recently turned 20 year-old 🥳 black/arab writer in college who is a pansexual and Non-binary (They/Them pronouns) who loves mythology and is Asexual (I make smut because the thought of fictional sex doesn’t disgust me)

College is kicking my ass so if you get your request really late I apologize full heartedly to you my loves ❤️ but I do love requests so feel free to send me them!

English isn’t my first language and I can’t spell for shit so autocorrect is both my best friend and my worst enemy so sorry if there is any mistakes

But if you have any show, movie, anime, or even game requests I would be happy to write it. Here are fandoms I write for and the characters I will do (if the character or fandom is not mentioned or doesn’t say all characters, I will not do it

hi i hope you're doing well <33

I have had a very kinky thought with Konig and haven't seen anyone do it so I figured I'd request it

Reader is an excellent sniper , Konig asks him to help train him to be a better sniper. Reader agrees and while helping Konig practice , he starts teasing him and telling him to keep focusing on hitting the targets - after Konig hits all the targets reader gives him a reward for being such good boy and ofc the reward is getting railed til Konig is a moaning mess

helping hand

Pairing: König x Male Reader Summary: König comes to you for some help - and you're more than happy to. Warnings: NSFW, 18+ Only. Top!Male reader, teasing, handjobs, fucking outside, unprotected anal, creampie.

Your breath in his ear sends goosebumps rippling across his skin. “I thought you wanted my help König?”

He quickly nods, a whine bubbling in the back of his throat. “I do-”

“You don’t seem to be taking it very seriously.” You interrupt, a hand trailing down the curve of his spine. Under the weight of your hand you feel him fidget, trying to stop himself from grinding his hips into the ground for any sort of relief. “You need to focus.”

“I can’t,” he cries, cock throbbing painfully within the confines of his pants. Every little one of your touches sent a new wave of arousal coursing through his body, his mind ready to give up and submit to you. “You’re too distracting,” he whines.

Ever since he had met you in the makeshift training area you had been teasing him; standing too close, talking in his ear, your hands all over his body as you manoeuvred him into different sniping positions, all while König steadily got harder and harder and became more and more distracted, barely able to focus on why you were here in the first place.

“You need to be able to focus even with distractions all around you,” you begin, capturing his attention once more. “How about this? You manage to hit the rest of the targets and I’ll give you a reward.”

“What kind of reward?” He asks pointlessly, he’s already sure he knows what will happen, or at least what he wants to happen.

Tutting you shift up onto your knees, König turning his head to watch you. “Well we can’t ruin the surprise now can we?” You wink, and he’s thankful for the hood covering his head so you can’t see the crimson blush creep up on his cheeks. “Now, three targets left.”

It takes a few seconds for his brain to catch up, and he quickly adjusts his focus back through the scope of the sniper rifle, scanning the area to try and find the targets. He soon finds one, hitting it dead on with no issues. 

Hearing the pleased hum come from you he tries to ignore it, but he can’t contain his reaction as his body jumps when your hand falls onto the arch of his back, fingers skimming across the fabric of his shirt. “Focus,” you scold, and he fights his body wanting to arch into the touch.

Pushing out a deep breath he starts again, searching for another target. Your hand stills as you wait, and the heat coming from your palm even through his shirt feels like torture. You can feel when he finds another one, his back just tensing and relaxing ever so slightly, and once he’s in position he quickly lets off another shot, hitting the target perfectly. “Good,” you praise, hand drifting lower to follow his spine, stopping halfway down. “One more.”

König’s breathing is harsher now, fighting to control every breath as he tries to find the last target. Excitement races through his veins when he does. He forces himself to be calm, trying to ignore your presence near him and fires, sighing with relief when he hits the final one. 

Moving your hand lower you start to play with the waistband of his pants, fingertips dipping under the fabric intermittently. “There you go, knew you could do it,” you purr, König preening under your praise. “Now about that reward-”

König groans, cutting off your train of speech. “Please, stop teasing me.”

You take your fingers away, chuckling as pushes his hips up to follow the movement. “Oh? What do you want me to do?”

His cock throbs, leaking with excitement. “Fuck me,” he mumbles, tucking his face into the inside of his elbow. 

Although you heard him perfectly you decide to tease him further, placing both hands on his hips, encouraging him to move until he’s resting on his arms and knees, back arched perfectly, ass in the air in front of you. “What was that?”

“Fuck me,” he tries again, louder this time. 

Shuffling forward you stop just before your thighs hit the back of his legs, hands tightening on his hips to bring him backwards the rest of the way. He goes willingly, groaning when he feels the large bulge in your pants against his clothed ass, and unashamedly he rubs against you, a pleased rumble leaving your chest.

One of your hands snakes from his hip around his waist, fingers barely ghosting the outline of cock as you go for his zipper instead, slowly bringing it down until the shape of his cock is spilling out from the opening. As swiftly as you can you pull his pants and boxers down in one swoop, König hissing as his cock twitches in the open air. 

He grunts when you wrap a hand around his hardened cock, sliding your palm over the head to gather the precum dripping there and slathering his cock as you begin to stroke up and down, your other hand kneading the flesh of his ass cheek. As soon as he starts trying to fuck into your hand you stop, removing your hand and planting it on his other cheek, pulling them apart so you can see his twitching hole.

“Would you look at that?” you coo, thumb brushing against his rim. “Looks like your hole is begging to be filled.” König whines, his body aching for any sort of stimulation. Gathering up as much spit as you can he gasps when he feels it hit his hole, your thumb quickly spreading the moisture, teasing his entrance.

Slowly you fight against the resistance, his hole gradually opening up to your thumb as you push it deeper, and only when it easily slides in and out do you add another finger, König beginning to rock back against them as you scissor the digits. Your mouth is dry by the time you can fit three fingers, making sure he’s fully prepared for you, your own cock desperate to be inside him. 

Withdrawing your fingers you slide your zipper down, pulling out your cock to rest it in the crevice of his cheeks, König able to feel the heat emanating from your dick. Taking what little moisture is left from your mouth you spit into your hand and slick up your own cock before you press the head against his hole, giving him slow, gentle thrusts as you enter him inch by inch, pushing in and pulling out until he opens up around you.

When you’re finally fully seated inside him you stop your movements, relishing in the heat as he clenches around you, König mewling with impatience as you do nothing other than stroke the skin of his hip. Eventually, he pulls himself away and pushes back onto you, a pleasured moan escaping both of you. “Please move,” he begs.

Slowly you draw all the way out, tip catching on his rim before you slam forward, a harsh slap of skin against skin as your thighs smack against him, König letting out a choked groan. Taking little time to set a harsh pace he’s soon lost in ecstasy, arms barely holding him up as you use him like a toy, grunts and moans escaping into the air.

Fucking into him you search out that sweet spot, the tip of your cock punching in deeper and deeper until on one thrust he wails, body trembling and cock pulsing as he sprays his release across the ground, streaks of white staining the soil underneath him. 

You don’t stop, chasing your own orgasm as you continue your thrusts, one arm wrapping around König to wrench him up and hold him to your chest, your free hand gripping his cock, jerking him off as he cries from the stimulation. “Bitte, wait.” With the new angle you thrust in deeper, his hole clenching and pulsing around you, driving you closer and closer to the apex. 

“Just a little bit more, I’m close,” you groan, rapidly thrusting into his hole, cock bullying against his prostate. “Where do you want it?” 

“I-inside,” he hiccups, one of his arms ensnaring your neck to hold you close as the other rests on the one jerking his cock.

It takes just a few more thrusts to come undone, a hoarse snarl tearing from your throat as you unload inside König, your cock shooting rope after rope into his hole as it milks you for everything you have. The feeling of you cumming inside pushes König into another orgasm, a smaller spurt of cum erupting from his cock and joining his previous load on the floor. Your hips give small, shaky thrusts as you fill him up, a ring of white forming around his rim as your cum starts leaking out and back down along your cock. 

Time is lost as you both stay like that, holding each other close, trying to swallow down oxygen as pleasure bursts through your veins. Once your senses rush back to you, you gently lower König to rest on his arms, the man unable to remain sitting up, and slowly pull out, cum immediately seeping from his hole and you quickly tuck yourself away at the risk of becoming hard again as you fight to tear your eyes away.

König takes longer to recover, only doing so when you finally speak up. “König?” He barely hums in acknowledgement. “You have to get up, big guy.” He grunts, mind still hazy with pleasure. There’s not much you can do about the current mess of his hole so you pull his underwear and pants back up over his ass, tucking his cock back in and adjusting them so they look as normal as possible.

“I don’t think I can move,” he grumbles, and you bite back the bark of laughter threatening to erupt.

“Here,” you offer, moving to his front and offering your hands to help him up. He takes them, relying on you to drag him up and without asking, you place a supportive arm around his waist, tucking him into your side as you walk back together. The walk is uncomfortable, cum oozing out of his hole with every step, something he makes known.

“I need a shower,” he states, gait becoming awkward as he tries to find the walk most comfortable.

You hum in agreement, arm tightening around his waist. “How about I help clean you up?”

I love this post the writing is impeccable not I could reread this forever please support the creator!

Hysteria 2.0

Lucio/AMAB Reader

Notes: plague era, doctor/patient, handjobs, mask kink, cum eating, a bit of cbt, humiliation/degradation, piss, lucio can’t get it up, prostate milking, 6k words

☞. . . The long awaited sequel I mentioned! If you read the first and thought ‘hey just jerking him off isn’t enough’ then this is the fic for you!

Your world is dark and red and plague coats the streets as thickly as molasses. It seems the city has crumbled a little more with each person that falls. With a life so bitter, you clung to the ounce of hope you had and applied for apprenticeship under a doctor at the palace. Asra left, desperate for distance from the city but you couldn’t join him—you wouldn’t, this was your home and you’re determined to piece it back together no matter what it takes.

The pungent smell of rubbing alcohol and the distant tang of coppery blood assault your nose even through your mask. The skittering of beetles from the pit buzz in your ears like terrible white noise, fueling your unease—but you persist, this is your job now. You chose this.

“I trust you to go on your own this time. It’ll be no different, it’s just like we’ve done together.” Doctor Devorak speaks monotonously and his eyes are bruised with sleep deprivation. Constantly, he hunches over books and furiously scribbles notes in an attempt to find a cure. Would it be in vain? You’re unsure, but if this takes a little stress off his shoulders, you’ll do it. “Be careful.” He says after a moment's hesitation.

In your bag, you carry all the equipment you need for your patient. Count Lucio.

You’ve gotten as used to his cocky persona as much as one possibly could. Even riddled with the plague, he still acts as though he’s the same man as before. He knows he isn’t—though denial is the greatest placebo. You’ve gotten used to your mask by now and your lenses barely fog up anymore. It scares Lucio, though he doesn’t show it willingly. You rap three times on his chamber doors before entering.

His room smells of disinfectant and night air that seeps through his cracked window. “Good evening, Count.” You greet coolly, approaching his bedside and placing your bag on top of an oak wood dresser. Lucio scans his eyes over you, red and puffy. “Which one are you?” His voice is rough and scratchy, you assume he’s been having coughing fits. You answer him with your name and he seems to perk up. “Your voice is too muffled with that thing.” Lucio gestures vaguely at your beaked mask. “Where’s Doctor Jules?” He watches as you unpack your bag and pull out various tools. 

“Working.”

“He’s no fun. You know what they say, three's a party.” 

Lucio is a terrible flirt and he doesn’t notice or he doesn’t care about boundaries between doctor and patient. If it were up to him, he’d have both his favorite doctors in his room with him after hours. But that isn’t what this is, he’s reminded. He’s a dying man and it’s a procedural matter.

You don’t answer his cocky remark and gather your stethoscope. You plug it in your ears and press the metal disk to his chest. “Hey! A little warning might be nice!” Lucio groans, nearly jolting at the cold metal. “Quiet, I need to hear.”

Luckily, he shuts up and you listen to the rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat. You move it over his lungs and his breath rattles. “I need to put it under your shirt.” You lean back up and Lucio grins. “Oh? If you wanted me shirtless you just had to ask.” He grins and you roll your eyes. “You don’t need to take off your shirt, I’ll put it under.”

You lift the hem of his linen shirt and press the metal to his naked chest. It draws a gasp from him that you ignore. You move it across his chest where you need to listen and reach around to press it against his back. His lungs sound like a baby’s rattle, scratchy and clogged. His skin is warm to the touch though you can barely feel it through your thick gloves.

You move the metal disk higher and lower as you need it and Lucio’s heart rate accelerates as you move back to his chest. 

“Remember to stay calm, we needn’t any heart palpitations.” Your voice is smooth and methodical. Setting the stethoscope aside for a moment, you fetch a band from your bag. “Would it be wrong for me to say you make my heart skip a beat?” Lucio croaks, completely ignorant of your lingo.

“Yes, that’s what a heart palpitation is, milord.” 

“Right, I knew that.”

You grab Lucio’s right arm with gentle hands, turning it to expose the crook of the reddened flesh and tying the band tight around his bicep. He winces at the pinch of skin and watches you like a hawk as you place the stethoscope under the band and plug it back into your ears. You watch the clock across from his bed, counting each beat of his heart with practiced ease. Lucio barely holds in the painful cough once the full minute is over, turning his head and covering his mouth with the palm of his hand. 

You take a moment to write down his vitals and rub his back while he swallows thickly and clears his throat. “Why are you doing that.” Lucio’s voice comes off more nasally than usual, craning his neck to peer over his shoulder where your hand lays. “I’m offering you comfort. Do you want me to stop?” You feel you may have crossed a line despite the count's provocative nature. 

“No! No. By all means, keep touching me.” Lucio attempts to keep the familiar swagger in his tone yet you don’t miss how desperate he’d sounded for that split second. 

You don’t reply to him, just moving your gloved palm to his forehead and the heat seeps through the leather. You sigh softly. “Fever still high. May I try something, milord?” You question and Lucio scoffs—well, the best he can without sending himself into a hacking fit. You take that as a ‘whatever’ and loosen the fingers of your glove, pulling it off. Lucio watches with interest as you place your bare hand to his clammy forehead and summon a simple cooling spell. He groans softly and leans into your hand. 

“How’d you do that?” 

“I’m well acquainted with magic.”

“Magic, huh? Must’ve lucked out with you, eh?” 

Again, you pass over his comment and press your fingers over his temples and behind his ears, alleviating him of possible migraines. Your patient sighs a deep breath, the tension in his body slowly relaxing. “Keep that up and I’ll have to order you a raise.” Lucio hums and you remove your hand, slipping your glove back on. “I’m not getting paid, milord. I volunteered to help.” You clarify and the count gawks at you. 

“You willingly chose to do this? Man..” he clicks his tongue and makes a sound of disbelief. 

You continue the routine you’ve practiced with him before, taking notes on his behavior and advancements with his sickness.

“Have the assistants been helping you with your physical therapy?” You question, setting the quill down in its holder as you address Lucio. “Hmph, they haven’t even tried.” He huffs, staring ahead at the painting across from his bed—a commissioned portrait of a man defeating death, how ironic. 

“That’s no good..” you mumble. “I’m assuming no one has taken you walking?”

“No. None of them want to touch me—I mean, I’m the COUNT, who wouldn’t want to fawn over me??” 

You let him ramble as you take note of the lack of aid from his assistants. “I’ll help you with simple stretches today. I’ll give word about the slacking.” You announce, taking a moment to pop the joints in your arms and back. If you weren’t mistaken, the count would be like dead weight at this point, and stiff joints wouldn’t help you in this endeavor. “Are you ready, milord?” You prepare yourself to haul him upright at the edge of the bed, only waiting on his consent.

“If you hurt me, I’ll kill you.” 

“This won’t hurt, I’m only going to relieve your body aches.” 

Lucio gives you a skeptical look before nodding his head, pushing his arms out to allow you to grip under his arms, fingers pressing into his ribs as you help to position him. “First we’ll start with your arm; we can tackle your prosthetic later, though I’m sure you might need to take a break from wearing it to keep your skin from chafing…” you ramble on, more so to yourself than Lucio. He winces at the notion of removing his prosthetic, lips curling into a snarl. “No, the arm stays on.” 

You only nod. “Yes, milord, I’ll make sure to inform the others of your decision.” 

Lucio sits as straight as he can, back still aching as you take his right arm and start with overhead stretches. Sweat stains litter his shirt, and you make a mental note to have someone help him change after your checkup. Your thumbs glide down the inside of his arm, down over the red veins and to his wrist, pushing his hand down, holding, up, holding. Lucio watches like a predator watches its prey, yet sitting there with his hand in yours, back hunched, he seems more of a sad child; one who wears a pout on his face and kicks his feet where they dangle from his chair. 

A strand of dull blonde hair falls into his face, and you push it back without really thinking about it, briefly raking your fingers through in a swift moment to instill its place among his hairline. Lucio closes his eyes, a rattling sigh and a sniffle of his nose. Something tells you to stay just a moment longer, and so you do, only under the guise of massaging his temples to relieve his headaches. 

“We’ll do bed stretches for your legs, we needn’t overdo it.” Your voice, muffled by the leather beak of your mask, breaks him from his stupor. Lucio nods and clears his throat, which only leads to another coughing fit that you rub his back through. “Lay back when you’re ready.”

He raises his brow, then chuckles raggedly. “I knew you’d come around,” Lucio heckles, half falling back onto his elbows. You tut and guide him back yourself. “You have to lay back so I can stretch your legs.” 

He rolls his eyes, rubbing the cool metal of his hand over his forehead. “Let me have a little fun, won’t you?”

You don’t answer, unwilling to fuel his fantasies. Your gloved fingers wrap around his ankle, one hand holding by the heel of his foot and the other in the crook under his knee. Slow and steady, you push his leg forward, knee bending near his chest. You don’t push it, just holding for a few seconds before pulling back and repeating. 

Lucio doesn’t know if it’s just the fever talking, or the warm solid body maneuvering his, but he can feel the already present flush on his face getting hotter, his heart beating faster within his rib cage. He takes a deep breath, then out. This isn’t too bad, just stretching. Just his doctor's apprentice stretching his legs for him, with that hideous mask that for some reason has butterflies fluttering in his stomach. 

“Good job, keep breathing just like that.”

Shit. He really wishes you wouldn’t talk like that right now. 

Now you’ve set his foot on your shoulder, using it as leverage to push it back, focusing on the hinge of his hips, and by god does that send his blood right between his legs. You don’t notice the stirring in his trousers, nor do you stop and look—then again why would you look. 

You release his leg and move to the other, repeating the same cycle from before with intense concentration in those hollow eyes of your mask. 

Lucio’s breathing is getting heavier, you notice, so you stop. “Milord, are you o… oh.” The air in the room freezes, everything still and your heartbeat rises in your ears. “I apologize, I’ll leave you to tend to yourself,” you flounder, immediately turning to pack up your bag. Nothing prepared you for this, none of your training ever taught you how to approach this kind of situation. 

“Wait!” Lucio struggles to push himself up, but he gets there, braving his arms behind him. “You’re not just gonna leave are you?” 

That scene is still replaying in your head, the Count flat on his back with his legs fallen spread on the bed, eyes trailing down in between his legs—somewhere you never should have looked. “I, I mean, this is unprofessional,” your hands clenched at your chest, soft leather creaking at your joints. “That would be taking advantage of you.” 

Lucio scoffs. “Taking advantage of me? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten my role, I could have you executed if you so much as pissed me off.” He swallows, pressing his hand down on the bed in between his legs, his wrist and forearm blocking the soft tenting in his pants. “So believe me when I’m asking you to do this,” there’s a new softness on his face, like he was just moments away from getting onto his knees—well if he could get on his knees. 

You straighten your back, hands falling to your sides. “Ok, then. Ask me properly.” You demand, heart beating wildly in your chest nonetheless. For a moment Lucio looks almost surprised. Then, a catlike grin spreads across his pale face. 

“Please Doctor, would you touch me?” He damn near purrs the word, the persistent flush on his face darkening for other reasons. “You wouldn’t leave your patient crying, now would you?”

You gather your bearings, heart hammering in your chest. A tad too stiffly, you begin searching through your bag. “Hey, I did what you wanted. What’re you doing now?” Lucio bobs his head around in an attempt to peer into your bag. You snap it shut after finding what you needed. “I won’t do it dry. Lay back, this won’t hurt a bit.” You unscrew the jar of vaseline, setting it down with a little clack onto his nightstand. Lucio’s already laid flat on his back by the time you turn around, struggling to shimmy out of his pants. 

You grant him some reprieve, replacing his hands with yours and tugging down the waistband. “Finally,” he groans, cool air wafting over his hot skin. His half-hard dick lays on his belly.

“Now, stay still.” 

With a gloved hand coated in lubricant, you grab his cock, slowly pumping him into full hardness. Lucio grips at the bedsheets, expensive linens wrinkling under his hands. The leather of your gloves glides across his heated flesh softer than he imagined it’d feel- the worn-in material like pure heaven. 

“Doctor,” he gasps again, pants still snug around his thighs while he gives a pathetic buck of his hips. You press your free hand against his lower stomach, thumb rubbing right under the head of his cock. “Stay still, we needn’t cause any distress. Your palm acts as a stabilizer against his stomach, keeping him from the rowdy attempts at what his previous, healthy, body would have reacted with. 

“I hope this relieves some stress, milord,” you twist your wrist and Lucio shudders. “Your health and well-being are my greatest priority.” Your thumb strokes along his jutted hipbone, mask-clad head tilting the tiniest bit to the side as you watch him writhe and pant. 

“That’s-“ a heaving cough wracks through his body, making his stomach clench and cock twitch in your hand. “Th-that’s not sexy talk at all.” He groans, eyebrows furrowing and sweat dripping down his temples. “Oh?” You rub your thumb over his slit and a shuddering moan falls from his lips. “You seem to be gaining gratification right now, is this not sufficient? Would you like me to be a little more…intimate?” You press down lightly on his lower stomach, feeling his dick jump again in your hand as you start pumping faster.

“I-it would be, hg- fuck, helpful,” Lucio chokes, hastily trying to kick his pants off his thighs, the need for more mobility clawing up his spine until he's wiggling like a worm trying to get free. 

You sigh, letting go of his dick and letting it fall against his stomach in favor of grabbing the hem of his waistband and sliding them down his legs. They fall to the floor with a soft thump. Lucio lifts his legs up to his chest, trying to make purchase on the edge of the bed rather than dangle off. “Don’t squirm, you’ll only hurt yourself.” You take his dick in your hand again and give another pump, something that makes his legs tremble. “Don’t tell me what to- ohhh,” his eyes roll back, lashes fluttering when you start stroking again, fast and methodical. He shouldn’t be much longer now, not with how he's starting to leak on your gloves. 

His toes curl in his socks, his cool metal hand fumbling to brush up his shirt and thumb over a peachy nipple. You roll your eyes under your mask. You might as well.

You reach up and let your fingers rub over his second nipple, and the rumbly groan of delight that leaves his ragged throat is clue enough that you’ve made the right move. “You’re- you’re fucking creepy-” Lucio keens, weakly rutting his hips up. 

“This mask is for my protec-”

“I know,” he heaves a great big breath with you carefully stroke his dripping slit. “The mask- it-it’s creepy but it's hot and, and-fuck!” 

One well-timed grind of your finger under the head and tug on his nipples has him cumming abruptly, his thin hips giving aborted thrusts as weak loads of cum splatter against his stomach and taper off to drip down your gloved knuckles. Slowly, you taper off your stroking until he's gone soft in your hand. “I hope you feel satisfied. Now,” you give a disguised grimace under your mask at your gloved hand. “I should be taking my leave-!”

Lucio locks his legs around your hips, nudging you up against his as your knees knock against the edge of the bed. He leans upon his golden arm. “S’ not enough,” his heels dig into your tailbone. “Fuck me, fuck me like you mean it.” Your shock limits you enough for him to grab your soiled hand and bring it to his face. “You love your Count, don’t you?” He holds your wrist as he drags his tongue over your palm, licking up his own mess. “I’ll reward you, you can use me like a toy-”

The moment he tries to kiss your palm you yank your hand away with a sucked in breath, your heart hammering in your ears. You should leave, you should put a stop to this and forget that this ever happened.

…But you don’t. You don’t step away. You harden your gaze behind your mask and brace your hands on either side of his ribcage, looming over him. 

“You really think you’re still in charge, don’t you?” Your voice comes steady, and you can almost see the shiver that runs through Lucio’s body. “Do you think this would be a reward for me? As if I didn’t do this because I pitied you?”

“Pity-!“ he guffaws, though quickly shut up the lower you lean into his space. You’re like a predator above him, the soulless beaked mask covering any sense of humanity. And honestly, wasn’t this what he wanted? 

“Hold your tongue, milord, unless you’re using it to confess the truth.” The beak of your mask pokes against his blushed nose, and he scrunches up in reflex. His lips press into a thin line, barely hiding the tremble. “You begged me to touch you like a common whore- you will respect me. And if you truly want me to fuck you, you will beg again.” 

There’s silence for a moment throughout the room. It’s still aside from the labored breaths, the baby rattle of his chest. Then, slowly, you can see his tongue poke into his cheek and confusion gathers in your mind until-

Lucio snorts and spits onto the beak of your mask. “Fuck you.” 

Slowly, his viscous saliva slides down the bridge of your mask's nose, tinted with red specks and blood. You lean up, lips tugging into a scowl. With a quick movement, you swipe the spit off your mask and grab the Count by the face. Lucio winces, red eyes narrowing on you. “You insufferable little brat. You should be lucky I even touched you, not with your wife ignoring you up in this wing. Does she know you flirt with me? Does she know that you’re begging for scraps of attention like a dog? Does she care?” 

Meeting your steely gaze, tinted by the red lenses of your mask, something in Lucio changes. You’re his only hope in any affection, you’re his only chance to be loved again–no matter how cruel it starts. Something in Lucio breaks. 

“Give it to me.” He croaks, his nose hot and eyes wet. “I-I’ll take whatever- just love me, please.” …is what he doesn’t say. Instead, he swallows that pride of his and mutters a bitter ‘please’.

“Louder. I can’t hear you.” You demand, fingers pressing into his cheeks and squishing his face. His lips pucker embarrassingly. “Please.” Lucio repeats, louder and rough. Seemingly satisfied, you let go of his face and pat his cheek like rewarding a dog. “Now was that so hard? Someone should have taught you manners.” You knock his legs off your hips and return to your bag, rummaging for the vaseline you put back too soon. “I ought to put that mouth of yours to work, keep you quiet, but I don’t trust you not to bite.”

Lucio scowls, yet his heart quickens again as you unscrew the jar and scoop out a glob of viscous goop. “Wanna try your luck?” He slurs instead, tapping his teeth together as punctuation.

With your cleaner hand, you knock his legs back together and grab under the knees, pushing them up to his chest. He makes a gurgled sound of surprise, semi hard dick still hanging between the gap of his thighs. “I’d rather pull the stick out of your ass.” You grin a sarcastic grin, not that he can see it anyway. Lucio rolls his eyes, although short lived as they shoot open with the first prod of your fingers. 

“Shit!” He yelps. “Couldn’t have made it warmer?” His toes curl in his socks, clenching up at the feeling of cold lubricant against his skin.

“You’re awfully spoiled, do you know that?” You rub circles over his rim, slowly warming up until he’s stopped clenching up so tightly. He grumbles, though goes quiet when you push the first finger in. You look up quizzically and find his eyes have clenched tightly shut. 

“What is it now?” You ponder, finger sliding in and out, in and out, repetitively until he’s relaxed more and more. “Milord.” You call, crooking your finger up and-

“FUCK!”

The shout takes you off guard, and you almost pull your finger out until you see the tip of his dick wet and sticky with pre. “Oh?” You hum, bringing your finger in position again to rub at the gland inside. Lucio nearly chokes, dick twitching again in front of you. “Oh what a shame, it must have been so long since someone has touched you here, hasn’t it? If you’re giving me a reaction like that.”

“Shu-uuuoh-“ pre is steadily dripping from his slit, much more liquid than before as it pools on his balls and taint. “Ughn- j-just fu-huuuh-“ his eyes roll, heat pooling in every part of his body with each forceful press against his prostate, milking yet another glob of pre from his cock. “Fuck me alreadyyy,” 

You tut, pulling your finger out and slathering more vaseline on. “Just a finger in and you’re already whoring yourself out- oh, my mistake, you already did that already.” You slide two fingers in, watching as Lucio’s rim widens and sucks in your digits. He can’t find himself to come up with a witty reply, too caught up in his own pleasure to comprehend half of what you’re saying.

More and more he loosens, weakly fluttering around your fingers with each pump. Three fingers in, and his pre- or at this point just cum- has dripped down onto your knuckles and coated his back end. “Filthy old man, you’re leaking all over my hand.” 

Lucio guffaws. “Old?!” He babbles out his disdain for the adjective quite nasally.

You push three fingers up firmly against his abused prostate, grab his balls in your other fist, and squeeze.

“FU-HUUH-“ 

It’s almost as if the cum has been squeezed out of him, forceful sprays of the liquid splattering across your beaked mask. You flinch at the splatter, yet give his balls one more firm squish and twist before letting the flesh go, watching his dick fall limp between his thighs. 

“Do you still want me to fuck you, Milord? Are you still craving my touch?” You slide your fingers out of his ass with a wet squelch, wiping your gloved hand in his thigh. 

Lucio stares at the ceiling for a moment, vision spinning and chest heaving. He’s sore already in the groin, yet he wants more. You’ve given him a taste and now he’s starving; you’ve shown him your cruelty tonight, and he can only imagine how else you’ll beat him down. “Yes-“ he swallows, leaning up on his elbows to get a good look at you. 

He nearly falls back again at the sight. That horrific mask that he hates so much, splattered with his own semen. It fills him with an odd feeling, one of both arousal and discomfort. That mask plagued him- literally, and now seeing it tainted, seeing it in a new light, it makes his chest tighten and privates throb. He…likes this mask, when it’s on you. And that thought both scares and excites him at the same time. 

“You’ve gotten me messy,” you rise, meeting him face to mask and caging him in. “And you’re going to clean it. Go on, lick it clean like the mutt you are.” 

Lucio grimaces, staring at his own reflection in the big red glass eyes of your mask. And then, somewhat to your own surprise, he sticks his tongue out and timidly laps at the end of your beak. You lean down a little further, the tip of the leather beak pressing against his lips. 

The sickly blonde turns his head to the side of your mask, licking a stripe against the cool leather, cleaning his own semen from the material. He groans, sloppily licking the rest of the sticky mess off your mask with enthusiasm unfit for his previous behavior. You can only suppose it’s his not so secret desire to be humiliated.

His eyes have glazed over a bit, his licking leading back to the beak of your mask, his lips parting further like he wants to try and take it in his mouth. You chuckle and give his cheek a rough pat. “You’re that eager to have your mouth filled, huh?” 

Lucio straightens up in a sense, embarrassment crossing his face. “I- Shut up!” 

A type of wolfish grin stretches your lips and you stand straight, re-spreading his legs and unbuckling your belt. The count licks his lips. “Fucking finally,” 

“Don’t get so cocky, milord, with how desperate you’re acting it might be too much.” You unbutton the front of your trousers and pull your cock through the hole, heavy and aching in your gloved hand. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t handle.” He seethes, yet angels his hips for you as you press the head of your cock against his stretched rim. You push into him without any further warning, easing into his lube-soaked hole with a low groan. 

Lucio’s jaw falls slack, a strangled and aborted sound coming from the back of his throat. 

“Is this what you wanted? Is this what you needed, milord?” You punctuate with a quick snap of your hips, forcing the rest of your dick into him. He gurgles, hands coming up to his mouth as a heavy coughing fit tears through his chest.

“Yes,” he croaks when the coughing subsides, the convulsion making him clench tightly around you. “Fuck, I needed it, so bad,” 

You brace your hand against his skinny stomach, slowly pulling out and pushing back in at your own pace. Lucio groans in protest, complaining about the speed and making half-thought jabs. “All, all that talk,” he laughs breathlessly, though his eyelids flutter and he chokes on a whine when you bottom back out. “Can’t e-even fu-“

You roll your eyes, pull out, and snap your hips back in.

“Fuck!” His own cry punctuates your thrust, his head knocking back against the bed. 

You build a quicker pace, fucking into him roughly and without care. Right now, he’s your plaything. 

The rhythmic slapping grows louder and louder, blended with pitiful moans and cries, vulgar and desperate. Lucio’s face screws into one of brutal pleasure, his teeth grit and eyes screwed shut; all framed with the brightest cherry blush, only partly from his sickly hue. 

You tear your gaze from his face, trailing down his frail chest and stomach and-

“…you’re not hard.” 

You slow and grab his limp cock in your hand, roughly pumping it. “You’re all limp, Milord.” 

His eyes shoot open, something like fear and humiliation flashing in his red eyes. “D-don’t,”

“Don’t what?” You dig your thumb into his slit. His dick gives a twitch but ultimately remains soft and useless. “It’s not my fault your dick is broken.” 

Lucio snarls, though it holds no true malice. You slide your hands under his knees and push them up by his chest, picking up the pace again. His head rolls, hand reaching out to paw at your chest, fingers hooking on your light colored uniform. His flaccid dick slaps against his belly with each push of your hips, and the forceful press jolts him up against the bed almost violently.

“You truly are useless,” you spit, hips slapping against his, heart hammering in your chest. Lucio gasps and heaves, his sickly pale skin flushed red and sweaty. His sunken eyes are tear-filled, dampening his lashes and sliding over his cheekbones. “All you’re good for is warming my cock.” 

To your surprise, Lucio hiccups and nods, weakly holding onto the bunched fabric of your shirt. In that moment, you realize just how weak Lucio is; how frail his body is, and how easy it would be to break him. 

“You stopped,” he croaks, weakly punching your chest. “Duh-don’t be such a pussy,”

Ah. Maybe he doesn’t need too much tenderness after all. 

You forgo your hold under his knees to grab his thin hips instead, squeezing tight enough to leave a violet bruise in your wake. “I thought maybe I should have granted you a little softness—but it seems that was wrong of me.” Your hips snap forward almost brutally, and the leverage that your grip on his hips gives you is similar to fucking him as if he was but a toy. You watch his eyes roll, jaw falling slack as a moan not unlike a strangled bird tears from his raw throat. “What, hah, would everyone think,” you begin, curling your fingers into the skin of his hips and belly, thumbs hooking into his hip bones. Lucio hisses at the ache. 

“Knowing if you were fucked by a common person, a nobody, according to you.” He clenches at the thought, forming a vice around your throbbing cock. Hot pleasure seethes through your veins, and it seems if anything, The Count truly is just good for a fuck. 

With each taunt, each rough thrust, your fingers press deeper into his skin, until you can feel a faint and lingering heartbeat under your fingertips. Your hands slide over his stomach, and a high-pitched cry tears from his throat, the look of pure shock laid across his face. Confusion gathers in you until you look down and see that limp, useless cock of his leaking hot piss over his taut stomach. It only hits you then that you had dug your fingers right into his bladder, practically squeezing it out of him–but he doesn't need to know that. 

You guffaw instead, watching the last spurts of his yellow steam taper off and drip down the side of his stomach, pooling under him. 

“Oh my gods- I had never taken you for a bedwetter, milord.” Lucio flinches at the humiliation…and yet his legs curl around your hips, limp dick still slapping against his now wet belly. 

“Should I inform the other doctors and tell them that their count is incontinent? That their count is no better than a bedwetting child?” 

“M’not a- uhng, hn!”

You strike his prostate and a small glob of fluid leaks from his piss wet dick. “Oh?” You cock your head to the side in thought. “Was that supposed to be you trying to cum?” Lucio’s face is a steady red, his teeth grit and brows furrowed. Your balls slap against his ass, the coiling knot in your stomach gathering tighter. Lucio babbles something about how you shouldn't talk about him like that, that he could make you pay–all the while moaning like a cheap whore. 

And at some point, the tightness in your gut grows too tight, too intense. You knock his legs off your hips, pulling out to Lucio’s disgruntlement–and finishing on his stomach. Your cum splatters against the sticky urine already coating his stomach, almost mixing together in a disgusting concoction of a night of bad decisions. 

“Asshole,” Lucio gasps, head falling back against the bed. “Shoulda’ came inside,” he bemoans. You roll your eyes, dragging your gloved fingers through the puddle of cum and piss on his stomach. “Oh, shut up.” You shove your messy fingers in his mouth unceremoniously. Lucio looks at you almost pitifully, but slurps up the fluids off your fingers almost too eagerly. You pull your fingers out of his mouth, and to your surprise, he keeps his mouth open in wait. With a shrug of your shoulders, you keep feeding him until the mess on his stomach is almost completely gone and his eyes are starting to droop with exhaustion. 

You pull away, stepping into your own space to tuck yourself back in your pants before grabbing a spare cloth from your bag and wiping the rest of the sticky mess from his stomach. Lucio leans up on his elbows, watching you almost cautiously, like he hadn't expected this. “I…I hope this satisfied you like you had wanted.” You find yourself murmuring, wiping the lube and sweat from his thighs and ass before putting his underwear and pants back on him. “It did.” He grins lopsidedly, breathing out a comforting sigh as you help him sit up.

“We should do it again next time, how bout’ that?”

You pull the damp sheets off his bed, taking care to slide them out easily from under him. “I don’t quite know about that.”

Lucio pouts, crossing his arms. “I’ll see you again at least, right?” He grumpily lifts his arms as you pull his shirt back over his head. 

“Of course, this is my job.” You pack your bag again and pause, reaching out to push Lucio’s hair back. He leans into it near desperately, choking down a whimper when you pull your hand away. “I’ll send someone to get you fresh linens and garments.” 

“Do you…” he trails off as you approach the large door. “Do you like me?”

The question takes you off guard, and the look on his face is heartwrenching. You open your mouth and then stop. This is the man who sentenced those down on their luck to the bloody arena. This is the man who partied while his people died of the plague. Do you like him?

“...Goodnight, milord.”

The door closes behind you with a soft thump, and Lucio is left alone again.