whothinksallthetime

[whothinksallthetime]

In the Wildflowers

pairing: griffin lovell/harley x fem!reader

author's note: even tho this fic is very self indulgent, i'm dedicating it to xydia @gr1ffins cuz they're lowkey the catalyst to me being like 'lemme actually start writing for fandom instead of just spectating' lol. slight spoilers for babel! brown divider by @strangergraphics i tried to be at least a little historically accurate but idgaf. this is my first serious fic, the first i've ever posted, first time i'm writing smut. be nice please lmao. i might do a second part to it but for now it's a standalone drabble. i'm still a newbie when it comes to actually posting on tumblr, so bear with me.

disclaimers: afab reader, second person narration (ik i said i'd do third person i lied), a bit of plot but not really, some political rhetoric, some world building around irl events, reader is pregnant (unplanned), young parents! reader is 20 and griffin is almost 25 (it's 1836), reader has strong convictions but is kinda shy, griffin is an ass but he's trying, griffin may be snarky and self-assured but he's awkward, family trauma for both lmao, smut, fluff, pregnant sex, piv sex, oral (fem receiving), creampie, breeding kink sorta, lactation kink, domestic dynamics, the two are kinda a married couple with a whole lotta baggage

minors, do not interact! this is explicit content!

Griffin is a utilitarian man. He has known this since he chose to relinquish creature comforts for what he believes is the just fight. Trading lecture halls for damp meeting rooms, champagne for cheap ale, Oxfordian dormitories for musty safe houses, and a cherished circle of scholars for a circle of faceless comrades.

So, he doesn't really mind the long, jostling road to the village in West Oxfordshire where his lover lives. You, the sweet and principled medic who provides shelter for vagabond Hermes operatives like himself. Experienced Hermes members know your dilapidated home to be a safe one. It's not so far from Oxford, just a stagecoach and a walk away.

The stagecoach he takes is a rickety thing, and the coachman seemed to not care if he lived or died, so long as Griffin paid the fee of a few shillings. The coachman dropped him off some miles away from his actual destination. Griffin told him to do so on purpose; he didn't want even an impoverished coachman to have a clue of who lives around here.

Griffin walks the rest of the way, the setting sun painting the landscape gold. As he goes, he looks to the field of overgrown weeds and yellow wildflowers and thinks of his choices. His choice to get involved with a fellow operative. To keep going back to you. To oblige you when you'd so sweetly ask him to finish inside you. To still flinch away from your affections and flee when things get too close.

You're thankful that the weather is warmer tonight. The aches that your thirty-four-week belly have brought are quelled only by warmth, pleasure, and good food. And you could certainly do with a lot more of all three of these things.

Griffin is supposed to come tonight, and it embarrasses you how giddy you still get for your scowling, serious lover. He made clear that if you chose to keep this baby, he would not (because he could not) be a domestic father. You had snapped at him all those months ago when he said that. You knew how fleeting his courage to be open could be; you didn't need a reminder. It's not like you asked for your pennyroyal and rue tea to fail. You considered those crude termination methods as an option, but ultimately decided that hemorrhaging and sepsis were a bit too scary.

You quell the fires that cook the stew. A remnant of your home before settling here and working discreetly for Hermes. You eat swiftly and leave some for whenever Griffin sauntered in. He always ate better when he'd visit you every two months or so, that man.

A bath next. It soothed the ache in your pelvis and cleansed some of the loneliness in your bones. But only Griffin could do away with all of it. You dry off and look at yourself in a blurry mirror. Belly round and taut. Breasts and hips heavier than you've seen. Cunt aching with want. You sigh and rub some wax onto your belly to do away with the tightness. You slip on a night chemise and head back to the living room to close any windows and such.

"Griffin," you breathe when you see the tall, thin man setting dirty dishes into the basin.

Your lover looks up, briefly looking at your swollen belly. And smiles his self-assured, crooked smile. "Hello, dear. Glad you had the door open for me. I was starving."

You huff, a small smile creeping up on your face. "I knew you would be. All that goes inside you out there is smoke from your pistols," you say, walking over to him.

Griffin dries his hands off with a towelette and reaches out, running the back of his hand gently over your belly. "They've gotten bigger," he says gruffly. Softly, if you really listened.

You think back to one of the times he had visited, when you were around twenty-six weeks. You wanted him to feel the soft kicks, so you took his hand and pressed it to your belly. He yanked it away as if he'd been burned. You frowned so sadly that Griffin had half a mind to jump into the Thames.

"They're more active," you say rather lamely, as Griffin passes you to head into the lavatory.

"I'm sure they are," he says without looking back. "I left a report on the table. Anthony had an update about the assignment in the Southern States you were in on." And then he's gone to wash up.

"Anthony is a sweetheart," you mumble to yourself as you pick the papers up. You keep a hand on your belly as you read. This assignment is one you took because it didn't require any of the crazy stunts that your lover pulls. You coordinated with Anthony to aid the escape of enslaved people in the South to freedom. You made medicine packs for them. Antibiotics made of orange mold, contraceptives, painkillers, bandages, adhesive to close superficial wounds, and anything else you could think of. The couriers took your packages over. As per the report, a total of seventeen people escaped, including a baby. You smiled at that. You felt a pulse, a nudge from within you, as if your own baby was saying, 'Good job, Mama.'

You burn the report as per protocol. No paper trails. If you weren't giddy before, you certainly were now. You shut the windows and lock the door, then make your way into your room.

You head into your room, late as it is and desirous for affection as you are. It's nothing grand, nothing in your life is. But the warm, golden light of the oil lamps, the soft breeze of the ajar window which twirls an old lace curtain, and the sounds of night creatures make it precious.

More precious is your lover who is already there, cravat and waistcoat already discarded, and linen shirt being undone one button at a time. He glances at you a moment before returning to his shirt. "Well?" he says, with a hint of amusement at the corner of his mouth.

You wrinkle your nose. "Well, what? The report? You could offer congratulations. I did well." You say with your arms crossed, walking over to him to undo his shirt buttons for him.

"Bah. You want only a kiss and some praise."

"I'd prefer one of those over the other."

"The praise?"

"The kiss."

You can tell Griffin is gazing at you as you remain fixated on his buttons. You undo the final one, and before you can do anything else, his hands come over yours. You look up at him, letting your hands remain limp in his grasp.

"You've been alone here, I know."

Your eyes flicker before looking away. His gaze has always been so penetrating. He cups your cheek to look back.

"I... think about you. And the baby," he says quietly with a dust of pink over his pale skin.

You blink. Then you fight back a laugh. "That sounded like it pained you to say," you reply, extracting your hands from his and going to bed.

He scowls. "It didn't pain me," he says tightly. He watches you as you sit on the edge of the old bed and take off your stockings, already in your night chemise. You're still smiling.

Griffin goes to the floor and removes them for you. You have a wonderful view of his bare chest under his ajar shirt. Your cunt clenches around nothing as your mind runs rabid. You can feel your core slicken, as you're wont to do these weeks.

"-can hardly reach them. That's the last time I ever say a sweet thing," you zone back in on his words. He tosses both stockings aside and looks up at you. His eyes darken and lips twitch at the look on your face, at how you clench your thighs together.

"Utterly shameless," he says, rubbing his hands over your bare calves. "You're meant to be a mother soon."

You flush further and lean back on your arms. "Shut up," you murmur. "It's like you've said, I've been here alone."

His eyes soften just the lightest bit as he hears that. That doesn't stop his hands from moving further up under your chemise and palming at your plush thighs.

"My poor lover," he practically coos, beginning to dip down to kiss your thighs. You exhale through your nose. Give me more, more, more.

"If you plan on leaving me wanting tonight, do both of us a favor and simply sleep on the spare cot so you can return to Oxford come morning," you say breathily.

He gazes up at you from where he is in your lap. Your swollen belly is right in front of his face.

"Let your worries go," he scoffs, moving up to kiss your belly, which draws a small gasp from you. "I could tell how desperate you are from the moment I saw you. What's this about?" he asks as he pinches your nipple lightly.

That draws a larger gasp from you. But you can hardly curse him because he has seen right through you. "Wearing this flimsy thing, tits heavy from carrying our child. You knew exactly what you were doing."

Your mind short-circuits. You wanted this, but you didn't actually think you'd get this far. The closer you are to your due date, the more real this all becomes, and you've worried that meant Griffin becoming more withdrawn.

"I want that kiss now," is all you can say as he moves up to get face to face with you.

He obliges. The kiss is deep and heated. He smells of warmth from dinner and of those chewable mint pills you gave him last time. You hold his shoulders, and he cups your face. He breaks the kiss for air and to remove your chemise entirely, leaving you completely bare, only to go back a second later, this time more desperate. His tongue probes at your bottom lip, wanting entry to your sweet mouth, which you grant. The sounds are wet and amorous. You whimper into the kiss when his one hand grazes over a sensitive nipple.

He slaps your flank lightly. "Lie back, dear. I want to taste you."

The words send more heat between your legs, and again, your cunt twitches and throbs. "I cannot... not on my back," you say, shrugging his shirt off his shoulders. "Not suitable for the baby."

He considers this. Granted, he knows very little of womanly things. He grew up in an environment sterile of feminine things and the womanly sphere. But he can deduce.

"Lean against your bed," he orders, and you obey, trusting him. He grabs a pillow and maneuvers it and himself so that the pillow is under your hips and he is between your soft thighs. Your gravid belly is situated comfortably, and frankly, all you want is Griffin's tongue on you and his cock inside you.

He wastes no time and spreads your thighs wide. He gazes at your core so intently that you blush. You know you're embarrassingly wet. But you want to provoke him to make him go faster.

"Utterly shameless," you throw his words back at him. "You're meant to be a father soon."

He looks down at you with a raised brow as he runs his hands up and down your plush thighs. "And what sort of father would I be", he says as he lowers himself to lie face down between your thighs, "if I failed to please the mother of my child?"

You hardly have the chance to be stunned by his words before he smooths back the hair at the junction of your thighs, and flattens his tongue to lick a thick stripe up your slick cunt. You throw an arm over your face while the other hand is curled in your chestnut brown hair, enticingly longer than his last visit.

"God," you whisper as he keeps lapping at your cunt. You feel a tap on your chin and remove your arm to see him holding two fingers over your mouth. You take the hint and take his digits into your mouth, sucking obediently. You swirl your tongue and make pretty noises as he sucks at your swollen clit. You can feel the roughness of his fingers from engraving into silver bars, planting bombs, and committing acts of terror. After he's satisfied with your mouth, he takes those fingers and runs them over your wet folds.

"Not that you required the extra lube," he says with a slick mouth, sliding the two fingers inside, which makes you moan without care for volume. "You're wetter than the Thames."

You haven't the decency to be embarrassed now. You grip the sheets as he fingers you and finds that sweet, rough patch inside you, and as he sucks and licks at your clit.

"Griffin," you sigh, one hand pulling at his air, grinding your cunt into his fingers and lips. "Griffin, God, Griffin."

He only replies by quickening his ministrations, and that brings you to orgasm very quickly. He keeps going even as you moan and whimper and beg.

"Alright, alright, please-" you say, slapping at his bare shoulder. He takes the hint and moves back, looking at your twitching hole in something akin to awe. He licks your slick off his fingers while looking at you.

"Had I known you had been so deprived," he says as he rolls you on your side, "I would have abandoned a meeting with those dithering pacifists in Oxford."

The bitterness in his gruff voice makes your cunt clench in want. You crane your neck back to see him stripping his trousers and breeches. He fists his cock, and you practically drool.

"I can get you ready. It's been so long since we-"

"Absolutely not," he says with a laugh, and a slap to your ass which makes you whimper and face the side again. He lies down right behind you, chest to your bare back. "I'm meant to be pleasuring you, remember?"

His one arm is under your neck so he can stimulate your breasts and the other holds your leg up so he can slot himself in between. He slides inside your wet cunt and you both moan lewdly.

"Fuck. You-you're-" Griffin says darkly, breath against your ear as he adjusts himself. "Wet. Fuck, warm. Tight- you're clenching me so tight, my love."

You hold your leg up so he can keep fucking you from behind, but the satisfaction of it all renders you rather limp. You try to ease up around his cock, and he rocks his hips against your ass hard and fast.

The sounds of skin slapping skin, the squelching of your wet cunt, the vulgar moans coming from your mouth and his make for a dream. You've wanted this for so long. You value Hermes, and you're glad to be on the outskirts of Oxfordshire to do what you're good at here, but with only the yellow wildflowers to keep you company, how can you be blamed for wanting to be fucked silly?

Griffin suddenly stops his thrusts and pulls out of your greedy cunt. You audibly whine at the loss. "Griffin-"

"Need to see your face. Need to see your tits," he interrupts, shifting you back on your back. He grabs the same pillow from before to place under your hips. You shift comfortably and open your legs wide for him. He pumps himself a few times and quickly slides back inside and starts thrusting immediately. Your one arm is limp by your head, and the other is draped over your eyes for a modicum of modesty.

"God, darling, look at you," Griffin practically coos. He ogles at your heavy tits, plush with the promise of nurturing what is yet to come.

Your moans adopt a staccato tone, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. Your sounds would put a London brothel room to shame. Griffin is only emboldened. He keeps his pace and leans down to kiss your belly rather reverently, then up to your sternum, and higher to your bouncing tits. He licks at one and thumbs at the other.

"Oh! Griffin, please-" you whine, your skin there being hypersensitive. You worry that you might leak; you've done so once or twice already. "Please, I might-"

"I know," he says with his mouth still circled around your nipple. "I don't care." He sucks at the bud which makes you thrash your head, given the pounding your cunt is experinceniong.

You feel a few drops leak, and Griffin laps it up like it's nothing. You burn red, but Griffin only laughs. "How beautiful you are," he says, kissing your cheek and nose tenderly, and his hips stutter. "Doing so good for our baby."

The praise makes you whimper, makes your eyes water. Your cunt clenches around his cock and you buck your hips up. "Griffin, I-"

"Yes, so am I," he groans into your neck. His thrusts stutter once more and you both cum at the same time, clutching each other while being mindful of your belly. You sigh as you feel his cum shoot into your cunt, perhaps your favorite thing in bed.

The two of you stay like that for a few moments, catching your breath. Both of you are spent, with a thin layer of sweat on both bodies. Your cunt is a mess of saliva and cum.

Griffin pulls off you and settles beside you. "You alright?"

You laugh breathlessly, covering your face with your hands. "Yes. More than alright, Griffin."

Your lover watches you for a moment. Watches your belly for a moment. He presses a kiss to the crown of your head. "You'll be good. You'll be very good."

[whothinksallthetime]

To Dare or Not to Dare

Griffin Lovell x fem!reader

Navi.

Note: i wanna suck him off so badly he deserves it!!! 😭

Autumn Festival 2024

Warnings: modern au, a lot of plot, griffin curses a lot? But it feels in character so..., light miscommunication but neither overly dramatized nor superangsty, mdni, nsfw, smut, blowjob (mentioned several over several months), (eventual) piv sex (incl. fingering + female receiving oral sex, light pussy slaps), beginnings of aftercare, reader is a virgin, griffin is implied to be a virgin/not very experienced, he briefly picks her up

Note 2: Robin is Griffin´s younger (half) brother. The gala Griffin was at was hosted by his father and colleagues who are a rich, rascist and (partly) misogynistic people. Also please read "Babel"!

Wordcount: 2k+

While Anthony was on a work trip, you had spent more time alone with Griffin than you were used to. Unlike the others – mostly Anthony and Robin – you had not learned how to deal with his outbursts just yet. So, when he came home, cusses flying from his lips, you could only watch with widened eyes.

You flinched when the door slammed shut. Cursing followed the sound, and you jumped up to see Griffin - beyond pissed off - carelessly kicking his shoes off. He ran a hand through his hair and looked around the living room. For a moment, his gaze met yours.

“It´d probably be better if you stayed away for an hour or so. I can take care of dinner.” Although not often apparent, his worry for you tended to shine through. He knew he could be ruthless when pissed off.

“Was it that bad at the gala?” you asked, carefully.

Griffin threw himself on the couch with a groan: “It was fucking hell.” He laid a hand over his eyes in an attempt to ground himself.

“Is there something you need?” you tried.

A dry chuckle escaped him. “Lots of alcohol.”

But you had already started thinking. What could help him? Anthony usually let him rant his heart out and Robin would start complaining with his brother – kind of in solidarity; it was adorable.

Maybe you could help him too? Find your own way, something only you had to offer him. What you…oh.

Unsure, you gnawed on your lower lip. Your heart thumped harshly in your chest, yet you couldn´t get the thought – the idea – out of your head. He needed relaxation. You could give him that; clumsily, uncertain, but determined! Slowly, you walked towards him, settling down beside him on the couch, fingers reaching out towards his shirt. Then you paused.

For a moment, you watched Griffin silently. He rolled his neck, his shoulders; he seemed so tense. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“I…I could help you relax.”

The man huffed a laugh. “You wanna massage me? While that does sound good, I´m not sure if-“

“No,” you hastily interrupted him. His eyebrows shot up at the sight of you struggling for words, eyes narrowing in confusion when your fingers lightly tugged on his clothes. “Like… I could…suck you off,” you whispered the last part, looking anywhere but at him.

He took a sharp breath. “What?”

“I mean, I just thought I could help you out…you know? You seem so tense.”

“I don´t know!” he spluttered but made no attempt to reject your advances. “Do you…do you actually mean it?” You nodded, your tugs on his trouser getting surer with each passing moment. “I…okay,” he let out, quietly. With a gentle smile you noticed how he had already started to relax.

Griffin watched with wide eyes as you sunk to your knees, absolutely transfixed when you tapped his legs for him to make space for you; giggling, shy and cute. His breath came out laboured, jaw clenching at the feeling of your hands gently running up and down his thighs. You had done this before, he was sure. But he knew better. Even though the way you squeezed at just the right spots and – oh god. He could only watch in awe as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his crotch. The groan he let out was guttural, tightly fisting the blanket underneath him so he wouldn´t cum in his pants. Your lashes fluttered against his jeans; his heart pounded when you shyly looked through them, as if asking if you were doing well.

Shakily, he set his hand on your head, though not having the strength for a proper pat. It was enough for you, however, straightening your posture and grinning happily up at him. He cursed under his breath.

“Go for it,” he nodded at you, hoping you wouldn´t see the blush dusting his face. His eyes never left your face while you worked on his trousers and he saw your eyes widen when, finally, his cock sprung out. A hiss left his lips.

“Fuck, ah, you´re fine,” he told you, noticing your spiking nervousness. But you only beamed up at him.

“Your voice is so much lower than usual.”

He huffed a laugh and ruffled your hair, smiling at the way you scrunched up your face at his actions.

“Just,” you bit your lower lip, “Tell me if I´m doing something wrong, okay?” you nearly whispered.

Griffin´s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He could only nod, slightly dazed. Seemingly satisfied, you bashfully spit in your hands and wrapped one around his base. A moan left his lips, and he forced himself not to move.

Then, you softly kissed his tip, and he thought he died. Unable to do anything but watch as you licked him from base – he shuddered – to tip; repeating the motion, taking more and more – and more – into your mouth until the wet warmth enveloped him fully. He threw his head back in pleasure, not knowing what else to do with his body. You were absolutely perfect to him,

“-making me cum soon, fuck, baby, I´m gonna cum,” he moaned out while you bobbed your head. You let out the cutest giggle at that, the vibration making him finally release with a choked groan. He swore he saw god that night.

It became a bit of a habit. Whenever he came home angry or frustrated, minutes after he had locked himself in his room, there you were, shyly knocking at his door, looking up at him through your lashes in a way that made him melt.

It took him three months to realise that something wasn´t right. So often had you given him utter bliss – three, four, five times, somehow getting better each time – and yet, he had not gotten a taste of you yet.

You flinched when you saw him sitting on his bed, eyebrows furrowed and his right foot tapping the floor impatiently.

“What the fuck is going on?”

“What?” you breathed out, worried.

“What is this,” he gestured in-between you both.

“I don´t know what you mean,” you murmured, closing the door behind you and nervously walking towards him.

He clicked his tongue and stood up, tugging you closer to him.

“We haven´t even kissed.”

“Huh?” your heart skipped a bit.

“Do you know how often you sucked me off?”

“You kissed my cheek afterwards, every time!”

“I kissed your –“ he let his head fall unto your shoulder. “For fucks sake,” he squeezed your hips, “please don´t tell me you thought I didn´t want more.

You visibly shrunk back at that.

He let out a hiss, evidently annoyed at you.

“What?” you asked him.

He raised his eyebrows.

“What?” you asked, starting to get genuinely nervous.

“Do you honestly believe I'd just use you like that?”

You looked away, shy under his heavy gaze.

“I don't mind.”

“Bullshit. Of course you care. What the fuck are you on about,” he gripped your face and forced you to look at him. “You always care. That´s what I like about you. That´s why I like you. As if I'm letting you suck me off and throw you away after, I'm not an asshole,” he glared at you.

Tears started to well up in your eyes.

“What now,” he sighed, but he was searching your face for any hints of hurt, panicking slightly.

“You're so sweet,” you finally managed to sniffle, and he tensed. 

Softly, you traced the blush on his cheek, completely ignoring his furrowed eyebrows. He sighed again and relaxed. For a moment, he just watched you, cupping your cheek gently to see you nuzzle into his hand. 

“C'mon, on the bed,” he murmured and picked you up to place you on the mattress.

The expression on your face made him nervous, so he pressed a quick kiss to your lips to distract himself, then focussed on taking off your clothes. He was careful when he peeled off your tights, albeit a little clumsy. His touch was comforting and made you close your eyes as he gently nudged your body into more comfortable positions.

Fingers caressed your inner thighs, and soft lips followed them soon. A whimper escaped your lips, hips lifting slightly to get him closer. Griffin hummed, but firmly pushed your body back down and positioned himself between your legs. You had to force yourself not to move much when he finally took off your panties.  He lowered himself, putting himself face to face with your twitching pussy. He sighed in nervous bliss and watched in awe as already the touch of his breath made you shiver in pleasure. Gently, he parted your folds, his eyes shutting at the smell that awaited him. He groaned and resisted the urge to ground his hips into the mattress.

Hot breath fanned against your core and for a moment you thought he was hesitating, as if unsure about what to do. But before you could dwell on the thought any longer, he ripped a sweet cry from your lips, nipping on your clit – once, twice – then delving into your heat. His hums of satisfaction vibrated against your sensitive skin and had you writhing. Even after he had placed his arms on your stomach to keep you still, you managed to twist your body underneath his hold.

"Jesus Christ, let me fuck my girlfriend in peace," he groaned and lightly slapped your pussy. The cry he drew out of you like that made him perk up with interest. He filed away that information for a later time.

It was hard to get you to cum on his tongue. Inexperienced flicks against your clit, eventually evolving into sucks; a finger – soon two – finding your hole and pressing inside; the movement first unsure but finding a rhythm that made you keen after a bit of trying.

When, at last, he succeeded in giving you an orgasm, he broke away from your body, fingers carefully leaving your hole. They were replaced a moment later by the hot tip of his cock.

“Is this alright?” Griffin panted, flushed face right above yours. You could feel his breath fan across your equally heated skin. A nod was what he got as response from you, too dazed by him encompassing you to properly formulate a sentence.

He dropped into you, lips crashing against yours the moment he finally pressed into you.

His mouth caught any whines at the stretch, hands massaging your hips in order to ground you. He moved gently inside you, letting you adjust slowly. A groan rumbled in his throat when he felt you soften underneath him.

His movement remained slow and steady, opting instead to focus on giving you pleasure. Unpractised fingers fumbling to reach your clit, watching in awe at the way your mouth opened at the stimulation. His pace was steady, but whenever the flick of his fingers drew out a particularly sweet cry from your lips, he couldn´t help snapping his hips against yours, reaching so deep inside of you, you groaned against each other’s lips.

The way your heat enveloped him – far better even than your perfect mouth – he felt his orgasm fast approaching. Spurred on by your moans he sped up, soon creating wet smacks as he thrust into you. His sounds were so pretty, tears hung to your lashes – tears that he kissed away gently as he began to rut into you – once, twice, thrice –

He ground his hips against you until he came inside you with a desperate groan, thrusts stuttering. You followed suite – so unexpected to him that he lost all strength and nearly crushed you with his weight, ultimately dropping unto you, the way you clenched around him nearly unbearable.

You stayed like this for a while, one of your hands running through his hair, the other comfortably laying on his back. Lazily, he rolled his hips into you, helping you ride off your orgasm – you could feel him twitch inside of you, no doubt overstimulated.

Yet, neither of you seemed to care. All that mattered was that you finally laid together.

Griffin propped himself up on his arms. You watched as strands of his hair fell to cover his eyes and reached out to brush them aside.

“You´re real pretty, you know? Always were to me.”

“Hm, yeah?” The smile you sent up at him made him blush, but he only shook his head, grinning.

“Yeah,” he moved down to press a kiss to your waiting lips. “The prettiest.”

[whothinksallthetime]

Tiny Vessels

pairing. mentor! griffin (harley) lovell x fem!reader

notes. i cannot apologize enough for the delay on this. i was convinced i’d be done by 2k words, but it kept spiraling. in other news, this is the first official teaser for my long-fic Crooked Teeth, and can be considered a side-story or spin-off! there is information for what to expect from that story sprinkled throughout, so keep your eyes out. this can be considered part two of Lost Solace

content warning. afab reader, minor arguments in the beginning (they’re working through griffin’s fear of intimacy), fingering, p in v, unprotected intimacy, spanking, and the typical griffin nonsense. let me know if i missed anything!

work count. 5.3k

minors please do not interact!

Griffin has long since stopped inviting you to impromptu meetings in ominous bars and back alleys. The moment he trusted you enough to show you Hermes’s base, and his personal hideout, it became your responsibility to seek him out when you needed him.

Like tonight, as he sits at his work desk within his tiny, mildew ridden lair, turned to face you as you stand boldly before him.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” Griffin says, his throat bobbing. His eyes tell a conflicting story as they bounce between your face and down the lines of your body.

“Surely you don’t believe I am so naive.” You cock your head to the side, eyes narrowing.

The corner of Griffin’s lips crook up in that wolfish grin he so often adorns. “Well, you certainly can’t blame me for thinking as much.”

You huff, brows furrowing. “Is that a no?”

Griffin’s smile falters, his expression smoothing over again as he regards you thoughtfully.

He really is considering this.

For the past few months, he’s been very good at evading your attempts to crawl into bed with him. Sort of.

He’s good at indulging you, and has developed quite the appetite for pleasing you, sometimes to the point of punishment. But that’s all it is. Him, pleasing you.

Griffin does not let you return the favor, and does not at all seem interested in going any further mutually. At first, you considered it a scheme. Maybe he was trying to establish some further power dynamic, or maybe he was just nervous. But neither of those things really felt like the Griffin you’d come to know.

It had only occurred to you tonight, that perhaps the reason for his aversion was because he felt guilty.

“I’m not sure how much clearer I can be that I want you,” You press further, brazenly. You’re tired of dancing around this subject with him.

“You have me,” Griffin answers, and you scowl.

“Sure.” You drawl, indulging his flippant dismissal. It wasn’t going to deter you. “I have you as an ally. As a guide and mentor, as you say. I even have you as my seat, when you’re feeling generous.”

Griffin’s face twitches.

“What I want to know is why I can't have you, all of you. I don’t mean to sound entitled, you’re allowed to say no, but that’s what I need.” You straighten slightly, feeling small beneath his gaze. “I need a definitive answer, I can’t…” You falter, swallowing down the growing tightness in your throat.

“Can’t what?” Griffin asks, crossing his arms over his chest. His hard-set eyes have you regretting bringing this up, regretting pushing a clearly sensitive subject when he’s so prone to vanishing.

“I can’t figure out if I’m doing something wrong,” You finally manage, voice thick. “You’re supposed to have the answers, aren’t you? Why can’t you tell me what to do next? What comes next?”

It’s a low blow and you know it.

You know that Griffin takes more pride and fulfillment than he lets on about being a figure of reliability in your life. You know that sense of purpose gives him grounding, regardless of how he insists neither of you should ever get too attached.

You can see it in the way he leaves letters of instruction, with small notes to stay out of trouble. You can see it when he keeps you to himself, selfishly shielding you from the rest of Hermes. You can see it now, toiling within him as he struggles to find another vague answer that will protect both against whatever imaginary enemy he’s invited within his mind.

Silence hangs heavy between you as Griffin chews the insides of his lips, until finally he heaves the heaviest sigh you think you’ve ever heard, and deflates. Not defeated, but worn, tired. It makes your heart stutter.

“Listen,” Griffin starts, running a hand through his hair and then dragging it down his stubble covered face. “It’s not that I don't want to. Trust me, I’d love nothing more, but it’s more complicated than that.”

You can see him searching for the words, the creases between his brows deepening with his frown. His fists clench and unclench as they drop to his sides. You want to reach out and touch him, console him, tell him that you understand; but you don’t. You can’t do any of those things with this uncertainty that’s been building each time he dodges your advancements without explanation.

“Once we cross that boundary— once you cross that boundary, there won't be any going back. I’m not convinced you know what that means,” Griffin says, his voice cold. “You will have to live with whatever it entails. You do things differently than us, so I have no way of knowing if you will break when — not if, but when — something happens.”

He doesn’t want to hurt you.

All the doubt and grief and resentment leaves you in a whoosh. It was about making sure you knew he wasn’t always going to be there.

Hermes is going to get him killed one way or another, and he knows it. He doesn’t want this connection to prevent you from continuing your work if something were to happen to him. Doesn’t want you to break when it does.

“Is that all?” You ask, taking care to ensure your tone doesn’t come across as dismissive. Your eyes soften at the sight of him, travel weary and endlessly drained from his endeavors, yet still putting in the effort to prioritize your peace of mind.

Griffin, still, does not look convinced. He squints at you, his shoulders raising as he practically bristles in his seat. “It’s a bad idea. I’m a bad idea, even beyond the death and mortal danger,” He says, defensively. “Is this what you want for yourself? Seriously?”

“If I didn’t, I would’ve told you well before I used your face like a barstool,” You say, smiling, genuinely smiling at him.

Griffin barks a laugh, though his posture remains closed. “Fine. I’ll think about it,” He concedes, slapping his hands to his lap.

Your jaw drops. “What?” You throw up your arms. “All that and you’re going to think about it?”

Griffin raises a brow, looking you up and down. “Weren’t you just saying how you aren’t entitled?”

You can barely contain your exasperation as you gesture harshly to your attire.

You had taken off your coat upon arrival. Griffin, used to you showing up unannounced, hadn’t even turned in his chair to greet you. It had given you the opportunity to slip out of your pants as well, leaving you in a thin bodice and your soft panties, which rode up your thighs enticingly.

“Yes dear, you look very nice,” Griffin says sardonically, and you consider strangling him. “I will take it into consideration as I decide what I'd like to do with you.”

It takes all your willpower not to flush from head to toe. “If you wanted to humiliate me, there are easier ways to go about it,” You fume, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Yes, but none get such a delightful reaction,” Griffin’s shoulders lower from their tense position as he leans back in his chair, teeth glinting as he grins widely. “You’ve gone soft on me. It's almost too easy.”

Fine. You could play that game too.

“Just as easy as it is to walk back to Babel and ask for an assignment in Canada,” You hiss, spinning on your heel to retrieve your coat. Griffin severely underestimates your capacity for spite.

“And what exactly will you do in Canada?” Griffin asks, standing from his chair to follow you, mirth lifting his voice. “York will survive well enough without you reeking havoc and terrorizing the locals with philosophies on insurgency.” Griffin’s hands find your waist, dragging you to him.

You smother your involuntary grin down. “How would you know? The people need me.”

“They need you to stay away. To stay here and focus on taking down the root of their problems, not becoming another one.” Griffin’s hands are unbearably cold as they find their way beneath the fabric of your bodice.

“Well I’m not staying.” You say, taking Griffin’s hands and forcing them from your sides. “There’s too much work to be done for me to sit here for however long it takes you to decide what to do with me.”

Griffin’s brows raise as you bend to snatch your coat off the floor, and only speaks when you manage to get one of your arms in the sleeves, “No, I've made up my mind.”

“Oh, have you?” You mutter, sarcasm dripping from your voice.

“One of us has to be decisive.” He shrugs. “And I’ve decided you’ll get exactly what you’ve asked for. We’ll see how long it takes for you to back out.”

You pause, giving him a long look. “Sounds like a challenge.”

“You’re terrible at hiding your competitive streak.” Griffin smirks, and beckons you over with open arms.

Letting the coat fall from you once more, you relent, allowing Griffin to sweep you into his arms and pull you closer. He's so rarely affectionate like this, even when he has you sprawled out before him, belly-up and vulnerable to his ministrations. To be held by Griffin, and for him to let you hold him back, is a rare occasion indeed.

You're greedy with it, throwing your arms around his neck and attaching your lips to his own, leaning as closely into him as your bodies will allow. He's saying something, low and chortle-filled, but it’s muffled by the desperate press of your lips onto his. Your hands trace over his back and shoulders, the featherlight dance of your nails up the length of his neck sending shivers through Griffin’s body.

It's only as your hands tangle into the grown-out roots of his hair that Griffin pulls his face away from your own to focus on dragging you both to his cot. He seats you on it as quickly as he can without throwing you on it, and hunches forward to run his tongue over your bottom lip again.

You tug at his shirt, just as you kick your shoes and socks off to wrap your legs around his waist and pull him closer. “Take this off,” You gasp between each suck of his lips.

”Awfully bossy today.” But Griffin complies, freeing one hand to work expertly at the buttons of his shirt until you can push it off his shoulders and rake your fingers over the planes of his chest.

You don’t know if Griffin ever had any partners before you, it’s hard to say, and a much harder question to ask. Though, it’s one you don’t think you particularly need an answer to. Since the first time you kissed, he improved more rapidly than you could keep up with. Griffin is good at picking up skills, and stocking them into his arsenal.

He's good at listening for what makes you sigh the loudest, and what makes you arch into his touch the most. By this point, he has you practically wrapped around his finger.

You’re desperate to catch up.

You paw and pull at his pants until he finally relents and reaches down to unfasten his belt, allowing you to work the fabric down his legs until he can step out of them.

He leans over you, forcing your back to hit the soft blankets upon the cot, still nipping at your lips and leaving you gasping for air. Griffin’s hands fumble with the clasps of your bodice, the little metal hooks evading his thin fingers as he growls with frustration.

You huff a laugh, taking your own hands to assist him in shedding the extra layer, breathing a sigh of relief when it comes undone and Griffin can eagerly yank it away from your body and toss it elsewhere in the room.

“Need me that bad?” You murmur, your lips curled with amusement as he licks at them.

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Griffin grunts back, surprising you.

Any smart response you might have had to that dies on your tongue as Griffin’s hands move to cup your breasts, palming at them and pulling your nipples between his fingers. You lean into the touch, relieved to be in his grasp, however cold his hands might be.

His lips fall down your jaw and over your neck, nipping and sucking as he pleases. You lean your head back to allow him better access as he does.

It isn’t long before his mouth is replacing his fingers, and his hands travel down to the soft white fabric of your panties. Griffin tugs them down your legs slowly, letting them hang at your knees as he ghosts his fingers over your thighs, massaging and kneading as the softness he finds there.

You unwrap your legs around him to shed the panties, legs parted almost embarrassing wide as Griffin leans back to survey the sight of you.

He must like whatever he sees, because he gives you that bone-chilling grin, full of mischief and danger. The one with enough fire in it to light every bomb he carries. The one that makes your pulse throb in your core.

Griffin must know it too, because he’s on you in an instant, tongue and teeth roaming your chest then trailing his lips upwards until he can press them against your own in slow but firm kisses that leaves your head spinning.

His hands hold your legs wider, if that was even possible, his knees resting on the edge of his cot to stay propped up over you. They squeeze and smooth over your inner thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need him.

He's teasing you, which isn’t anything new, but the amount of time he’s taking to savor your growing need has you wondering if it’s about more than his enjoyment.

“Too scared to touch?” You dare to bait him to a challenge.

Griffin’s eyes are flinty as they meet your own. “We have all night, I intend to take my time.”

Your legs push against his hold, working their way around his waist and yanking him closer to you. Only the thin layer of his briefs separates your most intimate parts, heat rushing through the fabric as Griffin’s eyes dart down to observe the sight.

“But I want you in me now,” You say coyly.

Griffin’s hands hold your hips down to the bed to prevent you from grinding against him, but you certainly try your best. The rough fabric stains with the wetness that spills from you, and you know you aren’t imagining the throb of his cock.

“Careful what you wish for,” Griffin hums.

His hand finds its way to your core, curling over your slick entrance with a long thin finger and then dipping into you. You gasp, both relieved and annoyed at the intrusion. But Griffin seems intent on having you on his fingers first, as he slips a second one into you and starts fucking them both through your heat.

Griffin’s fingers move languidly, massaging and tender as they stroke your insides. He finds the spot that has you squirming beneath him with relative ease, a practiced motion that only builds your frustration.

He's so good at this, so comfortable observing you come slowly undone for him. All while he remains perfectly in control.

“You always hold back on me.” You writhe beneath him as his fingers stroke through you relentlessly, your voice airy and high.

“How can I make it up to you?” Griffin asks, watching you with calm but vaguely amused curiosity.

“To imagine I would be the one in charge,” You huff a laugh, “I thought you didn’t like being told what to do.”

“That would be correct.” Griffin affirms, his finger slowing, but working you open wider with scissoring motions that have you keening. “If you were smart, you would take the opportunity. Unless you like letting me be in control.”

You moan in response, grinding your hips against his palm and jolting as the heel of his hand presses to your clit.

“Wouldn’t be surprising,” Griffin chuckles.

“Fuck—“ You curse, angling your hips to grind and arch into the motions of his fingers and the rough edge of his palm against your aching clit. All the while, he watches you with that same damning grin, so pleased and proud.

Something in you threatens to tighten, and your cunt drips down the bend of Griffin’s wrist as your walls throb around his fingers. Your voice grows in pitch and volume, close, so close to—

Griffin’s hand slips out of you.

You whine loudly, only to be shushed as Griffin sucks his fingers into his mouth to clean them. All you can do is watch as he does, helpless and needing and so close—

But he ruined it, and you can already feel your climax slipping away.

“Why?” You ask miserably, body still tense.

“You seemed like you were enjoying yourself,” Griffin replied, popping his fingers from his lips.

“And you just had to ruin it,” You grumble, glaring at him as he lowers down to his elbows over you.

Your faces nearly meet, his breath fanning over your face as his eyes shine with mirth. “You will survive,” Griffin says smoothly, “I’m not so cruel that I would deny you entirely. Not after such a good show.”

“Doubtful,” You mutter, avoiding his gaze as he squints at you warningly.

But true to his word, Griffin delivers. His hips press forward towards your own as he grinds the outline of his cock against your soaking core, the fabric sending sparks through your body as its rough material catches over your clit.

“Aren’t you going to put it in?” You ask breathlessly.

Griffin fixes you with an incredulous look. “Going any further than this is too much of a gamble.” Irritation builds in the wrinkles of his expression. “Children are a commodity I don’t think anyone can afford right now,” He says, then adds, “Much less want.”

You blank-stare him, then burst into laughter, which only deepens the annoyed creases along his face.

“No, no,” You try to speak through your laughter, reaching at his shoulders as he moves to back away, grumbling something under his breath. “I just can’t believe you thought I would come in here and ask you to fuck me without any plans for handling that.”

Griffin’s lips pull into a thin line, suspicion pinning you to the cot as he raises a thick brow.

“I’m the medically inclined one, as you say,” You continue, and Griffin slowly starts leaning back into your touch. “There are ways to take care of that, ones that aren’t traumatizing.”

“That is the type of statement you open with,” Griffin says crossly, but his nose nudges against your own. “You didn’t have to wait until I’m in my underwear to tell me about that.”

“Oh, but you love lecturing me” You say, kittenish.

“I enjoy teaching you a lesson.” Griffin grabs you by your hips, and before you can fully process his intentions, you're being flipped onto your stomach.

You blink as he helps you onto your knees, leaving your face pressed against his cot sheets, and your dripping slit on full display for him.

It's an embarrassing position, one he’s never put you in before. But you would be lying if you said it didn’t ignite something within you.

Griffin is eerily quiet as he shuffles above you, hands still on your hips. His knees knock against your own as he moves further onto the cot, making space for himself between your legs.

Your cunt still aches with your ruined orgasm, this position only making you feel more empty than before. It is easy to forget your momentary amusement, the distant bitterness baiting you towards defiance.

Taking his sweet time, Griffin only tempts you further by running his long fingers over your lower back in appreciation of your delicate arch. It's comforting, but it isn’t what you need. You need him inside you, need to feel his skin pressed to yours in as many places as possible. You need him.

You nearly whine, frustration flaming in your chest as you impatiently jut your hips up towards him. Just as you feel the brush of his skin against your own, Griffin pulls his lower body away suddenly.

This time, you do whine.

“None of that. Either you behave or we take a break to focus on discipline instead,” Griffin says, his tone even. He sounds so utterly composed that you bury your face in the comforter out of embarrassment from your obvious desperation.

“You’re going to punish me for wanting you?” You mumble into the sheets miserably, the ache at your core throbbing.

Griffin pinches your side, making you yelp. “Don’t twist my words,” He warns, “A smart mouth will not get you far with me.”

“So you won’t spank me?” You give him a heady look, your lashes fluttering as you wiggle your hips at him, almost mockingly.

The corner of Griffin's lips quirk up. “Tempting offer.” His hand caresses over the curve of your ass, pausing to squeeze at it. “I’m not sure how much of a punishment it would be for you though. Maybe if you ask with that sweet voice of yours, I’ll consider it.”

You push your face further against the comforter, trying to hide the darkening hue of your face. “And whatever happened to ‘making it up to me’ ?”

Griffin’s eyes go dark. “Smart mouth, Dear,” Griffin says, just as his hand raises and then lands heavy over your cheek, shocking a half-moan from you. “It’s not a fair game unless you are the one winning, is it?”

There’s a ruffling sound behind you, the sound of his briefs hitting the floor. You make a high noise of desperation, trying to peek back at him—

His hand lands on your other cheek this time, as stinging and quick as the first. You bite your lip to muffle the humiliating sound that threatens to pour from your mouth.

“Patience,” Griffin reminds you, scolding as a teacher might. As he might, your mentor.

He leans over you again, his body shadowing you from the glowing candle light. He doesn’t radiate warmth or comfort, but something much more important. Something like security. Something akin to certainty that you’re guarded like this.

You angle your hips at him, keeping quiet but hoping he can see the pleading look in your eye as you blink at him blearily.

Finally, finally, you feel him. Phantom light as the delicate press of his cock meets your cunt. You nearly vibrate with anticipation, reminding yourself to breathe. You’ve waited for this for so long, embarrassingly long.

Your bottom lip trembles from its place between your teeth, fists curled tight into the comforter.

“Poor thing,” Griffin coos, but there is a near sadistic lilt to it, you can hear the cruel curl of his lips.

You still, heartbeat in your throat as the tip of his cock glides over your entrance. He slides through your folds, slick and warm and inviting. When he pulls back to do it again, he gets caught in the dip of your lips, nearly pushing into you when he moves to slide over your entrance again.

Griffin makes a low content sound, and you can hear the way his breathing grows more shallow.

It’s driving you crazy, not being able to see what’s happening, especially when you can feel Griffin’s eyes glued to where his leaking tip threatens to slip into you.

“Reminding you one last time, this is a bad idea,” Griffin’s voice wanes, an edge of carnal want rasping his words.

“Please just fuck me already,” You groan back at him, knowing better than to taunt him with your hips again.

Griffin does not need to be told twice. In a fluid easy movement, he pushes his cock into you. You gasp, body stiffening as he stretches you apart and forces himself deeper into your waiting heat. You’re so wet that the connection is almost instantaneous, making your head spin.

Griffin isn’t long, but he is thick. You have to shuffle your hips around and widen your legs a little, just to better accommodate the size of him. The stretch alone has you clenching down on him harder.

“Ease up, you’re…” Griffin makes a strangled sound behind you, caught somewhere between a moan and a gasp for air, “Tight.”

You moan back, leaning into his grasp as he holds your hips firm—perhaps to steady himself— and rocks experimentally into you.

You go slack against the comforter, jaw dropping open as his tip kisses your cervix once, twice, and then again and again.

He eases out of you, and glides back in just as smoothly. The wet sound of his cock spreading you open each time has heat rushing to your already flushed cheeks.

It feels good, so good. The way his hands run up and down your torso and over the curve of your ass, finding their way to your waist and helping you into a pretty arch for him. How he leans forward to press his lips to your shoulders and neck, teeth and lips undoubtedly leaving marks over the expanse of your skin. Him plunging into you with every rock of his hips into your own.

You tell him as much too, “Feels ‘so good,” You mewl into the sheets, clawing at them with weak fingers.

“That right?” He asks huskily. His fingers tighten around your waist, pulling you back to meet his thrusts as his hips smack into you.

Griffin’s rhythm picks up, pumping into you more quickly, and you swear you feel his cock twitch. You’re quickly becoming a mess beneath him, each drag of his dick as he pulls you back and forth along the length of him sending tremors through your body.

“Please,” You gasp, desperate and wanting.

“Hm?” Griffin leans close to your ear, bringing a hand up to lace it into your hair and tilt your head back so he can better hear you. “You’re a clever girl, use your words.”

“Harder,” The plea comes out as a whine, and if you were in any better state of mind you would be humiliated by how needy you sound. “Please, harder, Griffin.”

Griffin slows to a grind, rolling his hips into yours as deeply as your body will take him. The press of his cock head against your cervix has stars dancing in your eyes as your hips twitch in his hold.

“Griffin,” You moan his name again, reaching a hand back to try and claw at his skin.

His pelvis meets yours with a harsh slap, one that he repeats over and over again, returning to his former swift pace. The cot creaks precariously beneath you, but you hardly notice over the sound of Griffin fucking himself deeper into you.

It’s wet and loud and depraved. His groaning and your low moans. It’s all too much.

His name falls from your lips more times than you can count, each time spurring him further and further as he fucks himself harder into you, splitting you on his cock.

“Gonna cum,” You nearly sobbed, that mounting feeling from earlier building inside you once more.

Wordlessly, he slips out, and you choke on a whimper, peeking over your shoulder to protest or perhaps beg for him to continue; but the sight of him steals your breath away.

Griffin’s face is tinged with a crimson color over the curves of his cheeks and the tips of his ears, sweat gleaming from his forehead and over the harsh angles of his chest. He holds his cock tight around the base, his features tight with struggle.

“No—“ You gasp, realizing what he’s doing and reaching back for him.

Griffin halts, hand still wrapped around his leaking cock that twitches within his grasp, breathing heavy as he stares at you with half-lidded eyes.

“Inside,” You say, forgetting to feel embarrassed.

Griffin shakes his head. “I know better than—“

“Please,” You beg, letting your head fall to the comforter and arching the best you can for him, taking your outstretched hand to part your lips again for him. “I already told you there’s nothing to worry about, so please… cum inside me.”

Griffin stills, glancing between your pleading eyes and your cunt, which glistens invitingly under the dull candle light. He curses, face drawn into a tight scowl as he shuffles.

“You’re full of bad ideas today,” He breathes, releasing his cock and moving to hold your lips apart for you. “It’s going to get us both in trouble.”

In lieu of an answer, you take your now free hand and grasp his length, lining it up with your entrance and pushing your hips back into him. His cock head catches at your entrance, and for a split second you’re worried Griffin will pull away, but instead his hips meet yours in a harsh thrust that knocks the wind from your lungs.

Then he does it again, brutal and bordering on frantic as he pounds into you repeatedly. You choke on your moans, limbs melting as that coil threatens to tighten within you.

“You can handle it?” Griffin rasped from over you, though you weren’t sure if he was strong enough to stop now even if you said couldn’t.

You nod your head as quickly as you can muster, reaching a hand down to run circles over your clit. “Everything, I want everything. Please just cum inside—” The words spill from your mouth just as you spill over the edge, walls clamping down tightly on Griffin’s cock.

Your legs tremble with the effort to remain arched, even as your body tenses and jolts beneath him. Griffin is moaning in your ear, rough and low. He pumps himself through your orgasm, despite how you clamp down on him.

A moment later Griffin is cumming with you, his spend pouring into your cunt and filling your inside with white and heat. You whine, squirming at the feeling, but Griffin holds you firm.

Heavy breathing is the only sound in the room as Griffin manages to pull his softening length from out of your hole, leaning back to give you space.

You sink down to the cot, your hips and insides aching as you feel Griffin’s release spill from you. With your remaining strength, you roll over onto your back.

Griffin falls onto the cot beside you. It's a tight fit. The cot is made for one person, and it's a miracle it survived the abuse you just put it through.

“Next time,” You breathed, chest still rising and falling unevenly, “I want to watch.”

Griffin turns his head to face you, brows pinched. “What do you mean?”

You turn your head to face him as well. “I mean I want to see it when you’re inside me. I want to know if it looks as good as it feels.”

Griffin has the audacity to look sheepish as he faces away from you again. “No you don’t. You shouldn’t say crass things like that.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You grin, rolling to lay on your side and slot yourself against him.

“You know, you’re supposed to be the reasonable one, but you’re a real piece of work.” Griffin huffs, but does not fight you as you throw a leg over him. Instead, his hand just finds its way to your hair, ruffling it perhaps a little harder than necessary. “I don’t know why I bother.”

You laugh, “That's what I'm here for though, right?”

Griffin squints at you. “I’m not sure I need you here for anything.”

“Nonsense,” You insist, pressing a kiss to his jaw lovingly. “You said it yourself, who else will keep you on your toes?”

Holding you just a little closer, Griffin’s voice lowers to a soft caressing murmur. “Who else would bend over so nicely for me?”

You hit his chest. “You can kiss me goodbye when I leave for Canada.”

[whothinksallthetime]

i got a lot to say about the hermes society cuz i draw parallels between them and other revolutionary groups that existed mostly in the 20th century and now. im thinking of marxist and anti-imperialist movements (they go hand in hand tbh)

i am VERY interested inwhat hermes would look like in the 21st century. victoire is the one who carries hermes on her back by the end of the book (my girl fr), and if it is true that she finds the other lovell siblings, other hermes nodes abroad, etc. then hermes survived the fall of babel. so i'm curious what it would look like with the decline (or end) of silver working in regards to historical events thereafter.

hermes clearly takes a pretty leftist approach. it's so decentralized (that's how they survived, as robin said) so i can totally imagine different operatives and different chapters taking on different leftist ideologies. utopian socialism was the strain of socialism dominant at the time, but marx would come swiftly after (think the 40s and beyond) and introduce a scientific socialism to the world. still, there is a variation in how free markets should be and whatever other economic aspects in different leftists strains. and that's not even counting other oppressive structures that leftists much do away with (sex based oppression, racism, homophobia, etc)

i think it's very likely that hermes became centralized as time went on. as a political entity, it would have a women's wing, a paramilitary wing, offices, etc (i'd say a student wing, but it seems hermes itself IS a student wing. it's the whole damn bird actually). lol so when it becomes this centralized political entity, and it becomes more globalized, then factionalism is inevitable. that's where im curious as to how hermes would manifest.

highly probable that different hermes chapters/groups/factions whatever would align sometimes even on opposing sides. for example, take turkey in the early 20th century. ataturk was a progressive so perhaps hermes would align with him. but he also represented, in many eyes, western imperialism (especially in the social and cultural aspect), so perhaps hermes would oppose him. this all gets pretty messy the more intersectional your activism gets, i think. i can see feminism being a very sensitive topic. male leftists suck ass, this isn't new LMAOOOOO (griffin my goat it doesn't seem like ur a male chauvinist but we hardly knew you at all :( kisses) i'd talk about women and feminism in hermes but that should get its own post

i wanna talk about how they'd exist in the late 20th early/19th century (think digital era, proxy wars, nation states, etc) but that should get its own post too

anyywayyyyyyy this went on for tew long i've been thinking this since i read the damn book and this fandom is so small so PLS talk to me about it.

[whothinksallthetime]

Lost Solace

pairing. griffin lovell (harley) x afab! reader

notes. yes i know they didn’t wear panties in the 19th century. no, idgaf it’s my self indulgence fic. this is mostly practice for writing griffin in an intimate setting. i’ll properly explore this dynamic at a later date, bc this fic doesn’t do it justice. this was supposed to be a drabble but i got carried away. whoops.

content warnings. afab, oral (reader receiving), no gender specified only genitalia, age gap, griffin is kinda an ass, proceed with caution!

word count. 3.8k

minors please do not interact!

You swallow, hiding your hands behind your back to prevent Griffin from seeing the way they tremble.

He’s creeping closer, head tilted to search your eyes even as you avert them. He has that cruel, humorless smile on his face. The one he wears when he knows he’s won.

You back away from him until your shoulders bump the wall behind you and you squeak with surprise. That seems to be all the invitation Griffin needs.

He shoots forward, hands reaching out towards your midriff. For a startled moment you think he’s going to grab you by the waist, but instead his hands collide with the wall behind you, caging you in. You can’t even duck out under his arms, you are truly and horrifyingly trapped.

Your bodies are unbearably close like this. You have to fight to keep your legs pressed together, despite seeing how clearly he wants to step between them.

He leans closer, breath fanning over the side of your neck as he grins against your ear. “You must think that this is a game.”

You can’t help yourself, your body shudders with a gasp. Griffin huffs with amusement, mischief gleaming in his half lidded eyes.

“Not at all,” You say, voice shaky. “I’m taking this lesson very seriously, sir.”

“You’ll need to do more than that,” Griffin says lowly, voice rumbling in his deepest octave. It sends delightful chills up your spine. “This is a hands on lesson.”

His fingertips meet your hips, and your breathing quickens. You don’t know what you’re doing. Griffin is violent and untamable, he belongs to no one and has always escaped like smoke between your fingers every time you squeezed him too tight.

But god do you want him.

He’s happy to let you take from him, just this once.

Your mouths finally collide, and it is difficult to focus on kissing him properly when his hands paw at your waist and begin raising your shirt over your head.

You feel delirious and lightheaded as Griffin eagerly guides you towards his rickety cot, which groans worryingly under your combined weight. But he’s finally gotten between your legs, kicking them open wider to make a space for himself there.

Your back rests against his cot as he hovers over you, and you catch the apprehension flickering over his face. You reach upwards, linking your hands around his neck and tangling your fingers into the long strands of his hair.

Griffin has always hesitated at the last moment every time you stray too close to ‘dangerous’ territory. You suspect he has some underlying guilt about your positions, about how he’s meant to be your guide. Your mentor.

He brought you into Hermes and taught you everything you know about being a pain in Babel’s side. You’re not certain when your relationship evolved into this odd dynamic; but every time he doubts himself and begins to back away, you have to be the one to reel him back in.

“Your instructions, sir?” You ask, peering up at him with curious eyes.

Griffin falters, blinking at your wide eyed expression and then cursing to himself. “You have to know what that does to me.”

You don’t. You aren’t even sure what he’s talking about. His infatuation with you has never made much sense in your head, and sometimes you feel like you’re still waiting for the rug to be pulled out under you. But you want him so helplessly that you constantly find yourself willing to forgive him for his indecision.

“If you can’t handle making the decisions tonight, I can lead,” You say, puffing your chest and hardening your gaze to appear more authoritative.

Griffin barks a laugh, shifting up further onto the cot and between your legs until your thighs rest atop his own as your hips meet. He’s hard inside his trousers, you can feel it against where heat is building within you.

You’re startled by the intimacy the moment shares, Griffin’s hands drifting up and down your bare sides as you both make eye contact. You can’t remember the last time you spent so long looking into his eyes.

Before you get the opportunity to say something you’ll regret, you reach down to unbutton your pants, using Griffin’s help to shimmy out of them until you’re left in only your under garments.

Griffin makes an appreciative sound at the sight, raking his eyes along the contours of your body. Suddenly embarrassed under the attention, you try to drag him down so that you might kiss him again, but he resists.

You think that this is it, this is the moment he’ll pull away completely like he always does and then disappears for days on end to collect himself. This is, admittedly, the furthest the two of you have ever gotten. Best to count your blessings.

To your shock, Griffin grabs hold of your chin, his grip so tight you squirm in his grasp. This time, when your eyes meet, you are reminded of why you were so nervous in the first place.

There is something hungry, something primal about the way he’s looking at you. It sends your heart beating erratically within your ribs, like a thumping, terrified rabbit. You are caught between fear and desire.

You do not know this man as well as you should. Certainly not well enough for what he wants to do to you, what you want him to do to you.

Just as you accept that Griffin’s hold will leave blooming bruises on your face, he lets go. You take a shuddering breath, still looking into his eyes as he leans away from you, looming over your frame.

He surprises you, slipping off the cot, but not to leave. His coat has been long since forgotten, and now he takes the liberty of freeing himself from his simple buttoned shirt.

You try not to be too obvious about your staring, but Griffin catches you admiring the sharp lines of his abdomen anyway and grins. Handsome and crooked.

“You can touch in a minute,” He teases, huffing a laugh at how you flush red and turn your face away from him.

Griffin is by no means a frail man. He is thin, far thinner than anyone really should be. Hermes life is like that, it robs you of every little pleasure, testing your limits. It makes him no less attractive in your eyes.

You can see the outlines of his ribs, the way his lightly toned stomach meets the protruding edges of his hipbones. How his lean limbs still hold the distinct curves of muscles desperately trying to grow. If Griffin could just get in good meals, it’s easy to believe he would be quite fit.

He has to be, with all his running and lifting and fighting. Anthony likes to say the Hermes has strategists, not soldiers, but Griffin might as well be military trained.

Griffin surprises you again by kneeling before the cot, bringing his palms up to caress your ankles that hang near the edge. He’s giving you that smile, that dooming, calculating smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes, and it makes you frigid all over again.

The man before you is not one for affection. You’re not sure he would be, even if he knew how to. You’re practically yanked towards him, biting back a yelp as your legs are maneuvered onto his shoulders.

It isn’t until the freak—he’s a freak—has his nose bumping against your clit through your panties that you get a handle on yourself and try to run away.

“W-wait—!” You flush, one of your hands flying to push at the crown of his head.

Griffin listens, letting you move his force his head back and shrugging your legs from his shoulders to look at you expectantly.

It’s an embarrassing position to be in, even though he is the one kneeling. You are practically laid bare for him, legs spread and eyes wide with uncertain desire.

You swallow loudly as you try to gather your bearings. “You don’t- you shouldn’t—“ You stumble, “You don’t have to do that. It’s…” You’re fumbling desperately for the right words to help him understand how flustered it makes you feel.

Griffin raises a thick brow, then smirks. “But I want to.” He says, cupping the undersides of your knees to place them back on his shoulders. “And I don’t very well enjoy being told what to do. If your only objection is embarrassment, you’ll get over that soon enough.”

Any other protests you might have die on your tongue as Griffin places his lips against the inside of your thigh, parting them to nip and kiss his way closer to where you need him most.

Your hand is still resting on the top of his head, and you’re grateful for it. It makes you feel just a smidge more in control; fingers laced in his dark brown hair, which threatens to fall over his eyes and block his view of you.

And he is certainly looking at you.

You’ve never been this exposed to him before. Naked, breathless, and so very vulnerable. Since the moment you met him, you had to place your trust in Griffin.

But trusting him with your body, with your intimacy, is different than trusting him to teach you how to shoot or to keep your secrets.

When his lips finally meet the juncture between your pelvis and thighs, you jolt in his grasp. He nips, clearly in search of more reactions, and you reward him with a yelp that brings blood rushing to your cheeks.

Griffin’s face is so close. You aren’t sure how you’re going to be able to look at him during meetings and not think of the way he looks between your legs.

It’s tempting to try and close him in, to tighten your thighs against the sides of his face and force him to focus on where you can feel your pussy pulsing. Griffin likes to punish though, and he has no patience for disobedience. You aren’t certain you’re ready for whatever punishments he’ll give you in this setting.

You are forced to watch as he finally, finally licks a thick stripe up the length of your clothed cunt. Your thighs twitch, breathing coming to a halt as Griffin maintains steely eye contact the entire time.

Griffin does it again, again and again. Tracing the outline of your entrance to your clit with his tongue. He keeps going until the fabric of your pretty panties are soaked through.

It’s too much to handle. You lay back and stare at the ceiling, unable to keep your eyes on him any longer.

This, apparently, is a mistake.

Pulling away from you, Griffin makes a low sound that sets your nerves back on alarm. Your hand falls from his head as he moves out of reach, and you use the free appendage to prop yourself up.

“What—“ You start, but freeze up when his fingers meet your hips and slip below your panties to pull them off your legs.

There's a string of arousal connecting you to the fabric, darkening your face with shame. Griffin watches it snap with rapt interest, only setting your garment aside when it does.

Then, his eyes are back on you.

Griffin stills, staring at where you’re leaking from his eager ministrations. You nearly reach out to hit him, or yell at him to remind him that all his staring is going to drive you crazy. You aren’t sure you can handle being pinned down so intently by his attention.

But then a sudden thought occurs to you, from the way his lip twitches with that contemplative look he gets whenever he’s unsure.

Griffin doesn’t know what to do.

You try to imagine Griffin doing this with someone else —ignoring how the thought makes your heart spike with anxiety— and realize you can’t. He’s too proud and paranoid to trust someone like that. The fact you’re even doing this with him right now speaks volumes.

His knowledge probably comes from all his reading and adventures into the more unsavory parts of England (who knows what he has witnessed).

You decide to have mercy and throw Griffin a bone, even if you can feel the heat burning on your face.

“Griffin,” You say, and his eyes snap up to you. You spread your legs wider, angling your hips at him and lowering your gaze. “Are you going to keep touching me?”

Griffin’s eyes go wide as saucer plates. If he didn’t know what to do before, now he really isn’t sure how to proceed. He breaks out of his stupor and inhales sharply, closing his eyes for a moment to collect himself.

“Patience,” Griffin soothes, sounding more put together than he is. When his eyes open again, there’s a hunger within them. “Let me enjoy this.”

You’re not sure what part of this he’s supposed to enjoy. What benefit does he get from pleasing you?

The thought dies as he gets back in position, with your legs placed on either of his bare, scarred shoulders. Griffin’s hands rest upon the insides of your legs, keeping them parted wide for his convenience. His thumbs come down to rub circles on the crux of your thighs before pulling apart your lips.

You make an embarrassed sound, which Griffin shushes before placing an open-mouth kiss on your twitching entrance. Warm, wet lips moving over you in sensual sucks. He groans at the taste of you, pressing close until the stubble of his face brushes the inside of your thighs.

“Griffin—“ You whimper, not sounding like yourself. Not sounding like the tough little apprentice you try to convince him you are.

He’s watching you again, trying to gauge your reactions. Griffin is a smart man, it doesn’t take him long to figure out that you enjoy the caress of his tongue, or the feeling of his lips wrapped around your clit.

True to his word, Griffin’s ministrations quickly throw any embarrassment you might have had out the window.

Your eyes are half-lidded and hazy, your breathes coming out in heavy puffs of air.

“You’re good at this,” You say, despite yourself, because it is true. Regardless of whether he has experience or not.

Griffin pulls away just long enough for you to catch sight of his bruising lips. He’s smirking again. “Just good?”

He leans forward again and presses his tongue to your entrance until it slips inside, lapping easily through your wetness. His nose is bumping your clit, sending a jolt through your body as he strokes your insides with long, slow licks.

Your head tilts back and you have to bite your lip to hold back a high moan. “You feel amazing. So good, Griffin—“

“That right?” Griffin practically purrs at the praise, lips humming against you as his tongue slips in and out. If you had half a clearer mind, you might exploit the obvious weakness, but you don’t, and so you can only whimper your agreements.

Griffin eats at you like he’s been starved his whole life. Maybe he has, at least for as long as he’s been with Hermes. It’s depraved and dirty, messy and unrhythmic. It’s a new form of torture, pushing you to the brink of insanity.

You can peek your slick clinging to the edges of his mouth, coating the top of his tongue. You must be the only thing he can taste right now, the only thing he can think about. His fingers press into the softness of your thighs, grounding you snug against him even as you squirm in his grasp.

Griffin glances up at you, watching the way your face scrunches with pleasure.

“Your fingers, please,” You beg, whine, your breath stuttering out as you make pleading eyes down at him.

“You like that word a lot,” Griffin says roughly, something dark coying at the edge of his tone. “Please.” He repeats it, hot and nearly as desperate as you had, mocking you.

For a moment you worry he isn’t going to comply with your demand. He rarely caves to your whims anyhow, firm in his decision not to spoil you rotten, now would be no different. But to your immense relief, his right hand departs from your thigh so he can stroke your clenching entrance with a fingertip.

His first finger practically glides in, and he doesn’t even have to try to fit the second. It wasn’t until this very moment that you fully acknowledged how long Griffin’s fingers are. They’re thin and calloused, certainly not delicate as they prod around inside you.

He finds your cervix with ease, and—based on the curious raise of his brow— he inspects it carefully, tracing the shape of it. You shudder, your hips instinctively angling to try and get him to rub just a bit below—

Griffin notices your desperation and pulls his fingers back in a slight curling motion, right across that sweet spot inside you. An unintentional move, for certain; just as unintentional as the choked, sob of a moan you let out is.

Within seconds Griffin is curling his fingers over the spot repeatedly, tongue still ghosting over your heat and lapping up everything you have to give him. He rests his cheek against your left thigh, letting you roll your hips against his ministrations as you whimper and plead nonsense to him.

The whole time, he watches you. He watches you come undone, watches as your breathing becomes panting, watches the way you try to fight desperately to maintain some semblance of self control.

His thumbs presses to your clit, again curious of your reaction. Griffin’s eyes light up mischievously at the way your grinding becomes more desperate and erratic.

“Feels that good, huh?” Griffin teases, murmuring over the sounds of your heavy breathing.

“Mmph,” You mumble your agreement, hazy. “Feels so good. You’re so g-good!”

Griffin coos, bringing your aching clit back between his lips to roll it under his tongue in scalding circles that have your mind sputtering.

“Fuck—! Griffin- Griffin, please,” You gasp, one of your hands shooting down to tangle in his messy hair.

“Please what?” Griffin asks, parting from you. He doesn’t swat away your hand like you expect him to. “You speak how many languages? Use your words.”

“More, I want more,” You manage, voice fussy and mewling as your thighs jerk.

“Don’t get greedy,” Griffin scolds, grunting, but the pressure of his fingers inside you increases, speeding up and rubbing against the spongy spot with vigor. Your walls flutter around his touch.

The lewd, wet sounds of your sex is not lost on you. You’ll be plenty embarrassed later at just how easily Griffin manages to make you aroused. The man isn’t even fully naked, yet he has you in the literal palm of his hand.

Tension coils within you, warm and electrifying. You’re approaching your climax, and fast. Griffin must be able to tell too, because he’s growing sloppy, more desperate.

He seals his lips around your swollen clit and sucks. Your back arches straight off the bed as your mouth drops open, keening loudly. His fingers are still curling and circling your insides, pressing against that sweet spot he just won’t stop abusing.

Your hips begin to rut against his face, your legs jolt and twitch, and your mewling increases in pitch and frequency. Griffin makes a soft, pleased sound against you, the vibrations only furthering your ecstasy.

Griffin doesn’t stop even when you spill over the edge, legs trembling around his face and fingers pulling tightly at his hair. If anything, he presses against you harder, letting you ride against his face and through your climax.

It’s only when the glide of his tongue over your clit becomes too much that you try pushing at his face. He relents, easing his fingers from your sopping core, a thin strand connecting him to it that he deftly licks and sucks away.

The sight nearly convinces you to pull him back in, but your arms are tired from being propped up for so long, and your mind is blearily foggy.

You breathe heavy like that for a minute, sprawled out on Griffin’s cot and blissed from his mouth and fingers alone. It’s heavenly, it’s damning. At this moment, it’s all you’ve ever needed.

When the pulsing between your legs finally soothes some you drag a hand down your face and sit up, ready for more. Ready to give Griffin something better in return.

But he’s already found his shirt and is buttoning it back up again. You startle, confusion and heartache washing away the fog in your mind.

“Griffin?” You ask tentatively.

He nods in your direction, urging you to speak, but not directly looking at you. He continues buttoning his shirt.

“At least let me return the favor.” You stand, panic mounting. You feel weak-kneed and wobbly. Was he really about to leave, after all that? He is still hard in his breeches. Surely it’s not over?

Griffin stiffens as you manage to reach him, your deft fingers wrapping around the edges of his belt and tugging pitifully downwards.

Cupping the side of your face, Griffin studies the helpless desperation in your eyes. He sighs and shakes his head. “Next time, perhaps.” His thumb strokes over the curve of your cheek. “Today’s lesson was enough. Think carefully about what you learned.”

You frown. “Next time?”

Griffin’s eyes lighten with mirth. “Next time,” He parrots, ruffling the hair at the top of your head playfully.

“Then next time, you’ll let me do something about this?” You ask, and without warning cup the outline of his hard length through the fabric of his pants.

Griffin curses, and takes hold of your wrist, face turning red. “We’ll see if you’ve earned it by then.” He clears his throat, managing to get your grip away from him.

You’re still not satisfied. “And right now? You’re not leaving, are you?”

“No, we’re leaving,” Griffin says matter-of-factly. “Get on with it, find your boots. We’ve got things to do.”

You try hard not to let your relief show, rolling your eyes light-heartedly and stalking off to start getting dressed too. “Where to?”

Griffin pulls his coat off the back of his desk chair, shrugging it on. “You let me worry about that. I’ll show you the way.”

You shoot him an unimpressed look, yanking on your socks. “And you’re sure you don’t want to take care of that before we go out into public?”

“I can handle myself fine, thank you,” Griffin turns to hide his hard-on from you, yanking his long coat further over himself for extra protection. “I’m older, I know what I’m doing. Don’t embarrass me.”

You snort. “Oh no, I don’t think you need any help from me with that.”

“Careful, brat.” Griffin reaches out to knock the back of your head playfully. “We’re eating on my bill.”

[whothinksallthetime]

gulps.

(suggestive themes below the cut)

guys…….

original image:

[whothinksallthetime]

first post kinda nervous

hi!! so i figured it'd be appropriate to post like an intro of sorts because this is the first time i've ever posted my own thing on tumblr EVER!! i'm sure this blog looks all kinds of fucked at first glance. why is it so new. why is it formatted so ass. what is going on.

basically, i've been in fandom spaces for YEARS but never said or posted anything because i was sooo shy lmao and quite young!! so i do have a 'legit' blog out there, but i'll keep that for me lmao. this is my extremely self-indulgent blog that i've decided will be my overactive 'mouth'. as in i post anything and i won't 'keep up appearances' LMAOOO idk how else to say it. idk why i've decided now to be when i start being active in fandom! it's probably a mix of me being older and wiser, better read, encouragement, etc.

so that's about it lmao. i have no idea how posting on tumblr works (again, despite being on tumblr for almost a decade now LOL) ig some guidelines? what to expect? etc?

what to expect: as the bio says, the most self-indulgent shit ever. i don't think you'll find any serious literary analyses or like political think pieces here even though i'm very active in those spheres elsewhere. (you might see them in my stories, especially since the fandom i'll be writing for immediately (babel) is very political) i WILL be doing drabbles, maybe longer fics, reposting stuff i like, etc. babel is the fandom that i'm for sure gonna write about immediately. (hello to the other like five people in the fandom!) it'll pretty much always be x fem!reader in the third person i think.

guidelines: i'll take requests i think!! (me writing this like i'm some fucking sought after fic mastermind omg) LMAO but yeah send in requests i'll see if i wanna do them. like i said, i fear this blog is where i do literally anything i want or don't want. very entitled of me ik lmao. DNI: basics ig. minors, racists, sexists, homophobes, fascists, proships, etc. i don't care to deal with annoying ppl. do i write smut? idk. probably. if i do, it will never be of minors. i will flag it. i do like SOME dead dove stuff bc i like gothic shit, but nothing insane i think.

personal: you can call me hida!! she/her. i avoid any personal things where i can, that's just preference.

okay i think that's about it for now. if i'm doing something wrong, lmk by dms or in replies lmao again i have no idea how tumblr posting works!! this should be a fun space, very unserious, entirely self-indulgent. thanks to xydia for their encouragement!! i will likely be extremely active or go mia for lengthy periods. please feel free to reach out if you have like some issues with me or my content or whatever (i feel like i made myself sound so strict lmao) if your advice is in good faith, i will take it!! thanks in advance to all lovely people who will be supporting <3