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astroboots · 9 months

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Punch-Out Love

Artwork by @guruan

FIGHT NIGHT

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You're lucky enough to score ring-side seats at a boxing match on Friday night. Getting the best view in the house of boxing champion: Miguel O'Hara.

Word count: 1,500

Next Chapter

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You know fuck all about boxing.

About the only thing you know about the sport was from the glimpses you caught watching scratched up old recordings of Muhammed Ali fights on the boxy mini-tv of your old childhood friend's house.

It always seemed barbaric. The practice of watching two human beings beat the shit out of each other for spectator's entertainment. It seems like something that was better left in the Ancient Roman times. Have we all human beings as a society, really not come further some 2,000 years later?

Your bestie used to get mad at you for this. Constantly defending the sport from your criticism, because (according to him) it's not just about smashing each other's faces in. Supposedly, there's an art to the sport. Boxers are taught to respect their opponents and adhere to the principles of good sportsmanship. It takes great mental discipline, dedicated work and years of hard and punishing training to master boxing.

You never saw any of that in the matches he showed you. All you saw were two men needlessly being hurt, sustaining brain damage for rich people's enjoyment.

Then again, he was more than a little bit biased, considering it was his dream to go pro one day. Tall and gangly, with his scrawny antelope legs, thick-rimmed glasses and big-ass braces, he looked like he couldn't punch his way out of a paper bag, much less another person. You never understood how exactly he thought he was going to make it as a boxer.

But you never found it in you to burst his unrealistic bubble when he used to point at the screen excitedly, drawing your attention to Ali's footwork and the artistry in it.

"It's like he's dancing," he used to say.

Except dancing is done with swelling music in the background. In dancing you often have a partner. It's an embrace. It's gentle and kind.

Boxing... was not that.

So you don't know how you managed to find yourself in the ringside seats of a local boxing match on a Friday evening, staring up at the boxing ring with the glaring ring lights shining into your eyes.

"Aren't these seats amazing?" Jess shouts excitedly over the familiar lyrics of ‘We Will Rock You' being belted out by Freddy Mercury on the loudspeaker.

You smile, and nod, because boxing-fan or not, she's right, these are some amazing seats. And considering you didn't have to pay a dime for them, personal aversions aside, you're never going to turn down free stuff.

Jess' husband tested positive for covid at the last minute, and you're the only one in your social circle that is anti-social and single enough to not have any plans on a Friday evening.

On the monitors above you, the menacing headshots of the two fighters swish into view.

"The first guy is an old reigning champ," she explains to you, as she leans in, shouting into your eardrums (and yet you can still barely make out what she's saying over the music). "The challenger is some new kid on the block. Has an amazing track record. Zero losses in the season. He's something else."

You look up at the gigantic screen, at the sharp cut cheeks, strong thick brows and the intense pitched brown eyes staring down at you.

Angry looking dude.

...Handsome too.

With a face like that, surely he could've gone into other careers. Calvin Klein model, movie star, or a news anchor. You wonder what makes a guy voluntarily have his face bashed in for money as a career.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a loud booming voice announces from the stage.

You jump in your seat from the suddenness, as you see a bald and overly formal dressed announcer in the middle of the ring.

"Welcome to the electrifying boxing showdown of the century! Are you ready to witness some knockout action tonight?"

The crowd around you cheers with a pandemonium of shouting and whistling.

"Introducing our first fighter, a true hometown hero! With an impressive record of 20 wins, 15 by knockout, and only 2 losses, standing at 6'3 feet, and weighing in at 340 pounds of determination and strength, give it up for ‘the Knockout King’ Bobby Kane!"

You watch as the reigning champion walks down the tunnel to the midst of adoring cheers as he waves and gestures at the crowd like royalty.

Every inch the king that he is nicknamed, he jumps over the rope and stands tall and proud over the ring.

The man is huge, bulging with almost grotesque muscles. He's so large that you almost expect each of his steps to send a reverberation throughout the hall, as if this was Jurassic Park and he's a T-Rex.

"Now, entering the ring with the confidence of a warrior, fighting out of the red corner, with 15 wins, 10 by knockout, and no losses, standing at an astounding 6 feet 9 inches, and weighing in at 310 pounds of raw power, let's hear it for tonight's challenger, ‘Steel Jaw’ Miguel O'Hara!"

Wait what? You do a double take at the announcement. Six foot nine?!?! What kind of giant is that?

From the far corner of the hall, you see his silhouette emerge, and your eyes go wide at the sight of him. Tall doesn't even begin to describe him.

There's a 200 year oak tree at Central Park, and with the shadow this man casts, you think their height must be nearly comparable. If you thought the Knockout King was tall, the "King" is practically tiny compared to this challenger.

You watch, as the man with cheeks so sharp they mind as well be blades (and god never has a nickname made more sense to you) as he strides towards the stage. He reaches the rope and barely even has to climb over it with how tall he is.

He's leaner than his predecessor. Every inch of him is cut muscles and tanned gorgeous skin as he stands in front of you. His presence is electric. The air crackles where he stands, towering over the stage.

You swear that his towering height blocks out the ring lights with it, casting the stage in the darkness of his tall shadow.

Somehow, he's even prettier in person compared to the still image of him blown up and plastered on the big screen. Soft brown curls and pouty lips. You don't understand in what world a man like that is a professional fighter.

From this distance, with the way that the light refracts from his irises, his eyes almost glow with a scarlet red that takes your breath away as you look up at him and meet his eyes.

If you didn't know better, you'd think he was staring at you.

The bell rings out, but he's not looking away. The intensity you find there is enough to make you swallow your tongue. Your face prickles with heat and for several long moments you forget to breathe, until the air seems to thin around you and your vision starts to swim.

Then he turns to face his opponent.

You're not quite sure where to look. There's so much happening at once. For his size, Miguel O'Hara is surprisingly deft on his feet. His footwork is somehow both unpredictable yet intentional all at once.

The King throws a strong punch, as he lunges forward, after his tall opponent. But O'Hara dodges them seemingly without effort. It's followed by punches so quick, the movements blur together.

Strike after strike. The King is giving it his all. But none of it properly connects. With every failed hit, you can see him growing increasingly more frustrated.

Your heart is in your lungs, and despite how close you are to the stage, you almost want to get up from your seat for a closer look.

Safe as you are behind the ropes, adrenaline rushes through your veins with a fury. You can't recall the last time you felt this ecstatic about... well, anything.

With each punch O’Hara dodges, you feel yourself lurch back in your seat, trying to dodge the punch with him.

It's titillating.

Exciting.

O'Hara's movements are precise and honed with intention despite the ferocity in his movements. Each one is measured and intricate and if you didn't know any better you'd almost call it graceful.

You think back to those moments in your childhood friend's home, and his excited words buzz in your ears now. For the first time ever you finally understand what he had meant.

It is like a dance.

Before you, O’Hara's eyes cross over in your direction and for a split of a second, you swear your eyes connect again. His gaze holds you there, pinned to your seat, and excitement shoots through the entirety of your spine until you feel lightheaded from the attention.

Then he finally steps forward, no longer evading.

It's brutal and efficient.

An uppercut that connects cleanly to his opponent's jaw.

Spit and blood flies out from the man's mouth, the flabby flesh of his cheek vibrating from the impact as he lands on the floor with an ear-shattering thud.

Then the guy is out.

Barely even eight minutes in.

There's a stunned and shocked silence. The crowd seems both enthralled and disappointed at how fast it all went. On the ring floor, you can practically see the circle of cartoon birds flying above the defeated King's head.

You may not know anything about boxing, but you know that this man is not getting up anytime soon, no matter how far the referee counts.

Tearing your eyes away from the motionless body splayed out on the ground elevated above you, you can see the victor towering menacingly over the body.

But Miguel O'Hara isn't even looking at his defeated opponent

No, his eyes are staring straight into the sea of awestruck spectators. Except he’s not looking at them.

He's looking at you.

~ Next.

Author's note: What's that you say? CiCi wtf are you doing starting another series when you already got one going on? ... Idek man. But I hope you guys enjoy it, cause I had a blast writing it, smut will ensue in later chapters I promise!

Dedications and Credits: Buckle up it's gonna be a big one!

Firstly to @guruan when I say she's my muse THIS IS WHAT I MEAN! Look at that beautiful artwork. I am drooling into my panties. I am crying between my legs. I am so damn horny! I cannot thank this amazingly talented genius enough. Please please give this wonderful brilliant human your love by following her, and drop by her KO-FI SHOP cause the art this woman bless us with is UN-fucking-REAL

Then to @djarinsbeskar who put this idea into my head. In my mind she is the OG Boxer AU champion and mastermind. If you are in the mood for more boxing content, she has a wonderful, devastatingly sexy series Boxer!Din AU that is just woof woof bark bark.

#miguel o'hara fic #miguel o'hara fanfic #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #oscar isaac #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse fanfiction #spiderverse #spiderverse fanfiction #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you

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cacoetheswriting · 3 months

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honesty: the music video

pairing: rockstar!eddie munson x popstar!fem!reader word count: 2.3k summary: after a long day on set, you can't wait to get it on with your costar.

content warnings: 18+, minors dni: mature themes, literally smut with a minor plot, established relationship, unprotected p in v, overstimulation, praise kink, dom-ish eddie, adult language, heavy use of pet names, mentions of aftercare — if i missed anything in this chapter, pls let me know!

celebrity skin. masterlist <- part of this lil' universe, but can totally be read as a stand-alone. timeline wise, this takes place somewhere after part 3 and before end part 5.

“We want it to be sexy.”

“But not too sexy.”

“Revealing.”

“But not too revealing.”

“Sounds like you guys don’t know what you want,” Eddie chimes in, interrupting the back and forth of your respective teams.

You stifle a giggle.

“That’s ‘cause of the two distinct styles,” someone from your team clarifies, “We wanna be respectful.”

“For sure,” one of the creatives on the Corroded Coffin side agrees. There’s a short pause. “We will have you two kiss at the end, though.”

At that, Eddie smirks. He looks at you from across the table and you could just about melt right there, blood rushing to your face, warming your cheeks.

“That won’t be a problem,” he says confidently and winks.

Honesty was a guaranteed hit. Top of the charts. Everybody that’s been so far involved in the project said it. They praised it. From the bass, drums, to the guitar and vocals. The production value was off the scale. A dream arrangement that would stand the test of time.

All the song needed was a music video equally as captivating.

A back and forth discourse began shortly after you first started recording with the band: whose style should the clip resemble more?

Corroded Coffin screamed all things dark, maybe a little gory. Their usual expression featured slightly melancholy undertones and a lot of references to all things Dungeons & Dragons. Imaginative, for sure. An artistry that had rarely been seen in the genre.

Although it’s been an artistry vastly different from yours.

The glitter hadn’t necessarily been your idea, but it certainly became a signature of sorts. Anything sparkly, always. And music videos that told a story. Most often one of love since that’s what you idolised ever since you were a kid — it obviously helped that love also sold millions of copies.

Eddie’s team argued that it’s the band’s song and you’re just a feature, therefore the accompanying video should lean into their style. Your management team was hesitant to agree. Calculating risk in case the lines get blurred a little too much and your pristine image shifts to the opposite end of the spectrum. Hours of arguments. Hours of negotiations. None of which you, or the rockstar were even mildly aware of. Too lost in each other's eyes and soft cotton sheets.

Eventually, a compromise, of sorts, was found.

Ernest Hemingway’s The Killers influenced, in part, a 1946 film noir of the same title, with Ava Gardner and Burt Lancaster taking the lead. The movie, in turn, inspired the black and white music video.

Done up in flair of the characters, Kitty Collins and Ole Anderson (aka Swede), you recreated iconic scenes alongside the brown-eyed rockstar. The rest of the band was also dressed to the nines. Side characters that played their instruments in the background of main shots. They blended in well, while adding a unique spin to the known story.

Overall, the Honesty shoot quickly became a big spectacle. Bigger than anything Eddie Munson and his band of closest friends has ever been lucky enough to be a part of.

Intricate sets. Glamourous. In front of cameras and bright lights, you and your scene partner, Eddie, mouthed along the lyrics to the song as if they were a script. And with every scene, as if the two of you were the only people actually there, no equipment and no crew, you got lost a tiny bit. Lost in the chocolate of the rockstar’s wide gaze. In the way he smelled. The style of that decade suited the brunette greatly, so you became lost in how he looked in this character. Dapper. Unlike you’ve ever witnessed him before. He committed to the role too. A certain swag in his movements. How he touched you so hesitantly, delicately because that’s what the video required.

By the end of the night, after the director yells, “Cut!” to signalise a wrap, a round of applause for all involved in this project, you’re feeling hot and bothered. Sweaty, though not because you just completed a full day’s work. No. Somehow, you found the Corroded Coffin frontman even more attractive than at the start of that day — something you didn’t think was possible. When you glance in his direction, he’s already staring you down, and you know he feels the same way.

Backstage, inside your trailer, you’re sitting cross-legged on the couch. Fingertips at your lips as you wait for that inevitable knock on your door. You know it’s only a matter of time considering the build up of tension throughout the shoot. From the lingering touches and that kiss the director had you two repeat over and over and over…

Logically, you could wait until the two of you were home. Back at Eddie’s Hidden Hills mansion, away from prying eyes and ears. In a bed that’s become all too familiar. Far from possible interruptions. Logic however, well, right now, logic was taking a back burner ‘cause you needed him now. Desperately. And without a doubt, Eddie needed you too.

A knock. Then again. But the rockstar doesn’t wait for you to answer. He lets himself in.

“What happened to the wig?” You ask, raising a brow.

“It was itchy,” he replies with a slight laugh, then shakes his head. “I much prefer my natural locks.”

“That’s too bad,” you say with a slight shrug, “You looked quite smart with that short hair.”

Eddie hangs his head with a smile, though his eyes don’t leave yours. Not even for a second. That’s when you notice the glimmer. That look, the reason he’s here, just like you predicted. So you return the expression. Only yours is a little more sly. Tempting him. Teasing.

“I had fun today.”.

“Me too.”

There’s a lot that happens in the seconds after you stand up. A lot that happens quickly.

Eddie reaches for your wrist, pulling you closer before wrapping his, for once, ringless hand around yours completely. He presses it to the middle of his chest, holding it against his heart. You can feel it beating and that’s enough to make you melt ‘cause it’s strong and you swear it skips at the contact. His other hand reaches for the base of your throat. He holds it gently, caressing upwards until he’s gripping your jaw.

“Kissing you in front of all those other people kinda got me going,” he admits in a low tone.

Naughty, that’s what you want to say, but you don’t get the chance ‘cause his lips crash into yours. Hungry. Desperate. Rough. Heat rushes through your body at the sudden contact, no different than any other time his mouth found yours. You’re at his mercy, always, and he knows it well.

His tongue glides along your top lip and you part your lips to accept him without hesitation. He wastes no time sliding into your mouth, letting this tongue work in tandem with yours as he tilts his head to further deepen the kiss. The hand holding yours lets go, instead finding home on the small of your back, pushing you as close to him as humanly possible. His other hand lets go of your jaw, albeit not completely. Ghosting along the side of your neck before you feel him wrap it around your throat, squeezing lightly. It’s nothing new for Eddie to be a little rougher with you, but there’s something about this moment, after a full day of moderate teasing and borderline foreplay, that causes a moan to burst through you when he squeezes again, only harder.

The rockstar pulls back, sporting a devilish grin. “Making such pretty noises for me and we haven’t even gotten to the best part.”

“Do your worst, Eds.” It’s a dare. Nothing sweet about it.

He smirks at the challenge and before you can register what exactly is happening, Eddie is lifting you up swiftly, hiking up your dress in the process, only to drop you down onto the sofa with a gentle thud. You’re wide-eyed as he unbuckles his belt with one hand, the other tugging at the pantyhose the wardrobe lady had you wear for the last scene of the video. He partially rips them off of you, then he hikes his index finger along the band of your underwear, eagerly pulling them down your legs until they’re wrapped around your ankles, with the reminisce of your stockings.

“The heels stay on,” the rockstar instructs, pushing your legs apart with force and positioning himself in between. All you can do is nod. Half-naked, half in costume. Same as him.

In the space of a heartbeat, his lips are on yours again. This time they don’t stay for long, instead moving downwards towards your chest. When he squeezes your breast through the silk material of your dress, he compliments how fucking good you looked, “I wanted to ravish you the second I saw you, baby.”

You whimper at his words, and at the fact that his now freed cock is gently brushing against your wet folds. Not quite breaching, just teasing you further. Only adding to the overall stimulation.

“God, you’re so fucking hot. So fucking pretty. And all mine.” Eddie’s breathing into your bare chest ‘cause somehow in the moment your dress has slipped down ever so slightly and your tits made an appearance. Fingers from one hand are digging into your hip, holding you in place, while the other has you by the ribs. Thumb brushing your soft skin while his hot mouth is sucking on your hardened nipple.

Your eyes are closed. You’re not sure when you closed them. He’s invading your senses all at once. Just when you feel like you can’t take it anymore, when you want to whither and plead for him to touch you where you need him most, Eddie plunges himself into you without warning and your eyes snap open.

“Oh God…” he groans, drawing his hips back only to slam them in again, making your body bounce against him. “Fuck, baby. Jesus.”

You sob in pleasure as Eddie knocks the wind out of you with each relentless thrust, still increasing his speed. Heavy panting and grunting fills the trailer, along with the sounds of where his cock slams against your sweet juices. He’s sitting straight now. Eyes are fixated on the mess you’re both making, where his length disappears in and out of you, while you admire the way his locks fall naturally in place. Although briefly, ‘cause you’re arching your back the next second, rolling your eyes to the back of your head when he hits that sweet spot.

“So. Fucking. Pretty.” He growls. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re all stretched open like this, sweetheart. Your pussy was made for my cock, baby. You take it so well. You take this big dick so well, my good girl. Fucking made for me. Ain’t that right, dollface?”

“Made for you, Eds.” You just about whisper back, nodding your head feverishly.

Slap. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you practically wail. “That’s right,” he praises, “Made for me. So fucking tight for me.” Slap. Slap. Slap.

Eddie’s cock starts to swell. You can feel it expand inside of you, then again when he thrusts back in. It has you heaving. The speed he’s established is close to becoming a little too much for the two of you and he drops his weight slightly, allowing you to wrap your arms around him, nails digging into his bare back. He can sense that you too are close and he’s trying hard to hold back, make this moment last longer, but his body refuses to slow down. Chasing the way your glistening pussy chokes his length.

“Where do you want me baby?”

“Inside,” you croak out. “Cum in me, Eddie. Please. I need you to fill me up.”

“M’mph—” He chokes out, movements growing more and more erratic. The whole trailer is shaking at this point, that’s what it feels like to the two of you anyway. “Everybody out there will know what a good little slut you are. Not that innocent. Wanting me to fill you full of my cum, fuck.”

Slap. Slap. Against your thigh.

“Please, Eddie.”

Slap.

“Shh… I’ll give you what you want, sweetheart.” He coos, “Gonna pump you full. Gonna make you see stars while my cum drips out of you.”

That’s when you shatter around him, uncontrollable desperate squeals making him groan louder as he continues. It’s sloppy, messy, and once you’ve completely unravelled underneath him, the rockstar can’t contain himself any longer. He lets out a broken moan as ropes and ropes of his warm spend start to throb into your hole.

His body gives up at the last spur and he drops flat on top of you, although not without a loose kiss placed to your jaw. His cock remains inside of your pussy. You can feel it pulsing until, after a few minutes, it no longer matches the beat of your heart.

Eddie lifts himself then. He kisses you softly and you smile against his mouth. When he eventually slips out and stands, he tells you not to move, that he’ll grab a towel from the small trailer bathroom and will help you get cleaned up.

“Wardrobe is going to kill us,” you call after him, balancing on your elbows as you sit up slowly. “Pretty sure these clothes can never be worn again. Purely for the fact that they reek of sex.”

“At least your wig stayed in place,” Eddie points out lightheartedly when he returns, his pants once again buckled, a towel in his hand. “That’s something the hair and makeup team should be proud of.”

“I’ll be sure to tell them,” you say, meaning it as a joke ‘cause there’s no way you would ever admit to what sins the two of you just committed.

Eddie smirks. “Pretty sure they already know,” he says as if it’s no big deal, “We weren’t exactly quiet, sweetheart.”

as always, thank you for reading! pls comment, reblog & support your creators.

celebrity skin. masterlist | the killers (1946) reference

& the celebrity skin. taglist: @eviethetheatrefreak , @thirddeadlysin , @haylaansmi , @nope-thanks , @tlclick73 , @vintagehellfire , @ashlynnkennedy , @avalon-wolf , @sidthedollface2 , @astheni-a , @bebe07011 , @aysheashea , @papillonoirsworld , @vol2eddie , @spideyanakin-interacts , @rogers-sweatbands , @mimsie95 , @mmunson86 , @eddiesguitarskills - (if your user is crossed out, it means the tag isn’t working. pls check you’ve enabled tagging in your settings)

#this one is a little self indulgent ngl #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson filth #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #rockstar!eddie munson #rockstar!eddie x reader #rockstar!eddie smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #celebrity skin.

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maiios · 7 months

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My Rainworld AU: Dried AU!!

This au takes place after five pebbles' collapse but instead of endless snowstorms, the skies turn blazing hot and the once heavily rain filled terrain make for a heated wasteland in which all creatures (and iterators) have to learn to adapt to this new type of environment.

After gaining a second chance from being washed up ashore on the, once in tact, shaded citadel for cycles and saved by a familar explosive slugcat, he searches on a much contemplative and obligated journey to find his big sister, Looks to the Moon. He, begrudgingly, plans to apologize and try his hardest to make it up to her, if he even finds her alive, but first and foremost, he must learn to forgive himself, if he ever could.

A wandering iterator on the lookout for her lost brother, she has searched high and low for his puppet with companionship of the one who had repaired her systems with a, presumably stolen, rarefracture cell. Firstly, she has repaired her damaged puppet at her, once beautiful and flourous, city that laid on top of her submerged structure, which was currently easier to roam because of the water that covered the facility had since evaporated.

A gatherer and his companion, a hunter, with many purposed, deceased, organisms in their posession. He scours the land searching for objects and the like that spark an idea for whatever it is he plans to create for the iterator populace's benefit to give them a second, livelier chance at life that the anciets had stripped away from them.

Farther from the west of the outer expanses give way to one of the most dedicated researchers, set on find what else the world that they have been trapped behind in a can has hidden from them. Exceptional with the crossbow and spears provided by their trusty messenger, given the name Dusk, they set off to record and document everything about this new world. They seem to keep pearls containing poetry and artistry, with seemingly no interest in the matter, for unknown reasons that they refuse to share with anyone.

if anyone is interested and would like to learn more about my au, feel free to ask away in my askbox! id be willing to draw doodles/art for specific asks too :>

credit and thank you to my partner, @basilirl for helping me with the scug designs!!! <333 (i cannot design animal patterns at ALL)

credit to @lyss-butterscotch for the gjinka inspiration for the designs!! i was very inspired to many elements i absolutely adore about her designs to be able to make my own au!!!

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veronicaphoenix · 10 days

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the last song | n.s.

With the new album finally completed and a new song dropping in a couple of days, Noah takes his girl to the studio, hoping to show her around without the chaos of past recording days, and maybe, he can get that last song he's been dreaming of.

one shot ✨ | noah sebastian x fem.reader word count: 2.3k tags: established relationship, fluff, fluffy sexual content (it's not too explicit), reader has a slight kink for noah's silver chain (who doesn't, let's be honest), no trigger warnings, just noah being in love and being loved back.

The studio is finally empty.

After weeks of relentless work and dedication, days blurring into nights, headaches, frustration, last-minute changes, and ups and downs not only in the sounddeck, but also in the mood of the whole team, the album was finally ready, and in a matter of days, new music would fill spaces beyond the studio’s confines.

Noah steps aside to let her in. She is enveloped in the grandeur of the space. Never before had she been in a recording studio, and its magnitude overwhelms her. The expanse stretches out before her, a labyrinth of hallways leading into rooms of creativity. There are framed records adorning the walls, a testament to the artistry that thrives within these walls. This feels like the type of place Noah would call home. Too bad she hasn’t fully realized yet that his home is her,no matter how many hours he’s spent away from her locked in this very right place.

While she is fascinated by the array of instruments, cables, and other things she doesn’t know the name of, it’s Noah himself who captivates her the most. His joy is palpable as he gives gently explanations about the use of each room, each instrument. His enthusiasm is infectious. He’s so eager to share his world with her.

This is one of the reasons why she’s so in love with him.

His passion.

And she is lucky enough that he’s equally passionate about music as he is about her.

Taking her hand, he leads her from one room to another, continuing his explanations and sharing curiosities about this and that, mentioning the guys, the places where each one usually sits while they review the recordings, the Starbucks cups that pile up in the corner of a table when they’ve been locked in there for twelve hours and start to suffer the effects of not seeing the sunlight or hearing the sounds of the outside world, anecdotes that ignite her laughter, a sound that makes Noah’s heart flutter.

She asks him about the new music, she pleads to hear at least one song, a piece, ten seconds. Nearly begs him. She knows she just has to utter the word “please” and Noah will give her anything she wants. This evening, she wants to hear the melodic cascade of his voice, get lost in the way Noah turns words into dreamy melodies. It’s not enough to hear him speak; she wants to hear him weave words into a song; she wants to drown in the melodies he has put into lyrics that speak of her, of the moments when they are stripped of all mundanity, of clothes and fear, when they are alone, skin to skin, and when all that can be heard is only the rhythm of their beating hearts and the symphony of their shared passion.

He insists he can’t. He wants it to be a surprise. He has hopes that when she listens to the album, one or two songs will get her on her knees, while others will lead her to beg him to fuck her to the cadence of those.

Embedded within the lyrics of the new songs are a few confessions, but there’s a time for those to reach her ears, and it’s not tonight.

He silences his phone and sets it aside while she occupies herself by tinkering with the buttons on the soundboard. A few minutes later, Noah sneaks up behind her, enveloping her in his warm and slipping his hands beneath the fabric of her white t-shirt.

“There’s actually... one last song missing,” he murmurs against the fragrant scent of her hair.

“One last song?” She asks, her curiosity piqued. She begins to turn round, but Noah holds her in place. He rests his head on her shoulder, and with a trail of his fingers along the curve of her stomach, he elicits a subtle shiver that she tries to ignore. “I thought you said the album was complete, that you had finished...”

“Not quite yet,” he replies, planting a ghostly kiss on her earlobe.

She can sense the cool, minty breath against her neck, and it sends a shiver down her spine. He has been indulging in a mint candy, and her mind wanders to the tantalizing thought of having his mouth between her legs at this moment. The idea of that refreshing sensation sends a rush of desire coursing through her veins, and she can’t help but wonder if it would be enough to push her over the edge.

She smells of jasmine and the promise of spring. He wants to inhale her, breathe her in.

Concerned, she wriggles in his embrace until she can face him, stepping back a few paces as she speaks. She wants him to take her seriously.

“I didn’t know, Noah. I wouldn’t have asked you to bring me here if you were still in the middle of—”

With a single step, he reaches her again, his smile widening at her endearing bewilderment. He captures her lips in a kiss, stealing her breath away. The taste of the candy is still on his lips, and his fresh breath enters her mouth as their lips part.

It’s in the way their mouths fit together that she finds reassurance that they’re perfect for each other. She knows she’s found the boy of her dreams, and the mere thought of being apart from him feels unbearable. She doesn’t know how she will survive next time he goes away on tour. For now, she will live in the way his tender kisses have a way of evolving into passionate bites that ignite a delightful flutter in her stomach.

“You’re adorable,” he says over her lips.

For a moment, she feels dizzy. Then, with a determined frown, she grabs a handful of Noah’s black hoodie, attempting to appear assertive, though to Noah, she resembles nothing more than an adorable kitten.

“You told me the album was complete, that you would only bring me here once the work was done and this was empty so that you could let me explore and touch things and…”

“And record the last song,” Noah interjects calmly, looking into her eyes, smile tugging at his lips.

Her brow furrows even deeper, her head tilting slightly to the side as Noah’s gaze traces the contours of her face, his eyes filled with admiration for every freckle, that little ever so tiny scar earned in a childhood adventure, the faint blush spreading through her cheeks.

“Noah, I don’t understand.”

“Let me show you…”

With her skin already responding to the anticipation, Noah’s hands find their way under her t-shirt, caressing the skin of her sides. It’s always just one touch and she’s already putty in his hands. She can’t help it; the man has that effect on her, that power over her. She would give him the world if she could because no one ever makes her feel as cherished as he does.

So, when he gently lifts her t-shirt, after worshipping her with light, seductive kisses along her neck and jawline, she allows him to undress her. His lips touch her shoulder, his tongue tracing a slow path until it finds the pulsing vein of her neck. A sharp intake of breath escapes her lips as he tenderly sucks at her skin, his fingers expertly finding their way beneath her skirt and underwear, eliciting a low, sweet moan from deep within her.

It’s the first of many moans to come.

Noah smiles against her flushed skin. His cock twitches. His heartbeat races.

The music is playing now.

He showers her with kisses, his hand cradling the side of her face as he traces a line with his finger from between her legs, through the valley of her breasts, up to her clavicle.

Growing impatient, she tugs at his hoodie, and sensing her urgency, he assists her in removing it. Underneath, Noah wears a black tank top, and her eyes immediately gravitate to the silver chain adorning his neck, previously hidden by the hoodie. With a heated spark in her eyes, she hesitates for a moment before seizing the chain and pulling Noah down to her awaiting mouth.

With one hand clutching his chain and the other sliding to the back of his head, she revels in the sensation of his soft hair sliding between her fingers. He emanates the intoxicating scent of masculine perfume and tastes like pure adrenaline—a potent combination that renders him utterly irresistible. He’s as addictive as a man can get. He’s tall, muscular, handsome, and fucking sweet.

And best of all, he is hers.

Noah scoops her up, intending to place her atop the sound deck. It would be a great place to fuck her on, but he quickly realizes it wouldn’t be comfortable at all, and he doesn’t want her to get hurt.

He pivots towards the couch—a place where he had envisioned her countless times before… Sitting there with pen and paper, crafting songs about her, he had often pictured her naked form, her eyes shimmering with anticipation, beckoning him to find his place between her legs, to envelop her with his body, to fill her up with every inch of him.

With care, he lays her down on the couch, positioning one knee on the cushions to remain close to her, determined to prolong their kiss for as long as possible. He doesn’t think he can breathe without her nearby.

She is never shy when it comes to showing how much she wants him, how much she needs him. She’s unapologetically about her desperate desire, and that’s something that drives him to the brink of madness. Her eagerness only serves to make her so fucking attractive that he thinks he could eat her up. He’s consumed by that need, to bite and taste her in a surge of primal instinct, yet he manages to maintain a sweet and seductive demeanor. She brings out both the beast and the tender lover in him, and somehow, it’s a harmonious blend that feels inexplicably beautiful.

With each touch, nibble, and kiss, her passionate responses start escaping from her lips, wet with lust for him. Their clothes disappear in a matter of minutes, and as Noah finds himself —and his skilled tongue— nestled between her legs, savoring her essence, and impregnating her with his fresh minty breath, the symphony of his name being carried through long feminine moans fill the studio walls in ways he could never have imagined.

But it’s when he’s buried deep inside her that the music truly comes alive.

Together, they create a melody of ecstasy, Noah playing her body like a virtuoso, eliciting the perfect notes and sounds with each touch, kiss, thrust. She’s a tangled delicious mess beneath him, but every whimper and sigh and plea for more is a testament to her trust and love for him, a hymn sung in the throes of passion.

Occasionally, a primal growl escapes him, the beast within yearning to be unleashed, but she, the angel, the muse,keeps him grounded, wrapped in her wings, guiding him along the lines of their shared musical score.

As their bodies glisten with sweat, the tempo of their lovemaking begins to slow, descending from its crescendo, their ragged breaths filling the remaining spaces of their song. She smiles against his cheek, nuzzling her nose against his skin. She holds him close, unwilling to let go just yet. Unwilling to ever let go.

“So?” She murmurs, teasingly playing with her teeth on Noah’s earlobe.

He squirms in an attempt to escape her, but her teeth follow him, leaving him with no choice but to retaliate by biting her shoulder and descending to capture on of her nipples in his mouth, coaxing one new sound from her lips.

“So?” he repeats, mumbling between clenched teeth, his tongue teasing her hardened nipple.

“Did you record the song?” she asks playfully, gesturing with her eyes towards the sound deck.

“No. No, I didn’t,” he admits with a laugh, feeling himself softening inside of her.

“Oh, well…” she licks her lips, pretending to think of what to do now. The weight of Noah feels so nice on top of her that it would be enough to just keep on holding him. “What are we going to do about it?” she continues. “Any idea?”

She does have an idea.

Her cheeky tone catches him off guard, and this time, it’s him who frowns as he gazes up at her. His chest and stomach press against hers, and with each laborious breath she takes, he feels the rhythmic rise and fall of her body beneath him. He considers moving, but before he can act, she wraps her leg around his, anchoring him in place.

She bites her lip, tempting him to do the same; to lower his head and kiss her and bite her and leave her breathless.

A second later, she reaches down towards her bag on the carpeted floor beside the couch and retrieves her phone, unlocks it, and opens the voice recording app.

“Maybe we should try again, don’t you think? And perhaps we should try to be… a bit louder?”

His eyes darken.

“Think you can do that?” she asks him, a devilish smile painted on her face.

“I can definitely make you sing louder,” he growls, feeling himself hardening once more while still inside of her. His home.

She has a way of provoking him that never fails to get him hard anywhere, anytime, in no time.

“Do I… press play now?” Her fingertip hovers over the screen.

Noah responds by pulling a few inches out and thrusting hard into her, their bodies moving in perfect synchronization against the worn fabric of the sofa they are laid on. She lets out a scream as her fingertip presses the play button. The phone falls with a thud on the floor.

And with that, they’re making music once again.

One last song.

One more time.

Louder.

#inspiration was kicking in #noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens cult #bad omens one shot #bad omens fic #bad omens fanfic #noah sebastian x you #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian one shot #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfic

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somekindofpoet · 1 year

Text

FilthX

Summary: X AU where Pearl isn't a homicidal maniac and R is the star everyone wants, including Lorraine

Word Count: 4.1K

Warnings: 18+ NSFW! Language, smut, strap-on sex

A/N: I think I've combined a least three asks/requests into this little guy, so its for all of you who asked for Lorraine. The pacing is absolutely out of control and self serving, and that just is what it is

This was art. Primal and undomesticated, animalistic artistry. People turned their noses up at it in public, but in private, everyone knows just how fast their own pants can come unzipped. Everyone watches porn or has at some point in their lives, and anyone who says they haven’t, well, they’re just outright lying to you.

It’s not like it was your dream to get naked and fuck on camera, but it paid the bills. And it was fun, that much was true. You were 21 when Wayne, Bobby, and Maxine found you, working as a wrangler for rodeos on the west side of Texas. They took one look at you, with your broad shoulders and tapered waist, and knew you’d be an instant success. They propositioned you, promising you wouldn’t have to do anything you didn’t want to and that Bobby would rock your world. You went with them that night and never went back to the rodeo.

Now, Wayne has this great idea to film at some guesthouse in the country, and he’s hired a pretentious film student called RJ to record what he’s promising will be a universal success. A tasteful, dramatically shot film of the picturesque countryside and cunts. But the thing that’s really caught your attention is who tags along beside RJ. You can’t tell if she’s his girlfriend or not, but you don’t really care because the girl is absolutely stunning.

When she climbs into the van behind RJ, you don’t even hide the fact that you can’t stop staring. She tucks herself into the corner, quiet and shy, her eyes wide behind the dark curtain of hair falling around her face. You can feel Bobby watching you, a knowing smirk on her face. Jackson slaps your knee, grinning ear to ear.

“Don’t you go barkin' up the wrong tree now y/n, some girls are too good for you.” He says, making Bobby giggle.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jackson, I think she could convince just about any girl to set aside her halo,” Bobby says, eyeing the girl behind RJ.

RJ frowns over his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle, and glances back at the girl. “Lorraine here volunteered to help me with the film, that’s all.”

Maxine turns around in the front seat, eyeing Lorraine, “Oh, I’m sure she did. Tell us, mouse, you ever done somethin like this before?”

Lorraine’s lips turn down in apparent distaste, and she shakes her head no. Maxine’s eyes light up, and a condescending smirk stretches across her lips. You brace yourself, knowing she’s going to eat this poor girl alive.

“You don’t like pornography, mouse? You tellin' me you ain’t never seen two beautiful bodies, ruttin together and just felt all hot and bothered? Enough to slip those pretty little fingers in-“

“Enough Maxine,” you interrupt, noticing pink creeping up Lorraine’s neck, turning the tips of her ears red.

Maxine gives you an exasperated look and sighs, “You know mouse, if you are gonna give it a spin, y/n is the ride of a lifetime.”

You roll your eyes, and Jackson playfully slaps the side of Maxine’s chair, “Maxine, you told me I was the ride of a lifetime just yesterday!” He exclaims, sticking his bottom lip out in staged hurt.

You bark out a laugh and kick him, “No way Jackson, you slept with my girl?”

“Your girl?” He cries, “These ladies are all mine!”

“Please, both of you belong to us, if anything.” Bobby retorts, smacking on her bubblegum and twirling her blonde hair between her fingers.

The three of them continue to bicker, but you carefully remove yourself from the conversation to shoot Lorraine a soft smile. She gives you the smallest of nods and looks down at the equipment in her hands. RJ narrows his eyes at you but quickly averts them when you smile at him, flexing your arm discreetly.

The van turns down a long dirt road, marking your arrival to the promised countryside. Wayne parks aside the farmhouse, and you all clamber out, gathering your luggage and helping with the film equipment. Wayne sorts out your arrangements with the old man sitting on the porch, and you all make your way to the small guest house. On the walk over, you can hear RJ nagging Lorraine about carrying her weight and wince when you hear him call her a prude. You consider standing up for her but decide against it, you hardly even know them, and you don’t want to stick your nose in someone else’s shit.

Bobby, on the other hand, is more than happy to stick her nose in. She hooks her arm through RJs, her hands unsurprisingly empty of any luggage or equipment. She strokes his arm and giggles at him, wrapping him around her finger. She pulls him ahead of the group, batting her eyelashes and picking at his shirt, leaving you and Lorraine to bring up the rear. You smile down at her, and she glances up at you, quickly looking down at her feet.

“Don’t listen to Maxine,” you tell her, dragging your feet to slow your pace down to hers, “she gets territorial.”

Lorraine readjusts her grip on the box she’s carrying and shrugs, “It’s okay. And I never said I thought what y’all are doin is wrong.”

You tilt your head at her, “Your face kinda said it for ya, gorgeous.”

The box in her arms slips, and she stumbles, trying not to drop it. She’s blushing again, you see it creeping up her neck when she tosses her hair to the side over her shoulder.

“It’s not that,” she clarifies, “she called me mouse.”

“Ah,” you say, your eyebrows raising in realization, “yeah, I guess that wasn’t the nicest nickname to slap on ya, was it? Hey, you need help with that?”

You stop and tuck the two suitcases in your hands under your arm, offering your empty hand out to help her. She fumbles with the box again, trying to get a better grip, and gives up, nodding her head. You scoop it from her hands easily, wrapping one arm around it and continuing to walk. She falters for a moment, watching you carry everything.

She jogs a few steps to catch up, and looks up at you, “You been with them long?”

“Few years, why?”

“You seem…different. From them.”

You snort, “What, like, not depraved?”

She shrugs, her arms swinging out wide as she tries to keep pace with you, “Yeah, I guess. Quieter.”

“Oh don’t you worry, I can be as debauched as the rest of them. I usually just save that for when there’s far less clothing.” You wink at her with a grin, making her blush again.

“So what they were sayin…” she hesitates, “about you…”

You stay silent, quietly choosing to force her into speaking the question you already know she’s asking. Forcing her out of her comfort zone.

She chews at the inside of her lip, “Do you film with Jackson at all?” She asks, beating around what she really wants to ask.

You chuckle, “Oh no, honey, he couldn’t handle me on his best day. Besides, Bobby and Maxine are much prettier’n he is.”

“So…how-“ she cuts herself off, her brow furrowed.

You stop in front of the door, turning to face her, “I have my ways. Why? You curious, Lorraine?” You drawl her name out, pressing your tongue hard against your teeth, your eyebrow raised.

She takes a sharp breath in, her mouth opening and closing as she sorts through her justification for asking. She’s saved by Wayne, who throws the screen door open from the inside.

“Y/n, let’s go! I wanna get this first scene done before the sun sets.”

You nod at him and turn back to Lorraine, winking at her again, “Duty calls.”

——

The bedroom is set up with a camera sitting on a tripod at the foot of the bed. RJ is standing behind it, tapping his foot nervously. Lorraine hovers in the corner, the boom mic resting on her shoulder. The scene Wayne wants to film is between you and Bobby, with heavy involvement from a particularly large dildo strapped to your waist. The scene plays out, you know the acting is horrific, but that’s not the point of the movie.

The point is quickly made when your pants are dropped around your ankles and the dildo springs out. You go through the motions, stripping Bobby down and railing her, stopping when you’re told so they can change the camera angle, and then starting back up on Wayne’s command. Bobby is more enthusiastic than usual, and not for any lack of effort on your part. But you think it has something to do with proving Maxine’s point to Lorraine, who is trying her very best not to tremble under the boom.

You catch yourself glancing over at her, listening to Bobby moan, and you begin to really put on a show. She’s bent over the bed, one of your hands on her waist and the other pressing between her shoulder blades.

“CUT CUT CUT!” Wayne’s voice brings you to a screeching halt making Bobby whine into the mattress.

You look over your shoulder at him, releasing her hips, “What the fuck man, she’s almost there!”

“Yeah what’s the deal Wayne, y/n is giving the fucking performance of a lifetime,” Bobby says, breathless.

“You keep looking away from her, it’s taking away from the scene,” RJ grumbles.

Maxine laughs from the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest “I think the church mouse has her distracted.”

Wayne looks at you and runs his hand over his chin, “You gonna focus any time soon y/n, or do we need to switch you out with Jackson?”

“No fuckin way!” You reply, gripping Bobby’s hips again, “Roll your god damned camera and let me finish my job.”

Wayne rests his hands on his hip, nodding, “That’s what I thought. Now let’s wrap this up. Bobby, you know what to do.”

———

The group has settled into the living room, clothes returned, and cameras off. You finished the scene without another glance in Lorraine’s direction, and Bobby did her job in the way only she could. You knew the scene was going to be amazing, and you were feeling proud of yourself. Cheap whiskey is poured into small paper cups, and everyone is in good spirits.

The conversation gradually turns to the morals of making pornography and the lesson you’ve all learned about taking your youth for granted. The talk seems to spark something in Lorraine, she takes a sip of her whiskey and leans forward, eyes bright.

“I want to do a scene in the movie.”

The room goes quiet, all eyes are turned to her. You fight every urge in you not to smile like a schoolboy who’d found a puppy on his doorstep. Bobby grins at you, and Maxine pushes your leg with her foot from the end of the couch. A shadow passes over RJs face, his feelings clear on the matter.

“You can’t be in the movie Lorraine.”

“Why not?” She asks, cocking her head in challenge.

Maxine pipes up, “Yeah, RJ, why not?”

“She just can’t.” He says, gritting his teeth.

Bobby frowns, “You told me she ain’t your girlfriend no more, RJ. And even if she was, you don’t get to tell her what to do.”

RJ’s jaw drops open, unable to form words. Lorraine looks smug and flashes a grateful smile at Bobby. You’re full-on smiling now, giddy at the thought of seeing this play out.

Wayne lightly slaps Maxine’s leg with a smile, “You wanna take Jackson for a ride then, church mouse?”

Jackson laughs, “Oh no sir, she don’t want me.”

You wink at Jackson, thankful for his deflection. Wayne nods solemnly and looks over at you.

“What you think y/n, you wanna take that big boy between your legs for another spin?”

You throw back the rest of the whiskey, wincing at the taste, “I think I can find it in me.”

RJ stands, “We can’t film it tonight, the lighting is bad.”

“Hm,” Wayne hums, squinting out the dark window, “he ain’t wrong. How’s about we plan for tomorrow, that work for you, church mouse?”

Lorraine swallows the last of her drink and shrugs, nodding, “Guess it’ll have to.”

——

When you drop into your bed for the night, you fall asleep almost instantly. Work always did that to you, siphoned off any gas you had in the tank, and left you dead tired. The whiskey made you feel pleasantly heavy, and you sank into a sweet, dream-filled sleep.

You weren’t sure how long you had been out, but you woke slowly. It took you a moment to figure out where you were, the silver moonlight washing into the window and the thin cotton blanket scratching at your chin. You blink a few times, trying to figure out what woke you up, but a weight shifting on the bed behind you told you what you needed to know. You roll onto your back, half expecting to see RJ there with a steak knife to your throat.

You rub your eyes with your knuckles to ensure you were seeing what you thought you were seeing. Lorraine was crawling into your bed, wearing nothing but a yellow bra and panties. Something cold lands on your stomach, and you look down to see your strap-on rising and falling on your belly with your breathing.

“Lorraine?” You say, your voice raspy with sleep.

“Put it on.” Is all she replies, sitting back on her heels next to your elbow.

“What?” Your sleep-muddled brain is struggling to catch up.

“Put the thing on,” she gestures to your strap-on, her eyes wide and her lips parted.

Your brows knit together in confusion, “We ain’t filmin til the mornin'.”

She sighs, “If you don’t want to, I can go back to my room.”

You blink hard again and finally realize that she’s really there and she’s really asking what she’s asking. She moves to get off the bed, but you reach out and grab her by the elbow. You push yourself up the bed, sitting against the headboard, the strap-on sliding off to your side. Her eyes flit down to your exposed chest, and you smirk, proud to show her your body again. She reaches out timidly, her hands shaking with the slightest tremble. You watch her face as she runs her fingers down your stomach, tracing over the hard-set lines between the muscle there. She licks her lips and looks back into your eyes, catching you with a smirk on your lips.

You pull her into you gently, your hand on the back of her neck, and kiss her. She’s stiff, unsure at first. You pull back and look into her eyes, searching for a signal not to continue. She leans forward further and kisses you again, her lips softer and her hands wandering. Through cracked eyelids, you see hers close, and you pull her in closer. She swings one leg over you, sitting in your lap, her hands running over your shoulders.

You run your fingers down her spine, sending goosebumps across her skin. Your hands find purchase on her hips as you pull her closer, encouraging her to grind into your lap. She whimpers into your lips, and your heart begins to pound. You’re a little taken aback at your own excitement. You had sex for a living, and you enjoyed it, but this felt different. This wasn’t for everyone else to enjoy, this was for the two of you only. You hardly knew this girl, and yet, you found yourself being impossibly gentle with her.

She breaks your lips apart and leans back, reaching for the dildo at your side. She bites her lip, evaluating it, and looks back at you.

“You don’t have to, you know.” You say softly, reaching out to tuck her hair behind her ear.

“I want to,” she says and hands over the harness.

You take it from her, your lips curling up in a devious smirk. You push her to the side and flip her onto her back, your knees between her legs. Her breath leaves her in a huff when her back hits the mattress. You work at sliding the harness on, tightening the buckles, and ensuring it won’t move. When your eyes return to her face, she looks positively delicious. Edible even. Her eyes are heavy lidded, her full lips parted and pouty, her skin bright in the moonlight. She waits for you, her arms above her head, completely surrendered to you.

Your tongue wets your lips as you take her in, allowing the tension to build between you. You lean forward on your hands and press a kiss into her stomach just below her bra, your tongue lazily tasting her skin. She gasps and winds her fingers into your hair, your tongue making its journey over the plane of her stomach. Her breathing quickens when you reach her hip bones, her stomach twitching under your mouth. You glance up to meet her dark eyes and pull her panties down her legs. She whines when you kiss the inside of her thigh, pushing her legs open further. Her fingers tighten in your hair, pulling at your scalp.

You kiss up her leg, drawing small sounds of excitement out of her above you, encouraging you. The sweet, musky smell of her arousal fills your senses, sharpening your mind to a razor point. You run your palms up the tops of her thighs and press down on her hips, driving her into the mattress as you run your tongue through her. A quiet, throaty moan leaves her lips, your touch surprising her. You work into her entrance, savoring every centimeter of her on your tongue. You pull out and drag it flat across her clit, the pressure soft and exploratory. Her hand leaves your hair and retreats to the pillow, where she grips the cotton until her knuckles are white.

You lick a stripe from her entrance over her clit again, working her up. You don’t want her to cum from this, you just want to get her going. You wrap your lips around the swollen bundle of nerves and suck on it, loving the way her back arches off the bed when you do it. She’s dripping down onto the mattress, and you decide it’s enough, to begin with, so you lift your head and kiss the inside of her thigh. Your crawl up her body and her hands are reaching for you, pulling your face down into a feverish kiss. She groans at her own taste on your tongue, her fingers right around the back of your neck. The dildo drags up her thigh, making her whimper into your mouth, one of her hands racing down your back to grip at your ass.

Just when you thought you knew what she wanted, she’s pushing you over, flipping you on your back. You help her and swing around, pulling her to sit on your stomach as you fall back. She’s hot and wet on your belly, rutting against the ridges of your abs. Before she can get much further, you sit up and wrap your hands behind her back, kissing her chest and unhooking her bra in one fell swoop. She lets it fall to the side and pushes you onto your back, leaning over you, her hair falling into your face. She kisses you quickly and then pulls back, lifting her hips and gripping the base of the dildo in her hand beneath her. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip, watching her rub the tip around her entrance, coating it in her slick.

She sits slowly on it, letting it sink into her inch by inch, one hand pressing on your chest, the other holding the dildo in place. When her hips settle into yours, the whole toy inside of her, she sighs. It makes you feel like an explosion, fragments of what you thought you knew ripping out and embedding themselves into the walls of the room. Your mouth drops open when she runs her fingers down your body and then up her own. She rolls her hips forward, rocking them up on the backstroke. You’d always found strap-on sex extremely satisfying, but for the first time, you’re wishing you could feel everything. You’d give your left arm to feel the toy being gripped inside of her. The thought nearly takes your breath away.

She begins to move in earnest, the muscles in her legs flexing as she rocks over your hips. When she runs her hand into her own hair, her fingers combing it out of her face, you feel the itch to have her closer. You reach out and settle for holding her hips, pushing and pulling her as you begin to roll your own, keeping the timing and rhythm perfectly on her pace. You slide one hand from her hip over her stomach, up to her nipple, and roll your fingertip over it, her hips moving faster. The lewd sound of skin slapping on skin fills the room, only broken up by your occasional grunting and her soft moaning.

She shudders and drops down on her hands over your body, panting, a bead of sweat rolling from her neck to the hollow of her throat. You watch it puddle there, rocking side to side with the movement of your bodies. You bend your knees and plant your feet into the bed, giving yourself support to properly fuck her from underneath, rocking her forward with every thrust. A low groan tears out of her throat, too loud for a quiet, sleeping house. You pull her down into a kiss to silence her, forcing her whining down to a more appropriate timbre.

Your arms wrap around her back, and you hold her weight as you sit up with her in your lap, still riding you. She rests her arms over your shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscles in your back. Her fingertips soon turn into nails, the stinging making you gasp. She drops her head on your shoulder, holding you tight. Her hips jerk off her cadence, her breathing uneven and shallow. Her teeth dig into the skin of your shoulder, making you groan in her ear. She releases you and throws her head back, using the back of your neck to anchor herself.

Her body freezes up, her hips moving in choppy strokes. You can feel her dripping around the toy inside of her, running down your legs. It’s enough to send a perfectly sane person off the edge, and you’re suddenly aware of why people were able to be seduced into cults. Her body was an altar, and you were drinking her in like holy water, content to die of thirst if she so wished it. She collapses against your chest, and you fall back into the pillows. You give her time to recover, letting her catch her breath and cool off as she put the puzzle of her mind back together. Eventually, she lifts herself off the dildo and rolls to your side, her head resting on your chest.

As much as you want to continue touching her, you want the harness off your hips more. It was squeezing you in an unpleasant pinch, and the hours you’d spent in it meant chafing had begun. You carefully unbuckle it without moving her from your chest and push it down to your knees. You use your feet to wriggle out of it and kick it off the end of the bed, sighing in relief.

Lorraine places her hands on top of one another over your chest and rests her chin on them, looking up at you, “I imagined it was gonna be good,” she says, a sleepy drawl in her voice, “but I had no idea it’d be like that.”

You yawn and take a lock of hair between your fingers, twirling it around them and rubbing it with your thumb, “You should give yourself credit where credit is due, you rocked that like it was your business.”

She smiles, her eyes crinkling, “Tomorrow it’ll be my business, tonight was just because I wanted to.”

Your eyes are sliding shut in spite of yourself, the whiskey and exertion settling into your bones again. Lorraine presses a kiss on your ribs and pushes herself up. You crack your eyes open and shake your head, your hand resting on her back.

“Stay.” You tell her, closing your eyes again.

She takes a moment to consider, then pulls the blankets back and crawls under them, covering you with the other end. Just before you fall into the abyss of sleep, you feel her press her nose into your neck, drape her arm and a leg over your body, and you’re out like a light.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine day #x movie #tara carpenter #vada cavell #phoebe atwell #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x y/n #jenna ortega x reader

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italiansteebie · 1 year

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indie recording artist steve with rockstar eddie munson.

they've been dating for a while. before eddie's band really picked up.

steve is corroded coffins sound engineer. he does background melodies for their less heavy songs.

when eddie goes on tour, he invites steve along, of course. everything is running smooth until on their fourth show, the opener backs out last minute. they don't want to go on with out an opener.

so eddie had the brilliant idea of letting steve open for them. so he goes on, and falls in love with performing. and suddenly steve is the resident opener for corroded coffin.

they sometimes have multiple openers. but steve is always there. corroded coffin fans don't know what to think at first.

but they fall in love with steve just like eddie did.

and things go smooth. until the lead singer of corroded coffin decides he's too good for them. and leaves to try his hand at solo artistry. (it doesn't go well for him).

and the band is at a loss. they hold auditions, but they can't find anything.

but who already knows all of their songs? and is the sound engineer for the band?

steve.

and then he's suddenly not "indie recording artist steve" but lead singer of corroded coffin steve. and he fits like a glove.

fans already love him, and though he needs some training for corrodes usual vocals, he fills the spot better than the original singer. and even offers that guy a spot as a junior sound engineer when he comes crawling back.

and then they find out steve and eddie are a thing. and have been a thing. for a while. and start a petition for them to get married on stage.

they do.

it works.

#steve harrington #stranger things #eddie munson #corroded coffin #rockstar eddie munson #singer steve harrington #steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #stranger things ficlet #stranger things fic #ficlet #corroded coffin is successful

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pancakes4two · 1 year

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sweet nothings

wc: 2.1k

preview: The rest of the world is so eager to view him like an object, assume that just because he spends his life in the public view, he’s somehow devoid of insecurities. But to you, he’s still the same Harry who cried backstage at Wembley after his voice cracked during a solo. The same shy, innocent boy who vomited backstage after his first show, terrified that he’d messed it all up.

An article criticizing Harry blows up on the internet, and it hits him harder than expected. Luckily, you’re there to help pick up the pieces.

MASTERLIST | READ MY LATEST SERIES

Industry disruptors and soul deconstructers, and smooth-talking hucksters out glad-handing each other

And the voices that implore, "You should be doing more," to you I can admit that I'm just too soft for all of it.

—Sweet Nothing, Taylor Swift

———

The article is released on a Friday afternoon. It's absolutely brutal—rips single every creative project Harry's ever done to shreds and leaves no endeavor unscathed. Every sentence is a biting remark, each paragraph swirled with vile accusations. It starts by criticizing his film roles, the creative direction he took in his third album, then accuses him of extorting his own fans. The author questions not only his artistry but his personhood, digs up unverified claims of rudeness and twists them into a narrative of Harry being an egotistical, ungrateful pop star. Within the hour, almost every major news station has picked the story up. It doesn’t matter how far-fetched it is. The internet takes to the author’s vitriol like wildfire, sharing it across social media platforms and online forums. Everyone wants to be the first to say they always knew something wasn’t quite right about him, that it’s about time someone knocked him off his pedestal.

It’s disgusting in every sense of the word. And it hurts even more because Harry is blissfully unaware. He’s asleep beside you now, the two of you having settled into bed to take a quick nap together three hours earlier, when the internet had yet to point their pitchforks towards him. You know he’s been overextending himself lately, still sleeping off the jet lag from tour but unwilling to slow down his life on account of tiredness. He’s always been like that, so dedicated to his music, because to him, putting less than two-hundred percent into the thing he loves most would be a waste. You can hardly remember the last time he’d slept earlier than two after coming home—even without touring commitments, he’s still found a way to keep himself busy—staying late in the studio and meeting with executives from his record label to review the marketing plan for his next album. He’s always thinking about the future, how he can reinvent himself and make sure he can stay doing what he loves for as long as possible.

It’s why he’d deserved this chance to unwind and relax in the quiet of your home. But now, he’s going to wake up to a rogue journalist completely assassinating his character, when all he’s ever wanted to do is sing and make others happy. The way you see it, it’s not the least bit fair.

You look at Harry and brush his curls away from his face gently so as to not wake him. Your phone is still turned on, the article glaring angrily against your palm as you watch him sleep. He looks so peaceful, his arm curled around your waist and his legs tangled with yours as if he can’t bear to be far away from you even in slumber. You wish everyone else could see him like this: soft and vulnerable, his lips upturned ever-so-slightly like he’s dreaming about something particularly pleasant.

The rest of the world is so eager to view him like an object, assume that just because he spends his life in the public view, he’s somehow devoid of insecurities. But to you, he’s still the same Harry who cried backstage at Wembley after his voice cracked during a solo. The same shy, innocent boy who vomited backstage after his first show, terrified that he’d messed it all up. Ten years down the road and he’s gained confidence, for sure. But when he’s not busy being this glittering, hip-wiggling rockstar who moves like he’s got the whole world in the palm of his hand, he’s just Harry. He still wrings his hands nervously before every performance, burns his tongue on hot tea that’s meant to preserve his voice. You remember what he said to you back in June before his first stadium show: I don’t think I’ll ever be able to be someone who doesn’t care about what others think of them. He cares more than the article’s author and the legions of people criticizing his every move online will ever know.

You shuffle forward, closing the gap between your bodies and press a soft kiss into Harry’s forehead. You don’t expect him to stir from it, but it seems he was just about to wake up naturally before you disturbed him, so his eyes slowly open and he smiles when his vision focuses on you. You try to school your expression into something relatively normal. Unfortunately, Harry knows you too well and can immediately tell that something’s off. In any other situation, you’d be impressed by how well he can read you. Even with his mind suspended between alertness and sleep, he knows you’re upset and reaches for your hand in concern.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Harry asks, rubbing circles into the back of your hand. He knows the repetitive motion grounds you when you’re anxious, so he continues to graze your skin with his thumb, willing you to relax.

“H—“ you start to say, but you’re cut off by the sound of Harry’s ringtone. He reaches over you to grab his phone from the nightstand, his other hand still clasped with yours. When he falls back into the mattress, you manage to get a glance at his phone screen. It’s displaying an incoming call from Jeff. Fuck.

Harry accepts the call, still ignorant to the situation. His gaze flickers over your face as the line connects—he's clearly still worried about you.

"Hey, H," Jeff says. You can hear him sigh through the phone, "have you been online recently?"

"Been asleep for the past," Harry pauses to check the time, "three hours, so that would be a no."

"Shit," Jeff says, sounding significantly less collected than he usually does. "Okay. Um, do me a favor and stay off of social media for now. I'll call you when it's all been resolved."

"What?" Harry sits up slightly at the sound of Jeff's voice, running a hand through his hair. "I'm confused. Is everything alright?"

"Listen, it's fine. I've got it all under control, just... don't go on Instagram, or Twitter, or anything."

"Jeff," Harry groans, "don't be cryptic. You're obviously dealing with something that's got to do with me, don't you think I have a right to know what's going on?"

There's silence over line for a bit, Jeff clearly ruminating over whether or not to tell Harry the truth. You chew on your lip worriedly, waiting for his voice to come through again.

"There's an article that’s been published online," Jeff starts, "and it's highly critical of you. It's circulating through social media right now, and we're trying to put a stop to it. I've got a meeting with your label's attorneys in a few minutes, but seriously H, for your own good please do not read it. We'll have it taken down by the end of the day."

"Oh," Harry blinks, clearly caught off-guard. You can't blame him for it. People don't normally wake up from naps and find out half the internet has turned against them. "Alright. That's fine. Um, call me if you need anything. Good luck."

"H, I'm serious, don't—" Jeff begins, but Harry hangs up before he can finish his sentence. He's already sat up fully in bed, back leaning against the headboard as he types away furiously on his phone. You don't try to stop him from Googling the article; he deserves to see what's been written. You just sit up next to him and silently run a hand down his arm, tracing where the fabric of his t-shirt ends and the familiar ink on his skin begins. You reach for him and let him know that he has you to lean on.

"You know what they've written isn't true," you whisper, "you know that." It’s all you can say for now.

Harry doesn't respond to that, his eyes too busy scanning through the article. He spends the next seven minutes reading every word silently, taking each criticism and judgement in. When he’s finished, Harry shuts his phone off with a click and sets it down silently on the bedside table. You avert your eyes from him, afraid that if you look up you might be able to see every morsel of hurt on his face.

In the end, Harry’s the first to break the silence.

“Who approved that?” Is what he says, his voice faltering almost imperceptibly at the end. It’s quiet enough that only someone who knows him as well as you do would be able to notice.

“H,” you respond, splaying your hand across his chest and letting his head fall gently onto your shoulder.

“None of that is real. It’s not a reflection of who you are.” You say that with conviction. He’s got the most beautiful soul, does everything with so much heart. He’s so full of love that at times you worry he might burst from it. It’s completely unfair what he’s been reduced to.

“You can only read shitty things about yourself for so long before you start to believe them,” Harry says brokenly, and his composure gives away then. He takes a trembling breath in and you feel a wetness start to form on the sleeve of your shirt. You don’t have to look at him to know he’s crying.

It’s in moments like these where his façade starts to crumble, and you see him transform back into the boy you once knew, before the whole world knew his name. Spending every day terrified that at any given moment, people wouldn’t want to listen to his voice anymore and the rug would be pulled from under his feet. Fearing that he might wake up one day and have to return to Holmes Chapel, even though he’s always been too big for the small town he grew up in.

“Love,” you say, pressing a hand to his cheek. His skin is flushed and you can see the ghost of a tear falling down the side of his face. “How is anyone meant to believe anything they’ve said is valid, when they don’t know you? I know exactly who you are, and the person they’re talking about in that article is not it.”

Harry sniffles at that, pulling himself closer to you. You see him glance at his phone, so you turn it over facedown and revert your full attention back to him.

“You’re so incredibly special,” you continue, carding your hands soothingly through his hair, “you’ve achieved an immense amount of success in the last ten years. You’ve impacted so many people, used your platform to do so much good. There’s always going to be people who want more from you, who criticize and tell you you’re not doing enough. But you are doing enough, H. Seriously. You’re only human, and it’s not your fault that others expect you to be more than that. And even so, I think you make a pretty exceptional human already. You know how many people walk up to me when I’m alone and ask me to tell you that you’ve changed their lives? There’s so many that I’d lost track of the number about seven years ago.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something in response, but you pat his face gently and give him a smile as if to say, I’m not finished yet.

“And beyond that, who cares about the industry, about what faceless people online have to say about you? At the end of the day, you’re enough. I’m not here for the Harry Styles who fills stadiums or commands attention at movie premieres. I’m here for the Harry who accidentally leaves the coffee pot on for too long because he’s too busy trying to get me to dance with him in the kitchen. For the Harry who keeps movie stubs and pebbles deep inside his pockets because he wants to keep a souvenir to remind him of every little thing we’ve done together. The Harry who’s a huge sentimental sap, who’s got the biggest heart in the world.”

You finish with a sigh, gazing at Harry earnestly and hoping that he can feel the gravity of your words.

“You’re right,” Harry smiles softly, clasping a hand around your wrist, voice slightly raspy still. “I shouldn’t let it get to my head. It’s just hard sometimes, you know? I feel like I might be a little too soft for all of it.”

“I love your softness and vulnerability,” you say, “And getting upset when people are dragging your name through the mud is perfectly normal. I can’t even begin to imagine how overwhelming it is for you. But you’ll always have me right here beside you. And trust me, I’d be going to war for you over Twitter right now if I knew Jeff wouldn’t kill me for doing so.”

Harry laughs at that, loud and open in the way that you love. “My Princess Charming,” he says, wrapping his arms around you in a crushing hug. “Forever prepared to defend my honor.”

True to his word, Jeff and Columbia’s legal team get the article taken down in record time. They say Harry’s allowed to post a response to it, if he wants, but he’s never been one to start fights over the internet so he settles on this instead.

A single picture, posted to his Instagram of your hands, your fingers intertwined like the two of you were built to be extensions of each other. The caption is simple. It reads:

I find myself running home to your sweet nothings

Outside, they’re push and shoving; you’re in the kitchen humming

All that you ever wanted from me was sweet nothing.

He turns the comments off, not wanting to entertain any further commentary. It’s a picture meant for just the two of you, a reminder that all the noise coming from the outside means nothing when you have each other. It’s sweet. It’s nothing. And yet somehow, it’s everything you’ll ever need.

———

reblogs & feedback are highly welcomed and appreciated <3

TAGLIST: @crazygirlinthisworld @grapejuice-rry @b-reads-things @s8tellite @michellekstyles @vrittivsanghavi @alienorknight @flwrmuse

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queenshelby · 3 months

Text

MINI SERIES: THE SLAVE

PART THREE OF THE DARK & SEXY SERIES

NOTE: This is a series of one shots and mini series for Cillian Murphy & Tommy Shelby in which he acts totally off-canon. Most of these shots are very dark in nature and you should read their individual warnings. All of these shots are requests from readers. Co-written with @darkshelbyfiction! ALL CHARACTERS ARE OVER 18. MINORS DNI.

PAIRING: TOMMY SHELBY X VIRGIN READER

WARNING: NON-CONSENSUAL LOSS OF VIRGINITY, CAPTURED READER, SLAVE READER, TOMMY GETTING OFF ON PAIN

NOTE: AGAIN THIS WAS A REQUEST AND I FELT A LITTLE UNCOMFORTABLE PUBLISHING IT...VERY DARK!

It had been two days since you were brought to Birmingham from your home country after promises of prosperity and wealth.

But the cost for this was higher than you ever imagined when you were sold, by your very own father, as property to the highest bidder.

Now you had arrived at Thomas Shelby's estate, which stood majestically against the backdrop of lush greenery and manicured gardens. The mansion, built centuries ago, seemed to command the landscape around it, much like how its owner commanded people within it.

A maid named Nadia greeted you at the entrance, leading you up the grand staircase that spiraled upwards into a series of breathtaking domed ceilings and magnificent chandeliers. Each room presented an extravagant spectacle of artistry and craftsmanship; it was as if every corner had been meticulously designed to overwhelm even the most jaded observer.

Despite the opulence surrounding you, something felt unsettling about the silence that enveloped the house. As far as you could tell, there was no one else here except the maids and yourself. This was not just a house, but a fortress - an impregnable bastion constructed on foundations of isolation and distance.

"This way," intoned the maid, gesturing down a long hallway lined with oil paintings depicting scenes of aristocratic splendor. The air smelled stale - it had been many years since anyone had breathed life into this grand edifice.

"I will show you to your room," whispered Nadia, casting a furtive glance over her shoulder.

As she walked ahead, you noticed her movements were careful, almost rehearsed, as if she had done this countless times before.

Her gait betrayed an unnatural rhythm, a pattern formed by habituation rather than choice.

She knew the layout of the house inside out, each twist and turn etched into her memory like grooves on an old vinyl record.

You followed her silently, allowing the grandeur of the mansion to wash over you.

Every now and then, you caught glimpses of your reflection in the polished marble floors, a ghostly image of yourself trapped between reality and illusion. You found yourself feeling strangely calm and collected, despite the circumstances that led you here.

Nadia finally stopped outside a door adorned with intricate carvings and gestured you into a room without windows.

"This is where you will sleep and perform your duties," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. There was something eerie about the maid, an unspoken understanding between her and the master of the house.

Slowly stepping into the dimly lit chamber, you took note of the opulent surroundings: velvet curtains hung from gold-plated rails, plush rugs lay scattered across the polished hardwood floor, and delicate porcelain vases filled with fresh flowers graced every surface.

However, the abundance of luxury did little to ease the unease that settled deep within your gut.

The maid turned abruptly, locking eyes with you. "At night, the room will be locked securely so don't attempt to leave. If you need anything, ring the bell by the bedside table," she told you before fluffing up some of the cushions on the bed.

"I never..." You trailed off, swallowing back tears that threatened to betray your bravado. You forced yourself to maintain eye contact with the maid, knowing full well that any sign of weakness would be exploited mercilessly. "I have not done anything like this before. I was told that I had to because a lot of money was paid for my services, but understand please that I have no experience," you then stammered, knowing full well that you had been purchased to perform sexual acts for your benefactor.

"The fact that you are so innocent, and young is precisely why Mr. Shelby has purchased you," Nadia responded coldly, turning away to adjust a lamp on the nightstand.

"Now, let me explain to you what is expected of you around here," she continued, softening her tone slightly.

Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, and your palms slickened with sweat, though you managed to nod affirmatively, meeting her gaze steadily. "Firstly, you must address Mr. Shelby as 'Sir' at all times. Do not forget," she warned sternly.

You swallowed hard, nodding again.

"You will be allowed to leave your room with another maid, between eight o'clock in the morning and eight o'clock in the evening, but not otherwise unless Mr. Shelby is with you," Nadia explained, adjusting a silk pillow propped by the headboard.

You tried to picture a day spent in confinement, the mere thought sending shivers down your spine.

"Mr. Shelby will inform you directly when he requires your services. Most often he will come here to use you for his pleasure, and he usually expects to be attended to at least twice per day, occasionally more often. You should prepare yourself mentally and physically for his needs because it can get quite overwhelming sometimes," Nadia explained and your breath hitched, but you managed to control the panic rising within you.

"And if I refuse?" you asked, causing Nadia to pause and look at you. "Refusal is not an option. Mr. Shelby doesn't tolerate disobedience. You must do whatever he asks."

Your hands shook involuntarily, but you clenched them into fists to prevent further trembling. You nodded weakly, fighting back tears.

"What he wants...is it...painful?" What you didn't know, what you couldn't comprehend, was whether the physical pain of intimacy would be more bearable than the emotional agony of submitting to someone else's whims.

"Sometimes, but he's gentle enough," Nadia replied matter-of-factly. "Now, you must get ready for tonight. He will be visiting you at 8 o'clock and expects you to wear nothing but a pair of undergarments of your choice," Nadia said before directing you to your wardrobe. "You will lie on the bed and wait for him, understood?" she asked and, again, you nodded.

"I will be back after he is done with you to change the sheets and provide food and water," Nadia then finally explained before she left you alone in the darkness, save for the faint glow of your bedside lamp. You heard the key turn in the lock, sealing you in the room. You sat on the edge of the bed, trying to process everything she told you.

On the bedside table you found a bottle of lubrication next to a bottle of painkillers, both small comforts in the face of the reality of your situation and, when you looked around the room, you also found other items such as restraints hanging neatly from hooks in the wall. You shivered, feeling your anxiety rise.

Then, just before 8 o'clock, there was a knock on the door. You flinched, jumping to your feet and nearly knocking over the lamp.

"It's time," Nadia called through the door. You took a deep breath, gathering your courage.

You stripped off your clothes, leaving you naked in the dim light of the room. You pulled on a pair of cotton panties, their thin fabric barely covering the shame you felt.

You then laid down beneath the thin sheets and waited for your new master's arrival. The tension mounted as the seconds ticked by, the sound of footsteps echoing loudly in the silent mansion.

There was a creak of the door opening, and an intimidating figure emerged from the shadows. His presence loomed large, filling the space with an aura of dominance and power. He wore only a robe, his toned body visible underneath. You bit your lip nervously, unable to tear your gaze away from those imposing features.

Thomas Shelby, you reminded yourself – a name that would forever haunt your dreams. His cold blue eyes swept over you, assessing your worth.

You stared back, holding his gaze, refusing to cower.

"Welcome, Love," he rasped, his voice like gravel underfoot, but you remained silent, swallowing the lump in your throat. He moved closer, looming over you like a storm cloud, his scent of sandalwood and spice filling your nostrils.

"I trust Nadia has briefed you on your duties?" he queried, reaching out to stroke your cheek.

Your skin recoiled at his touch, but you refused to pull away.

"Yes, she did," you mumbled hesitantly, your voice cracking under his scrutiny. He studied you carefully, tracing the lines of your jaw with his fingers.

"Good girl," he crooned softly, a strange sense of pride swelling within you. Your resolve wavered at the compliment, but you steeled yourself, reminding yourself of the reality of your situation as he touched some of your bare skin not covered by the white sheet.

"Relax Love," he then said softly as the heat of his hand seared through your skin, sending quivers up your spine. "You will get used to this after a while," he went on to say and his voice was comforting, yet the words stung like venom.

Your breath quickened, chest rising and falling in rapid succession, and your hands instinctively curled into fists beneath the thin white sheet covering you. You wanted to scream, but instead, you simply nodded, unable to find any words to respond.

Thomas looked at you, his eyes appraising your form beneath the covers. "I am going to have a look at you now, eh" he said suddenly, reaching down to lift the edge of the sheet away from your body.

You squirmed and turned red, trying to cover yourself. But he pushed your hands aside gently, staring at you with a mixture of lust and admiration. "I cannot wait to feel your tight little cunt squeeze around my cock when I claim you," he whispered, running his fingertips along your inner thigh, causing you to shiver uncomfortably.

"But first, let me have a look at this little virgin hole of yours, eh?" the man said and his words sent a wave of unease coursing through your veins. You could feel the sweat trickling down your face, mingling with the tears pooling in your eyes. You bit your lip, struggling to contain the sobs threatening to erupt from inside you.

With a gentle tug, he pulled your panties down just enough to expose your slit and your heart pounded against your chest almost painfully.

"I have been told that your opening is particularly small" he murmured, trailing his fingers over your slit before parting your labia slightly, exposing your tiny clit.

"Ow!" you gasped, wincing at the sudden stretch caused by his fingers.

"You do have a tight opening indeed," he grinned wickedly, licking his lips.

Thomas gazed at it with fascination, reaching between your thighs. You tried to close your legs, but he firmly held them open, pressing a dry finger against your entrance, probing it gently.

"Look at that," he breathed, leaning forward to get a better view. "It's barely opened up yet," Tommy groaned as he probed deeper, widening your opening until he found your hymen—a thin membrane that separated you from being fully broken. His fingers brushed against it, sending stinging pain shooting through your core as he toyed with your opening.

"Now, be a good girl and hold still for me," he cooed, pressing the tips of one of his fingers against your entrance. "I need to stretch you out a bit, ready for later," he went on to say as his finger pressed harder, forcing its way into your most intimate space. It felt too big, too foreign. The pain was excruciating, but you did your best not to make a sound.

"There we go," he muttered, thrusting deeper until his entire pointer finger filled you up. "That's a good girl. Now, let's see if I can get a second one in there," he told you before reaching for the bottle of lubrication he kept on the nightstand and squirting the viscous liquid onto two of his fingers.

"Hold still for me," he reminded you before swiping his fingers across your outer lips and then pushing not one but two fingers right into you.

You cried out and arched your back, biting into your own fist to stop any louder sounds from escaping.

"Shh," Thomas hushed you, rubbing soothing circles into your hipbone as he pumped his fingers in and out of you.

His fingers felt cold and slimy inside you, sliding easily past your resistance, tearing at your hymen with each thrust.

You closed your eyes tightly, gritting your teeth as the sensation of being stretched and torn overwhelmed you.

The sight of his fingers stretching you like this turned him on; he couldn't help but groan and squeeze harder, making sure you knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"Such a good girl," he praised between grunts, watching your petals pulse around his digits, growing wetter and slicker with every stroke.

"See how hard you make me?" he moaned, opening his robe and grabbing hold of his erection, stroking it firmly. "I really want to fuck you now," he determined before he withdrew his fingers from you, leaving you feeling empty and exposed.

"Now be a good girl and turn over and lay flat on your stomach, face down against pillow," he commanded gruffly, pushing your upper body onto the mattress.

You hesitated, wanting to turn over and hide your nakedness, but fear of displeasing him kept you lying facedown.

"I am going to use some lubrication, but it is going to hurt a lot more if you don't relax Love," he warned sharply, pulling your waist upwards and spreading your legs apart.

As you lay on your stomach and your heart hammered against your chest. The thought of being penetrated by him sent chills down your spine. You squeezed your eyes shut, hoping to block out the inevitable.

You whimpered softly, trying to prepare yourself for what was to come, and Tommy smeared a generous amount of lube onto his cock, coating it in a thick layer of slippery fluid. You flinched in anticipation as he positioned himself between your legs.

"This might hurt a bit for the first few days, but you will get used to it after a while. The more we do it, the easier it will get," he said while aligning himself with your entry point.

"Now," he continued, his tone stern. "I want you to stay completely still when I penetrate you," he added, applying another dollop of lube to his shaft.

You remained silent, swallowing loudly as you attempted to gather your courage. You could hear your own heartbeat echoing in your ears; the rhythmic, thunderous pounding was deafening.

"Do you understand?" he asked quietly and you nodded. Your muscles tensed, ready to endure whatever came next.

Thomas placed the head of his penis at your entrance, teasing you with a slow push. You exhaled loudly, gripping the sheets in your fists.

"Relax and let me in," Thomas urged you, nudging the tip of his member against your entrance. "That's it," he sighed, feeling your body yield under his command. His cock slid into you, stretching you wide open, and the friction of entering you caused a shudder to ripple through his body.

"Ah," he groaned, reveling in the exquisite sensation of being enveloped by your warm, tight channel. "Such a good girl," he groaned as he savored the moment, basking in the sensations that coursed through him. Then, he began to thrust, filling you up inch by agonizing inch until every last millimeter of his erection was buried deep within you.

"So tight," he groaned, bucking into you with a force that seemed to shake the entire bed. "Fuck, you're so goddamn tight."

"You are going to be such a good little whore for me, eh?" Tommy murmured into your ear, his hot breath tickling your neck.

"You will take my cock many times a day, love," he growled, his words a dark promise that sent a chill down your spine. "In the morning, afternoon, and evening."

You swallowed loudly, unable to meet his gaze. Your heart hammered wildly against your chest, and you struggled to suppress the sob that threatened to escape.

"Every time I come through that door, you'll be ready for me, won't you?" he asked, his grip tightening around your hip.

"Because I'm going to fuck you whenever I want, Love." Tommy snarled, punctuating his words with hard thrusts.

For almost an hour, he used you like this, treating you like a rag doll that belonged to him alone until, finally, he was ready to ejaculate inside your raw opening.

"I am going to cum inside you now, Love," he informed you, his cock twitching violently against your vaginal wall.

"Do you want me to fill you up with my seed?" he asked you, his voice laced with lust, his fingers tightening around your hips.

"Yes, sir," you managed to reply, your voice hoarse with exhaustion.

He smiled down at you, satisfaction shining in his eyes. "Good girl," he praised, pumping his cock a few more times before letting out a guttural yell and filling you up with his essence.

As he collapsed next to you, panting heavily, you could feel his warmth radiating into your channel.

The remnants of his semen trickled down your leg, leaving a sticky trail behind.

"That was a lovely experience, wasn't it?" Tom said, his voice still coarse from exertion. "Now rest. I am going to fuck you again when I come back from my business deal tonight" he added, his gaze lingering on your tender, swollen lips.

He moved his hands to cup your breasts, palming them gently before pinching your nipples.

"You are going to learn to enjoy it Love," he whispered, his voice harsh and commanding. "And when you do," he paused, his breath hot against your cheek, "you are going to beg me for more," he determined before putting his robe back on and calling one of the maids to help you clean up.

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