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marxo-fm · 1 month

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Take me to Church

✯ John Price x f!reader | Playlist

Summary: A reader who’s so religious that she doesn’t even think of anything close to inappropriate, until she meets her dad’s best friend, Mr. John Price.

Words: 4.7k

Warnings: MDNI 18+, mature themes and language, age gap (reader is 25 and Price is in his early 40’s), religious trauma from Catholic variety, dad’s best friend, loss of virginity, pet names, slight aftercare in the end, fear of getting caught from reader, smut, assurance, fingering, reader isn’t all that clueless but super inexperienced, protected PIV, oral (fem! receiving), reader has some troubles with masturbation (failure to finish), Price teaches the reader how to feel good, praising, no descriptions of readers body, race, skin color, ethnicity, hair type/length and body type.

A/N: Currently don’t know wtf I’m doing with my life and how this absurdity came to mind, but aye, I’m all here for it. This was so…..!? Yeah. Also big shout out to Hozier, my icon. Side note: I truly apologize If this fic is rough, I will edit it soon but it’s mostly because I haven’t written in a hot minute, due to school and shit, but I’m back now—and I’m proud of this!

—

The breeze kisses your skin as you soak the sun's warmth on a Friday afternoon. The grass is green, and the clouds are out, summer has just begun. You feel yourself start to come back, you were struggling but now that’s over—for a bit. You look over as you watch your dad chopping wood. Usually, he has his friends helping out, but you guessed they had things to do, which explains why they weren’t here.

You memorized their names.

There’s Gaz, Simon, a man who goes by the name of ‘Soap’—which you find funny and you’re not sure if that’s his real name or if it’s just a nickname—and then…John.

Mr. Price. Or so you call him. Sir or Mr works just fine. But you never explored your unknown and strange feelings for him. How you always felt so shy around his dominating presence, or how his voice sounds like honey and sins. You prayed at night and asked for forgiveness when thinking of such thoughts you’ve never thought of when you see John.

Until one day in high school—in health class—they taught about intercourse and other things that left you baffled and quite scared. Anxious. Curious.

You’d get scolded by your Catholic parents when you asked such things, they say it’s too early to get into these topics, or that you should wait until marriage. Your parents are good, but you always follow their rules. You never once disobeyed, only minor times but you always asked for forgiveness.

You’ve always been a good girl, but Mr. Price always makes the fire in your belly grow. And that fire burns through your veins in an excruciating need for something so sinful. Maybe it’s the devil on your shoulder, but you never fight it off, and that was bad.

“Hey honey, ought to help me out here? The jerks I call my friends are out busy somewhere, c’mon, I’ll teach ya.” Your father motioned his hands as he walked to his area where he chops his wood, you’ve never done this before, but you’re excited. He gives you his axe, and you almost give out due to how heavy it is. “Can’t carry it like that sweet pie, hold it strong and firm.” He instructs.

You do as he says, squinting your eyes to look at his face of approval, “I think I got it.”

He nods and you bring the axe up to your shoulder, and you bring it down with every ounce of strength.

You chopped it.

“Attagirl, that’s one hell of a way to chop down wood.” A man with a deeper voice and a southern drawl said from right behind you, you turn around and the blood rushes to your head.

It’s John.

“Oh…Mr. Price,” you stammer, and you feel a rush of embarrassment plastering your cheeks.

“Y’know ya can call me John, right? Good job raisin’ her pal, she got manners.” He chews on his toothpick as he takes the axe from your hands, and the contact leaves you feeling vulnerable and so flustered. His rough hands that he used to work, chop wood, and fix things felt oddly familiar on your soft skin.

“We taught her well, ain’t that right darlin’?” John looks over his shoulder, his flannel covering his bulging biceps and that itself makes you feel thirsty for cold water.

“Yes, Dad,” you replied softly, “Well, I’m just going to head on over back home to help Mom out. Want anything to drink John?”

John looked at you momentarily, the way his name slipped out of your sweet mouth left him speechless. His eyes gaze over your white dress that sits just above your knees, it feels like he is undressing you, but he’s just wondering how and when the hell you looked like this. Of course, you were always beautiful, but there was something special there.

A spark.

“No ma’am.” He waved his hand and went back to work. You watched as his forearms grew bigger when he swung that axe down.

Forgive me for my sins.

You mumbled before you opened the door to your home and walked in.

—

“My baby’s such a bad girl, aren’t ya? Takin’ me so well.” John praises as he thrusts into you in sinister motions like he’s been deprived of something so good for such a long time, that it almost drove him over the wall.

How you felt so good, so welcoming, as his thrusts became deeper and faster. Touching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed—nor could feel. It was an out-of-body experience like your soul had ascended, and you didn’t know whether it was real.

Until your alarm woke you up. It wasn’t real, but gosh did it feel real. You’re sweating, and your heart is running a marathon, as you regain your breath, you feel like you committed a crime. A crime so punishable that it could result in a death sentence.

You grab your rosary and you rock back and forth, praying and asking for forgiveness for ever dreaming about him. Your parents always told you that you wouldn’t have a good spot in the afterlife—a place called hell—if you thought of or committed any acts of sin. Especially anything and everything related to dirty inappropriate thoughts or worse, sex. Commit any of these before marriage, and you have a spot ready for you down below.

You feared for your life, even though it was impossible for anyone you love to know. They won’t ever know you have thoughts about John, or how you feel warmth between your legs when you picture him touching you in places you can’t please. Or how you picture him shirtless chopping wood, grabbing your waist from behind as he helps you hold the axe properly and swing it down. It was oh so shameful of you. Dirty, bad, sinful.

But you feel as if enough was enough, you’ve been good for far too long, that you deserve to feel good about yourself for once.

It was the perfect time, six thirty in the morning and both your parents were sleeping away, not knowing their good and obedient daughter was yearning to touch herself.

You lock your doors for safety as you scurried back to bed, you lay down on your back as you skim your fingers down your chest.

Deep breathes in and deep breathes out. You don’t know how to do this, but you’ll give in anyway. You sigh as you pull your shorts down, with your underwear as well. You drew circles around your belly before trailing down to your heat. Soft gasps escaped your mouth at your sensitive touch. Sensitive and swollen from the dream you just had.

You close your eyes, rubbing circular motions on your most sensitive area as you picture John doing this for you instead. Rough and hard-working hands aiding you. A coil in your stomach tightens, urging you to untie right then and there, but you can’t get the motions to stay the same.

You winced as you pushed your finger deeper, your back arching in response. You don’t feel anything, no pleasure, only pain and emptiness.

You want to scream in the agonizing torture of being so close yet so far away. You pull your shorts back up as you go inside the restroom to wash your hands.

You committed acts of sin and weren't pleased, and now you feel nothing but guilt and insecurity of not knowing how to do something right.

—

The next day, the same place you were before. Outside on your dad's truck watching his friends help out with work. John wore a tight brown tee that accentuated his muscles, he's a retired man, but you could see every ounce of blood, sweat, and tears in that body of his.

You blush, thinking about it. About what could be hiding under his shirt.

He catches you eyeing him but you quickly divert your eyes back to your book. John smirked, telling your dad he'll be back in a second and wants to talk with you.

"Ya watchin' me, sweetheart?" He smiled, taking a cigarette out of his pocket. You watched as he did so, fearing that he'd ask you to take a puff, though you never would. "I...I was just trying to learn how you chop your wood, sir."

A deep chuckle escapes his mouth, "Y'know I can teach you, doll," the new nickname had you unable to face him, but he loved seeing you flustered. He took a puff and you nodded, "Come on over to my place, your dad won't mind. I'm not at home much, anyway. S'good to learn y'know," he went on as he walked closer to you, his southern accent becomes deeper as he goes, "You'll have the privacy that you need, to read your books and pray." He knew how religious you are, heck, he's a good friend to your parents.

"I don't know if my father will let me go, with a man nonetheless." John looks back and then back to you, "It's only me, angel."

You decide to ask your father, just in case. You don't want to go behind his back, even if John is family. You walk on over, building the courage to ask your father if it's okay to go over to a man's house, a man you yearn for.

"Dad, is it okay If John takes me to his house? He's gonna teach me how to chop wood." Your dad looks at you momentarily, before speaking, "Of course honey, just because I want you to help an old man out here and there. 'Aka' me." You tried to keep your cool, to not look so eager about going over a man's house.

John smiled, the thought of having you all to himself at his place gets him straining against his jeans. He loves it when you eye him as if he doesn't know or sense when you drool over him.

"Here's your room, sweet thing, if ya ever need anything I'm just a shout away." He sets his tools down and walks to the kitchen, his jeans shaping his toned legs and shirt sizes too small. Butterflies invade your stomach, merely at the thought that you'd be sleeping under the same roof as this man, and willing to teach you something you're so interested in.

"Can't believe your dress is that short, doll. Your mother let you out like that?" He eyed your white dress that sits just above your knees and shows more skin than the dresses you usually wear. "You know, Mr. Price, I'm an adult now."

"Course you are," he takes a sip of his beer, "but I ain't take you as the one to dress like this. Can't say I don't like it."

You smile, flustered at the way he just complimented you. You can't deny that you like it, you love it. It sent a rush of arousal through your entire body, and he noticed the way you crossed your legs.

"Damnit,"

"What is it?" You asked curiously, not knowing that John saw the way you squeezed your thighs together. He wants to ease the need and desire that coursed through you, but he doesn't want to screw it all up.

"Nothin', now come on outside."

"Now, you're going to hold it just like this," he instructs, pushing his hard body against your back as he holds your arms. You could feel the hardness of his strain on your back and you scream internally, unable to form coherent thoughts.

You made this so hard for him, so difficult to the point where John himself forgot what he wanted to teach you.

"Easy," his calloused hands left your arms and snaked their way along your waist. Your stomach flipped at the action. Goosebumps flare over your entire skin, his manly scent entering your nose and taking over your mind. You swallowed, and continued.

"Now raise your axe, and swing it down."

You did just so, and you successfully chopped the wood.

"That's it, angel baby, look at ya. Such a good learner."

"I am, aren't I?" You slightly bit your lip, John cursed himself and cupped your face. "Mm, damn right you are." John wondered deeply if you were such a good learner in other parts as well. Price cupping your face was a first, but his calloused hands that signal just how much of a hard worker made the intense throb between your legs grow.

You wake up with your blanket suffocating as you struggle to fall asleep, again. You tossed and turned, repeating everything and every touch he gave you. You try to stop the need and the burn in your belly, you really do, but it's hard when you don't know how to fulfill your need. It became so bad to the point where you stood up and walked to the kitchen for water.

He wasn't in his room, he was out for the morning. A busy man and you're so silly for thinking he'd be home, even when he informed you he wouldn't be home every passing hour.

But oh how much you needed him. In ways, you couldn't forgive yourself for it.

You sit down, as quiet as a mouse, waiting patiently for him to come back just so you can confess your dirty sins. Maybe he'll forgive you for them, or maybe he won't show you mercy.

You try to occupy yourself, laying down on the couch and turning on the TV, still in your nightgown. You pull the blanket over, ready to watch a cooking video to learn a few things.

But it hits you that you're actually able to do something about the heat in between your legs, now that nobody is here. The house was quiet except for the TV playing.

Your hand trails under the blanket, lifting your nightgown as you reach for your soaked underwear. Shameful how you're soaked even when he's not around, John really leaves his mark on you. You let out a sigh as you reached your wet and sensitive clit.

It's not easy when you struggle to please yourself, it's so disappointing, honestly. Today was no different.

There is this creeping guilt, but it always hits you the most just when you creep up the tip of the mountain, only for you to fall off when you realize what you're doing.

You can't stop thinking of him, shoulders aching and tears urging to escape when you're so close to reaching the end, only for it to be unsuccessful.

So, you close your eyes and let out a deep breath. Spreading your legs further as your fingers plunged into your aching hole, you gasped. Picturing yet again, how he pleases his women. Of course, he knew how, he is well experienced and capable of pleasing a woman, to the point where she forgets her own name.

You're committing acts of sins in his own home, unforgivable and dirty. Because you were raised with the idea of being perfect, but no one is perfect. From the moment you're born and the moment you die--but the moment you die is the moment John Price fulfills your dirty little dreams.

He whispers in your ear telling you how to do this and how to do that.

'Just like that.'

'Those fingers are too light, darlin', lemme do all the work."

"Attagirl, in and out."

And you almost reached the top of the mountain, whispering finally as sweat buds trail down your forehead.

Finally, finally, finally.

Until you fell down the mountain you tried so hard climbing, when John swings open the door to the sight of his best friend's daughter getting off on his couch. You hurriedly pull your panties back up.

At that moment, you wanted to scream.

To run away.

To die.

He's going to tell your dad, and your entire body freezes. You can't plead for forgiveness when you're so far gone. No mercy will be shown when he kicks you out and tells your parents how bad their daughter truly is.

You sit straight as your body shakes in fear, you're unable to cry when you know your fate.

A sinful girl.

"John," you choke, "I-I am so so sorry, I didn't mean to. I really wasn't-"

"How long have you been at this?" Your heart drops all the way down as the blood from your face drains. "O..only," you struggle to speak as his deep brown eyes gaze at you, "It was only this one time."

You lied.

Another sin.

He stands in silence, shutting the door behind him as he takes big steps towards you. He hovers over you, looking down to see a dirty girl in front of him. As if you played this innocent and sweet girl, though you were, except in John's eyes you weren't. At least that's what you thought.

He takes your chin and pushes your head up to face him, you weren't able to look in his eyes, it was all too much.

"Look at me," he grumbled, you did just what he said. Not once resisting, although it was difficult.

"I ain't mad at ya, it's natural, honey."

Your eyes widened and your shoulders relaxed from the tension and fear.

"You're not going to tell on me?" You asked, Price chuckles.

"Course I'm not, I ain't no snitch, I'm a grown man." He bends on his knees, his thumbs rubbing circular motions on your exposed skin.

"Did it feel good? Sorry to have ruined it for ya' angel." It sure did feel good knowing you almost reached the top, it really did, but it felt better having John assuring you that it was all okay. "You don't have to be sorry--I was just..."

"Go on."

"Continue what I interrupted, don't let my presence stop ya," he signaled his pointer finger toward the door to his room, "it ain't comfortable here. No space to spread those sweet legs, is there?"

You shake your head, "Go on, unless you want me in there. I know deep down you do, doll, you can feel so much better." He's right, the moment you've been dreaming of, it finally comes true. How could you say no to John being in the same room making you feel good?

You almost can't believe it.

He suddenly picks you up from the couch, initiating a soft gasp from you when he opens the door and throws you on his mattress.

You balance yourself with your two hands when he undresses himself in front of you. Starting off with his shirt. You gasp once again, at the sight of his sculpted body before you. His chest was full of hair and his toned dad bod was the definition of perfect.

He gets on the bed and slowly crawls towards you, his head now in between your thighs. "I interrupted your time of need, sweet girl, let me make it up to you." He smiles before hooking his finger on the hem of your underwear, pulling them down all the way to your ankles. On display right before him, so shy you hid away, unable to look at the lewd sight in front of you. "That ain't gonna work for me, eyes over here." His fingers dug into your thighs, you did just as he said, looking at his eyes that continue to look at your pretty pussy.

"S'fuckin' wet."

It's a dream come true for John as well, to see you all wide open and soaking wet for him.

He places peppered kisses along your thighs, and you whimper as he stops. John makes his way up to your lips, biting your bottom lip before kissing you deeply and hungrily. Exactly like the dreams.

His stache brushing against your top lip only made it feel real, his tongue deep inside your mouth as your hands held the back of his head, pushing his mouth impossibly deeper. He's eating your face as if it were his last meal on death row. Like a predator catching his prey.

He pulls away from the intense kiss, the saliva leaving both of you.

Good God did he know how to kiss, you let him do all the work when you could barely kiss him back just as good.

His chest heaved, and he continued with his kisses on your neck and down your collarbone, pushing a soft moan out of you that drove John over the wall. "Make more noises, it's only the two of us, jus' let me hear ya." He cooed, his hands lifting your nightgown over your hips and then over your head. His eyes trailed over your breasts hidden in your bra. "Ah fuck," you sit up, allowing John to unclip your bra, the sight of your chest out on display for him made his mouth water. He grips your left breast with one hand while he sucks and kisses the other.

"Oh, John...keep doing that, please."

He kneads your breast, almost putting you to sleep with how good it feels, "mmmhm," you sighed, "you been wantin' this, and I'm sorry for waiting this long." He apologizes as he places kisses down your belly and finally makes his way back to being in between your thighs.

"No need...to be sorry," you breathe, tilting your head back when he swipes his tongue between your wet folds. The new feeling alone made your legs tremble, enticing a loud gasp from you. You start to rock your hips against his mouth as his deep groans vibrate through your entire nervous system. "Taste like fuckin' Heaven, oh sweet baby, I think you are heaven itself." Praise that had you dropping your jaw as he inserted his hot tongue in your hole.

You swore you saw Heaven.

Brows furrowed and back arched as he eats you like a hungry man, your hands gripping the sheets underneath you, and your legs spread further open inviting him in for more.

John inserts one finger in as his tongue continues to suck on your most sensitive area, and you let out the loudest moan you didn't think you were capable of ever making.

You died in this moment. And John swore he died in that moment, also.

"John," you pant, focusing on what could be your first-ever orgasm.

"I know, you're close baby, s'fuckin' tight, come for me." His words of encouragement suddenly break the coil inside your burning belly, the liquid seeping out of you as he continues to lick away every last bit from you.

He takes his finger and licks you away, which leaves you half-lidded.

"See? How hard was that? Like rippin' a damn bandaid off, does your wound feel better?" He teased, "It does," you say softly, still reminiscing what happened a few seconds ago. What you just felt, how it felt like fireworks exploding inside your veins.

"Such a perfect pussy, waiting to be full of me." He unbuckles his belt and unbuttons his jeans, you've never had sex, but you definitely never needed something more than now. You need him, to get to know him, even when you already do.

"Does it hurt like they say?" You asked nervously, watching as his jeans disappeared, leaving him only in his boxers. His thick thighs didn't do much justice in the dim light.

"When I do it, then it shouldn't be as bad, doll. Jus' a little pain, but if ya feel like it's too much, you jus' tell me. Hm?"

It makes you feel special with how sweet he treats you, he treats you with such care that it truly makes you dizzy.

He takes off his boxers and you almost lose all consciousness, his cock leaking with pre-cum and hard, you thought it was quite inhumane how big he is.

Sure you've explored your curiosity, but John, he differed from all of them.

"Poor thing needs some love and I'm going to show your pussy what the definition of love is." You grew heavy with desire, "ya need me to use a condom, sweetheart?" he asked, you nodded, simply because you weren't on the pill.

He opens his drawer and pulls out a condom, ripping it off with his teeth and spitting a piece of the wrapper out.

That was a sight for sore eyes.

He slips it on his thick cock, the condom intensifying every vien, it left your mouth dry like a Sahara desert.

How was that going to fit? Was all you were thinking about, but you were so sure he was going to make it feel okay.

He sets his heavy cock on your soaking entrance, teasing you while he moves his dick up and down your folds, you whine with need and John chuckles.

Was this the sinful thing that would literally damn you for eternity? How could something so dirty feel so good?

He brings a hand of his to pin your arms down, while the other holds your leg close to him. Your brows furrow as he slowly enters himself into you. John grows concerned when he sees your lips pursed and your eyes shut tightly, a tear escaping.

He stops, and you stop holding your breath.

"It hurts don't it? Want me to stop?"

"Please, no," you gasp, "I...I want you to keep going."

He readjusts your hips, before proceeding to continue, "You sure, honey?" You nod and whisper a hundred times yes before he thrusts deep inside of you.

"So fuckin' good for me, fuck!" he shouts, he loved the way your cunt fluttered and wrapped tightly around his cock.

The silence in the room was filled with his groans and loud moans from you, so lewd and so dirty. But you're too far deep to leave now, you're ready to die, happily.

"My," he thrusts, then pulling away and thrusting back in deeper, "gorgeous," you gasp when he continues his rhythm of thrusting and being so close to pulling out before he thrusts impossibly deeper again, "Girl." He breathed.

He brings his fingers to circle your sensitive clit, and you feel it happening again. It's more intense and heavier.

Your walls wrapped tightly on his cock, initiating that you're indeed closer than you have ever been before. "Mhmm," he moaned, and it was such a sweet sound you so badly wanted to hear again. He grabs hold of your legs, bringing them closer to your head, thrusting at a deeper angle that you can feel in your throat.

"That's it, baby, that's my fuckin' girl right here. All mine, gimme one more." He stopped as you cried out his name over and over until it became engraved in John's brain. He silences your cries with his lips as your legs shake around him.

"You did so well for me, your pussy jus' needed some medicine to be cured, got you coming all over my cock." He begins to move again, to finish himself this time. Your pain turns into pleasure and familiarity when he pushes himself in and out.

"John, that feels so..." He groans loudly at the way you watch his cock slide in and out, it was obscene but also surreal, "look at you, fuck, gonna make me cum just lookin' at me like that."

Which you felt so good about, it's all you wanted.

He pants as he reached a certain point, chest heaving as you can feel his cock twitching inside of you.

John pulls out, and there's sadness in your heart at the emptiness. Your heart thuds loudly that your first time to be with a man you dreamed about, it feels euphoric. You felt ecstatic.

He wipes away your dry tears and your hair away from your face, that drowned in sweat and tears.

John admired you the second he laid his eyes on you till now, he never knew the definition of perfect until this moment.

"Can you teach me how to feel good?" You asked as your hand roamed his broad shoulders and his back. And fuck, did John love that.

"Course' baby, on top of the choppin' the damn wood lessons," you both laugh, "I got all the time in the world, for you."

Your heart ached, he whispered sweet nothings before he carried you into the bathroom to clean up the mess.

Then you nestled under his arms and his body heat, his chest, and arms hugging you as the two of you slept the day away.

It was worth every waking second, and now you can sleep peacefully.

A/N: Y'all, wtf. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure. Need him.

This lowkey needs to be edited some more now that I’m reading it, but I’ll definitely do that later…

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writingdumpster · 1 year

Text

flashes

pairing: Bob Floyd x reader

warnings: SMUT 18+, nude photos, fingering, m receiving oral, breeding, p in v, dacryphilia, squirting, minor degradation, minor praise, creampie,

summary: you buy a special set of lingerie when you know you're ovulating and Bob asks if he can take pictures of you while you fuck.

word count: 3.2k

“Can I take pictures of you?”

Bob’s question surprised you. You had sent him nudes before, and it wasn’t like he had never seen photos of you, but he had never taken any himself. You did look good. His jaw had literally dropped when he saw you. You bought a special lingerie set to wear that night. It wasn’t too fancy, but it was Bob’s favorite shade of blue and it was made of a thin mesh material that left little to the imagination.

“You want to take pictures of me?” You questioned.

“On my polaroid,” Bob explained. “To have while I’m gone.” You smiled softly.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “That’s okay.” His expression perked up. He gave you a soft kiss.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Bob drawled, his accent sweet. He scrambled from his place on the edge of the bed. You had instructed him to wait there while you made your grand entrance from the bathroom after changing into your lingerie set. He fished his polaroid camera out of its place in the closet and loaded it up with a new set of film.

“What do you want me to do, sir?” You asked. You wanted Bob to take charge of this. Not just because the pictures were for him, but because you were nervous. You were ovulating. You had been casually trying with Bob. The two of you had stopped using condoms, but you had started tracking your cycle. You were ready. You hadn’t told Bob. He wanted kids too, you had stopped using protection on purpose, but you were nervous about it.

“Could you get on your knees for me?” Bob asked. You smirked as you fell to your knees in front of him. You reached for his belt, carefully unbuckling it and shoving his pants down his legs. He was already rock hard, the idea of photographing you had been enough to wind him up. You spit on your hand and then wrapped your fingers around his cock. He moaned softly. You leaned down and gave his tip a few kitten licks, cleaning up the precum that was leaking out of him.

“Look up at me,” Bob called. “Stick your tongue out.” You turned your eyes up towards Bob to find he was pointing the camera down at you. He took his cock in his free hand and pressed it down against your tongue before the camera flashed. Bob dropped the photo on the bedside table, where a stack of them would soon sit. While he was distracted you let his cock push down your throat. He gasped in surprise, knees nearly giving out beneath him.

“Jesus, honey,” Bob groaned. You hummed in satisfaction around him, pleased that you had caught him off guard. He was good at teasing you, and you always had to find your own ways to get back at him.

Bob turned his focus back down to you as you deepthroated his thick cock. He pulled your hair back into a makeshift ponytail so he could see you as your lips moved up and down his shaft. He groaned as he gently guided you up and down, keeping the control mostly in your hands.

“Look up,” Bob called. You flicked your eyes up to see the lens of the camera facing you. You gave your best innocent doe eyes as the camera flashed again. He pulled you off his cock, tossing the picture with the other.

“What next, Robby?” You asked as you licked your lips. He lifted you to your feet and pulled you in for a kiss.

“I want to get some of you in this pretty little thing you bought for me, sweetheart,” Bob told you cheekily. “Lay on the bed.” You quickly followed his instruction, climbing onto the bed and laying out on your back. You spread your hair around your head and adjusted the lingerie set. Bob was crouched on his knees, looming above you as he pointed the camera down at your body.

“Smile for me, honey,” Bob called. The absurdity of the context pulled a giggle from you and the camera flashed again. He looked down at you thoughtfully, planning out his next masterpiece. He smirked when his idea came.

“Spread your legs for me,” Bob requested. “Squeeze those pretty tits I love so much.” You moaned softly at the idea. He was really indulging himself. You followed his instructions and the camera flashed again.

Bob kneeled over your hips so he could reach you better. He pushed his thumb down against your tongue. You closed your lips around it, letting your tongue slide against it.

“That’s my good girl,” Bob cooed as you sucked on his finger. The camera flashed again. He slowly drew his hand away from your mouth. He slid his hand to rest on your throat. The pressure was firm, but not restricting. The camera flashed again. His hands kept moving down to your breasts, squeezing them in a way that would leave bruises in the morning as the camera flashed once more.

“I want your bra off,” Bob told you. You leaned up from the mattress and pulled the fabric off, leaving you nearly bare in front of him. He grabbed your tits, thumb rubbing over your nipples briefly. He sunk his fingers around your round breast and flashed the camera again.

“Can I have your cock now, sir?” You begged. Bob smirked.

“No,” Bob said. “I want some pictures with my fingers inside your pretty little pussy first.” You sighed in disapproval.

“Hurry up then,” you whined. He chuckled.

“Be patient,” Bob told you. “I want to take my time with you.” As much as you were desperate for Bob’s cock you couldn’t help the small whimper that his words pulled from you. “Can you lift your legs up for me?” He requested. You smiled softly at him as you lifted your legs into the air so he could remove your panties. He tossed them off the side of the bed.

Bob looked down at your bare cunt, glistening with your arousal for him. He put the camera down and used both hands to stroke up and down your thighs. His touch was featherlight, drawing goosebumps to your skin.

“Robby…” You whispered needily.

“I know, baby,” Bob cooed in understanding. “I promise that I’ll give you everything you want, but you have to be patient.” Something in his tone was different. He knew what you really wanted from him. He knew you wanted him to make you a mother.

“Please just touch my pussy, Robby,” you begged. “However you want. I don’t care. I just need to feel you there.” Bob smiled. He moved a single finger to your clit, gently rubbing circles around it to appease you. The moment Bob’s finger made contact with your clit your back arched in the air and your mouth fell open in a silent moan.

“Open your eyes,” Bob ordered. When you did the camera flashed on your face.

“Are you ready for a finger?” He asked.

“Can I have two?” You pleaded. Bob considered your request. You were being good for him and you were letting him live out this fantasy.

“Okay, honey,” Bob agreed. “Two it is.” He sucked his ring and middle fingers between his lips, coating them in his spit. “Ready?” He asked as he aimed the camera towards your dripping twat. You nodded furiously.

“Please,” you begged. “I need you.” Bob smirked. You needed him. Wasn’t that sweet?

“I’ve got you, baby.” No sooner did you feel Bob’s fingertips gently sliding through your folds. You inhaled sharply, waiting for him to give you what you wanted. He was filled with a wave of pride at the small sound. It made him desperate to give you what you wanted. He pushed his fingers into you, his movement quick enough to relieve your desire without being harsh. The camera flashed.

“Thank you, Robby,” You mewled.

“You’re welcome, honey,” Bob cooed back. He kept a steady rhythm inside you as he snapped another picture of your cunt with his fingers buried in it. “You’re so sexy, sweetheart,” Bob groaned as he felt you clench down on his fingers.

“I want your cock, Robby,” you whined.

“Come on my fingers first,” Bob pleaded with you. He put the camera down and reached down with his other hand to rub tight circles around your clit with his thumb. You moaned in surprise and kicked your legs against the mattress.

“That’s it, sweetheart,” Bob cooed. “Come for me.” He hooked his fingers against your walls, pressing into your g spot as he sped up his movements on your clit.

“Fuck! Bobby!” You cried out in pleasure. The camera flashed. Your walls pulsated around Bob’s fingers and your legs shook. You arched your back away from the mattress. The camera flashed. You opened your eyes to see Bob’s adoring stare as he flashed the camera once more on your sweaty, fucked out face.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” Bob murmured. Tears sprung to your eyes despite his sweet praise.

“Your cock, Robby,” you whined. “Need your cock, please.” You sniffled as you fell into a state of total desperation for only one thing. Bob’s eyes softened upon seeing your tears. He quickly reached up to wipe them away.

“I’m sorry, baby,” Bob whispered softly. He crawled up your body, bringing the camera with him. “Didn’t realize just how bad you needed me.” He lined the swollen head of his cock up with your dripping hole.

“Always need you this bad, Robby,” you whimpered. Bob kissed your nose softly.

“I know, baby,” he cooed. “Me too.” You moaned softly. Bob had gotten himself in position to take another picture. He had his thick cock in his hand, lined up perfectly with your wet slit. He held the camera in his other hand. His eyes flicked up to yours. “Ready?” He asked. You nodded quickly. Bob pushed his cock into you. The camera flashed several times—some photos on your face or your body, and a few at the spot where you were connected.

“Ohh, Robert…” You moaned slowly as you felt him fill the emptiness that you’d needed him to fill. Bob cursed quietly. You looked up at him. He was beautiful, his hair stuck to his forehead with sweat and his body tight around you.

“Can I take a picture of you?” You asked. Bob smirked.

“Yeah, honey,” he agreed. “You can take one.” He handed you the camera. You pointed it up at him and reached up, dragging your nails down his chest as the camera flashed. You handed him the camera and the undeveloped photo.

“Thank you, Bobby.” Bob put the camera and photo to the side and turned his focus fully on you. He leaned down on his forearm so he could kiss your neck as his hips fucked slowly into you. He grabbed your leg with his other hand, pulling it up around his hip so he could get just a bit deeper.

You came without warning, but kept your moans in. You weren’t supposed to come without asking. Bob kept fucking into you and you thought you’d gotten away with it when you came again. You were doing your best to keep your breathing even and not pass out as you recovered. Then Bob switched arms and pulled your other leg around his hip as well. You knew that you were going to squirt this time.

“Can I come?” You cried out suddenly, unsure whether you’d be able to hold it anyway.

“Yes, baby,” Bob agreed. You let the electric pleasure run over you, whimpering and whining as you did. Bob wore a proud grin as he watched your face contorting in pleasure and felt you clench down on his hard cock. Clear fluid sprayed out over his cock. Bob reached down and rubbed back and forth on your clit, splashing your cum all over the sheets. You were panting as Bob stilled his hips, still buried inside you.

“You’re so pretty when you come, baby girl,” Bob drawled. His accent was thicker when he used the low tone that he would pull during sex. He knew how much it drove you crazy. “How many times was that? Be honest, I know you came at least once without telling me.”

“Including when you fingered me?” You asked shyly.

“Yes, sweetheart,” Bob replied.

“Four,” you told him quietly, awaiting your punishment for the two unpermitted orgasms.

“Why are you so horny today, huh?” Bob asked. You looked away. You knew exactly why. It was why you’d bought the lingerie. Bob wanting to take pictures had been a surprising bonus. “Answer me,” Bob pushed.

“I’m ovulating,” you admitted in a whisper. Bob groaned roughly. He made one quick and deep thrust into you, pulling a surprised gasp from you.

“You want me to get you pregnant, baby?” Bob asked, his voice as slow and smooth as molasses. You nodded. “Tell me, honey. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to get me pregnant, Robby,” you told him. “I want you to fuck your cum deep into me.”

“All you had to do was ask, baby,” Bob said with a smile. He began fucking you again, faster this time. If you wanted his cum he was going to give it to you. You clawed at his back and he left hickies over your chest and neck. Bob reached down between your bodies to rub circles over your clit. You moaned loudly.

“Can I please come?” You begged.

“Yeah, baby, go ahead,” Bob told you. You fell apart on Bob’s cock, tightening down on him as he thrust into you. He moaned loudly, making a few harsh thrusts into you before you felt him coming deep into you. He kept fucking into you as he rode out his orgasm. You were slowly coming down. He leaned back onto his knees so he was upright and grabbed your hips. He lifted you and pulled you down against him, getting deeper than you had ever felt him before. The new sensation threw you into another unexpected orgasm and you cried out in pleasure, milking Bob’s cock for everything he could give you.

“Thank you, Robby,” you whimpered. Bob chuckled.

“I’m not done, sweetheart. If we want you to get pregnant I should probably give you more than one load.” You whimpered at the thought alone. Bob could already feel himself getting hard again. He rubbed your clit slowly, making you clench and flex around him. It was just what he needed to make him rock hard again. You moaned at the feeling of him hardening inside you.

“Give it to me, Robby,” you whined. Bob didn’t need any other words of encouragement to begin fucking into you. He started off with a steady pace–not too fast, but not slow either. You were falling apart regardless, completely unable to hold in orgasms anymore as you lost yourself in the pleasure of Bob’s cock. He hit just the right spot and you felt the tightness in your stomach exploding again.

“Are you coming again?”

“Yes, Robby,” you gasped. “I’m–ungh–I’m sorry. I can’t h-help it,” you whined.

“Pathetic little thing, aren’t you?” Bob taunted. The degradation only made you come harder. His dog tags were dangling over you as he thrust in and out. You reached up and twisted the chain around your finger, tugging him down to meet your lips. He kissed you with a passion that reminded you of the very first time you kissed. His thrusts were getting more irregular as you continued pulsing around him. He reached down to your clit, desperate to pull one last orgasm from you. He rubbed against the sensitive nub, lubricated by his own cum leaking out around his cock.

You screamed out in overwhelming pleasure and came again. Fire burned through your body as every part of your body tightened and then snapped into a release. You were moaning loudly, not really aware of the sounds that were coming out of your mouth. You started squirting again, the fluid spraying out around Bob’s cock as he continued to fuck into you. He groaned loudly at the sight. Bob grunted, gasping loudly before hammering harshly into you with a deafening moan as he emptied everything he had into you. Bob rolled off of you after a moment. The two of you lay there, quietly catching your breath as the two of you each recovered from the strongest orgasms either of you had ever had.

“How many times was that for you, sweetheart?” Bob asked after a moment.

“Eight, I think,” you admitted.

“Jesus,” Bob said. “I hope the pregnancy hormones are this good too.”

“You came so much, Robby. I can feel it inside me,” you murmured. “It’s so warm.”

“Will you push it out for me, baby? Will you show me what I gave you?” Bob requested. He leaned up and grabbed the camera.

“That’s not gonna help me get pregnant,” you said.

“I’ll push it back into you, baby. Besides, I fucked my first load real deep into you,” he said.

“You’re so dirty, Robby,” you teased. Bob smiled. He kissed your thigh.

“Please, baby?” You rolled your eyes but smiled. You clenched your insides, trying to push out the thick cumload Bob had given you. Suddenly you felt the warm liquid dripping down your folds. “Fucking hell, honey.” He took one last picture. He scooped his cum back up onto his fingers, pushing it back into you again. He crawled up the bed to be level with you, putting the camera on the bedside table and picking up the stack of photos.

“Want to see?” Bob asked. You nodded as you scooted over to his side. The two of you looked through the photos, Bob complimenting something about you in each one. When you got to the photo you had taken of him you grinned widely.

“You look so sexy, Bobby,” you said. Bob chuckled.

“Glad you think so, honey,” he said. You bumped your arm against him.

“You’re an adonis, Bobby. Completely out of my league,” you said with a smile. Bob rolled his eyes.

“Honey, I’m in a squad with adonises, but I ain’t one,” Bob joked.

“Oh, please. None of them even compare to you. You had me wrapped around your finger the moment I saw your eyes,” you said in reflex. Bob could tell you meant it by how quickly you said it.

“I love you, baby,” he said simply. You looked up at him and kissed him gently.

“I love you too.” Bob turned back to the photos.

“Could you write me notes on them? Like you do with my lunches?” Bob asked shyly. You grinned at him, leaning to kiss him gleefully. You pulled away with a smile still on your face. He always told you how much he loved the notes you put in his lunch everyday.

“Yes,” you said simply. “Do you want them to be sexy or sweet?” You asked. Bob smiled softly.

“Both, just like you.” Bob flipped to the picture of his cum dripping out of your pussy. He hummed softly at it. “I sorta wish I could’ve had one with my cum on your face too,” he said. You smirked.

“I think I can make that happen.”

#bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd x reader smut #lewis pullman smut #lewis pullman x reader #lewis pullman x reader smut

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himbofan4444 · 6 months

Text

Greg had been dying to become popular, but his slender frame and lack of friends heavily detracted from that. He joined the wrestling team as a last ditch effort to gain attention, but he was exceedingly poor at it. One day he went to the coach to ask for help.

“Coach, I think I’m going to quit the team.”

“Why? You have so much potential.”

“To be honest, I don’t care if I have potential. I just want to be popular.”

“Oh you do? Well wrestling should help with that.”

“Not if I never win.”

“What if I made it so you did win?”

“How would you do that?”

“Listen Greg. Nobody knows about this but I have a steroid to help you grow overnight. Would you be interested?”

“What? Overnight? Can I have it now?”

“Hold on tiger. I wanted to give it to you at the lock-in next weekend just to make sure you don’t die. You interested?”

“Of course, sir!”

“Great I’ll see you next weekend then.”

After a week of anticipation, Greg went to the school for the lock-in. He was quickly pulled aside by the coach.

“Here kid. You have to inject it in one of your buttcheeks. Now go.”

Greg shakily pushed the needle into his buttcheek and injected the mysterious liquid. There was no instant effect. He walked to sit in the coach’s office as instructed. The coach sat seated in front of Greg to observe the changes.

“When is it supposed to start working?”

“It takes about twenty minutes I believe.”

They sat in silence until Greg felt a pulsing throughout his body.

“Oh I think I can feel it working.”

He felt his legs and back stretch quickly, his previous 4’11” self left as a 6’4” giant.

“Woah. I’m huge!”

“Oh kid this is just the beginning.”

His face changed rapidly. His once youthful face was replaced with a much more masculine one. His jaw and chin grew massive, his chin gaining a noticeable dimple. His lips grew plump and juicy. His nose grew wider and more prominent. His eyes got smaller and changed to a crystal blue. His eyebrows got thicker and shifted to rest lower on his face. His hair became blonde and grew into a curly mullet. He grew a dense pornstache as well.

His body was the next target. His neck widened significantly and his adam’s apple grew much larger. His shoulders widened and grew more muscular. His traps swelled and started to swallow his neck. His biceps swelled along with his triceps and forearms. His hands grew to double the size and his fingers grew thick and meaty. His once nonexistent pecs changed into huge muscle tits. His nipples got thicker. His lats and back swelled, his whole silhouette gaining significant size. His stomach formed a six-pack. His thighs grew huge, perfect for wrapping around his opponents. They were so large he could not comfortably walk. His calves swelled. His feet changed into an absurd size 20. They were so big he would constantly trip over them. His butt grew fat and fuckable, so that they would jiggle when he walked. His penis grew massive. It expanded to a monstrous uncut 12 inches with huge balls.

“Oh fuck that feels good…”

Greg flinched at hearing his voice. It was comically deep as he was comically large.

“How am I supposed to pass as a middle schooler? I’m huge!”

“You are a middle schooler, but you’re not 12 anymore.”

Greg tried to understand what he was just told but then the mental changes hit him all at once. His once high intellect shrunk to almost nothing. He couldn’t focus on anything except for his dick. He is now coach’s son and star player. He couldn’t pass 7th grade even at 19 years old. He has an IQ of 60 now, too stupid to do anything except wrestle, jerk off, and get fucked by his dad. He grew thick body hair all over, mostly around his armpits, balls, and chest. He gained a strong musk so strong his dad started to gag. Greg, or Gavin now, is the most popular guy at school, even if everyone has to plug their noses when talking to him. Coach hands him his a large hoodie, sweatpants, and huge shoes.

“Go put this on.”

“K Dad.”

Gavin pulls the clothes over his thick muscles, his huge dick and ass accentuated due to the tight fabric. He stomps his foot, causing his thick ass to jiggle hypnotically.

“Dad… I’m hornyyyyyy… Please fuck meee…”

“Gavin you know I can’t right now. I’m on duty. Maybe you should go play with the other kids.”

Gavin smiles and waddles away back to the gym, stumbling over his giant feet. He paws at his monster cock and pulls at his ass. He lifts his buff arm and sticks his face into the dense forest of hair in his armpit. He collapses on the floor and starts to masturbate to his obscene odor. He quickly realizes it’s impossible to smell his pits and wrap both of his hands around his huge cock, making him frustrated. He awkwardly stands up and forces his dick into the wall. He aggressively thrusts into the wall while lapping up the sweat accumulating in his hairy pits. He loudly pants and moans as he approaches climax. He releases copious amounts of cum, not even emptying his huge balls. He howls in pleasure as he falls back onto his fat jiggly ass. He passes out, his cock still sticking straight up.

#musclegrowth #tf #transformation #dumber tf #cock growth #straight to gay

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deniigi · 4 months

Text

—-

“Good morning, Commander.”

Cody looks up to see that General Jinn is awake and has somehow procured a cup of caf at this absurd hour. He stands there with his long hair unbraided and hanging down his shoulder and back. Whisps of steam rise from the lip of his mug and dissolve into the lightening sky.

“Sir,” Cody greets.

“Stop. Stop. Stop,” General Kenobi hisses through the tent walls behind him.

“Xanatos,” General Jinn says sternly, “Leave him be.”

The tent shakes and Cody is forced out of the way by the regal unfolding of Knight Crion’s long body. The man tosses his thick, black hair over his shoulder and straightens his matching tabards. He sniffs and thumbs discreetly at his lip, where a smear of blood has appeared since Cody first saw him.

General Jinn’s brow flattens. The General himself keeps it that way by throwing back the tent flap and shoving Knight Crion forward with two hands in the center of his back. Knight Crion staggers a step and a half forwards.

The General seethes at him when Crion whips around with dawn’s early light glinting in his eyes.

“O’Ben,” General Jinn drawls. “Leave it.”

If the General were biologically capable of growling, he would be. Cody hunts for his boots faster.

“O’Ben, I said to leave it. Xana, he’s younger. Be gentle.”

——

Part of an AU where Obi-Wan grows up with his whole lineage present and suffers through them during the clone wars.

Full fic here: burn your draft card, we’re going to hell

#obi wan kenobi #xanatos du crion #feemor #qui gon jinn #matt’s art

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astroboots · 4 months

Text

Past Lives

Author's note: Prequel to Every You Ever Me (but can be read as standalone).

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x female reader

Summary: You meet Miguel O'Hara for the first time in a life-changing encounter.

Word count: 1.3k words

Spiderverse Masterlist | Astroboot’s Masterlist

You're standing on platform B at Main Street station, teeth chattering as you zip up your jacket. You're freezing your tits off.

This is why you don't like going all the way to Flushing. As bad as the stations get closer to the city, reeking of piss, body odor and stale vomit, at least it's always warm underground. Out here, there's no shelter, the tracks are exposed to elements.

It seems as if you are the only one stupid enough to come out here at 6 am on a Sunday, because there's barely anyone else here on the platform.

It's dreary and dark. The leftover snow has melted leaving only grey sludge and a slipping hazard behind.

From the corner of your eyes, you spot movement on the tracks.

You don't think much of it at first. Must be another oversized rodent feasting on discarded pizza, except... it's much too large for that, maybe a dog?

Your head whips back to get a closer look and the sight has your blood freezing to ice.

Is... Is that a man?

You stare at the bulky build crouched over on the tracks. Even as he's bent down, you can see that the man must be freakishly all.

"Sir?" You call out hesitantly.

He doesn't answer you. Doesn't pay you any attention at all. Is he drunk? He's dressed in dark blue spandex from head to toe, obscuring any facial features, wearing a sparkling Lucha Libre mask like he's on his way to WWE.

Yeah, definitely drunk then.

You glance up nervously at the departure board. The green LED light ominously reads: "4 Min".

If the man doesn't get off the tracks he's going to be pancaked by the oncoming train.

Walking up closer to the ledge, you shout across to him. "Hey! You need to get off the tracks."

He doesn't move out of the way.

Shit!

You don't understand. How did he get there. There wasn't anyone on there just a second ago. You would've heard if someone had jumped down from the platform. Where did he come from? Did he materialize out of thin air?

"There's an oncoming train," you try again. It doesn't make a lick of difference from the first time you shouted.

Why you think you can talk sense into a drunk who seemingly can't hear you (or is pretending to not hear you) is beyond you.

Glancing up at the board, you only have 3 minutes left now. It would be entirely too late to call for staff to help. By the time they'd show up the man would already be tomato paste across the tracks.

"Sir!" you shout again. But nothing.

Shit. shit shit shit.

He's not moving of his own accord. The only thing that could get him to budge would be to tackle him... which is absurd for you to do. You must be nearly half his size.

But what else are you supposed to do? Stand by and watch a man die?

You get queasy at the doctors when they draw blood for check ups. You cry when the dog dies in a horror movie. You would never be able to walk away from a man dying, only a few feet away from you. It would haunt you for the rest of your life.

In the corner of your eyes, 3 minutes turn to 2. Before you have the time to slow down your thoughts and properly think, you're already scooting down against the ledge and jumping down the track.

What the fuck are you doing. Why are you risking your life for a drunken stranger?

Your heart is hammering through your chest, beating its way up your throat. You feel queasy with adrenaline as you squeeze your eyes tightly shut.

In the total darkness behind your eyes, you leap forward, with your entire body weight as you slam into him.

There's an angry growl of surprise as you make contact. The man is built like a brick wall. It's like you ran up to a building and collided with hard concrete.

Both of you tumble across the tracks and in that split second that seems to last forever, there is a pandemonius roar that bellows out behind you. Wind whips past your side so hard that it's painful, and you think to yourself that maybe you didn't make it in time.

Except you did.

Because when you open your eyes, instead of eternal darkness all you see are scarlet red eyes, staring up at you with wide shock. You've never seen eyes like this before. They shine like rubies even in the dim dark.

Underneath the blue mask, the man is gorgeous. All sharp angles, and cut jaw with pouty lips that belongs to a Hollywood starlet-- Wait where's the mask?

You could've sworn that he was wearing a mask over his face before.

You don't get to contemplate on that thought for long. There's a flash of glaring light blinding you, the grinding screech of gears closing in.

Oh fuck.

The northbound train is arriving.

You need to get up. Need to climb over the ledge before it's here. You try to raise yourself up on your elbows, but the strength is zapped out of you. Rubble digs into your knees. Everything stings and burns.

The yellowed lights are too close, the screeching of metal is right in your ears.

Oh shit. Oh fuck. Oh god! There isn't enough time. You're going to die.

A strong grip envelops your waist, hoisting you up. The ground below you disappears. You don't know how, but gravity seems to fall away, and you find yourself high up in the air as the sight of train tracks recedes.

You're flying.

Looking up, you see the man's face once again covered in the blue mask from before. He's holding onto you with one arm, while the other is stretched outwards into the empty air. There's web connecting his hand to the sky as he swings you through the landscape of Flushing beneath your feet.

From up here, even something as vast as New York looks small.

He lands the both of you on solid ground, on a nearby rooftop, arms still wrapped firmly around you as he sets you down on your toes and doesn't let go until the back of your heel is firmly planted.

You on the other hand, are still holding onto him tightly. Hands in a death grip into the muscle of his forearm.

Up close, he's staggeringly tall. The angle you have to crane your neck to look up at him feels unnatural, like you're observing a landmark monument, not just a person.

The mask disintegrates, the red and blue material disintegrating to reveals his face to you again.

You're too stupefied by the events that have taken place in the last few minutes to react appropriately

"Are you--" you start, but you don't know how else to finish that sentence. Is he what? What do you want to ask him after he flew up in the sky and saved you? Is he human? an alien? Do you ask him what just happened? Where he came from? Why the hell he was on the train tracks and didn't move! even though you told him to?

You blink up at him, running through each one of the questions and stupidly instead, you settle for the simplest one of all.

"Are you okay?"

He's smiling at you, an amused expression glinting in his eyes.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he answers.

Stretching out an arm above him, a string of web shoots out from the palm of his hand into the sky.

"See you around," he says. Then he swoops into the air and he’s gone.

Author's notes: I got some questions a while back about how Miguel meets Nena, and this is part of that answer.

I don’t have a tag list but please follow me on astroboots-writes and turn on notifications to be notified when I post something new!

#across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara #spiderman #marvel #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #mcu #oscar isaac #spiderverse

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gloomwitchwrites · 5 months

Text

Punch Bowl

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: established relationship / situationship, sharing, oral sex (male & female receiving), unprotected piv (wrap it up irl), multiple creampie, vaginal fingering, sex on top of and over a desk, cum swallowing, praise, anal sex, double penetration, multiple positions, light dom/sub dynamics, F/M/M/M/M

Word Count: 3k

At a required work holiday party, Captain Price leads you away to his office for a bit of fun. But the rest of Task Force 141 is interested, and for now, Price is willing to share you.

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist // winter 2023 masterlist

Behind the drinks table, you stand with your arms crossed, watching the rest of the room. You’re on punch bowl duty because every fucking year someone manages to spike it. It’s never been on your watch, but over the years you’ve begun to suspect a few possible culprits.

But really you don’t give a shit, and you don’t want to be here anyway.

There is nothing you like less than being forced to attend a mandatory work holiday party. Your face always aches from smiling by the end of it, and you have no social battery. You’d much rather be at home with a glass of wine, greasy takeout, and a book.

Every time someone approaches the table, you snag a plastic cup, ladle in some of the bright red beverage, and hand it off only to do it all over again. The worst part are the extroverts who don’t know how to shut the fuck up and talk your ear off for fifteen minutes before they find another victim.

It is exhausting. And awful. And you’re about five minutes away from pretending to be sick so you can go home to that wine, takeout, and book.

A figure blocks the room out of the corner of your eye. You turn, and freeze, realizing who it is that’s stepped in front of you.

It’s Captain John Price.

When you make eye contact with him, he smiles, and it’s so sultry that you already know what he wants. That’s the thing about you and John. It’s a weird, friends with benefits situation that is quickly starting to fall into feelings. Which is absurd. The two of you shouldn’t get involved beyond what it already is, and yet every time the two of you come together, it’s more passionate than two people simply fucking.

“Captain Price,” you acknowledge, reaching for a plastic cup, pretending everything about this interaction is normal.

“I need to talk to you,” he replies.

I need to talk to you is just code for “I want to fuck you.”

You keep a straight face, even as Price’s mouth twitches with amusement. “What about?” you ask, ladling in some of the bright red punch into a plastic cup.

The upper half of Price’s body twists slightly, and then he’s reaching for a nearby recruit. Price grips their shoulder and spins them around.

“Cover the punch bowl.” There is a hint of a growl in his voice, and that surprises you.

“Yes, sir.” The recruit nearly stumbles around the side of the table, obviously flustered.

There is no negotiation with Price. Rarely do you ever push back when he wants to be inside you.

You simply step around the table and allow the nervous recruit to take your previous position. Price steps into your space and nods toward the exit. The two of you move casually, as if this is routine and not at all strange. You’ve done it plenty of times before, and so far, no one has said anything.

Even if they did, what would they say? You’re not even SAS, and he is not your superior. You’re stationed here for work, and you’ve had to interact with John on multiple occasions for your job. The two of you walking away to talk is normal. At least, on the surface.

You and Price move out into the connecting hallway. From there, the two of you head for his office. The moment he shuts the door behind you, Price pushes you up against it, trapping you with his body.

He plants one hand directly above your head while the other squeezes your hip. Price presses in, one knee slotting between your legs, forcing them to open to accommodate his muscled thigh.

“You want to talk?” you murmur as his lips move toward your mouth.

“We’re talking,” he replies, closing the distance.

Price’s tenderness is not a soft thing but a fiery heat that burns you from the inside out. His kisses are fierce, purposeful, and each one is a brand that you carry with you in the moments the two of you are separated. But there is a desperate, underlying movement to each of his touches and kisses. Price is wanton but never needy and rarely rushes.

Your hands go out to rest against his chest, but he’s bending down, sliding his hands over your ass and lifting you up.

“John,” you breathe, clinging to him as he deposits you on top of his desk.

“Fighting me on this?” he asks, sinking to his knees before you. Price lifts your bent knees, placing one over each of his shoulders.

Then his hands are sliding up your thighs to your hips. Once there, his fingers dig in and drag you to the very edge of the desk. The friction pushes on your skirt, forcing it to slide up to your hips where it bunches. At this angle, there is no way Price doesn’t see your red lacy underwear underneath.

“No,” you murmur as Price slides his index finger between the delicate fabric and your pussy. He lightly pulls, and then guides it to the side, revealing you to him.

Price lifts your hips one more time, guiding you a bit closer before his head dips to run his tongue along the soft flesh of your inner thigh. His tongue against your skin is divine, as if you’ve been apart for ages. Price licks, bites, and kisses until he leaves marks behind.

As he moves closer, the anticipation of Price tasting you begins to build. His warm breath is a caress against your skin, and it’s even more wanton when you feel it against your clit. Your fingers dig into the wood, and when you glance down between your legs, Price’s gaze moves upward, his mouth positioned at your opening.

You arch your back and flex your hips a bit to signal exactly what you want. But you know Price won’t deny you. He never does.

“Let your knees fall wider, love,” purrs Price. When you do, he licks your pussy from opening to clit.

It’s a deliberate, languid touch that lingers for a moment before Price does it again, this time swirling his tongue as he does so. Then, Price goes for it, flicking his tongue against your clit in quick, sharp bursts of movement that immediately make your toes curl.

Your orgasm blooms from nowhere, roaring forward as Price sucks your clit into his mouth. Falling back on your elbows, you moan loudly. One of your knees start to slip but Price is there to catch it, keeping your legs spread wide as he continues to lavish your clit.

You’re in absolute bliss as the orgasm hits in a series of waves that only dissipates once Price releases you.

“Do you want more?” he muses before teasing the opening of your vagina with the tip of his tongue. Your hips buck but Price’s hand presses down on your thigh, settling you back onto the table.

“Please,” you beg, voice a hoarse whisper.

“Only because you asked nicely,” he says, inserting two fingers inside you. Your body surrenders and you both groan with how nicely you take him. You almost collapse against the desk, your eyelids closing in pleasure at his touch.

Price bends his fingers to press upon that sensitive spot inside you and drags his fingers down and out, popping them into his mouth to suck them clean.

“Do any of you want a taste?” asks Price, his voice unusually loud for just the two of you. His fingers slip underneath the delicate lace as Price guides your underwear down your legs and past your heels.

Your eyes snap open and you push yourself up, the lazy haze of lust disappearing.

In front of you are Price, who kneels between your legs, and three other men. The door to the office is open, and a large man in a black balaclava shuts the door. It’s the rest of Task Force 141. John MacTavish, Kyle Garrick, and Simon Riley all linger near the door just behind Price.

You have no idea what Simon is thinking behind the balaclava, but Soap and Gaz have smirks on their faces. It’s not that you haven’t entertained the idea, because you have. All of them are sweet on you, even Ghost who is fucking terrifying to nearly everyone except you.

“I do, Captain,” replies Gaz, already moving to take Price’s place.

Price stands and steps out of the way, only for Gaz to immediately put his mouth on you.

“Oh, fuck,” you whimper, and you feel Gaz’s gentle laugh against your skin.

Price saddles up to the side of the desk. His hand grabs the back of your head, twisting in your hair, and then he guides you toward him, your body slightly bent. With his other hand, he undoes the front of his jeans.

Instinctually, you reach for him, grasping his cock the moment it’s free of the zipper.

“Just like that,” groans Price as you take him into your mouth.

You run your tongue along the underside of his cock before sucking him down again. With fist and mouth, you work Price until he’s murmuring your name. It’s growing more difficult to concentrate. Gaz is skilled, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers as he pumps them steadily in and out of you.

Soap and Ghost might be watching, waiting their turn, or both. But they’ll have their turn, and that excites you.

You choke around Price’s cock when it hits the back of your throat. Gaz swirls his tongue around your clit and that breaks you. The orgasm rises and you squeeze around Gaz’s fingers.

“That’s fucking beautiful,” says Gaz with a contented amusement that makes you feel gorgeous. It’s an appreciative comment, but you only have a moment to linger in it before Price’s hand on the back of your head keeps you in place.

“Can you swallow, love? For me?”

You nod, and then Price’s taste bursts on your tongue. He does not pull away, but makes you take all of it, and you are eager for every drop. Price draws away, his cock leaving your mouth in a wet pop. Some of your salvia sticks to the head of him, and he brushes it away along with whatever stays on your lips.

“Show me,” he says, and you open, revealing that you’ve swallowed every bit of him.

“Good girl. Good fucking girl.”

Gaz licks his lips, wiping off the bit of your release that still sits on his lips. He pushes up to standing, and then Ghost is right there, grabbing at you, dragging you off the desk. You nearly wobble when your feet hit the floor but he’s fast, making sure you don’t fall.

“I want you on your knees,” he says, and you immediately drop. “Eager. I like that,” purrs Ghost as he lightly traces the line of your jaw with his index finger.

When Ghost’s cock is free, you immediately wrap your fingers around the base, and you go for it. There is no teasing lick or kiss. You throat him, your lips hitting your hand as you do so.

“Fucking hell,” he groans. “You take it nicely. Don’t you?”

You moan around Ghost’s cock, basking in the praise. He is larger than Price, and you take as much as your throat will allow. The head presses roughly against the back of your throat, nearly causing you to gag. Instead of resisting, you relax into him, breathing through your nose, and that helps tremendously.

Your reward is another vocalization of Ghost’s pleasure. That deep, guttural moan of his goes straight to your pussy, and all you want to do is suck him dry. Fuck—suck all of them dry. Hollowing out your cheeks, you slide and bob your mouth along his shaft until Ghost nearly becomes a puddle at your feet. You may be on your knees before him, but you have all the control. It is thrilling. Having this power makes you bolder.

But the control is a fallacy, because the moment you begin to make this skull-faced man into a whimpering mess, someone is grabbing your wrists, pulling them behind your back as someone else latches onto the back of your neck.

You are held in place, and then Ghost does what he wants, fucking your mouth like you’re his little toy. With Price, the two of you usually share the control, switching the power between the two of you. But Ghost? He is completely domineering, steering this entire thing until you’re the one who is the whimpering mess.

“Fuck,” bites out Ghost, and then he’s yanking you off of him.

But he does not spill into his hand or on your face. Instead, he lifts you up, lightly plopping you down onto the desk. Your back hits the wood, and then Ghost is forcing your legs open, his hard cock sliding over your pussy.

“Eyes on me,” comes a voice near your head.

It’s Soap.

His large hand goes to your throat, then he’s tipping you back, and you’re opening wide, taking him down as Ghost pushes your legs wider to sink in. Your pussy flutters around Ghost, but your body is needy, and it greedily takes as much as he’s willing to give.

Ghost rolls his hips, pausing between each to help you accommodate to his size. Once you’ve taken him to the hilt, he begins to pound into you, every thrust bouncing you down Soap’s cock. Through the fabric of your oversized sweater, Soap palms your breasts, and this keeps you from sliding away from either of them.

You fall into a lust-filled haze. An orgasm roils up, passes through your body and out into your limbs. It sets every nerve alight, but neither of them stops. A second comes soon after, and it’s only then that you realize Ghost’s angle is the perfect alignment for him to rub on your clit as he thrusts into you.

Ghost’s thrusts become a stuttering thing that end with his own release. His hands go to your thighs. He guides them open, presses down on the insides, and Soap slips out of your mouth. He reaches over your body to also hold onto your thighs, keeping them open.

Everyone watches as Ghost fills you up, and when he slips out, he catches his release and presses it back inside. This is an act of ownership, but no one seems upset by it, which can only mean that they all plan to do this with you again. And that is something you’d never say no to.

All of you hang in the air for the moment, and then hands disappear only to be replaced by new ones. You’re flipped onto your stomach, and then dragged off until one foot is on the ground, one knee is on the top of the table, and you’re bent at the waist over the side of the desk.

Then Gaz is there, grasping your hips, taking Ghost’s place. He keeps you steady, thrusting upward in steady strokes that have you leaning back against him. Gaz’s head dips forward to rest against the side of your head, and the two of you is all there is until he comes, mixing himself inside you alongside Ghost.

But Soap does not take his place. Instead, Price steps up, sliding his hand to the back of your neck. He tugs gently, arching your neck and back so that you look into his face.

“How much more can you take, love?”

You lick your lips and consider. Already, you feel the soreness and ache slipping into your muscles, but it’s a good sensation, and you want more of it.

“Whatever you desire to give to me,” you answer softly, and Price’s expression is a pleased one.

With tenderness, Price eases your knee off the table, and releases his grip on your neck. “Go sit in Soap’s lap, love,” whisper’s Price, lightly smacking your ass as you wobble toward Soap.

Soap reclines in a chair in the corner. When you get close, he reaches out, grabbing you by the thighs, drawing you into his lap. You do not face him, but the room, your legs spread for everyone to see as Soap slides inside and starts bouncing you on his cock.

There is no embarrassment on your part. Your head falls back to lean against Soap’s shoulder as he takes control. Your eyes flutter, and you briefly glimpse Ghost kneeling between your legs. He pushes up his balaclava, and then your lids completely shut when his mouth comes down on your clit.

Ghost sucks it into his mouth, the tip of his tongue flicking against it at the same time. The contrast that is the two of them has you slipping into a whimpering mess. You cannot speak. There are only your fingers digging into someone’s flesh as the two of them bring you to yet another orgasm.

This orgasm has no end, and you don’t even realize Soap relinquishes control to Ghost until the large man is lifting you up, sliding his arms under your thighs to hold you aloft to fuck you while standing. The mix of them inside you begins to seep out around Ghost’s cock, and you can see everything happening between your bodies.

Your forehead rests against his shoulder, and then someone steps up behind you, pressing against your other entrance.

“Please?” It’s Price.

“Yes,” you groan as Ghost hits deep and it sends your back arching. It’s the only thing you manage to say, and it is a strangled sound.

Price is gentle as he eases in. The two of them take turns pumping in and out of you, until you’re a sweaty mess. Your sweater sticks to your skin, and you want it gone, but without the ability to form words, you simply deal with it, reveling in their shared taking

You surrender to them, allow them complete control. But you’re safe, protected, sandwiched between them. You slide one arm behind Price’s neck while the other rests on Ghost’s left shoulder. Removing your forehead from Ghost’s right shoulder, you lean back on Price and he turns his face into your neck, inhaling your scent.

“It could always be like this,” he murmurs into your ear. “Would you like that?”

You nod, and you feel his smile against the line of your throat.

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blasphemecel · 26 days

Text

Michael Kaiser — Takotsubo Cardiomyopathy

PAIRING: Michael Kaiser/Reader WORD COUNT: 1.3k TYPE: Angst, Post-break up WARNING(S): Don't read if you're sensitive to medical stuff, also tw for KAISER-TYPICAL MELODRAMA

“Are you fucking kidding me? That just sounds made up.”

“Sir,” the doctor, who’s been having to deal with Kaiser acting like the hospital is a debate club for the past fifteen minutes, says. Then he lets out a sigh and pinches the bridge of his nose. In all honesty, he does not want to deal with this. “While there’s an existing argument about the classification of broken heart syndrome, it is a real thing that happens. And you have it as we’ve deduced.”

“I don’t have health problems,” Kaiser says. Of course, those words fly out of his mouth without trouble even when Ness had to call an ambulance on him and everything, since he looked like he was on the brink of death today at practice. “Much less from bullshit reasons like a broken heart.”

“You don’t need to take it literally. That’s just the name. The trigger for the stress varies from case to case.”

Kaiser hopes his defensive statement didn’t reveal anything too personal, and decides to throw off any suspicion by staring down at his lap while frowning like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. At least the doctor doesn’t seem to care because he’s not prying for unnecessary details. Not yet, anyway.

“For how long have you been ignoring the symptoms?”

“I haven’t been ignoring anything,” Kaiser says.

Sure, he was dizzy a few (many) times and short of breath, and disregarded it. And while he can sense the tightness and pain in his chest each time, a recurring physical and tangible ache, Kaiser interprets the experience as some kind of metaphor for the figurative stabbing he was a victim of. The arrhythmia is a natural indignant response to whenever your irritating face pops up in his imagination, since you’re the perpetrator.

All this over some shitty break up. While it’s stupid for someone whose career is in sports to shrug off such obvious signs, until today Kaiser never truly thought it was serious enough to warrant such an overreaction from his body. You shouldn’t have this much power over him. He’s going to kill you next time he sees you for doing this to him.

He’s deep in denial and the grave he’s been digging with his stupid lies is shallow in contrast, inefficient. Can’t even deceive himself.

“It’s most common in people over fifty.”

Kaiser rolls his eyes. “Thanks. I really needed to hear that.”

“What I’m saying is, I assume you’ve been ignoring this for some time and it escalated to a bad attack. So, do you recall if you’ve gone through severe stress recently? Anything traumatizing even, either physically or mentally? When was it? If you could be exact, that’d be helpful.”

Traumatizing? Traumatizing? Is this man fucking kidding him right now?

Kaiser stares at the doctor as if he’s the stupidest person alive. Forget a person, he is a bug for such a suggestion. Through grit teeth, he relents, “There was something two weeks ago. By the way, it wasn’t traumatizing! That’s ridiculous.”

What’s even more absurd is the notion Kaiser wouldn’t know how much time has passed with perfect accuracy. Fourteen days he hasn’t been sleeping well, hugging his pillow and crying like a loser, cursing you, wanting you back, both a worshipper and a heretic.

What was he feeling at that moment, when you broke things off? Was it overwhelming anger which got him to this point? Though he’s been reliving the moment over and over, Kaiser still can’t identify it. Just something intense zapping him through his veins, a devastating shock, a surge of adrenaline. But surely it was resentment at your audacity to throw him away like disposable trash? He doesn’t like the thought that he’s been so pathetically sad, he got sick because of it, so this is what he’ll go with.

Thinking about it is enough to make him start picking at the skin on his neck like he’s trying to peel the ink off. It’s almost vile. At least he retains the common sense not to squeeze it in front of a medical professional who can send him away to a psych ward with ease.

The doctor, too, looks at Kaiser like he is an insane person. Good thing they pay him enough for this — otherwise, he doesn’t know how he’d deal with having a strange man with a bizarre haircut give him attitude over his diagnosis when it should be reserved for his barber or whoever is responsible.

“Two weeks ago, okay,” he says, writing it down. “Lucky for you, this is temporary and reversible unlike most other things we checked you for. You’ll be fine in about two months with the treatment.”

“So, like I thought, it’s not a big deal. I can still play football, right? Don’t need to lay off or anything?” Kaiser asks.

The doctor sighs. Again. He wants to measure the circumference, thickness and density of Kaiser’s skull. “You’re not listening,” he says, clearly exasperated, but still trying to exert patience. “Your heart is weak and not functioning properly at the moment. You can’t immediately jump back into living the way you usually do. It’s still serious no matter what you say and it can cause complications.”

Kaiser makes an annoyed expression like this is all one big inconvenience rather than a threat to his quality of life. “Are you serious? You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“I’m honored you seem to think I’m a hilarious comedian, sir, since this is your nth time asking, but it’s not the case,” he says levelly.

“Don’t get clever with me.”

A sharp inhale through the nose and the doctor’s back on track, maintaining a feeble grasp on his inner peace, at least enough not to snap. Then, after this brief recollection, he reaches out to grab something, then holds it up. It’s a picture that looks either like an abortion-to-be or a black and white photo of lasagna… maybe. “This is your heart.”

Kaiser almost forgot about the ultrasound or whatever since he was strung out and sedated- relaxed throughout that whole ordeal. At the sight of it now, always theatrical, he decides the best course of action is to wrinkle his nose and say ‘eww,’ even though he’s not squeamish. But treating the matter seriously means admitting he has a problem, and he can’t have that.

The doctor pretends he can’t hear anything and points at the relevant area with his finger to illustrate the crux of the matter better. “You have apical ballooning. Do you get it? Even if it’s temporary, you can’t treat it lightly. So-”

Kaiser tunes out the rest of the explanation. Blah, blah, he could harm himself, very original. His gaze is stuck on the echocardiogram, though, and this time he’s nauseous for real, the tiniest bit. It strikes him as particularly ugly and deformed. Organs are repulsive to begin with, anyway, but this… thing is his, and he’s seeing it now. In any case, nothing so disgusting is worth loving or treating with care.

Is this how you’ve come to see him? What does Kaiser look like in your eyes? Ugly and maladjusted on the inside? Someone who likes laughing at other people’s misery, but can’t take even the slightest puncture? So out of touch with his emotions — and of his own volition —, he’s started experiencing them in the most visceral way possible. His desire for you: torment, a disease.

Would you find him dramatic? Maybe, but at least you’d make him laugh and smile and anything else his troubled mind has decided he needs at the moment, from you alone. Doesn’t matter, though. He’s not privy to that kind of thing, not anymore.

There’s a sting in his eyes and Kaiser wipes away his tears with a hasty swipe, though a few more stream down his cheeks. He doesn’t even know what he’s crying about again.

The doctor observes the display with the distanced apathy of someone who’s watched people die and shit themselves.

He gets discharged with a prescription and elaborate instructions on how to go about his physical activities until it’s deemed he’s fully healed at the later check-ups.

Great. Pitiful.

___

What's funny is that Y/n's probably having a good day while all this is going on

#michael kaiser x reader #blue lock x reader #kaiser x reader #blue lock x you #bllk x reader

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 7 months

Note

for the rollo event!

Coach Vargas: DROP DOWN AND GIVE ME FIFTY!!!!!

I know Rollo doesn’t get a NRC P.E. uniform, but just use your imagination for this 🤡

Like Fire, Hellfire.

It was already bad enough that he had been stripped of his regular attire and forced into what appeared to be a prison jumpsuit. Hatless, strands of his short silver hair noticeably stuck up. Rollo practically felt naked without the headwear and multiple long layers of fabric that provided a safe swathe from the world.

I look like a criminal in this, he bemoaned. No different than the typical delinquent students of Night Raven College.

Now the P.E. teacher was bellowing in his face, making absurd demands of him. 50 push-ups on the spot.

Rollo attempted to protest. “With all due respect sir, I don’t believe I’m capable of…”

He was cut off by a shrill blow from the whistle hanging around Vargas’s beefy neck. The instructor was short, but built like a tank.

“I don’t see those push-ups!” he noted, his tone warning. “I only hear excuses comin’ out of you!!”

Rollo pinched his mouth closed. Anger coiled up within him—but he knew better than to argue with figures of authority.

Vargas struck a pose, flexing his massive arms, well-defined muscles popping. How grotesque, Rollo thought, and such a pointless display of narcissism.

“Your body’s a temple, and you’ve got to build it up and worship it like one!!” Vargas declared, planting a kiss on his bulging bicep.

Rollo couldn’t help himself from making a face. Left without his handkerchief, his grimace was left in plain sight. Vargas boomed with laughter, seemingly oblivious to his true thoughts.

“I know, I know! You’re thinking, ‘there’s no way I could get a bod as sweet as Vargas-sensei!’s!’ But don’t feel down, not everyone can attain perfection! It’s enough for you boys to be physically fit. That’s a must for mages! So let’s hop to it, Flamme! Drop and give me 50!!”

Rollo’s eardrums blared, humming with the residual crash of Coach Vargas’s deep, rumbling voice. He begrudgingly fell to the ground and onto his knees. For once not for prayer, but for push-ups.

The first one was the most difficult. Rollo wasn’t built for push-ups—the most he had ever exerted himself were the early morning climbs up the bell tower. His legs and will were what was strong, not his arms.

Rollo’s toothpick arms wobbled as he tried to desperately propel himself back up. A searing pain bolted through his limbs, sweat beading on his forehead from effort. By the time he had completed one rep, he was about ready to collapse and flatten out against the ground.

A panting heap, drenched in his own sweat and failure.

But no.

FWEET!!

The whistle was quickly followed by Vargas’s call. “ONE!!”

Rollo gritted his teeth and willed himself to go down for the remaining 49.

He wouldn’t give in.

FWEET!!

“TWO!!”

Rollo winced. He’s going to do that for every single push-up?! What fresh hell is this…

“Nishishishishi!”

Rollo craned his head in the direction of the mocking laugh.

Students that had already finished their warm-ups were gathered in a pack. Some lazily sprawled out over the grassy field, others stood around chatting. They passed looks his way and sniggered smugly.

Among them, Rollo spotted a familiar crooked smile and a pair of hyena ears to match. He gazed back at the third year, the grin growing ever-wider.

“Welcome to NRC, Rollo-kun. Hope you enjoy your stay~” Ruggie chirped.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Rollo Flamme #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #Ashton Vargas #disney twisted wonderland #Rollo at the Writing Desk #Ruggie Bucchi

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year

Text

the final Lady Sharpe part 1: across the threshold

Series Masterlist See my full list of works here!

Part of the 500 Follower Celebration Requested by: @ellooo0ooo

Summary: To say your first day in Allerdale Hall with your new husband Sir Thomas Sharpe was "eventful" would be a gross understatement. Downright absurd would be a better descriptor.

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe x Reader

Warnings: ghosts; Lucille; murder attempt via poisoning; mentions of the "relationship" between Lucille & Thomas; steamy moment between the newlyweds

Things to be aware of: Reader & Thomas are newlyweds

"Save yourself."

You stiffened in Thomas' arms as the soft spoken tone reached your ears, eyeing your new husband with rapidly increasing worry. "Did you hear that?"

His eyes held a touch of concern, the smile he gave you -- while breathtaking as it always was -- not quite reaching his eyes as he gave you words of reassurance. "Must simply be the wind, darling. At times it blows so harshly through the piping of the house that it feels as if the halls themselves are whispering to you. It's ghastly, I know, but it's home."

The words sounded perfectly crafted, as if practiced and corrected many times before, doing nothing to ease the tension that had spread throughout your body as he carried you across the threshold. You made a show of giving him a reassured smile, consciously widening your eyes in an attempt to convince him that you doubted no portion of his answer. "Just the wind," you said softly when he set you back down on your feet.

"Just the wind," he echoed, placing his hat down on a nearby table before framing your face in large gloved hands and touching the tip of his cold nose to your own, the chill making you break out into a fit of giggles. "There's that sound I absolutely adore from you, my dear wife." Your giggles melded into a weakened sigh once he leaned in closer and pressed a soft kiss to your lips.

"Ah. There you are," a stern voice spoke from the other side of the floor, the sound bouncing off the walls as footsteps struck against tile then hardwood, the figure of Lucille Sharpe, your new sister-in-law, striding towards you. "You're finally home."

"Lucille," your husband breathed out, walking towards her and meeting his sister halfway and pulling her into a tight embrace.

Something in the sight immediately put you off, as if you sensed an intimacy between them that crossed the lines of familial love. Namely the way that she wrapped long fingers around his upper arm and leaned against his shoulder with her eyes closed, as if she was pressing a kiss on the spot.

"Welcome, Y/N," she finally spoke to you. "How have you been faring with the cold thus far?"

"Quite different from what I'm accustomed to but I can get used to just about anything," you answered her with a warm smile, subtly tilting your head at how she'd shaped her fingers like claws and dug the tips into Thomas' arm before releasing him from her hold.

"You're not imagining it. She abuses him. Makes him sleep with her," the same voice from earlier spoke. "Every night. He won't be laying with you later."

"Well you cannot possibly have adjusted so quickly. Why don't I fix us all some tea and, Thomas you can draw your bride a bath and start a fire? Give her a semblance of home to help her adjust a touch quicker?" The words seemed welcoming enough; her smile, however, made you wish to go back out into the biting winter cold instead. You might fare better against nature than against Lucille.

"Truly, Lucille? Tea this early? We'd just gotten home, we've not had the chance to even begin to unpack our belongings." You began to eye your husband with the same suspicion now, narrowing your eyes at his question that seemed as if they were speaking of more than just 'tea'.

"It will help warm her up," she insisted. "All of us, really."

His sharp exhale filled the room, his arm reaching out towards you when you began to walk further into the house and wrapping around your shoulders. "Very well then." His tone towards her had grown more formal, dismissive even. "Shall I show you to our room, Lady Sharpe?" He gave you a warm smile, this time the kind that reached his eyes as you nodded your assent.

A mixture of your giggles and his filled the house as he scooped you up into his arms once more and carried you up the stairs.

You tried to suppress your blush as you were treated to the view of your husband busying himself in your bedroom, insisting you 'sit back and not worry a single hair on that pretty head' while he prepped the fireplace. Of course, who were you to refuse a comfortable room with a view, especially when said view came in the form of Thomas Sharpe, coats shrugged off and sleeves rolled up to his elbows starting a fire to keep you warm?

The orange light of the kindling fire began to wash over the room, already making you feel as if you could breathe easier as your husband gave you an adorably triumphant smile. "Oh my word," he breathed out, rising to his feet and slowly making his way to you.

"What is it?" A warmth bloomed inside you, his fingertips lightly tracing your features with one hand while the other began to undo the bun in your hair. If only that warmth wasn't accompanied by the pit forming in your stomach as you remembered what that voice whispered in your ear downstairs.

"You are breathtaking in this light, darling." He ran his fingers through your hair, touching your chin with his free hand and tilting your head upward as he leaned down to press his lips to yours. The feel of him groaning against your skin sent your heart into a frenzy and your stomach fluttering like a dozen butterflies had just taken residence inside.

Every touch of your lips seemed more frantic than the last, feeling yourself getting more and more lost in him. Almost to the point that you forgot where you were. In a gloomy creepy near-derelict mansion that was potentially filled with ghosts that were talking to you confirming your intuition about Lucille and your husband having a debauched relationship in a secret held within the decaying walls. And so far away from the city where if you were to meet an untimely demise it would take days, maybe even weeks, before anyone at home was informed of your passing.

All of that seemed to fade away while you stayed in his arms.

"What if I drew us both a bath?" he murmured against your lips, giving you one more lingering kiss before pulling away, his expression darkened with such explicit lust that it had you struggling to breathe.

"How scandalous," you teased, your breath hitching in the back of your throat when you felt his fingers playing with the buttons securing the collar of your dress behind your neck.

The corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk once he worked the buttons undone and his fingertips met the skin of your neck, a whimper slipping from your lips as he slipped the piece of fabric off of you. "My darling, we are husband and wife." You bit your lips to muffle a moan when he leaned in to press a kiss to the newly exposed skin. "There is nothingscandalous about us sharing a bath, if you're willing."

He continued to press kiss after kiss along the column of your neck, and you suddenly felt a heat spreading throughout your body that had nothing to do with the fire steadily crackling on a few feet away from you. "Well in that case, dear husband, I think that's a wonderful--"

The sharp sound of knuckles rapping on the door broke the heady spell you were under, both of you suddenly standing upright, Thomas' arm now wrapped around you with his hand splayed on the side of your waist as he pulled you to his side. "Is everyone decent?" you heard Lucille's voice clear and piercing through the door.

"Decent enough," your husband called out, chuckling as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.

"Thomas what on Earth could you possibly mean by--Oh…" The look on her face may as well have dropped to the ground when her eyes befell the sight before her. Your now exposed neck, hair flowing down your back, Thomas' own overcoat and waistcoat draped haphazardly over the tall armchair, shirt wrinkled from where your hands clutched at him from moments earlier, the first few buttons undone and exposing his defined chest. "Seems I interrupted a private moment."

"Oh it's no trouble really--" you started just as Thomas said, "Yes, you did."

You did what you could to stifle your smile, giving way to him continuing his sentiment instead. "I was just about to draw a bath for my wife. And myself." Once more you fought to keep your expression unchanged as her neck so visibly twitched at the lurid implications of his words.

The voice from earlier was back. But she wasn't talking to you, rather she was talking to…another voice. You could barely make out names in the conversation. Edith. Enola. Talking about how Thomas was different with you, how he seemed to be protecting you almost.

"I'm sure the bath can wait, dear husband," you said, plastering on a warm smile you strived to reach your eyes.

"But I'm not quite sure that I can," he shot back with a chuckle, pulling you closer to him.

"Come on, sweetheart, Lucille made us tea. It'd be a shame for it to go cold." You looked to him with wide eyes, seeing how his jaw clenched for a moment before he briefly narrowed his eyes at his sister. And she was looking to you with a conspiratorial smirk, as if she felt the satisfaction of finding in you some ally. But you knew that look for what it really was; you'd seen it enough times throughout your ventures in London.

It was the look of an assumed mastermind pleased to see that a pawn was carrying out a leg of a plan on their own volition. And thus playing into their own trap. Run, little mouse, run, her eyes seemed to say. Right into my snare.

"You have your sensibilities about you, Y/N. I like you already."

"I've been around London enough times to know how you get with your tea," you joked, your cheeks aching from the smile you were trying to keep up. It seemed worth the dull ache, though, with the single nod she gave you as she poured out the hot beverage in two of the cups on the tray. The third one, however, had already been filled. And that was the cup she held out to you.

"I wasn't sure how you preferred it, so I took a guess on somewhere between lukewarm and fresh off the kettle. I hope it is to your liking, my new sister."

"You're very kind, Lucille. Thank you." You brought the cup up to your nose, taking in the aroma. "This…smells quite different from the teas I've had in London. What is it?"

"Firethorn berries," your husband answered. "Lucille picks them out in the garden and crushes them herself."

So cyanide, you thought to yourself, wondering if Thomas' omission of whether the crushed berries had been washed was intentional or simply an oversight on his part. They're trying to kill me.

You could feel your heart sinking from the realization that you'd married in such a rush and now you were to face the consequences. Your rational mind screaming obscenities at you for being so foolish to fall for the words of an angelic face and a devilish voice, and another voice trying to scream louder that you had to think of something quick lest one of them shove the drink down your throat and start the poisonous process.

"Don't drink it! The poison is in the tea!" one of the voices screamed.

"She has to. Lucille will kill her if she doesn't," the first voice, the guiding voice, answered her.

You took a breath, mustering all your confidence as you hoped that the wayward idea that flew through your mind in the last few moments would work convincingly enough. Raising the cup to your lips, the moderately hot liquid slipped past your lips, and you let it stay there a second before breaking out into a fit of coughs and spitting out majority of the drink, blindly looking for a place to set down the cup and doubling over and arching your back with each cough.

"Y/N!" The cup was taken out of your hand, Thomas pulling you close to him, moving your hair out of your face and running his hand up and down your back, trying to calm the fit. "Darling what happened?"

"I'm not quite sure," you answered through heaving breaths, both of you having sunk to the floor on your knees in the midst of your show. You fought against your instinct to stiffen in his hold as he pulled you to him, cradling you against his chest. "I suppose it was foolish of me to think firethorn berries was an exception to my allergies."

"Allergies?!" Lucille snapped. "Thomas, you never mentioned anything about your new wife's allergies when you wrote to me about her."

"It's my fault," you answered her. "Honestly it was such a whirlwind romance and the wedding happened so fast there was so much we didn't get to know about each other." You gave a regretful look to your husband. "I'm sorry."

He gave you this sorrowful look, complete with teary eyes, furrowed upturned brows, and quivering lip, before pulling you closer again and resting your head on his shoulder. "This isn't your fault, darling. None of this is your fault. I'm just glad you're alright." You kept at it with your heaving breaths, gradually easing yourself back to a regular rhythm. "How about I fix us something to eat after we freshen up?"

You gave him a weak nod, inwardly hissing that you'd rather starve than let them have another attempt at your life like that. Letting out a few more weak coughs and making sure to cover your mouth lest Lucille or Thomas know what an allergic reaction ideally looked like and realize that you'd been putting on a show, you turned your gaze to Lucille. "I'm so sorry you went through all this trouble--"

"It's no trouble at all, dear sister," she cut you off, the icy rage poorly veiled in her eyes despite the smile she was clearly straining to give you. "As Thomas said, what matters is that you're alright." Her eyes flickered to her brother one last time before she turned and left your bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

"Let me go get you some water, darling." Thomas held your hands as you both stood, holding you close to him again when you were both up on your feet. "I could have sworn I felt my heart drop to the ground when you seemed about to hack out your lung from those heaves."

He'd led you to the ensuite and turned on the tap. Once the water began to run you straightened your stance and stepped out of his hold, your coughs suddenly -- suspiciously -- a thing of the past. "It's so sweet of you to be so concerned, Thomas." The furrow between his brows deepened, the water overflowing from the glass and onto his hand. "Now tell me. Whose idea was it to poison me, dear husband?" You sneered the words now, as if they themselves were poison to even utter. "Was it yours? Or your sister's?"

A/N: Welcome to…the series that I didn't actually intend to be a series 😅 When I was planning out this request I only intended for it to be 3 parts, and then I started writing it 2 days ago I realized that I'd be cramming way too much into one part if I wrote it the way I first planned, so it became 4 parts…and then 5…and now it's 8.

But I honestly look forward to diving into this story and sharing it with you all, and I just hope y'all like it, too 💖💛

‘everything’ taglist: @sailorholly @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina

#thomas sharpe x reader #thomas sharpe x female reader #crimson peak fanfic #crimson peak fanfiction #the final lady sharpe #muddyorbs writes #fic requests #500 follower celebration

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missfunkyhotmess · 1 year

Text

A good slave

Nanami Kento x female reader

Tags: SMUT, oneshot, professor au, sub!reader, dom!nanami, subdom dynamic, unprotected sex, dry humping, rough sex, sight use of degrading terms, power dynamic, vaginal sex, u protected penetration.

Word count: 2821

Minors DO NOT interact

x•x•bb

Even though you are well aware of the fact that you shouldn't be doing what you're doing at the moment to get his attention, but you couldn't find any better way than this.

You know very well that if you kept failing your tests on purpose, it'll only make him more angry than actually giving you attention. But you longed for his attention so much that you were willing to go this far. You didn't care about the other subjects as you were doing pretty well in those, but when it came to his subject, you were purposefully failing all of them.

Of course because of the needy little attention whore you are, you'd love the slightest or the faintest amount of attention he'd give you when he scolds you in his raspy taming voice in front of the whole class. Even though you're supposed to be feeling embarrassed, you couldn't ignore the burning sensation building up in between your thighs.

You fantasised about getting even just a little of his attention directed only towards you. Since he's your professor of course he needs to give every student equal attention. But you craved for more.

And what did you do for that, fail all his tests on purpose. Nanami was definitely quick enough to catch onto this absurd scheme of yours. That's primarily what you awaited for. He calls you to his office only to give you a bit of attention and send you back on your merry way.

But when you got to his office, this wasn't what was going on and you could tell he wasn't just gonna warn you a bit and send you back, rather there was more to it. And the pent up tension in the air around this gated office room, made you sure of that.

Shoes clicking against the tiled floor after you hear the faintest click of his door, as he makes his way towards you, sitting on the chair facing his wooden desk. He plops down on the leather chair with a sigh slipping past his lips as he brings his chair closer to the table.

Plopping his elbows on the table resting his chin on the back of his palms, he stares directly at you, taking you by surprise even though you were aware of it. He takes a solid few seconds to stare at your startled face before speaking in his usual husky tone of a voice.

"Now tell me what's going on here?"

"About.....what?"

The daggers he throws at you made you realise you fucked up. You knew your professor, Nanami, wasn't the type to take bullshit of attitudes as your reply to him but you still went and did exactly that.

Yes you wanted his full attention, his cock in your pussy, his marks all over your body, but that didn't include making him angry on purpose even though a part you you eagerly wanted to know how that side of him would be.

Taking out your test papers from a drawer on his desk he throws them on to the table for you to see. And you gaze towards it in fear of how to response. Is there even anything left for you to response about at this point?

Both of you are aware of the things he's insinuating towards so without tensing up the situation more than it already is you decide to be frank with your professor.

"S- sorry sir. This won't hap-"

"You're failing them on purpose, aren't you?"

His words hit hard like a knife being dug into your skin. You knew he'd figure out sooner or later, then why are you surprised. Is it because he's actually playing your cards against you?

"No, sir, I- I would not do such things."

"Then tell me, why is it that all your other subjects have flying colours but you're failing only my subject?"

"I- I was uh was um-"

"You know very well there's no point in trying don't you? Just be frank with me."

You didn't dare tell your professor that you're failing them just to get even a dint of his attention. But now there's nothing you can do. You're trapped in here until you tell him exactly what he wants to hear, the truth, or you might never even get to see his face in class.

"Y- yes sir, I failed them on pu- purpose."

"Now, why is that? Even though I might have my own assumptions about it, I want to know what's your reasoning behind it is."

"I- I.....it was a dare, sir."

"Lies." He chuckles. "There's no point in lying cause you know both of us already know the answer. So just tell me the truth."

Heart hammering against your chest as you try to calm the unbearable feeling inside your chest and between your thighs just to be able to reply to him. How pathetic of you to get aroused just by him being a little rough towards you.

Yes you've fantasised about being alone with him, touched yourself thinking about him, even today when he summoned you to this office, a part of you got overwhelmed with emotions knowing you'd get to have his attention all directed towards you only.

But you weren't prepare for him to know exactly the cards you were dealing and using them against you. And you know there's no point in lying, so you just spill the beans.

"Fo- for attention, sir."

"Who's attention?"

"Y- your sir."

Eyes flickering back to your thighs as you try hard no to make eye contact with him. But the stares he's throwing at you makes it impossible for you to do practically anything.

"No one taught you to look at your seniors while speaking?"

You shake your heads left and right as a negative que and slowly turn to face him. Cheeks heated with red dust flushed across as his stares bore deep inside you.

"I- I'm sorry sir. I'll make sure not to fail them again."

"Are you though? Your actions speak otherwise."

Gripping tightly on your skirt as you watch him intently, leaning back against the chair tugging his tie loose from all the exhaustion while he continues to stare at you. Gulping in the desires you immediately shift your gaze from him only to have him raise his voice to tell you to face him.

"If you're so sorry then, show it to me."

"Sorry?"

You ask not having the slightest idea of what he's insinuating while he unbuttons his shirt and spreading his legs as a que for you to understand. And thats when it hits you. You stare at him flushed red.

Of course you fantasised about him throwing you on his wooden desk slamming his fat cock into your tight little pussy while pining you against the desk railing you like a complete beast. Yes you touched yourself thinking about all these things but now that it's actually happening, you're at a loss of words and your body at a complete freeze.

"Come here."

He taps on his thighs, indicating you to follow through as you get up and make your way towards him, stopping in between his thighs. His hands smooth across your bare thighs below your skirt level, softly tracing it to your inner thighs, making you flinch.

"This is what you want, don't you?" He asks palming at his dick in the confines of his pants when you look down at his crotch only to gulp in fear and excitement. Thinking about what he looks like down there, what his size and shape is down there you stare in awe and completely zoned out when his chuckle brings you back to sense.

"So desperate. Are you getting wet just from looking at my dick?"

He states, bringing his hand to your inner thighs while tracing its way slowly towards your clothed sex. A whimper leaves you mouth when he rubs against your clothed clit that was starting to get filthy wet by every stroke of his finger against it.

Your eyes screw shut to the sensation down below as your thighs try to shut close trembling a little but he makes sure to spread you legs apart whilst rubbing against your greedy cunt.

"Here. Sit here."

He taps on his thigh as you slowly bring yourself on his thigh sitting down when a shock of pleasure makes you shiver a little the second you clit comes in contact with his thigh. Nanami picks it up as he grabs on your ass and rolls your hips on his thigh earning a moan from you.

"Hump on me. If you manage not to cum until I tell you to, maybe I'll consider rewarding you."

Eyes glossy radiating lust as you nod your head uncontrollably to his words and start dry humping yourself against his muscular thighs. His hands rest on the arm rest as he relaxes himself and looks at you desperately humping on his thigh wanting to feel the pleasure and cum soon, but holding back for his reward.

"Look at you humping like a bitch in heat. You want my cock that bad?"

"Y- yes, sir, please."

"Then you gotta work for it. Go on."

The eagerness and desperation piling up inside you as you start humping a little faster than before trying to feel the pleasure of at least being able to touch him. Hands on his shoulders as they grip tightly trying to latch onto something, anything as the pressure in your stomach keeps building up with every stroke.

His cologne bores into you as your head plops down on his shoulder even though you aren't sure if he'll like you being this comfortable and feeling pleasure at the same time. But miraculously enough he doesn't say anything.

But what's mesmerising is how his cock starts bulging in his pants slightly which you notice and subconsciously your hands make their way to his crotch but a slap on your wrist makes you back of when you realise this isn't your fantasy world.

Its real and actually happening.

"Dont get too greedy. Be happy I even gave you this much. Otherwise you won't get what your working so hard for."

"Y- yes sir."

Voice quivering as you feel your orgam rolling closer and closer but you hold yourself back with trembling legs and shivering body which he notices and to make it even worse he slowly traces his hands on your back beneath your top inside.

"Tell me. Did you touch yourself while thinking about me hm?"

"Yes s- sir."

"Such a filthy little creature you are. Having nasty thoughts and deeds over a professor."

The seriousness and dominance in his voice makes you feel tiny and helpless while you continue to hump on his thigh overstimulating yourself. Slight tears forming in your eyes as you sniffle a bit.

And not long after, your professor picks you up by the ass and slams you down on the table as your back hits hard on the wooden rough surface. Flipping you over, he puts your skirt over your hip as you hear him unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants.

Soon you feel his complete hard cock rubbing against you ass. He grinds a few times against your ass before he slams his fact cock into your tight pussy burning the inside wholly. You feel as his cock stretch the inside of your pussy so much so that it becomes hard for you to support yourself.

His cock is so much better than what you originally fantasised about and his hip work is so much better than those in your mindless fantasies. Hip slamming roughly inside your tight cunny increasing both the pain and pleasure inside your aching walls.

Hand grabbing your neck, pinning you down onto the desk. Muffled cries, groans and chains of curses were all that were being heard in this confined place as your professor keeps fucking you over the edge. Body still sensitive from the edging as waves of pleasure rolls over your body with every single thrust.

"You know what we're doing is wrong, don't you? But you're still taking my cock in so eagerly." He scoffs while his rough hands grab tightly onto your loose hair forming a slight stinging sensation on your scalp pulling your head back but not all the way.

"I doubt you failed all of your test just for a cramp of my attention. Its my dick that you originally wanted didn't you?"

You try to form a full sentence but it was that much hard to do so as you feel his cock split you in half with every single time his crotch aligns with your hip. Every thrust from his cock in your pussy kept uncoiling the knot in your stomach bringing you closer to you oragsm.

And thats when you feel a strong tug on your hair pulling you all the way to his chest as he growls in your ear making your supporting knees give out but he holds you in place.

"Speak up. Didn't I ask you something?Tell me what is it that you actually wanted?"

"Y- your cock sir. Your fat cock in my throbbing pussy si- angh."

"Tch. What a dirty slut you are spreading you legs to your professor just like that."

Whimpers were all that made way past your pursed lips as you tried hard to hold you voice down. It is currently school time and the campus is swarmed with students and teacher but here you are, a dirty little attention whore, fucking your professor.

You felt the pressure in your stomach grow as the tip touches your cervix perfectly with every rough thrust being thrust inside your greedy cunny. And you clamping down on him made him realise so.

"Sir- pl- please, sir. I wanna cum. Can I cum?"

A strong sting forms on your ass cheek to your words as you realise thats him slapping hard against your soft butt cheeks. An angry growl from him made you scared to the bones thinking what might happen now when he speaks.

"Can you cum what?" It took you a minute to understand but you catch onto quick.

"Can I cum please, sir?"

"Now that's a good girl. Yes you can cum now."

Just by his words your pussy gushes out cumming all over his dick when he doesn't even stop to let you cum rather thrusts more into you but sloppily. That's when you realise he's close as you clamp down on him.

"You've been a good girl listening to everything I said. So here's your reward."

And you feel him release his thick hot milk inside your walls painting your inside white and he keeps thrusting until he's milked his cock dry of cum inside your unprotected pussy. The warm feeling of him shooting his cum inside your pussy fills you up as you both pant for air letting go of the exhaustion.

He pulls away and puts his pants back on as you do the same after having him help you down from the desk cause of how much your body was exhausted and how shaky your legs were. Tapping on your skirt once last time you turn to face him as he speaks.

"Dont fail your tests cause I won't take that bullshit anymore and will have authority change your professor instead if you do so."

You keep your eyes down to the ground both from respect and also the overwhelming feeling piling inside your stomach to the thought that you actually got to get your professor dick burried balls deep inside your pussy. You only nod in reply.

"And also focus on class, and if you have any questions, come see me at my office." Your gaze immediately shoots to meet his fierce eyes as you can see through his gaze exactly what he means when you again nod in reply.

And before you could walk away from the desk and out the door fixing your clothes properly, he walks up in front of you and stops you before leaning down onto your ears only to whisper.

"But after hours, of course."

And sends you on your merry way as you sink in the feeling and thoughts of what just happened now with a flustered smile plastered across your face.

But what you failed to notice was the smirk that creeped up on his face as well as he thought to himself about how he'd like to fuck you again another time. Cause he couldn't deny he loved the way your dirty pussy clenched around his fat cock without any hesitation, without any shame.

He just loved the shamelessness of your attitude when you let him do anything with you like his little slave. And he thought to himself once last thing.

You'd make a good slave.

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen #jjk smut #smutt #oneshot #nanami kento smut #nanami kento supremacy #professor au #dom sub dynamics #sub!reader #dom!nanami #jjk anime #jjk manga #nanami kento x female reader

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flamehairedwritings · 9 months

Text

Stray: Chapter Two

Characters: Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Female Reader

Rating: E, 18+ ONLY

Words: 4.3k

Summary: Ghost has a fine time making you admit you need want him.

A/N: Chapter Two of Six. A chapter posted every Monday!

Entire Story Tags: hurt/comfort, angst, enemies are lovers, porn with plot, they're not nice people, but are they

Chapter Tags: Angst, they say horrible things to each other, non sexual choking, Simon tied up, threats, dirty talk, just a lot of angst and heartache, reader is threatened, it's non-sexual

Read on AO3

Stray Masterlist

Please don’t copy or steal my work, and please don’t post it on any other sites. I do not consent to my work being used for AI purposes.

─

Chapter Two - The Warehouse

It was the message you never thought you’d get.

You still don’t quite believe it.

But he’d never lie. Not about something like this, anyway.

Striding across the warehouse floor, passing SUVS, sealed tight crates and people standing or sitting around, all sorts of weaponry strapped to their bodies, you ignore some of the eyes that follow you.

If some of them are doubting, your presence confirms it’s true.

Reaching one of the many steel staircases, you walk up, the picture of ease and control. Inside, though, your heart is pounding and your mind is racing.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

At the top, you round the railing and shove a door open. Two men raise their heads, both sitting on chairs, using a small crate as a table to play a card game on, and the one to your left nods down the long corridor.

“Down there, last room.”

“Thanks.”

Heading down, you press your lips together, the strip lights above you blinking and flickering irritatingly. And, even more irritatingly, your heart’s still pounding.

Get your shit together, get your fucking game face on, and don’t hesitate.

Reaching the metal door, you straighten your back and knock twice on it.

“Come on in!” a voice calls, the Brooklyn accent muffled through the door.

Gripping the handle, you fix an easy, warm smile on your lips, push the door open, and step into the room.

And you fight hard to keep the smile there as your gaze lands on Ghost, in only his jacket, trousers and boots.

The masks are still on.

Okay. All right.

And then his eyes lock with yours.

Finding quiet, controlled rage there, you swiftly drop your gaze to his arms, which are tied behind his back, to the metal chair, and then down to his ankles, finding the same. Both wrists and ankles are tied by zip-ties, and you’d laugh at the absurdity of that if you were anywhere else.

If you were with anyone else.

“Ah, Stray, sweetheart.”

Your gaze lifts to the voice, and your smile widens.

“Well, hello there.”

Angelo Vitale returns your smile, white teeth almost glowing in the dim room as he lifts his hands, the gold ring on his little finger glinting.

“There she is.”

Raising your eyebrows, your eyes flick to Ghost before back to him. “I didn’t believe it when I read your message, but here we are.”

“Your pretty eyes don’t lie, sweetheart.”

“They certainly don’t.” Folding your arms, you keep looking at him as he now looks away to Ghost, grinning like he’s won the fucking lottery.

Which he has.

You don’t know how he’s fucking done it, but he has.

I suppose that’s what money can do for you.

Your gaze travels over his yellow silk shirt, pressed trousers, shining shoes.

It can get you a team of well-paid mercs.

Standing before Ghost, you try not to cringe as Angelo slaps his hand against the hard mask a couple of times.

“Caught ourselves the biggest fish in the lake, didn’t we? Your intel on the base was right.”

Ghost’s dark eyes snap to yours, and it’s with practised, painful ease that you can appear nonchalant.

“I wouldn’t have told you if it wasn’t, sir.”

You see the faintest movement of his jaw beneath the material mask.

Looking away, tilting your head, you smile at Angelo.

“Shall I get to it, then?”

“Y’know what…” Angelo inhales a breath, hands on his hips as he looks Ghost over. “... Think I wanna watch this one. See what you can do to make the legendary Ghost spill his guts.”

Ghost turns his head, tearing his gaze from yours, and looks up at him.

“Like to watch, do you?”

Angelo grins, placing his hands on his knees as he bends down, looking him in the eye. “Oh, yeah. I like to see what she uses, it’s like art.” He tilts his head, softening his voice as he exhales a breath. “Think I also wanna see what it is about her that keeps you comin’ back for more.” He lowers his voice a little more, turning his head to look at you. “It’s that sweet pussy, isn’t it? Can bring the greatest of killers to their knees.”

Ghost is looking at you, too, eyes hard, and you manage to stop your jaw from clenching.

Angelo turns his head back to him, nose almost brushing against the mask as he murmurs, “If you’re a good boy, you might even get to feel it later.”

Simon’s arms flex as his fingers tighten into fists behind his back, but he can’t stop looking at your fucking face.

Your fucking nonchalant face.

Angelo straightens suddenly, claps a hand down onto his shoulder. “What a nice treat that’d be, huh, big guy?”

Ghost finally tears his gaze away, looking up at him.

He wants to ram his knife into the man’s fucking throat, spill his blood all over that silk shirt.

He will, one day.

He’ll make you watch. Maybe then you won’t be so fucking nonchalant.

He knew you were a piece of work, but not to this extent. Telling this fucker about the base? He didn’t even know how the boys were, who was still alive. Vitale’s men had arrived swiftly, with barely any warning, and they were fucking good.

Now here he was, in this fucking shit show, with him, and you.

He looks over at you again, watches the mouth he’d so adored open, but knocking on the door halts you.

“Enter,” Vitale calls, hands sliding into his pockets as he steps away, and the door opens, a merc appearing in the doorway.

“War Lord, sir, there’s something you’ll want to see.”

“Ah, damn, all right, one sec.”

Ghost frowns as he looks over to Vitale. “‘War Lord?’ Thought you were War Dog.”

Vitale smiles down at him. “Not anymore.”

“You’ve rebranded then, like a fucking delivery service?”

Fucking hell, Simon.

Your fingers dig into your arm as Angelo laughs, smiling widely. The sound’s false to your ears, and your eyes don’t leave him as he moves closer to Ghost, shaking his head.

“You’re one fucking funny guy, huh?”

Before Ghost can respond, Angelo’s fist suddenly darts out, colliding with his jaw. Ghost’s head turns with the action, a small grunt sounding from him, and you will him to keep his fucking mouth shut.

But, of course, he doesn’t.

“Can only do that ‘cause I’m tied down, can’t you, mate.”

Angelo hisses out a breath as he punches him again. Then again, then again. In the same place, over and over.

And you just stand there, mind racing again as you grit your teeth.

But there’s nothing you can do. Not if you really want to keep him safe.

Finally, Angelo steps back, panting, strands of his dark, usually perfectly slicked back hair falling over his forehead, and he inhales a long breath, massaging his knuckles.

“Not laughing now, are you, buddy,” he smiles.

Then, licking his lips, he turns, heading towards the door.

Keep your mouth shut, please keep your mouth shut, please─

Ghost clears his throat. “Yeah, best to stop before you get your lovely little shirt all stained.”

Angelo spins, fist raising, and you swiftly step in front of him, smiling softly.

“Sir,” you murmur, hands stroking his biceps gently. “Leave some for me, yeah? He’s not worth it. Not worth you.”

Angelo, lips pressed together, nostrils flaring, stares at Ghost for a few moments longer before his gaze drifts to you, and your stomach roils slightly from how it softens.

“You’re right, sweetheart.” Lowering his fist, he cups your cheek. “Get what you can out of him. Make me proud.”

Dropping his hand, with one last look at Ghost, he then turns and strides out of the room, the merc shutting the door behind him. Having turned to watch him go, you move towards the door, locking it.

And you gaze at the door for a moment.

And then you turn, looking at Ghost.

He’s looking at you, blood slowly seeping through the cloth of the soft mask.

Still.

Silent.

The corners of your mouth lift into a gentle smile.

“So… The easy way or the hard way?”

“You told him about base?”

His voice is tight. He’s really fucking pissed, and, of course, you don’t blame him.

You shrug a shoulder as nonchalantly as you can, because you got here after them; before you could sweep the room for bugs or cameras.

“Should be more careful about where you leave your maps.”

A lie. He’s not careless, and Ghost’s eyes narrow because he fucking knows it, too.

You’d used other means, but neither the man in here or out there can know that.

“I don’t fuck─”

Inhaling a breath, you move closer with a faux-pout. “I’m a little insulted you don’t respect my skills and talents, Simon.” You stop by the table that’s shoved against the wall next to the door, tilting your head as you smile. “Well, I know you like some of them.”

Oh, he’s really fucking pissed.

“Why’re you still fuckin’ with that little fucker?”

“Jealous?” You laugh softly, chest twisting. “Tell me where the cache is. Before this gets messy.”

“I’m not telling you a fuckin’ thing.”

The way he’s looking at you, like you’re nothing more than scum… Well, you know you deserve it.

So you might as well go with it.

“All right. All right,” you murmur softly as you approach, and you lower to your knees before him, hands resting on his knees. And you caress them in small, gentle circles. “We can do this the easy way.”

His eyes haven’t left you, and you see the small movement of his throat as he swallows slightly. “Do you like doin’ this, hm? Whoring yourself out for him?”

Your hands stop. After a moment, a slow smile lifts your lips.

Then, you’re suddenly on your feet, no, you’re straddling him, sitting down heavily on his thighs. He couldn’t stop the grunt that escaped him as you had, his lips pressing together as you sigh and drape your arms around his neck.

“There’s that jealousy again, Ghost,” you tut softly, practically purring. “I just hate it…”

Your hips are moving slightly, and he clears his throat quietly as you grind against his cock. Your hand is cradling the back of his head, too, fingers gently stroking. Sighing again, you lean your head against his, lips close to his ear. It’s with a soft, breathy voice that you next speak.

“... You know… I could be all yours…”

He just can’t help his eyes from falling shut, your hips continuing to grind.

“… I could leave him… work with you, only you… serve you…”

His eyes open and he pulls his head back, arching it away. “Stop it.”

Drawing your own head back, you smile at him. “What’s wrong, Simon, darling? You don’t like the thought of me serving you? Only on my knees for you? Your cock being the only one I suck, the only one I cum on─”

You break off with a sharp inhale as he bucks his thighs suddenly, forcing you to grip his shoulders.

“Stop. It.” he gravels, and you exhale a laugh.

“Why? Getting you all excited? Can’t you control yourself?” Your hands glide down his shoulders to his chest, moving to the zip of his jacket. “Why don’t I help you with th─”

His thighs buck again, making you grip on, and he hisses, “Get your fucking hands off me.”

Tilting your head, you press your lips together, exhaling a breath through your nose.

“You know I could remove your mask right now, don’t you? I’m surprised they haven’t already, but, then again, Angelo loves mystery, suspense. But I could take it off now, bare your face to me, to him, to the world. But I’m not doing that, am I, Ghost. So give me something.”

He looks at you, brow furrowing a fraction.

“Why haven’t you? Why haven’t you ever?”

You smile. “Tell me something.”

“You tell me.”

You gaze at him.

He doesn’t say a word.

After a few moments, you exhale a laugh. “As much as I love playing this game with you, if you don’t tell me something, anything, then he’s going to come in here, and he’s not as charming as I am.”

“Send him in, think I’d rather him than you.”

“Big words from a big man.” You’re smiling, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “Trust me, you don’t. Tell me.”

He realises then, suddenly, stupidly.

You’re scared of Vitale. Not just for yourself.

For him.

Pressing his lips together, he holds your gaze and murmurs, “If you get these ties off, I can get us out.”

You frown lightly, briefly, then your features shift into practised seduction, your head tipping back a little as you laugh.

“Oh, lovely. And where would we go, Ghost, hm? The Bahamas? No, I bet you’d love somewhere like Skeggy─”

“I mean it. You know we could both do it, together─”

“Stop it.”

The hissed words had left you so quickly, so quietly. Your lips barely move as you continue, “You can’t win this one, Simon. Don’t make me have to watch.”

He opens his mouth, when, suddenly, you’re off him. Sighing loudly, in one swift movement, you unbuckle your vest and drop it onto the table. Removing a phone from your belt, you blow out a loud breath as you tap away on it for a couple of moments, then you toss it onto the vest. Turning to him, you place your hands on your hips.

“Come on, then, the 141, what’s the 411 on that?”

“What─”

“What are you all up to at the moment?”

“You know I’m─”

“Why are you here?” Your eyes have narrowed suddenly, and you fold your arms as you step closer. “They’re just zip-ties, Simon, you could break them in your sleep. Is this all a ploy?”

“Stray─”

You sigh heavily and raise your eyebrows. “I can see you’re going to be stubborn. Though, having you all tied up here, all for me…” A slow smile lifts your lips. “... It really would be a waste.”

You step forward again, nearly infront of him, and he tips his head back, gazing up at you, and he hates─

There’s two hard knocks on the door.

“Stray,” a voice calls.

Vitale.

He snorts as your arms drop. “Go on, run to your master.”

Smiling, you turn your back to him, heading towards the door. “Enjoy the view.”

Unlocking the door, you open it and step out without another look at him. Moving into the corridor after closing the door, your smile lingers as you look at Vitale, his hands on his hips.

And he’s pissed.

Before you can speak, he does, eyebrows raised.

“What’s takin’ so fuckin’ long?”

“This is Ghost, sir. It’s not going to be like with others.”

“Oh, so you’re not the fucking best at what you do, then? You’ve lied to me, countless times? Why the fuck do I keep you around then?”

Whatever it was the merc had to show him, it’s rattled him, and you can’t have his mood escalating.

Not with Simon here.

Softening your voice, you step closer to him. “Sir, I only meant that it will take a little longer. It will happen, I will find out for you.”

He shrugs briefly, staring at you. “How long we talkin’, then? Couple minutes, hours? Days?”

“No, not days─”

“How long, then?”

“Within the hour.”

He sighs heavily. “You have half an hour. Fuckin’ do something.”

You nod. “Yes, sir.”

Pressing his lips together, he then tuts as he drops his hands. “Hey, hey, come here…” When you step closer, he cups your face, tone softer when he continues. “You are the best at what you do, all right. I didn’t mean to be a dick.”

You smile softly. “I know, sir.”

“Hm.” His gaze drifts over your face, thumbs moving slightly against your cheekbones. “You gonna come to my room tonight?”

You shift your smile to a gentle, kind smirk. “Sir, you know I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

He sighs heavily again, blowing out the breath as his thumbs continue brushing against your skin. “I know. I know that. You only fuck for business. Maybe I’ll put a job out on myself one day, then I’ll get what I want.”

You manage a laugh, an easy smile. “Maybe you should, sir.”

“Hm.” He’s smiling, too. Then his brow dips a little, the smile lingering. “You don’t enjoy fucking him, do you?”

You’re quick, making your eyebrows rise. “Of course not. That’s just business. Certainly not pleasure.”

“Uh-huh…” His thumbs are still stroking your cheeks. “… and in all the times you’ve fucked him…” One hand moves, cupping the back of your head. “… you’ve not been able to give me a single piece…” The long fingers of his other hand have slipped down to your neck, where they squeeze. “… of useful information.”

You hold your ground, exhaling a strained breath.

“Sir…” you rasp. “… I gave you… the base location…”

“Oh, yeah. That was good.”

He holds you for a few moments longer, staring at you, then, he releases you, hands dropping to his sides.

You inhale quick breaths as quietly as you can, licking your lips, and he smiles widely.

“Let’s get somethin’ even better this time, huh. ‘cause you know what I’ll fuckin’ do to you if you don’t, all right.”

You nod, smiling lightly. “Of course, sir.”

“Don’t disappoint me. 30 minutes.”

“Yes, sir.”

He waves a hand at you, his other pulling his phone out of his pocket as he turns away, heading down the corridor.

“Go on, go, be brilliant.”

Watching his retreating back, you then turn to the door, your smile falling the moment you do, and you swallow hard.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Think.

Opening the door, you step back into the room and close it behind you, locking it. Ghost’s eyes flick to you, his head lifting.

“You done sucking him off? That didn’t take long.”

You shove away the all too fucking familiar pang in your chest, the ache, the anger… No… You keep the anger.

“Yeah, actually, he likes to be edged all day. Then I let him fuck me at the end of it.”

He just grunts, disgust faintly in his gaze, and you just fucking…

Striding across the room, you sit down heavily in his lap again, straddling him, and drape your arms around his neck once more.

He’s pulled his head back a little, frowning. “Fuck off─”

“Where were we?”

Angling your head, you press a firm kiss to his lips through the material mask. You taste blood.

He grunts, trying to pull his head back further, and then you pull back, gazing at him.

“You’re fuckin’ mental, do you─”

You shove off his hard mask, gripping it in your hand.

It’s minute, but you feel him stiffen under you.

There’s a pang again. The one you hate the most.

Sadness.

Gazing at him, after a few moments you lean over a little, placing the mask on the table, and then you turn back to him. He’s silent now, watching you, stone-still.

Lifting your hands, you keep your eyes on his as you gently and slowly fold up the material mask until his mouth is exposed. There’s bruises already forming along his jaw. His split lips are parted a little, and you can feel the small, shallow breaths he’s taking. Almost like he’s holding them.

You lower your hands.

He doesn’t speak.

Neither do you.

Then, reaching forward, you kiss him gently.

Then again, then again, then again, capturing his lips in soft, short kisses.

Your eyes have closed so you can’t see if his have, and your hands settle on his shoulders, and you almost don’t want to look, anyway, don’t want to know. You just kiss him over and over and over─

He pulls his head back, practically recoiling.

“What’re you fuckin’ playin’ at?”

Opening your eyes, you gaze at him, hate the confusion and disgust you find again.

“We never do this, do we,” you murmur softly. “Just kiss. I think I’d like to, while I have you here.”

He stares at you. Then his brow furrows.

“Did he teach you this technique?”

Now you stare at him. And then you smile.

“Do you want me to show you what he’s taught me?” Suddenly you grip the back of his neck and lean closer, murmuring into his ear, “Do you want me to show you the filthy things I do for him? What I say? How I moan for him?”

He’s pulling against the ties, and it gives you a twisted sense of satisfaction.

Maybe this is your new technique.

Using his imagination.

Licking your lips, you continue softly, “I wait for him, naked, my legs spread. Pussy dripping. I ache for his touch, his mouth, his tongue. He buys me lingerie. Delicate little things that he likes to rip off my body. And then I let him use me however he likes, and I love it.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he hisses, trying to put some distance between you both, but he can’t.

You angle your head even further towards him, lips caressing the shell of his ear. “Oh, do you not like hearing about this? Thinking about it? Picture it, Ghost, me spread on his bed, his cock inside me, me moaning his name─”

He bucks his thighs once more, forcing your head back so you have to look at him. Fire burns in his eyes, unfiltered, uncaring.

“Thanks for reminding me that you’re nothin’ but a whore. You fuckin’ deserve each other.”

You stare at him.

Your heart shatters.

Sadness slips from your bones… and it roils, contorts, burns itself into cold fury.

You lean closer.

“I think we do, Simon. Because I can touch his face. I caress it when he’s done fucking me, when his cum is leaking out of me I kiss every inch of it and I love him─”

It happens so quickly.

He grunts harshly as the cable ties securing his wrists snap and suddenly you’re off of his lap with a gasp, the ones securing his ankles also snapping, and then he’s surging forward and you’re surging backwards, almost stumbling over your feet until your back hits against the cold tiled wall, forcing another sharp gasp from you, and you’re trapped between it and him.

And he towers over you, staring down at you, chest nearly heaving as much as your own, and you hadn’t caught your expression in time.

Eyes wide, lips parted.

Startled.

Frightened.

You’d gone too far, and you know it.

Whatever happens next, you deserve it.

He’s still just staring at you, and you don’t dare look away from his gaze.

Waiting.

And then, finally, he speaks, voice so, so quiet.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

Swallowing, you inhale a slightly shaking breath.

“Simon, I─”

Gunshots break out in the distance, echoing.

Both your heads snap to the door.

Gunfire. Fighting. This you can handle.

It’s enough for you to pull yourself together.

Just about.

Looking at him, you inhale a quietly trembling breath. “Aren’t you a lucky boy.”

And then you’re darting past him, shoulder knocking into his arm, striding for the door, grabbing your vest and phone on the way.

And he lets you leave.

Your heart pounds as you unlock the door, yank it open and step out. The lights are flickering even more, parts of the corridor in darkness, but you stride down it without another thought, swiftly pulling your vest on and securing it.

Keep going, get out.

Think later.

Feel later.

You stride past doors and the place the mercs had been, cards scattered across the crate, the chairs on the floor. You can hear the gunfire coming from below, from the warehouse floor, but you carry on, shoving your phone back onto your belt.

Vitale will already be gone, his bodyguards, the nastiest of the fuckers here, will have got him out. They never come for you.

Turning a corner, you think of the nearest and quickest roads, which safehouse will be best, or wheth─

You sense him a second too late.

A hard body rams into you, shoving you back, a forearm against your throat pinning you against the wall.

“Where is he, Stray?” Soap hisses.

You sigh, lifting your chin to try and take in a full breath.

“Is that your gun or are you just happy to see me, gorgeous?”

He snorts, pressing his gun harder into your stomach. “Don’t flatter yourself. Where is he?”

“Room down at the end.”

“In one piece?”

You flash a smile. “If you’re quick.”

Pressing his lips together, he then releases you, stepping back.

“Funny.” His jaw moves as you rub at your neck. “Suppose I should be cordial and thank ye for the coordinates, saved us a lot of time.”

You drop your hand, inclining your head. “You’re welcome.”

“He’ll be fuckin’ thrilled ye─”

“Don’t tell him.” You’d snapped the order, eyes darting to lock with his.

He lifts both hands in a gesture of surrender, eyebrows high. “All right, all right. Jesus. Something wrong with ye. Both of ye.”

“Thanks, you’ve saved me a lifetime of therapy.”

Suddenly, a door slams open around the corner from the way you’d come, gunfire spilling into it.

You look at him, and he steps aside, jerking his head to the way he’d come. “Go.”

You treat him to a small, genuine smile.

“Thanks.”

He arches an eyebrow. “Suppose we’ll be seein’ ye again soon.”

“If you’re lucky.”

Striding past him, you break out into a jog, hearing him do the same as he heads towards the fighting.

Shoving a door open, you move down some backstairs as you press your lips together, pangs thudding through your ribcage.

Yeah, if you were lucky, and I wasn’t so fucking stupid, you’d never see me again.

─

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