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youandtom2 · 2 years

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Praise You Like I Should (CEO!Tom Holland) 18+

Summary: You were always a people-pleaser, desperate to do right by everybody no matter what they asked. Being an intern, your boss Jackson exploited your people-pleaser tendencies in a very unprofessional manner, and CEO Mr Holland wasn't happy about it... Themes: smut! little bit of fluff and angst, dom!tom and sub!reader, oral (m+f), major praise kink, sir kink, overstimulation, masturbation (alone) , slight jewelry kink w/c: 10k+

MASTERLIST

You look over the dimly lit hall before you, tables decorated to the nines with hand-folded serviettes, silver-ware suited for royalty, gleaming as they sit on a fresh white linen table cloth, surrounded by tall plum-coloured cushioned chairs. There’s about twelve tables dotted around the hall identical to one another, waiting to be filled by guests in about an hour or so. The room sparkles with the metallic colouring of birthday banners and balloons floating around the room, illuminated by the dancing, multicoloured disco lights.

The surprise birthday party you were instructed to organise is for Mr Holland’s business partner, Taylor. They’re each other's yin and yang, mixing together like oil on water but somehow they make it work. The informal Taylor bases his relationship with his employees on friendship and a sense of mutual equality, where the formal Mr Holland prefers professionalism and respect on top of trust. Nevertheless, both are equally respected as bosses and businessmen in their own right. It doesn’t necessarily mean you all prefer one over the other, but if you had to make a choice as to who you would rather hang out with, the answer is an obvious one.

As an intern, it isn’t exactly part of your remit to organise and host birthday events, but your boss, Jackson, ordered you to do it. Jackson’s notable within the workforce for several reasons; he’s outgoing, social, ambitious, confident, and is unofficially Taylor’s kiss ass. He appointed himself (ahem, you) with the responsibility of organising Taylor’s surprise party, not because he thinks he’s capable, but because he’s looking for recognition. What people don’t know is that he’s actually a lazy guy who has gotten himself drunk with the taste of superiority, abusing you as his own personal slave for favours both big (entirely consequential and out of your depth) and small (worthless and petty). Unfortunate to be his first intern, you’ve realised how gluttonous he’s become with you at his disposal how and whenever he pleases. However, being placed at the bottom of the pecking order, you’re not at liberty to say no.

Jackson’s not your favourite boss by any means, but by God he keeps you busy. It tooks weeks for you to organise the venue, the catering, the entertainment, the decorations, the invitations, most importantly the cake, and the little oddities that everyone forgets about like hand-written name tags and having straws at the bar. You’ve been working relentlessly and after weeks of stress, late and often sleepless nights, numerous phone calls and emails, cancellations and rebookings, tonight is the night that all of that can end. The curse of being a perfectionist and a people-pleaser can finally release its hold on you.

Just as you finish clarifying the itinerary with the hotel’s bar staff, you notice a dark figure walking through the entrance. Your eyes trail nervously from the black patent shoes to the white shirt peeking beneath the black suit of which belongs to Mr Holland. He has his tortoise shell glasses perched perfectly on his nose, reflecting the colours of the disco lights as he walks towards you, stoic and poised. A silent ‘fuck’ crosses your mind.

Being the CEO eight floors above you, Mr Holland’s face isn’t one that you see as consistently as Jackson’s. He’s at least 6 tiers above you in the pecking order, one of two to take superiority over a long line of directors, specialists, managers, supervisors and assistants before you. So you can hardly blame yourself when you start to feel nerves gathering in your chest, despite how well-respected he is amongst the workforce.

His eyes finally find yours and he clarifies your name. You can appreciate that he’s at least taken the time to learn your face. “You're Jackson’s intern, right?”

Wow. He knows you more than you thought. “Yes sir. Is there anything I can do for you?”

“No, thank you. I was just coming to take a look around. I’m normally part of organising the celebrations but this year I’ve been too busy.” He wordlessly waves a hand before weaving in and out the tables, reading each name tag as he passes by. You watch nervously as he inspects the room until finding himself in front of what you call The Shrine with folded arms, almost bursting at the seams. More simply, it’s a collage of photos of Taylor taken over the years pieced together in a mosaic standing on an easel, gathered and no less arranged by you, of course. Next to it stands an empty corkboard, waiting to be filled with pictures from tonight's celebration, provided by the pop-up photobooth beside it.

“Whose idea was this?” There’s a warm smile on Mr Holland’s face.

“Mine, sir.”

“And the handcrafted name tags?”

“Also me, sir.”

“I love it. It’s very creative.” You exhale loudly, relieved. The people-pleaser inside you starts to buzz, fluttering wildly at Mr Holland’s praise. “Did you…” His eyes squint narrowly, honing in on you. “Did you organise all of this?”

“Yes, I did. The venue and catering took some negotiating but once that was planned, the rest came with time.”

“Impressive.”

You’re about to thank him but you're interrupted by the obnoxious calling of your name in a voice that booms from the entrance of the hall. Jackson marches towards you and you stand a little straighter. He doesn’t notice Mr Holland standing in the corner of the room next to the shrine. Instead of Mr Holland announcing himself, which is what you expected him to do, he sinks his hands into his pockets and quietly observes from afar.

“I need a rundown--” Please, that would be great. “--and for the love of God where is the present I was supposed to get Taylor?” Thanks for getting me a present for him, I’ll pay you back.

Your answer is succinct and to the point. “I’ve left it in your hotel room; it’s a dinner reservation at Keens Steakhouse in New York. As for tonight, the bar will be open for guests when they arrive at 6:30pm, Taylor will arrive between 7:00pm and 7:15pm for his surprise, the buffet will open at 7:30pm and cake will be served at 8:30pm. Last orders are at 11:30pm and the curfew is midnight. Everyone has checked in and has their hotel room key, although Kelsey couldn’t make it tonight, so her room is spare.”

Jackson gives a gruff nod, mumbling something intelligible under his breath. He cautiously looks to the bar, then narrows his eyes at you with a pointed finger wavering in your face. “I need tonight to be perfect so I need you to be sober. No alcohol. Got it?” In other words, I can’t be bothered making sure everything goes smoothly so I need you to stay sober while I get shit-faced. You nod, pursing your lips angrily as he walks away from you without a final word.

With Jackson no longer in sight, the tension finally deflates and your shoulders relax. You hate that every interaction with Jackson is a test of your skill and knowledge, caught in a vicious cycle of having to prove yourself worthy time and time again.

As Mr Holland emerges from the corner of the room, it’s an observation he also confronts having finally witnessed Jackson’s true authoritarian nature. His eyes are fixated on the golden doors in a stare so firm it could burn holes through the metal, and just when he steps into the brighter lights of the bar, his overall demeanour changes.

His jaw ticks when he finally faces you. “Jackson’s keeping you on your toes tonight it seems.”

“He always does, sir.” You shuffle awkwardly on your feet, recounting the numerous occasions his brutal demands have worked you to the bone.

“I don’t think I appreciate the way he talks to you.”

“Oh I’m used to it by now.”

“So he talks to you like that all the time?” Shit. In truth, Jackson would never have spoken so harshly to you had he known anyone was in the room let alone Mr Holland, but that was his mistake. One you’re not sorry for. “Well, if he isn’t going to tell you what an amazing job you have done, I will. You should be proud of organising all of this by yourself, it’s not easy. Well done.”

Your chest swells with pride as Mr Holland pats a gentle hand against your upper arm. Finally, your first taste of positive reinforcement. “Thank you, sir.”

Mr Holland’s smirk quirks at the edges. His hands find themselves deep within his pockets once again as he coolly and oh-so-calmly exits through the doors.

~~~~

You are insomnia personified. As relieved as you are that the night is going exactly to plan, with the nervous anticipation over, you just cannot wait to get to your bed knowing that the stress is over. You have hours of sleep to catch up on, a stone of weight to put back on and friends and family to respond to, and without a single alcoholic drink to lift your spirits, you’re finding it harder and harder to keep the exhaustion at bay. Beyond the exhaustion, however, there’s a sadness hidden deep within your conscience and while you glance over the decorations you hung up as the melodic singing of ‘happy birthday’ rings in the air, it spreads. It’s clear that people are oblivious to what makes you so downcast on a celebratory night as they pass nothing more than a glance your way, but in all honesty, you much prefer it to be that way. You wouldn’t want anyone to see the tear building in the corner of your eye.

For now, you thrive on the compliments you’ve heard about the venue, the decorations, the drinks and the food, each and every one of them satisfying your perfectionist mindset. Okay, so what no-one knows you organised the party, and sure, you can oversee the fact that none of the compliments are directed to you in particular, because in the end, you’ve gained Mr Holland’s approval and that’s enough for you.

Well, it was enough until Taylor took to the stage for a speech.

“...and a special shout-out to Jackson for putting this all together for me. This is absolutely amazing, I couldn’t have asked for more.”

Your heart sinks in your chest and your ears instinctively drown out the clapping and cheering of the crowd around you, eyes set in stone as they watch Jackson accept the dedication so graciously that it makes you sick to your stomach. It takes every ounce of energy you have left in you to suppress the wobble in your lip at the sight of Jackson soaking up the glory like a sponge. Jackson taking the credit for your hard work was something you should’ve expected from him. After all, he is lazy and will never be willing to admit it, definitely not in front of Taylor. Still, the chase for recognition was always going to be a losing battle for you; you’re an intern for fuck’s sake, you are merely just a name and a face for most, unfulfiling of the protagonistic arc the people here want in their stories. Jackson, the kiss ass, makes much more sense being the hero than an underdog intern.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, accepting defeat.

You claim an empty seat at an empty table in a dark corner of the room, far from the crowd mingling on the dance floor and you remain there as the party continues into the night. The glass of tepid water looks pitiful in your hands, its lack of taste offering no respite from your sorrow.

With fifteen minutes until last orders, you begin counting down to the moment you can retire to your bed which you know won’t arrive until after you’ve cleaned up the hall. You’re jealous of some of the guests who have already decided to leave the party.

The chair to your right suddenly scrapes across the floor and you’re slightly taken aback when Mr Holland sits close beside you and abruptly rests an elbow upon the table, blocking your view of the crowd and demanding your attention. A cedarwood scent silently announces itself and you inhale it deeply, finding sanctuary in its presence despite how startled you are by it. Your breath is simply taken from you when he shuffles himself closer. He isn’t wearing his usual attire; something a little less formal, but likely to be just as expensive. With that expensive taste comes his expensive appearance: clean, styled, decorated admirably and booming with authority. A warmth starts to take a hold of you.

His movements are harsh and his body moves with brute intention, but behind those curls, his eyes hold sympathy, knowing what is upsetting you before it even spills from your lips. You try to fake a smile but he can see right through it.

“I thought it was you that organised the party,” he calmly states.

“I did. But because Jackson instructed me to plan a party means he takes responsibility for it.”

Mr Holland doesn’t waste a single second. “It isn’t right. It’s one thing to speak to you so rudely, but it’s another to take credit for your hard work, and I’m starting to believe that Jackson doesn’t value you as an intern as much as he values the superiority that comes with it, am I right?”

Anxiously, your eyes catch Jackson lazily hanging over the bar and demanding another drink. If Mr Holland were to know the truth, it would get Jackson in a lot of trouble and the people-pleaser inside you is screaming at you to just deny it all. Your skewed perception of professionalism means skipping over these things, something about snitching just seems so petty and childish, and that’s not the impression you want to give Mr Holland of all people.

Mr Holland’s stern voice brings you back. “You’re not answering to him now, you’re answering to me. Am. I. Right?”

You gulp. “Yes, sir.”

“I intend to have a word with Jackson--”

“Mr Holland, it’s okay, really--” You try to protest but he quickly rests his hand on top of yours, his warmth enveloping it completely, and your mind halts. Your heart flutters the moment his fingers curl just the little bit tighter, a compassion that says more than words could. It’s genuine, caring, but firm in a way that’s supportive, pledging to do right by you.

“He will apologise to you and let everyone know the truth.”

“Please, I don’t want to cause a hassle or stir anything in the office, I just want to do well. And what would it change if people knew the truth? It doesn’t bother me that much, honestly. Besides, you know the truth. That’s all that matters to me.” Desperately and without thinking, you twist your hand and your fingers interlock, returning the squeeze with a soft smile. Mr Holland tries his best to return the sentiment but you can tell the whole ordeal still troubles him and sits discontented by your side, a regretful sigh heaving through his lips. Soon, after a silent plea to let it go, he eventually sits level with you with a brighter sparkle to his eyes and instantly, the mood is lifted. You notice how his hand doesn’t leave yours.

“You at least deserve a drink.”

“I shouldn’t, I’m closing up tonight and I’m working early tomorrow.”

He scowls for what seems like the hundredth time tonight, facing issue after issue the more you expose Jackson’s true nature. “It’s Saturday tomorrow, you should be having a day off.”

“It’s laughable you think I get a day off,” you chuckle. The sad thing is, he thinks you’re joking. Jackson often sends you his overdraft of reports to complete over the weekend and has the cheek to deem you lucky that he gives you so much wisdom and experience. You can’t imagine Mr Holland being aware of this…

“Don’t be silly darling, everyone is entitled to days off. Even Taylor took a day off today for his birthday.”

Again, your scathing laughter meets his ears and he tilts his head, that skewed eyebrow lifting high into his forehead. “No offence sir, but with his position, he can afford to. I don’t think interns have that same benefit--”

“Of course you do, it’s company policy that everyone is entitled to a day off on their birthday.” Before you get a word in, he’s already pulling out his phone from his suit pocket. “Tell me when your birthday is so I can make sure you get it off, and I know when to get you a birthday present. Taylor too--”

“Oh, you don’t need to do that.”

“We do it for all our employees, regardless if you’re an intern or not.” His calendar flashes to life before his eyes. “So when is it? June? July?”

Your mouth suddenly goes dry and it gawps like a fish, not a usual response to such an easy question. Your fingers knead together on your lap as the sadness once again materialises and Mr Holland quickly senses something is amiss.

“It’s…it’s today. My birthday is…was today.”

Mr Holland’s eyes widen with horror. It’s no less than a minute later that he finally replies. “And Jackson has you working?”

“Since 7am this morning. I had asked for my birthday off two months ago because I did actually read the company policies, but he said interns can’t request holidays because they’re not permanent. I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What?! For fuck’s sake…” Mr Holland twists his chair violently, its legs colliding with the table as he tries to face you more directly and leans forward, your knees slotting into the space between his. The wave of his anger has rolled back even higher in its tide and now, unlike before, there’s a vein popping at his temple. “Let me just make this clear, okay? Correct me if I’m wrong. You’re telling me that Jackson has knowingly denied you of your birthday holiday entitlement and instead had you plan someone else’s birthday just so that he can take credit for it, make you work through it and clean up after it as well?”

God. In his words it sounds so desperately sad. Up until this point, you were able to distract yourself from getting caught up in the tragedy of it all, but now there’s nothing stopping the gates from opening and wallowing in self-pity. Although your blurring eyes tell of your true emotions, the forced smile on your lips does everything it can to convince both you and Mr Holland that you’re not bothered by it. “Yeah, I guess so.”

Mr Holland’s heart inevitably sinks. In that moment, he thinks of the cruelty behind Jackson ordering you to buy and wrap his present for Taylor when you have none to open. He thinks of you, alone, buying the candles of the birthday cake you wouldn’t be blowing out. He thinks of you, just hours ago as the crowd sings happy birthday to another person, blissfully ignorant of your sorrow. He thinks of the hours you spent working when you should have been with your friends and family. It’s all of the things you truly deserve, but have been robbed from you.

He reaches once again for your hand, now resting on your lap, and the tips of his fingers graze your thigh. You would be a fool to miss it. “Darling,” he sincerely murmurs, almost as quiet as a whisper. “I’m so sorry.”

The fake smile takes lead and the rebel tear is wiped away. “It’s okay, it’s not your fault--”

“But it’s not okay. You…you didn’t even get to have a drink.” Damnit, your cheeks are wet again. “Did you at least get a break today?” Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO. Don’t cry in front of your CEO.

In fact, you spend so much time failing to not cry that Mr Holland assumes the worst. He takes in a long, deep breath and lures you into his embrace with a hand creeping up to the back of your head, and the second your forehead hits his shoulder, the dams break.

“I’m just so tired,” you sniff.

“You’ve been overworked, darling, that’s why.” His hand passes over your hair, gently cupping the curve of your head as he takes in every hiccup. His breath flows past your ears smoothly, broken up every few seconds with whispers of comfort. You feel horribly embarrassed, crying into the expensive suit of your CEO at the party you organised on your birthday: definitely not the definition of professionalism you are chasing.

“I’m sorry. I promise I’m not usually like this.” You retreat from his shoulder but the hand cupping the back of your head prevents you from travelling too far and you’re stuck, just inches from Mr Holland’s pitying eyes. He keeps you concealed from the crowd, but it’s not enough to hide from the burning glare of Jackson, his eyes drawing daggers at you from over Mr Holland’s shoulder. He’s somewhat frozen in a stupor, scarily steady for a man who was flailing over the bar minutes ago, but anger is a quick cure for intoxication.

Mr Holland’s voice sidles quietly into your ear. “You don’t need to explain yourself to me. Get yourself up to bed, I’ll deal with Jackson.”

“But--”

“I will not take no for an answer. Now go.” You shiver at the stern tone, appearing only as he turns to lock eyes with Jackson who’s faring a guilty look upon his face. As Mr Holland brings you both to a stand, he gently encourages you towards the golden doors and although you should be indulging in the relief of finally being let off, you can’t pull your focus away from Mr Holland’s cold stare that refuses to stray from Jackson. In the few seconds that it takes to walk from your chair to the doors, a clear, obvious shift in mood transpires, one that is felt by the entire room because now it isn’t just you that notices Mr Holland’s sudden decline in temperament. Evidently, everyone is quick to sense the tension. The crowd’s lively dancing now settles into an awkward shuffle and the singing dulls into hushed whispers because they know to never underestimate the seriousness of Mr Holland’s anger. It’s uncomfortable and intimidating, even more so if you’re the reason for his vexation and if that’s the case, you should be on your knees begging for his forgiveness. It’s the one power Mr Holland holds that Taylor, his business partner, his equal, doesn't possess. This is your first time seeing him exercise this power and it’s incredibly daunting.

The beat of your heels clicking their way up the staircase is a quick one, not daring to hang around the unease any longer. The fresh smell of washed cotton that greets you in your room winds you down and you don’t spare a second of reflection before you strip yourself of your stiff dress, blister-inducing heels, thick make-up and the heavy stress. You slip right between the sheets, ready to drift asleep.

The lights are switched off, your eyes are closed and your body properly relaxes. Yet inexplicably you can’t settle into your bed no matter how much you toss and turn. Rationale convinces you that it’s because you’re in a bed different from your own, that the mattress doesn’t have the mould of your body imprinted on it, and although it’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, your inner conscience is telling you something else…

Flashes of memories made just half an hour prior spring to the surface and suddenly you’re watching yourself converse with Mr Holland again. But it isn’t exactly how you remember it.

For example, his hand is on your lap, gripping the curve of your thigh with his heat scorching through your skin when you know that, in reality, it was nothing more than a soft sweep. And when you both stood, you know he guided you with a gentlemanly hand, yet your dream sees his hand curving down the slope of your ass and squeezing the flesh. You have to refuse the idea of you shivering with arousal from hearing Mr Holland’s stern growl because truthfully, it was nerves.

Or…was it both?

You try to ignore it, but the seed has already been planted. Now all you can visualise is his fleeting touches, his soft voice praising you and calling you darling, the twinkle in his eyes as he sympathised for you, the caress of his hand through your hair as he comforted you, the way he cared for you, and fucking hell, the exhilaration of seeing him protect you so defensively when no one else did. His taut jaw, his clenched fists, his dark eyes, the pulsing vein at his temple, his eminence that commanded the room, the list is endless.

“F-fuck,” you stutter, succumbing to the pleasure of your own fingers toying with your clit. You don’t quite remember the exact moment your hand slipped beneath your underwear, too caught up in your fantasy of Mr Holland to realise. Regardless, the movie in your mind continues to play out and by now, none of it reflects any real events from tonight - it’s all purely fictional.

His hand slides up between your thighs. He dons a devilish grin because he knows there’s a whole crowd blissfully unaware behind him. An innocent gasp slips from your lips and it lures his eyes to your mouth, panting as he traces the letters of his name over your covered cunt as a sign as to who it belongs to. Overrun with anticipation, you bite your lip, feeling the pad of his finger slip beneath your thong and…

“Oh my god! Shit!” Your body seizes, curling into itself as your fingers dull to a small twitch between your clenched thighs. There’s a blissful moment where you ravish the hot rush of blood pulsing at your pussy, letting it bubble until it slows to a simmer, and only when you come down from your high minutes later do you fully realise what has just happened. Eyes split wide open, you rise from your bed.

You just masturbated fantasising over your CEO.

What in the hell have you gotten yourself into?

~~~~

The morning comes surprisingly quickly and the hotel's thin curtains don't fully shield you from the sun's glare. It’s bright, directly in your face and if you didn’t know any better, you would think that it’s spotlighting you because it knows what you did last night. As if you forgot…

The guilt still ruins your conscience and you feel nothing but regret; fantasising and sexualising Mr Holland’s kindness is just the pinnacle of everything you disagree with and it doesn’t exactly define the sort of professionalism you strive for.

Shaking it off as best you can, you refresh yourself with a shower and a harsh splash of cold water to your face, and by the time you open your laptop it’s 9am. There hasn’t been any emails from Jackson so far which you’re not too sure if you’re shocked by. It’s typical on a Saturday morning for Jackson to send you multiple reports with deliberately vague instructions that you would somehow have to decode and translate for yourself. But regarding last night’s events, perhaps he’s heeded Mr Holland’s words and decided to honour your weekend entitlements.

The white screen stares back at you, watching you nervously bite your nails as if you’re expecting a red notification to pop up, attached to an email from Jackson with hungover words. A minute or two passes by and alas, nothing. Not a word. In all honesty, you don’t have an issue with it, not at all, but it means that your routine is completely disrupted and you’re struggling to decide what to do with yourself. And without work, you have nothing to distract you from last night’s sin while it plagues your mind.

A new sweat arises and your cheeks flush with embarrassment. It shouldn’t have felt as good as it did, and that’s the part you think is the worst. Why did it feel so fucking good?

What brings you out of your self-loathing is three quick, quiet knocks echoing from your door in quick succession. Curious, you open the door and when you see who stands there in all his formal glory, you wish you hadn’t. Your heart immediately jumps to your mouth.

“Oh, Mr Holland--hi. I wasn’t expecting you…” Your words fade into a soft whisper when your eyes spot a small pink bag, its ribbon handles hooked daintily onto his fingers. Surely that can’t be what you think it is…?

He’s painfully quiet, a small smile painting his lips at what he sees; he’s never seen you dress so casually before and he wants to take a good long look at you, unsure of when he’ll see such a sight again. The weight of his stare burns holes through you, heating you from within.

Not a second later, he holds out the pink bag towards you and you forget to breathe.

“Happy belated birthday,” he gently voices. Your fingertips graze each other as you take it from him. For such a small, delicate bag, it’s certainly weighty and your stomach drops thinking about how much money he’s stupidly wasted on you…

“Thank you sir, really. You didn’t have to do that.” A nervous chuckle escapes your dry mouth. “How…how did you get this so quickly? It’s barely past 9 in the morning.”

“I have a few contacts who owe me a few favours. And I just felt so guilty about you missing your birthday. Sorry you couldn’t celebrate it like you should’ve.”

“Like I said, it’s okay--”

He shakes his head disapprovingly but surely, a taunting smirk begins to form. “Am I going to have to give you the same ‘talking to’ I gave Jackson last night to make you realise that it is definitely not okay?”

Yes, yes, yes, fucking yes. “No, no, of course not. Sorry, I suppose that’s just the people-pleaser in me.”

Mr Holland stands stoic before you, his head slightly tilted and his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes are watching you endearingly, drawing you into him, but everything else about him oozes something that makes you want to swallow a little harder. His confidence in himself is mildly intimidating and you wish you could feel the same. Just his being here creates a dizzying effect on you that you just can’t shake.

“You can think of this as a congratulations of sorts too.”

You tilt your head. “Congratulations?”

“Mh-hm,” his eyes flit over your confusion, a devilish, haunting smirk gracing his wet lips. “Congratulations on becoming a permanent member of Taylor and I’s company.”

Mr Holland admiring you be damned, you find yourself taking a step back in shock. “Are you…are you serious?”

“Of course I’m serious, do you think I would lie to you?”

“Not at all, I just, I thought it was going to be Jackson’s decision. I am his intern.”

You aren’t a fool to miss the way his jaw ticks at the mention of Jackson’s name and all too quickly, a ferocious fire consumes his eyes. A small shiver cuts through your skin. “You don’t work for Jackson anymore because Jackson no longer works for me.”

“What?!”

“What did you think when I said I was going to deal with Jackson? That he was going to continue working for me even after finding out he was treating you badly? Or finding out that he orders you to do his work over the weekends? Or even when he blackmails you into doing jobs beyond your remit? How could you possibly think that I would let that sleazy bastard feed off my pay when I know he isn’t capable of the job? You’re far more deserving of the position than he is, far more deserving of the appreciation and beyond capable.”

“Sir, I…I can’t thank you enough. I’m very grateful. I won’t let you down, I promise.”

“I know you won’t. Although I do sometimes wish you would’ve told me or Taylor about Jackson’s behaviour sooner. I don’t tolerate that kind of exploitation, not even for a second and you shouldn’t have either.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I was just so caught up in wanting to do well that I would’ve done anything to please the company.”

“Maybe you should stop spending your time trying to please other people, and focus on pleasing yourself.” His face gravitates just a hairsbreadth towards yours and in quieter, darker words, he whispers… “You were certainly capable of pleasing yourself last night.”

You take a timid step back, mouth agape. You can’t think of anything to say, not when the ringing in your ears starts to resonate louder and louder. Shame swells like a disease and you can feel the bile rising in your throat. You are almost certain you didn’t hear anyone outside your room last night, how could he have possibly known?

“I…um…I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

He smoothly leans against the door frame, his wicked grin tells you that he doesn’t believe a word you say. Nevertheless, he explains, not to worsen how mortified he knows you already feel, but to reminisce of the surge of adrenaline and lust that coursed through him last night.

“I came by late last night to drop off your present. I didn’t think you would still be awake so I planned on leaving it at your door, and just as I bent down to place it there, I heard just the softest of moans—“

“I think you must be mistaken—“ An uneasy chuckle barely covers your tracks, leaving you just as compromised as before.

“I thought you might’ve been with someone, but I then didn’t hear any other voices, so I assumed you were by yourself.”

“Sir,” you squeak, intending to finish your sentence but you just don’t have the words nor the confidence to deny him of what he already knows. You feel like a deer caught in the headlights, exposed and vulnerable without the faintest idea of how to get yourself out of his commanding presence.

A million and one emotions rage through you and drown you in a fluster. Your feet shuffle nervously beneath you, slowly inching your way back into your hotel room as you sense yourself losing control over the conversation. With a mouth drier than the Sahara desert, there’s not much else you can do or say to avoid falling victim to both Mr Holland’s taunting and your own taunting; last night’s images playing out before you more vividly now that he resurrects them.

The subject finally diverges, but it doesn’t mean you're any more comfortable with it. “Do you know you’re the only one that addresses me as ‘sir’?”

You shake your head, eyes inevitably averted. You didn’t know that, you just thought it was professional.

“You never corrected me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“Why not?”

“I liked hearing it. Just as much as I liked what I heard last night. But I need to know,” he takes a step to cross the threshold of your hotel room. “Was there anything…anyone in particular crossing your mind?”

“There was…” His jaw ticks furiously and you instantly get the notion that denying him is simply not a choice here.

“Who?” He demands in that stern voice you’ve heard only once before.

One word sits on your tongue and you know that as soon as it breaks the silence, the professionalism you worked so hard to build up will crumble before you. But the risk is entirely worth it.

“You.”

Mr Holland’s lips part and releases a snicker as if he knew, and the curl of his smirk becomes dangerous. He lets the singular word ring out into the air, and the tension envelopes you both in a suffocating bubble until he finally speaks. “You…what?”

“You, sir.”

His chest rumbles with approval and you even feel its vibrations fluttering low in your stomach. Desire consumes you; a desire to know what he’s thinking, to know what he’s planning to do with that compromising information, to figure out whether he’ll respond to it in a way that satiates your more promiscuous desires like the ones that distracted you last night. You would give anything to see what’s going on inside his head.

Inexplicably, he nods towards your pink bag, easily brushing over your last conversation like it was nothing to him and it completely throws you off. “You should open it.”

It takes a second to drag your eyes away from him. You actually forgot you’re still holding it in your hands. The tissue paper rustles loudly as you reach in-- “Inside.” Mr Holland urges. With a short nod, you lead the way, allowing him to slowly close the door behind you with a gut-wrenching squeak and a thunderous boom.

The second the door shuts, the air becomes taut, strained and harder to breathe and you dedicate all your efforts into ignoring your last conversation just as easily as he had, but he’s standing right behind you and the warmth of his breath skates past your ear and it’s all you can think about. Even without disclosing what he now knows, the presence of Mr Holland alone would bring about such unnerving effects, so you don’t find yourself at fault for struggling to keep it together.

From the pink bag you pull out a small white and gold box, wrapped with yet another ribbon. Inside is a silver chain, light and dainty, but the pendant it carries is nothing alike. The reflection of the sun hits the circular-cut diamond, becoming iridescent as it hits your eyes. The stone is slightly on the larger side, bigger than any other necklace you own, but it sits perfectly in the balance of being flashy yet classy. Expensive yet tasteful. It’s a piece that you can’t price and that exact thought scares you.

“It’s beautiful,” you softly murmur. The chain cascades elegantly across your fingers, almost mesmerising to watch.

Your eyes catch his movement in the mirror in front of you and steals your attention away from the necklace. He holds out his hand by your side, soft but firm.

“May I?” You almost flinch as his words hit your ear, the ripple of your shiver continues for long after. As the chain pools in his hand, he is equally gentle, handling it with expertise while he lifts it carefully over head and rests the pendant tenderly in the dip between your clavicles. Its icy cold touch seers your skin, heat radiating with each grazing touch of his fingers as they clasp the chain together behind your neck. Once secure, you admire the way it shines brightly against your skin tone, eyes momentarily lost in your image until you realise that yours are the only pair looking back at you. Mr Holland remains engrossed with the curve of your neck, his proximity close enough to be counting the beats of your pulse as it thumps beneath your skin and for all you know, it’s elevating, thrashing harder and harder while you watch with wide eyes as Mr Holland presses his lips against it.

The second his lips meet your skin, his hands find your hips, holding you steady to prevent you from buckling. A numbing tingle shoots through your nervous system at the feeling of Mr Holland swiping his tongue across the reddening bruise he’s leaving behind. Every kiss is with purpose, targeting each and every sweet spot as if he had a map to each of their location: the peak of your neck that connects to your jaw, the sensitive spot just millimetres below your ear, the slight curve of your shoulder that sits beneath the chain. He instantly claims you, and you show no sign of resistance when you find yourself voluntarily tilting your neck, begging for more.

You finally meet his eyes in the mirror, realising how cavernous his blown-out pupils are; that if you search too far you’ll become trapped. “This…” he whispers, planting another kiss to your ear, his hands beckoning to the chain, “is the only thing I’ll allow you to wear while I fuck you.”

A shameless, breathless mewl whines from your throat and a rampage of endorphins consumes you. As the first piece of insight to his mind, you don’t get nearly enough time to let it process in your head before his clawing hands are tugging at the drawstrings of your joggers.

The small nip to your neck is a wake-up call. This is real and this isn’t a fantasy of yours, only that it will be a recreation of what had you orgasming last night.

“You know, I can be a people pleaser too.” His hand slips beneath your joggers, but refrains from slipping beneath your underwear. “I can please you in so many ways.” As a testimony to his words, his fingers trace over the silk of your underwear, catching your bud in its travels and a silent gasp bursts from your lips. “But not without earning it. Do as you’re told, and I’ll do exactly that.”

Your head falls back onto his shoulder, words vacant, eyes rolling.

“Are you listening to me?” The hand on your hip squeezes harshly and you jerk in his arms. You have never agreed to something quicker in your life.

“Yes, sir! Oh—”

“Good. Then you can start by closing those curtains over there.”

His hand slips fluidly out of your joggers when you force yourself away from the subtle torment. The light dims a little, however you think it’s more for privacy than for light. When your back turns once again, Mr Holland sits himself on the edge of the bed, legs spread and leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. Whatever it is about him in that single second triggers something in you; attraction, lust, sex appeal, or all of the above. Whatever it is, it compels you to give yourself in to him.

A messy mixture of want, need and unrelenting desire brings you to your knees before him. His eyes sweep over your face, examining, analysing, translating every desperate twitch. He can even see your lips parting where he spots the remnants of teeth marks from when you had nervously bitten them in hidden moments. Smoothly, the pad of his thumb brushes over your lip, tugging it into a pout because that’s what he wants to see; you, desperate, pouting, begging for him. It soon pops back into place, his hand now curling around your chin and pulling you closer. His own lips are nothing more than a breath away from yours and you think he’s going to finally kiss you, but annoyingly, he only allows you to feel the shape of the words as he whispers them to you.

“So what is it about me then, hm? What do I do that turns you on?”

“It’s…it’s stupid.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh. “Let me rephrase.” The grip on your chin tightens and your noses collide. “Tell me what it is about me that turns you on.”

“Last night at the party, you were the only one that…cared. You made me feel like I wasn’t invisible.”

“What else?”

“You stood up to Jackson for me - you just looked so determined like you were unstoppable.”

He tilts his head in the other direction now, leaning in just as close, your breaths mingling together. You’re so desperate to feel his lips on yours. “And?”

“When…when you touched my thigh--”

“You were burning.”

“I was nervous--”

“Because of me.”

“Of course because of you. I was scared of disappointing you.”

A small snicker escapes him and leaves behind a wicked smirk. Two hands now firmly cradle your jawline and you think the moment has finally come. Why else would your heart be thumping in your chest?

“Not possible. I always knew you were a good girl. And I think you like being told that, don’t you? You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it. I saw that coy little look on your face the first time I told you how impressed I was. It was obvious that no one else had praised you like I did - you couldn’t keep yourself together. And I bet if I kept telling you how fucking sweet you are, and how much of an perfect angel I know you are for me, the second I slip my fingers into your tight little pussy, you’d be an absolute mess.”

Well, he’s not wrong. You’re already soaked.

“Please, sir,” you whimper. “Please just kiss me.”

Finally, finally, he pulls you in for a long, languid kiss, his tongue takes lead to taste every part of your bitten lips as they slot perfectly in between his, lingering longer with each time he captures them. The blood rushes so quickly through your veins you think you might implode, overwhelmed by just how good it feels that your hands suddenly grapple onto the cuffs of his shirt.

A satisfied hum buzzes against your lips, twisting your own into a small grin that unbeknown to you, Mr Holland could actually feel.

“Let me see you,” he demands, his hands plucking at the hem of your sweatshirt. When you don’t do it right away, a tight grip coils around your neck and stops the gasp leaving your mouth. “Do. As. You’re. Told.”

You’re baring your all for him (all except a diamond necklace) in a matter of seconds, standing before him as he leisurely leans back against the bed, resting on his elbows. Those predatory eyes roam your body, mapping out the shape and details, and imprinting them to memory.

“So fucking pretty…” He deliberately watches for your reaction and you crumble under the praise resulting in a mirthful laughter to shake his chest. His arms reach for your waist, luring you in with the tight grab of your hips until his lips sit just below your ribs. The heat from his breath hitting your skin makes you involuntarily wriggle, but he doesn’t allow for any movement from you, not unless he permits it. You feel his lips suddenly, trailing across your ribs and up your chest. “Do you know what good girls like you do for me?”

“What?” You breathlessly murmur.

“They get on their knees,” Mr Holland pauses to let you act on it. Now you’re looking up at him as his knuckle ghosts over your cheeks and he mingles closer. “They look at me right in the eyes and they beg me to give them a taste, to let them suck me off because they’ll do anything for a reward, even if it is just a few words of praise. So let’s hear you, pretty girl. I want to hear you beg me with that sweet, innocent voice of yours.”

You take a cautious breath. “I want to taste you so badly, sir. Please. Will you let me?”

“Hmm.” He purses his lips. Shit. It isn’t good enough for him and he spots the panic in your eyes. All of a sudden, you begin pleading in such a desperate, childish tone you didn’t know you were capable of. Even your lip begins pouting as the need to please him becomes so overwhelming that, unexpectedly, your eyes water, like you’re facing life or death. And he is the decider.

“Wait, wait, no, please, I want to make you feel so good, so, so, so good. I can do it, I promise, and I can be good for you if you let me. Please sir, I really need it. I’ll do anything.”

Mr Holland smiles and gently kisses you with approval, just the shortest of pecks of reassurance before he leans back and nods towards the zipper of his suit trousers, tented with the erection that’s pleading to be satisfied. You waste no time in unbuttoning, unzipping and pulling free his hard cock that almost dwarfs your hand and you stare at him with such bewilderment, a stare that is returned by a certain smugness, a confidence that has you licking your lips.

There’s a surge of instinct coursing through you and your brain convinces you that there’s nothing else you should be doing, that your whole purpose at this very moment is to do as you promise; to please him, to make him feel good, so when you hear his moans the second you wrap your lips around him, your heart flutters with fulfilment. It’s a sensation you keep chasing, growing stronger the longer you bob your head up and down his cock, every time his praise seeps from his lips, and you just about lose it when his fingers comb through your hair. You offer every trick in the book; swirling around your tongue around the head of his cock, sweeping it across the small slit to collect the small bead of cum, teasing him before taking him down your throat and gagging on him. Not too little, not too much. Consistency is key.

You’re not sure how much of an idea he has about just how dedicated you are in your mission to prove yourself to him, that you’re desperate to show how capable you are by what you’re willing to do; perhaps a horrible side-effect of having to constantly prove yourself to Jackson with each conversation, but with Mr Holland, there’s an element of belief and confidence: a contradiction between Jackson’s ‘I don’t believe you until you prove it’ versus Mr Holland’s ‘do it because I know you can’.

Mr Holland’s head falls back, his eyes closed, and falls into an eerie silence. If it wasn’t for his hand still combing through your roots, you would’ve thought he wasn’t satisfied with you. Still, you keep going, running your lips and tongue down his shaft and returning slowly back up again where you get a teaser of the bitter-sweet taste you’re vying for. He doesn’t say anything for a while and you’re undecided of whether you’re doing so well that he’s speechless, or you’re not doing enough that’s worthy of his praise. It’s hard to tell with his head tilted back, and you begin to lose faith. You’ve become so drawn into his voice and words that you feel lost without them.

‘You like being recognised to the point where you need to be reassured of it.’

“Sir,” you meekly voice, leaving a beat to suck on the head of his cock. “Am I making you feel good?”

The depth of his growl sends a spike of arousal straight to your clit. He spits out his words in a manner that’s uncontrollable. “Fucking incredible.”

His head finally lifts and his eyes pin on you, fully blown and dilated. “Look at you - oh fuck - taking me so well. Knew you’d be a good girl but f-fuck, I don’t know if I can hold it in any longer.”

You reply with a wanton mewl, your dopey, tear-stained eyes saying the words your mouth can’t. You need to do something that would push him over the edge, do something that would completely shatter his world, never to be forgotten. He’s already so close, and you're already dripping onto the carpet, and with one last final trick up your sleeve, you catch his eyes, sink yourself onto him until your nose bashes against skin, and fight through the gag. Teeth baring, you slowly, lightly, graze your teeth up his cock, ghosting over every vein that pulses, leaving behind the soothing aftercare of your soft lips. By your side, his thighs twitch and by the time you reach the head of his cock, an explosion happens.

Mr Holland swings forward, grappling onto your head as you drink down everything he gives you. His entire body tenses, trapping you into a headlock and just only for a couple of seconds do you feel yourself losing breath. It's slightly tense and panic-inducing but it doesn’t matter, because above you he’s panting heavily, enclosing his thighs around your head and holding onto you for dear life. It’s all the signs you need to know that you’ve done what you promised, you have proved yourself.

“Fucking hell,” Mr Holland pants. His grip loosens around you and your lips release him with a pop. The instant your lips are free, he claims them, humming into them with adoration. “That was…” A soft, tender kiss. “The best goddamn…” Then another. “Blow job I’ve ever had.” He kisses you for a final time with a smile laced through it, and rests his forehead on yours to give himself some time to catch his breath. “So good…” he breathes. “So, so, so good. Sweet angel. My sweet angel.”

There isn’t anything to describe the burst of achievement that swarms your chest when you hear those words and your cheeks inevitably heat under his hands. You’re smiling, obviously smiling and no matter how hard you bite your lips to hide it, the pull is too strong. You make yourself far too goddamn easy to read so when Mr Holland catches a glimpse of your reaction, he smirks, clearly amused, and simultaneously reaches down the length of your body until his hand finds sanctum between your thighs.

“Hmm, you’re soaked, darling. Don’t you think we should do something about it? After all, you’re earned your reward, and I’m dying for a taste of that messy, little pussy of yours.”

You release a shaky breath when his fingers start exploring. “Yes, oh god, yes.”

“Yes…what?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Better. Let’s not make that mistake again.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Now--” In a vice-like grip, Mr Holland encircles your waist and your body burns against the rough cashmere of his suit. It’s surprisingly stimulating as he casually hauls you off your feet, but you would much rather the heat of his skin. Nevertheless, your back soon meets the soft cotton of your sheets as he lays you to rest on the bed, remaining shadowing above you basking in the sight of your naked, wanting body. The diamond that nestles deep into the base of your throat twinkles obnoxiously in his eyes and he almost grows jealous of the way it hugs your neck. However, it's a jealousy he can overlook as his eyes wander over the peak of your breasts and your glistening cunt, because he knows that they are all for him.

Mr Holland promptly sinks to his knees, placing his head in between your thighs, his eyes never straying from your cunt. There isn’t a moment of hesitation when he swings his arms to cross over your hips, dragging your legs effortlessly over his shoulders and diving, tongue first, into your cunt. It’s a complete invasion of his touch, his tongue immediately swirling around your clit with a careful, consistent pressure that deep down, you know will end you in minutes. The gasp is telling of your struggle to keep composed, gradually crescendoing into a moan as that amorous tongue descends down your slit, licking you up in long, fat strips. An urge in your hips begs for attention, wanting to raise higher to ease the tension building deep in your stomach, but you're trapped, locked in place with no routes of escape and you have to tell yourself that you just have to tough it out.

But it’s harder said than done when he begins slotting his tongue into your hole, tasting and caressing every inch of you he’s capable of reaching. Digging deeper and deeper, his mouth consumes the entirety of your cunt, humming into it to push you further over the edge. He knows you’re hanging on by a thread, but it doesn’t mean he’s willing to slow down. And just then, an evil, malicious thought spawns in his mind which he voices immediately.

“You’re not cumming until I say so. Understood?”

The feeling of you clenching to stop the impending orgasm has him chuckling. He knew you were close.

“Such a sweet, little angel. So obedient too, right?” He blows a gentle breeze onto your clit and you simply whimper in response. “Right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Satisfied, Mr Holland has your cunt in his mouth again, salivating over its taste as he suckles on your clit, your folds, your skin, anything to lure out what he knows he’s going to get eventually, but it makes it twice as appetising when he knows your orgasm is only at his command.

Meanwhile, your heart stammers in your chest with each tug of his lips. Whatever sanity you have left to cling onto, you claw at it with desperate hands, fighting to hold up the wall that blocks the blood rushing to your cunt, holding your breath to stop the bubble from bursting, because fuck, you are ready to snap. You can’t help but notice how he’s taken a page from your book, pleasuring you at a steady consistent pace, not too much but not too little. Unsurprisingly, the result is the same but the conditions are far worse.

“Oh my god, please let me cum, I can’t hold it anymore.”

His grip only tightens, his tongue moves faster and his mouth gets hotter.

Your hands, of a mind of their own, decide to condemn your obedience and push at his arms around your hips in an attempt to get away. Despite his obvious strength, you somehow manage to get a microsecond of respite, but his mouth only sucks you back in again, murmuring only one word that runs laps around your head.

“Obedience.”

“I can’t, sir, please, I can’t h-hold on. Fuck!”

“Oh dear.”

“NO! No, no, no, no, okay, okay, I’ll do it, I can hold on. Just…please go slower.”

His dark cavernous eyes meet yours from behind his arms, unmoving even as he relishes the taste of your slick, challenging you for only a second before he thankfully listens to your wishes. Weakened, your head flops back onto the bed with a small bounce, eyes drifting shut as the feeling in your stomach calms and a small relief hugs your heart. It’s a small price to pay to lose the feeling of euphoria that was going to course through you…only if Mr Holland had let it or if your people-pleasing traits had failed you, none of which had actually happened.

The feeling deflates but the pleasure still lingers.

“You taste so delicious, darling. I could eat you all day.” Arousal jumps to your clit like a flash of electricity. “And you’re doing so well for me, how could I ever stop?” This time, it’s his tongue, soft and caressing. “And this pussy; so pretty, so fucking pretty, I could just play with it for days.” His finger begins circling your clit not too long after he spits into it. By now, you realise what he’s doing. He’s feeding into your need for praise that, along with the small touches and sweeping licks, builds you up just as quickly and suddenly as before, and once again you’re struggling to cope. “I know you can be such a good girl for me, I know you can do as I say, and you have no idea how much it turns me on when you do.”

“Sir…” You warn. He instantly recognises the desperation.

“I’ve got one last instruction for you, angel.” He sucks on your clit for just a couple of seconds, just to get you closer and closer to falling apart. “Cum for me. Cum in my mouth.”

“Fuck!” You scream as an endless stream of euphoria consumes you, hitting you in a sudden white wash of heat that riddles your entire body top to toe. You can feel your cunt clenching erratically, between homing an orgasm and suffering under Mr Holland's continuous lashings, it can't, not for one second, rest until either relent. You feel your own slick, hot and bothered, trickling down your ass but before it gets the chance to meet with the white sheets beneath you, Mr Holland sweeps it up expertly with his tongue, partnered with a primal growl of pleasure.

By the time Mr Holland has finished cleaning up every inch of your cunt and ass with his tongue, he proceeds to kiss his way gently up your body, not forgetting to leave your tits untouched and pinches your buds between his lips. You have just enough energy to cradle his head, allowing yourself the pleasure to run your fingers through his hair, moving with him while he leaves sharp kisses to your chest, your collar bone, your neck, ear and jaw, until once again, those hungry lips claim yours.

Still somewhat recovering, you purr quietly, content with the overall sense of pleasure, both of your sexual and people-pleasing needs.

Your lips slowly part. The kiss ceases but your noses brush off one another gently, still basking in the blissful, intimate aftermath of what's just happened. Your CEO above you remains, hovering over you with admiration in his eyes, running over your features as if it is the first time he's seeing them, adoring them all over again.

There's two words sitting on the tip of his tongue, hidden behind a smirk because he knows what he'll see when he speaks them.

"You're beautiful."

Of course, his prediction comes true. Your cheeks redden, your eyes roll away and your teeth sink into your swollen lips, muttering incoherently about it not being true but thanks him incessantly, but Mr Holland is too caught up in your coy modesty to rebuttal. It's just like the first time he complimented you, and he realises then and there that he's addicted to being the person that makes you shy, blushed, diffident.

Being a CEO, he does indeed posses significant power in the palm of his hand, obtained by hard work, dedication, commitment and sacrifice, but for him, there isn't a power stronger than the one he has over you and all it takes is a few, simple, praising words.

"We still have another three hours until check out."

Your eyes and ears perk up. "Sir?"

Cautiously, he shuffles above you, innocent until you feel his cock sliding into you and he relishes the catch in the back of your throat at the sudden pressure forcing its way fluidly into you. You're simply speechless, questioning if it'll ever end as he pushes every inch of him inside you, breaching and stretching the boundaries of your walls. Mr Holland snags your bottom lip between his teeth, harshly biting as a relief for the tight grip that surrounds his cock.

When your ass eventually meet his hips, you both release a groan in unison, breaths mixing and mingling until Mr Holland breaks the silence.

"You're gonna look even more beautiful when you're all fucked out and dumb for my cock, all with a diamond wrapped round your neck."

His hips snap back at a frighteningly fast pace and thrusts in even more aggressively. The pain is immeasurably exhilarating. Your thighs squeeze his waist, mouth agape without a single breath escaping.

"Think of this as a second birthday gift." Like before, he draws back and slams into you without mercy. "Do as you're told and you'll get your third on Monday in my office."

Somehow, your gut tells you that you won't have a problem with that. Not at all.

#dom!tom holland #ceo!tom holland #soft!dom!tom holland #sub!reader #tom holland smut #tom holland #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #smut #angst #peter parker smut #one shot #peter parker #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #praise you like i should

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thewriterg · 7 months

Text

𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥

pairing(s); tom holland x fem!reader, sub!tom x dom!reader

summary; Tom hadn’t been to a costume party since he was in college but thanks to his brother Harry he’s broken his record but the actor quite say he regret making a deal with the devil —kinktober day; 21—

word count; 1.5k

warning(s); SMUT, spanking, face riding, oral (f receiving), tail job?, edging, kisses, pet names, and language

playlist; glory box by portishead

A/n:—GIFs; @ffckedup & @erensbitch— It’s kink mf tober

“Oh fuck you Harry” Tom muttered watching the banquet come into his view and suddenly his urge to crawl up into a ball and have his driver that was made to sure he entered the establishment by his dear brother of course take him back home while he inched closer to the party it was VIP, invite, and celebs only but the didn’t seem to make the brunette go jump off a cliff any less

If anything it could make the urge stronger

“Is there a problem Mr Holland?” The chauffeur questioned as he opened the brunettes door a little underlying urge to his voice and the actor took the hint stepping out of the black Porsche patting the man on his suit covered shoulder shaking his head with a small smile

“No, thank you” Suddenly not really so for the suit secure on his toned body not expecting the familiar white flashing lights shoved into his face as multiple questions were thrown his way he tight lipped the pap before getting rushed into the building flashing changing colored lights and blaring music taking over his senses and he heard different greetings from all over the place

“Spidey!”

“Oh Tom hi!”

“Is that the real suit man!?”

it was definitely college nostalgia to say the least

He smiled and waved at all of who he could making his way toward the bar a whiskey on the rocks imbedded in his mind greatly he had been mingling for less than twenty minutes and he already wanted to leave the least he could do is indulge in a little drink to treat himself for not already crawling under a rock

“Need a drink?” Tom heard a voice directly by his ear and when he turned to his head to look at the direction of sound just to turn around and find nothing before he reset to his usual position you were in front of him horns coming from your forehead your eyes crimson fangs peaking through as you spoke

“Pretty boy can’t handle loud noises and flashing lights?” You questioned lowly a teasing underlying tone thick on your tongue as you took a glass from the counter setting a cube in the glass and pouring Jack Daniels in the glass passing it to the brunette swiftly

“That’s cute, well aren’t you adorable” He hummed before taking a swallow of the bitter liquid falling into his mouth and down his throat eyebrows furrowing when he looked up from his glass and you weren’t there in front of him like you were

“Willing to make a deal with the devil Tommy?” You hummed in the actors ear making him shiver his mouth agape at the sudden change his eyes darting from behind the counter back towards where you’re standing now his heartbeat staring to beat a bit faster

“I-I um, guess I’ll roll that dice” He whispered before jumping in his seat as something wrapped around his leg before retreating and looked down to see a very realistic looking tail swinging back and forth at his feet before you were walking away a dramatic sway in your hips

“That one’s a looker who’s your designer? Woah where you going darling?” Tom was out of his seat following after you dodging dancing bodies until the music was dying down in his ears the lights no longer flashing in his eyes the actor felt a fog take over him clouding his senses until he was somewhere he completely didn’t recognize

“Gonna ask you one more time, willing to make a deal with the devil” He could see you fully now his head spinning his sense fully clouded of you his pupils dilated and his control felt compelled to you

“Whatever you want.. Miss whatever you want” He uttered dropping to his knees in front of you while your tail swayed against the back of your calves while you circled the brunette your heels clicking against the floor before you took a seat behind him your head tilting at the sight of his toned back

“You’ve done this before?” You interrogate him not moving from your position on the end of the giant bed frame while pressing a heel on the surface of his back pushing him to all fours while he goes down without a protest

“Yes mam” You hummed in response he’s obedient and pure with just with a little dark underlying it was… refreshing to say the least

“Go across the room strip I want everything off and then, crawl back to me” The brunette scurried away and he thanked the years of rushing in and out of the suit all over the world while he heard you heels against the floor the sound imbedded in his mind while crouching back down to his knees slowly returning to the spot he once was this time his carved face looking up into yours with those doe brown eyes filled with just about zero thoughts, jaw sharp enough to cut a sheet of glass, and the slight bump on his nose that would hit the spot

“You’ve ever been punished Tommy?” You whispered and he felt the presence of your tail against him again this time a thousand more times pleasurable causing him to let out an uncontrollable moan slipping from his lips his cheeks heating up tinting a soft pink before he could open his mouth for a response something whipped down on his lower back and the crack of his ass a whimper tangling in the brunettes tongue his curls sticking to his forehead

“I asked you a question” You hissed patience wearing blatantly thin

“Yes miss I have” He winced at the crop coming back down on his ass the sting subtle at first before cracking a burning punch and it continues tears brought to his eyes dripping onto the floor his backside battered and bruised and the actor knew sitting down would be a challenge for the next few days to come

“You think you should apologize for your manners pup?” You come into his view now only in a set of black lace that didn’t cover much he could feel himself salivating in his mouth

“Yes, please let me I’ll make it right I swear- I’ll do anythin-” He quiets at the look of you hand in the air aiding him to stop your presence demanding attention and affection God by the looks of it to Tom you deserve to be prayed to a temple built directly off of your body You slip down the pair of underwear your cunt bared to him while you took striding steps towards his frame and the pale boy took a small second to dart out his tongue to wet his lips before you hovering directly over his face like a dog with a bone

“Look at you finally learning being a real good boy, stay, stay, eat.” You hummed as he dived into your clit at your call his tongue dipping into you fold collecting the build up of arousal and your hand slithers up to his head and into his hair pulling and tugging roughly causing Tom to whine coyly the vibrations shooting up your spleen causing you to close your thighs on his head a borderline pornographic moan spilling from you while your rolled you hips against his face the bump in his nose hitting your clotting causing your hips to stutter

Toms hips suddenly bucked up into nothing a muffled groan that would’ve shook the room otherwise coming from his throat your tail wrapped around his cock stroking him the same pace he was stroking your clit with his tongue and the brunette began to come to the realization that it really wasn’t a prosthetic as he circled your clit flattening his tongue against your bundle of nerves while you hissed in pleasure your knees shaking on either side of his head he takes this time to finally attack your bud like a shark in a pool with a drop of blood and your eyes snap open while you let out a scream your coating rushing down to Tom’s tongue dribbling down his chin while he lapped up all the juices he scientifically could and then some the action riding you through your high almost putting you into overstimulation until you finally lift up your knees a little wobbly and your stance a little more slouched and the look you explain on the man’s face is drunk to say the least

You smirk while he whines your tail coming of his flushed cock his release slipping through his fingers like sand

“Didn’t think it’d be that easy did you?”

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fbfh · 8 months

Text

TW for sexy slapping, general rough stuff, and degrading. as with all nsfw works all characters are aged up to 18+

biiiiiiiiitch I just got the most visceral image of Peter Parker fucking begging. thrown onto the bed panting and heavy breathing and whimpering for you to do something to him. anything. ideally something rough. he probably broke into your place as spiderman late at night to come see you, but it was dark and you couldn't tell who he was so in a panic you slapped him across the face and cussed him out. you know what this motherfucker did? he moaned. you stop in your tracks because of course you recognize that sound, you've made Peter make that sound enough to pick it out of a line up. you freeze half way through calling him various mean names and turn on a light. he pulls off his mask and he looks so flushed and descheveled and his hair is all rumpled. you're about to apologize for the pink mark developing on his cheek but before you can, he starts begging you to do it again. one look down at the insane boner he's incapable of hiding in that skin tight suit brings you right up to speed.

"Please please please, you can do whatever you want to me, you- you can call me more mean names, just please, don't stop..."

suffice it to say neither of you got anymore sleep at all that night, and that was the night you discovered Peter really likes rough sex.

#drabbles #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #peter parker drabbles #peter parker #tom holland peter parker #marvel #marvel drabbles #marvel smut #mcu #mcu drabbles #mcu smut #tw slapping #tw degradation #sub peter parker #SUB PETER PARKER!!!!!!!! MY FAVORITE #he's so babygirl

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subbypeterparker · 2 years

Text

Buttercup

masterlist p.p

summary: putting chapstick on peters lips after he’s been biting them while you peg him

“come on baby, you’re taking me so well. taking mommy’s cock so well,” you’re pounding into peter from behind, whispering in his ear as he fucks his cock into your fist.

he’s quickly losing his though, nearly succumbing to the pleasure you’re giving him. his tongue has been running over hips lips for the past few minutes, wetting them enough so he can talk.

your wrist of the hand on his cock twists so your palm hovers above his tip, making it hit your hand with every thrust. peter’s teeth dig into his bottom lip for the hundredth time that night, as he tries to stop himself from cumming.

he can feel your hard and perky nipples on his back as you move around to thrust your hips into him. peter’s head drops down as he lets out a moan and a whimper, and he wets his now dry lips with his tongue.

using the hand not on his cock, you wrap your fingers into his hair, and tug it enough that his head lolls backwards. from this angle you two can make eye contact, and you nearly cum from the sight of your baby’s fucked out eyes.

he whimpers when he sees you, and you lean down to kiss his rough lips. he’s been biting them so much, the skin has become dry and chapped. you whisper against his lips, “you’re doing so well baby, so well. why don’t you fuck mommy’s fist until you cum?”

peter lets out a whine, and nods. you latch your mouth into his shoulder, kissing, licking, and sucking any patch of skin you can reach, while peter’s head drops down again, focusing on the way your hand looks around his cock.

within a few thrusts, he’s cumming all over the towel you laid out before hand. peter’s squirming into the strap on, moaning out small cries of “mommy!” when you continue your thrusts and pumps to guide him through his orgasm.

when he comes down from his high, you slowly pull out, massaging his thighs to calm him down when he hisses in pain. you make quick work to put the strap on to clean later, and to grab the towel, leaving the sheets spotless.

“you did so good, baby, my good boy,” you curl up in bed beside him, handing him the glass of water you prepared on the bedside table.

he gratefully sips on the cold water, and you can see how chapped and red his lips are. “oh baby, come here, i’ll put some chapstick on you.”

you reach over to dig through your bedside table drawers to grab your chapstick tube. turning back to him, you see he’s finished his water, and it looking at you with those puppy dog eyes.

“alright, pucker up buttercup,” you joke. he smiles, and puckers his lips enough to allow you to apply the strawberry-smelling chapstick.

“rub your lips together,” you instruct. he does, and sends you a little smile. you chuckle and toss the chapstick away, throwing the covers on top of the both of you, and kissing his head to help him fall asleep.

#subbypeterparker #peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker smut #sub!peter parker #tom holland #peter parker imagine #sub peter parker #peter parker blurb #peter parker fic #sub!peter parker x reader #peter parker fanfiction

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ptergwen · 2 years

Note

VALLLLL HAPPY 7K MY LOVE !!!!! u deserve it omg .. can i req a smut ....... sub!peter parker solo getting off to the thought of fem!reader doing smthn/anything (u can choose) !!!!!! i've had this concept in my head for a whileeee so i think u'd be the best one to write it <3 the ending is up to u !! happy 7k again i Heart u 💗

7k sleepover 🦋 | ask box | taglist | main masterlist

w/c: 358

warnings: 18+, smut (m masturbation), explicit language

a/n: couldn’t think of a better way to kick off the sleepover lfmhsjfs and thank you babe ily <3 i’ve literally always wanted to write sub!peter so this is actually perf and if y’all wanna join the sleepover it’s linked above! enjoy

peter is desperate, beyond desperate to feel you, be touched by you. he’s off on a mission with the rest of the avengers, and he won’t be home for some time. he’d promised you he wouldn’t do anything while he was gone, not without you. he never does because you prefer it that way.

but as he sits alone in his hotel room, thoughts about you running wild, he can’t resist.

peter moves to the edge of his bed and reaches a hand into his boxers. his fingers wrap around his hard cock, eyes screwing shut. he begins to stroke his cock, welcoming the images of you that come into his mind. your naked body, every inch of it, he has it memorized. the dirty words you say and sultry tone of your voice ring in his ears.

good boy.

you always call peter your good boy, but he’s being so bad right now. he can only imagine what you would do if you knew he was touching himself without your permission. it doesn’t feel as good as when you do it, or when he does it with you, but it’ll have to do.

peter pretends it’s your hand gliding up and down his cock, whimpers leaving his lips. he pictures you above him, holding him down with your hand that isn’t around him, giggling as he squirms underneath you.

“fuck… shit…”

he’s already so close. all the stress of the mission, being away from you, peter has needed this release. it’s been pent up inside him. he starts to pant, fingers moving quickly along his cock. just as he’s about to cum, his phone rings. he wants to ignore it and finish, but he checks to see who’s calling anyway.

it’s you.

peter immediately pulls his hand out of his boxers and answers the phone.

“y/n, hi! hi, sweetness. how, um, how are you?”

“i’m good. how’s the mission? i didn’t catch you at a bad time, did i?”

“n- no! not at all. i was just, uh, you know.”

he laughs awkwardly, sure you’ve filled in the blank.

“still being a good boy for me, petey?”

tags: @mystic-writings @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lnmp89 @jenoslov @crvshnburnn @yourlocalomlette @starlight-starks @belovasheart @liltimmyst @eviewriites @hollandsangel @parkerctrl @eichenhouseproperty @inthegetawaycarwithtaylah @varshhyy @ellebutnotwoods @magicalxdaydream @tayyx @parkerdadda @valluvsu @ronweasleysslut @peterficrecs @Winchestersgirl222 @sunf1ower-vol6

#val’s 7k sleepover 🦋#peter parker #peter parker smut #sub!peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker imagine #peter parker writing #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland x reader

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sebstan2020 · 2 years

Text

From Enemy to Master

Part 2

Pairings: Dom!Bucky Barnes X Sub!Peter Parker

Warnings: BDSM, Dom/Sub, Bondage, Punishment, Corporal Punishment, Cock and Balls Torture, Cock Bondage, Orgasm Denial, Begging, Blow Job, Sadism, Masochism, Cock Tease

Summary: No would believe him if Peter said he was a submissive to James ‘Bucky’ Barnes, the once Winter Soldier. But he was and when Bucky comes home from a mission, he wants nothing more than to play with his sweet little boy.

“I’m very disappointed in you Peter” Bucky scolded, twiddling the riding crop in his fingers as he circled the kneeling boy. Peter held his head down, his hands placed flat on his thighs as he kneeled in position for Bucky. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest with both excitement and nerves. Things had been going so well today, he left for school on time, got an A in the pop quiz in science, made plans with Ned to finish the death star Lego they had begun but hadn’t been able to finish. But then it all went to shit.

He was on his way home, strolling through Queens when he saw the guy with a knife, threatening a young lady for her car. The second he saw it he sprang into action, whipping on his suit Mr Stark had given him and chased the car down, stopping him with his web shooters. He disarmed him with ease, pinning him to the car seat and all while leaving the car undamaged. But that wasn’t the problem. Peter had felt so good with himself, preventing yet another crime from happening in this town that he decided to reward himself.

Bucky wasn’t home and he hadn’t cummed in three days. His cock was aching for it. He needed a release. So, he snuck himself into the bathroom, somewhere he wouldn’t normally masturbate but he had a paranoia that Bucky was going to return and catch him cock handed in the bedroom. So, he decided instead to do his business in the bathroom. Just a quick few wanks was all it was supposed to be, but he couldn’t resist so he carried on. Peter should have listened to his conscience because he was right at Bucky. He thought he had enough time to masturbate, clean up the evidence and then wait for Bucky to return from their mission in time but Bucky had returned early.

The second he walked into the bedroom, he heard the moans of the young boy and hoped he wasn’t doing what he thought he was. But as the door to the bathroom slammed open, Peter had jolted from his pleasure dream, his cum covering his hand as he jerked himself off and the pure look of shock, displeasure, and dominance was written all over Bucky’s face.

And now here he was, kneeling naked in the middle of the room, head slightly lowered, and eyes cast down, the only sight of Bucky’s boots falling into his eyeline as he circled him. Peter was regretting his decision to jerk himself off and knowing his luck, Bucky was most likely planning to do that when he got home… and he was. After a good three days of no orgasm, Bucky was excited to come home and fuck the shit out of Peter and give him a good, earned orgasm… not anymore.

“Here I am thinking I’m going to come home, and you’ll be ready and waiting for me to take you, to use that cock of mine and give you a mind-blowing orgasm but instead I find you breaking one, no sorry, two of the rules” he says sternly and stops beside Peter takes a deep breath. Fuck, he hadn’t realised until now he broke two rules. One, being no touching without permission and two being no cumming without permission. Bucky was so possessive about his cock and was constantly reminding Peter who it belonged to. It turned Peter on, admitting his own cock didn’t belong to him but to someone else and was only to be touched by Bucky unless he had permission.

“I’m sorry si- “.

“Look at me when you’re talking to me” the end of the crop was placed under his chin, tilting his head up so Peter could look at Bucky. The crop stayed there as he stared up at Bucky, eyes wide and mouth open. The sternness in Bucky voice both sent a tingle through Peter’s body and also a nervous flip in his stomach.

“I’m sorry Sir” he breathed, and Bucky scoffed a little.

“Tell me, why did I come home to find you jerking yourself off”.

“Well…. because…” Bucky raised a brow, waiting for Peter’s answer and he flushed with embarrassment.

“Yes…”

“I wanted to reward myself, you see there was this guy, and he was trying to steal this car and he had a knife and I stopped him and so I- “.

“So, you thought you’d come home and be a little slut and make yourself cum” Bucky summarised for him, and Peter swallowed. It pretty much did sum up what he was thinking at the time.

“And you didn’t think I could do that for you” Bucky sounded offended, and Peter stared at him for a moment, wondering how to answer. Bucky dropped the crop from his chin, stalking around him like he was his prey.

“How many times have I told you Peter who this cock belongs to?” Bucky asked as he strolled back in front of Peter, the crop swinging around his fingers.

“You Sir, it belongs to you”.

“That’s right, it’s mine and that means I decide when it cums, I decide when it gets touched, I decide when its used, not you” Peter’s fingers pressed into his thigh as he stared up at Bucky, his face alight with guilt and his eyes begging for forgiveness.

“Yes Sir” Peter nodded his head fast.

“Obviously I need to make that clear to you don’t I” the crop fell back under his chin, pushing his head further upwards so his neck was exposed, and Peter swallowed hard. He nodded his head and felt his cock twitch and the feel of leather against his skin. He certainly did need a lesson to learn.

“Get on the floor, I want your ass in the air” Bucky pointed to the ground with the crop, instructing Peter to lie on the floor with his chest and his ass in the air. Peter wasted no time in doing so and planted his hands on the carpet, bracing himself as he lifted his ass in the air, his cock dangling between his legs. Bucky hummed softly as he dragged the crop across Peter’s naked back, teasing him with the leather and then down to his ass. He circled Peter’s ass with the crop, running it between his cheeks and over his hole. Peter jolted slightly, the feeling sending an electric shock through his system and turning his cock harder.

He wasn’t supposed to be enjoying this though and he suspected after the first whack, he wouldn’t. The crop came smacking down on his hole which as Peter suspected made him jolt forward, hissing at the pain.

“Back in position” Bucky said and leaned back into the position. He felt the crop sink lower, now tracing his balls and a smack came down on them, hitting the sensitive part. Peter yelped and composed himself straight after, gripping the carpet. Bucky continued to hit him with the crop, across his ass, across his cock, across his back until his skin turned a bright shade of red, tingling, and raw.

“Who does this cock belong to?” Bucky asked Peter.

“You Sir”.

“I want you to tell me that every time I hit you” Bucky instructed, and Peter did.

After every smack of the crop, Peter answered with ‘this cock belongs to you Sir’ until Bucky was satisfied that Peter knew.

Peter’s skin was stinging now but his cock was hard. He really was a slut, getting off on being punished for touching his own cock. But his punishment wasn’t over yet.

“Good boy, now get on the bed and show me that asshole of mine” a quick flip of the crop and Peter jumped from the bed, muttering a yes Sir as he did and climbed on the bed, getting into the same position as he was just in, ass in the air, face down in the sheets and fingers clenching the duvet. Bucky removed his fear, throwing it to the side before climbing on top of the bed.

He knelt behind Peter, palming himself in his hand and placed the crop down, using his flesh hand to grab Peter’s cock, giving it a few strokes. Peter moaned almost instantly the pleasure shooting through his body. Bucky smirked behind him, shaking his head.

“Look at you, getting all hot and hard just from me grabbing this cock, do you want me to fuck you” Bucky teased, and Peter nodded.

“Yes, Sir please I want you to take your hole and fuck it”. He wanted to feel Bucky fill him up and take him.

“That’s right, my hole, it belongs to me” Bucky whispered as he pressed the end of his cock into Peter’s hole, stretching it open and Peter groaned into the sheets. He still had a grip on Peter’s cock, and he slipped in more, his cock nearly buried deep inside Peter’s ass.

“Fuck your tight Peter, I need to start fucking you more to stretch it open” Bucky groaned, slipping further in until he was all the way inside, balls deep and he started to thrust in and out. Peter moaned deeply, pleasure riddling his body and his fingers gripping the sheets into tight fists.

“Oh, Sir it feels so good” he moaned, and Bucky smirked.

“Yeah, you like that don’t you, like being filled up with my cock” Bucky whispered as he picked up the pace. All the while, he was still stroking Peter’s cock, small jerky hand movements which was sending Peter on a high. His toes curled into the bed, and he dug his head further in the sheets.

“Oh my god, thank you Sir” Peter breathed, nearly sounding out of breath as Bucky began to pound him. He could feel his orgasm coming, his cock twitching and pleasure tingling all through it. Bucky’s balls slapped into Peter’s, the smack sounding in the room.

“That’s its baby, take it all for me” Bucky groaned, letting his head rest backwards as he fucked Peter hard. He still had a hold on his cock and continued to tease him there as well as fucking him. Peter felt his legs start to tingle, a sign he was going to cum and there was no doubt in his mind he wasn’t going to ask for permission.

“Oh, please Sir, please can I cum” he begged, pleading to get his orgasm and Bucky chuckled, squeezing tightly on his cock.

“Do you think you deserve to cum, you’ve already had your orgasm today seeing as you couldn’t wait five fucking minutes” he scolded and received a spank on his ass from his metal hand, the sharpens jolting him out of the sexy cloud.

“No Sir, I don’t deserve to cum” it was the truth but there was a little sliver inside Peter hoping he would be forgiven and that he would be able to cum.

Bucky groaned hard as he slammed into Peter, his own cock now tingling and the feeling of orgasm coming closer for him. Bucky moved his wrist faster on Peter’s cock, getting off on his begging and the fact Bucky was denying him.

“God Peter, you feel so good” he groaned, mouth falling open as he breathed hard, his orgasm getting closer. He thrusted quickly into Peter a good four to five times before Bucky stopped, as he began to cum. He came inside Peter, his juice leaking out of his hole and Bucky grinned in satisfaction. His head was sweaty, hair stuck to his forehead, and he took a minute to catch his breath.

He moved Peter so he was lying on his back down, legs spread so Bucky was kneeled between them as he continued to palm his cock, rubbing his hand up and down while peter begged to be able to cum.

“Oh, please Sir can I cum, please” Peter was pleading, and Bucky scoffed a little, shaking his head.

“You said you don’t deserve to cum Peter, do you think I’m just going to let you cum like that after today” Bucky teased, and Peter whimpered a little. This was torture, not being able to release after all that build up. Peter gripped the sheets, holding back the urge to squirt everywhere and he jolted as he felt a twitch inside his cock, the urge getting harder to hold back.

“I’m sorry Sir, please I won’t do it again” he begged once more, hoping he could get one last chance to release but the smirk on Bucky’s face said it all.

“No” and with that he dropped Peter’s cock, letting it fall and his pleasure sinking away, Peter whined like a puppy, desperately wanting to just grab it and give it a few more shakes to get at least one drop out, but it wasn’t happening. Bucky climbed off the bed and padded to the draws, pulling out a cock cage and Peter sighed softly.

Not the cage.

“Now put this on” normally Bucky would be the one to put it on, but he wanted Peter to do it just to tease him even more with the fact he wasn’t going to be cumming again today and most likely for the next few days if not a week.

Peter reluctantly slipped his cock in the cage, trying to not pinch the skin and when it was in Bucky proceeded to place a padlock, locking him up tightly.

“There, all nice and locked up, no more secret cummings for you and in fact I think no cumming for the next week”.

A week! Peter wasn’t sure if he would last but he’d have to.

“Yes Sir” he whispered, and Bucky smiled. He hummed softly and reached over, wrapping his hand around the back of Peter’s neck, and bringing him up.

“Good boy” he kissed him softly, dragging Peter’s bottom lip and pecked them sweetly, a soft moan escaping Peter. Bucky pulled Peter over to the pillows where he laid down, resting Peter on his chest and ran his hand down to Peter’s ass to give it a soothing massage. Peter moaned softly and soon forgot about the fact his cock was locked away and instead fell into the comfort of Bucky’s arms, slowly drifting off.

Hey so I hope you like it, don’t forget to leave a like, comment and reblog

#bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes dom #Bucky Barnes fanficiton #bucky barnes x peter parker #peter parker #bucky barnes smut #sub Peter parker #Peter Parker whump #Peter Parker smut #sebastian stan fanfiction #sebastian stan #tom holland #the winter soldier #winter soldier

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youandtom2 · 10 months

Text

The Hunting Ground (18+)

Dom!Tom Holland x sub!bratty!Reader

Summary: How else would you get adventure back into your life than to visit a speakeasy that's definitly not a kinky-cult-sex-club? Themes: EXPLICIT, BDSM and mentions of BDM, dom/sub, knife play, breath play, unprotect p in v, oral (fem rec.), orgasm denial, overstimulation w/c: 13k oops

a/n: it's late and it's 13k so I'll probs revisit another time whoops. apologies if writing gets sloppy.

MASTERLIST

“Come on. This has got to be a joke. This is the kinkiest cult shit I’ve ever seen.”

“Nope. Not a joke.”

“When I said I was looking for something exciting and adventurous, I didn’t mean a sex club!” You flippantly disregard the masquerade mask onto the couch, whilst your friend Danny, holds his elegantly in his hand as if it is the beholder of all his memories.

“It isn’t a sex club. It’s…an opportunity.” Danny’s lips twist into a smirk that wavers between sweet and sinful. That alone should’ve told you that his opinion on this ‘club’ was simply that. An opinion. A biassed one at that. The other thing Danny doesn’t account for is that opinions are subjective, interchangeable and while he sees his little kinky sex club as an opportunity, you see it more of a shameless hookup with cultic motives.

But you’re curious to hear how he can possibly sell this to you. “Oh yeah? An opportunity for what? Enlighten me.”

Your friend coyly swivels his hips playfully, that all too familiar bashful glow emanating from his olive cheeks. He leans gayly over the edge of the couch with his bottom lip snagged between his teeth, entrapped in his childlike manner and embracing his inner Princess Diaries by swinging his feet. He so desperately wants to say ‘to flirt with hot men and recklessly have sex with them with no strings attached’, but to your surprise, his answer is a little more profound and in-depth.

“To meet like-minded people who share similar interests. To embrace a community that doesn’t judge you for what you like, who…take you as you are. It’s actually very liberating.”

“Puh-lease! You threw that innuendo in there on purpose. Look. It’s a sex club. You meet up to have sex. That’s the common ground.”

“Oh my God, you speak about it like it’s a brothel and you couldn’t be more wrong. Okay, okay, I’ll admit, it’s a little provocative, but it’s not like some sex dungeon, it’s a speakeasy. There’s a bar, drinks, music, dancing, it’s totally chill. You don’t even need to have sex, it’s not a guarantee.”

You fold your arms, staring outwardly and chewing your lips as you mull over the possibility that it might not all be what you initially think it is. But the only way to prove otherwise is to go. Dammit you wish you weren't so curious.

“And…what’s this place called?”

Danny smiles contentedly. “The Hunting Ground.”

~~~~~

“Do I really have to wear this?” The flimsy black ribbon of the mask trickles through your fingers. The shell is midnight black with a faint covering of silver lace, embellished with enough sparkle to catch your eye under the streetlights. Ahead of you is what looks like an ordinary bar under the false name of The Playground. The tinted windows and low purple LED lights inside is a clever ruse to fool anyone who is none the wiser to believe that the mystery is revealed when you step inside, leaving no other incentive to keep exploring. However, hidden behind the facade of an ‘ordinary bar’ as confirmed by Danny, is the speakeasy. It’s quietly genius; it’s all hidden in plain sight.

“Yes, you have to wear it; it’s like a pass for entry into the club since it’s invitation-only. Plus, anonymity is kinda a thing here. Especially for newbies if they’re not too sure what they’re looking for. You get all types of people here. You’re bound to find someone who is yours.”

You roll your eyes as you tie the ribbon tightly around your head with a grunt, the thick plastic mask sitting squarely on the bridge of your nose. “Anonymity, sure. These things are as good a disguise as Superman putting on his glasses and all of a sudden he’s Clark Kent and completely unrecognisable.”

“Trust me. They do their job. Oh and one last thing.” Why is he smirking again? “Sub or Dom?”

“Come again?”

“What are you, Sub or Dom?”

You blink. “I don’t know. I don’t even know what that means.”

“God, you’re so vanilla--they’re, um…types of people.” Danny vaguely explains and purses his lips, thinking as he evaluates you. “Hmm, we'll stick to sub for now. When you get inside grab a white cup.”

“Fuck sake.”

You follow Danny down a poorly lit, narrow staircase and you get a sense of entering a restricted area, having it not as well decorated, but then you remember; it’s supposed to be secretive and unwelcoming to any wandering stranger. The staircase is quiet compared to the floors above you and below you, giving off a feeling of limbo, neither here nor there as the pounding of the bass-heavy music distorts your sense of direction. There’s two different songs playing and they blend into each other so well that you can’t quite tell what is coming from where, but the further you descend down the staircase, the more obvious it becomes. The floor above you is phased out when you come to a stone archway, lined with plum velvet curtains hanging at either side where wisps of vapour spill from the room. A fiery red spotlight casts a shadow where the words ‘The Hunting Ground’ are projected on the wall to welcome you. Danny stops you before you enter.

“And you told me this wasn’t a sex club,” you quip, motioning to the entrance to hell.

“Remember it’s just to socialise. Nothing needs to happen, okay? After a drink or two, you’ll start to loosen up and have more fun.”

You huff. “I’ll take your word for it.”

You take one step into the stuffy haze and instantly you feel the change in aura, perhaps because you know what people are here to do. Danny patiently waits with you as you soak in the sights, the smells, the heat and the very suffocating atmosphere of the room in front of you. A fine mist hovers in the air, just enough to hinder your view of anything further than 10 metres in front of you - probably intentional to hide the erotic acts in the corner - and only the blacklights and the dancing neon laser lights shoot through. Unlike the bar above, the music is slower and less adrenaline pumping, perfect to fulfil its purpose of enticing its listeners to socialise rather than all-out partying, but in effect, it makes you more nervous; how do you socialise with people you’ve never met? You bump shoulders with Danny is a quiet plea to stay close.

A few people within eyesight turn their heads as you enter in your sage green dress, making their judgements on you through the narrow slits of their masks, a symbol of membership to the club, identical to the one you wear. Under the cover of darkness, the masks do actually provide a sense of anonymity and you take back an earlier thought; what the hell are these masks going to hide? Everything apparently.

You decide not to linger around the entrance any longer for you feel that others can smell your hesitance a mile off. You make a B-line to the table adorning white cups, directly across the table that hold a much smaller number of black cups, and perpendicular to a table with grey cups. As soon as the rim of the cup touches your lips and alcohol sears your throat, you ease a little.

“God, I feel like I’ve just entered the mafia. Why is this place so stiff?”

Danny laughs inwardly. “Oh they’re stiff alright.” That earns him a swift elbow to the ribcage. “Ow!”

“You said this place was chill and judgement free.”

“It is--”

“Then why do I feel like I’m being victimised?”

For a fleeting moment, you catch Danny’s eyes flitting over to the white cup you hold in your hand, being quickly emptied by you. There’s obviously significance behind the white and black cups and you’re certain Danny knows why as he too picks up a white cup with conviction, but what significance they have is being purposely withheld from you.

It’s definitely a cult thing.

“They just want to get to know you. Give them a chance. It’s all with friendly intentions, I promise.”

“Uh-huh.”

Like Danny said, there’s all sorts of people here; men, women, and more situated around the room whether it’s standing in small clusters around a table or sitting in smaller, more private groups in booths. Few white cups, some grey cups, but black cups hold the majority. Some are dressed more provocative than you would ever dare where some keep their secrets to themselves. Those who begin dancing are booming with confidence, sashaying their hips while others simply observe with a glass of whisky in hand. Even hours into the night, you’re still pondering over the likemindedness of such a diverse group. There must be something that ties these people together, because every hour or so you catch a glimpse of couples' escapades, hand-in-hand as they disappear through another archway with a black curtain.

“I’ll be right back,” Danny murmurs into your ear.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m just going to catch up with a friend. I won’t be long. You can manage your own for a bit, can’t you?”

“Don’t think I have much of a choice.”

Danny quickly disappears into the smog and across the dancefloor, and by the time he reaches the bar, he’s out of your sight and anxiety creeps in. As ever, you find solace in the very alcoholic drink, quietly sipping away in a dark corner of the room.

Or at least you thought you were in the corner of the room…

The solid wall behind you suddenly swings open and you lose your balance, falling backwards into the void that has just opened up. Your heart leaps to your throat and your lungs flood themselves with oxygen to prepare for what you know will be a painful fall and the loss of your dignity. Inches from disaster, a miracle happens when two hands reach out to hook underneath your arms and break your fall, leaving you hovering over the floor until the stranger finds the strength to bring you back to your feet again. Sadly, there’s nothing to be done about your drink that puddles on the floor…

With a breath of relief, you quickly compose yourself, turning around to see that indeed the wall you were standing against was actually a door, and in that doorway now stands the masked stranger that saved you from your fall. He stands just a couple of inches taller than you, dressed in a black suit (it could be navy - it’s just so damn dark in here) but replaces the standard crisp, white shirt with a baby blue one, keeping it casual with undone buttons by his collar. You want to make more guesses of his appearance but this club’s obsession with anonymity is slowly becoming a nuisance.

“I’m so sorry, I really thought that was a wall.”

“No worries, it’s easily done.” His words are smooth and puckish, and you feel like he genuinely believes you when he places a gentle supporting hand against your back.

“Right? Especially with a place like this, I mean, would it hurt to turn up the lights even just a little bit?” An innocent laugh escapes you but the second you see his lips parting in what you can only assume is disbelief, you instantly feel like you might’ve crossed a line. His hand drops and sinks deep into his pocket. So much for no judgement…

“Well, we could but most members here know there’s a door here.”

Caught.

He doesn’t watch for your reaction as he picks up the empty white cup from the floor, long, slender fingers holding it tightly while he studies it for a moment and the corners of his lips tug a little before settling it on a nearby table. You’re still not privy to the colour codes and their meanings, and something itches inside of you when you see this stranger turn to you with a knowing smirk on his face. Because he knows.

He folds his arms, muscles defined in the tight squeeze of his blazer and stands stoically before you. “You’re looking a little lost, newbie.”

“I’m just waiting on my friend Danny. He’s the one who brought me here. I don’t know why to be honest. I don’t really think this is my kind of scene.”

The stranger tilts his head curiously. “How so?”

You snort. Isn’t it obvious? “I mean the mask thing is a little weird. And the segregation of cups? What the hell is that all about? Like, I’m always down for something different but the anti-religion cult vibes just isn’t doing it for me. I haven’t been here that long and already I’ve had so many daggers from people that I just can’t tell whether they want to kill me or eat me.”

“Oh my God, you really have no idea, do you? Tell me then, if this place doesn’t suit your majesty’s preferences, why are you still here?”

This stranger doesn’t need you to take off your mask to know that there’s a scowl taking over your features. Affronted, you decide to mirror him, folding your arms and delivering his own stinking attitude back to him.

“Cut the sass. You asked me a question and I answered it. If you listened, you would’ve heard me say that my friend brought me here. Said that if I was looking for something exciting and adventurous I should come here, but I’m not seeing either. Anyway, what does it matter to you?”

“Careful, newbie. Some people here don’t take too kindly towards being spoken to like that. It can get you into a lot of trouble, unless you’re searching for it, in which case, Danny was right to bring you here. And tell him he should’ve put a straw in your drink too.”

You’re so fed up with these innuendos. “I don’t even know what that means!”

The stranger takes a step forwards and brushes your shoulder with his. You hold your breath as he leans down close to your ear and murmurs words that sound like a threat. A shiver descends down your spine. “Ask him to explain it. Tell him that Tom told him too.”

Your stance stays strong as the stranger sweeps past you in an obtrusive manner without a word to spare. Finally out of sight, you give in to the urge to roll your eyes and scoff with as much conviction until satisfied, having suppressed it in front of that stranger. You’re never one to be so outwardly rude to someone, but unless it’s warranted, then by all means, give them hell.

The interaction has somewhat soured your mood, and considering that this place has yet to prove any of Danny’s claims of what a ‘friendly, non judgemental’ place this is, you might make the move to leave. You’ve been here long enough and you doubt that the fun has yet to come.

Not three steps towards your leave, you’re stopped by Danny emerging from the smog like a phantom. “Oh hey! You’re alive! See? I told you’d be fine.”

“Yeah, not fine, Danny. Don’t leave me ever again.”

“Such a drama queen. Where’s your drink?”

“Spilled it almost falling over. By the way, what do the colours on the cups mean? Some guy ‘Tom’ said that you were to tell me what they mean.”

His smile drops and hangs ajar, eyes wide as he processes the words, the name you’ve just invoked. “Tom--did you just say Tom?”

“Yes, why? He also said that you should’ve put a straw in my drink too. Danny, for the love of God, what the fuck does that mean?”

Annoyingly, he ignores your last question. “What did you say to him?”

Danny devotes all of his attention to you as you recount the interaction from beginning to end, sure not to leave any details out. As your friend, all of your expectations are placed on him taking your side in it all, but with each word you spill, he cringes further and further into himself.

“Then I told him to cut the sass--he was being so rude to me!”

“Oh you have got to be kidding me!” You’re struggling to understand why your friend has descended into a fit of laughter, creasing over until he can no longer catch his breath. It’s great that he’s finding it so hilarious that he can’t even seem to straighten himself up to give you an answer, but what’s even better is that you can’t even begin to imagine how many people are witness to Danny descending into mania while you stand with your arms folded, a slack jaw and a look that could kill. And even if some can’t see it, they can bloody well hear it. “I cannot believe you said that to him!”

“Danny, I don’t have time for this. If you don’t tell me at least something, I’m leaving.”

“Wait, wait, wait, sorry, I’ll tell you, okay? I’ll tell you.” After wiping the tears from his eyes, he latches onto your arms and pulls you into his side, directing you to look out at the room before you. “Okay, so you remember the question I asked you before we came in? About being a sub or a dom?” You nod. “The cups are representative of that. White for sub, black for dom. Grey if you don’t particularly have a preference. They’re sometimes called switches.”

“Okay, but what does sub and dom actually mean?”

“They’re just abbreviations. Submissive or Dominant if you want to be proper. They define what a person likes to be in the bedroom. Dominants are usually controlling, they like to manipulate and gain pleasure from using submissives in whatever way they like. Submissives gain pleasure from being controlled, from being told what to do and will usually go through extreme measures to satisfy their doms, and in lieu, themselves. For example, see over there?” Danny points to a booth of what looks like two guys sitting on either side of a girl. They are shadowing over her, running fingertips up and down her leg whilst she sits bashfully in the middle. “Two doms and a sub.”

You look to another area of the room and in the corner you see a woman, dressed in the tightest latex corset you could imagine, and she looks fucking amazing in it. Full of luscious curves. Her confidence is striking as she walks with her head high like she owns everything in the room. She somehow makes picking up a black cup look sexy, drinking from it until it’s empty but inexplicably doesn’t swallow. With her puffed cheeks, she grabs the face of a man who kneels beside her, opening his mouth—“Oh my God!” The words spill from your lips as you watch the woman spit her drink into the man’s mouth, swallowing with glee in his eyes.

“Anyone can be sub or dom. That’s why the cups make it so much easier to identify who’s who and cuts out all the small chat bullshit in between.”

Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. This is a fucking sex club. “But how did you know I was going to be a sub?”

“I just guessed. It takes a certain confidence and skill to know how to be a dom, and no offence honey, but I don’t think you’d be a good dom.”

“And the straw?”

“Signifies a bratty sub. A sub who likes to be controlled but also loves the fight against it. Anything to piss their dom off.”

“Hold on. A brat?! Who the fuck does this Tom guy think he is? He’s talked to me for no more than five minutes and he calls me a brat?”

“Shhh!! Shut up!!! Oh my God!!” He hurriedly ushers you away from prying ears and you feel a sort of trepidation when he looks around cautiously. “Honey, you know I love you and I care for you but you have seriously fucked up to the point where I literally cannot protect you from what’s about to happen.”

“What? How?”

“Tom’s the owner of this place.” He’s trying to hold in his laughter again. “And you just stood there and insulted everything about his club to him--oh my GOD you are so dead. I’m weak just thinking about it.” Had he not been squealing and bouncing on his tip-toes in a nervous but weirdly excited way, you probably would’ve taken Danny’s warning a little more seriously. In Danny’s overly-dramatic fashion, his translation of ‘dead’ just means that you’re only slightly in trouble.

“So what, he’ll probably just kick me out.”

“You better wish that’s what he’ll do because Tom is a capital D-O-M and is a stickler for obedience. He has everyone, sub or dom, address him as sir. It’s like one of his rules.”

“Sir? Really? Are we back in school?”

Your own mocking laughter is the last thing you hear before a voice creeps up behind you, settling deep into the canals of your ear and shocking you into a small but powerful fright. “We can be if you like. At least then I can teach you a lesson or two about how to respect me, newbie.” The way his voice instantly scorches everything inside you is mildly terrifying. It’s the mixer in your soup of emotions; trepidation, anxiety, curiosity, exhilaration, anticipation, swirling together in the pit of your stomach.

You and Danny’s eyes are locked in a stupor, both of you donning guilt-ridden, colourless faces. You think it wise to follow Danny’s lead in not speaking, not moving because only he knows the repercussions that you face. Besides, if you listened to what your brain initially told you to do, you would be in a lot more trouble.

A wordless plea twinkles in your eye and your heart plummets when you see your friend respond with tightly pursed lips and a subtle shake of the head.

“Next time you bring your friends, Danny, I would expect you to inform them on how to conduct themselves around me. You should know better.”

“Sorry, sir.” Danny’s voice wobbles. Fucking wobbles. Loud and proud Danny, centre of attention on the worst of days, always one to speak his mind and is never afraid of judgement, and now he’s…scared.

“Now go. Justin’s waiting for you.” The unfamiliar person Danny has become swiftly brushes past you with no more than a final apologetic look and disappears further into the centre of the room. A certain desperation keeps your eyes on him for as long as you possibly can until you eventually accept your defeat, standing here alone with Tom stalking very close behind you. You notice his shadow standing just on the coast of your peripheral, lurking.

After an excruciating silence, Tom eventually murmurs into your ear, just the edges of his mask skimming the side of your hairline.

“Follow me to my office. We need to have a chat about rules.”

“Okay,” you breathe.

Sure enough the door you nearly fell through enters the hallway leading to his office. It’s well lit, spotlighting the framed memorabilia on the wall and you almost choke a gasp when you see what they contain. Whips, paddles, cuffs, chains, anything of an erotic nature is framed, dated and hung on these walls in plain sight. Tom catches a glance of your awestruck eyes from over his shoulder, smirking wickedly. Little do you know that that isn’t even half of his collection.

He enters the office first leaving you to nervously trail in behind him.

“Sit.”

The tickle of velvet feathers your bare thighs, knees already knocking together while Tom takes a stand behind his desk, underneath the low-intensity spotlight that shines down on him from above. Your eyes skate over his features the second he unties his mask, shadows hugging every sharp angle from the crook of his brow bone to the contour of his cheeks. Holy fuck. Your knees lock tighter together.

“Mask off.” It falls to your lap. When you look back up at him, you see that he doesn’t bother hiding how he takes in every inch of you and it makes the burn of his stare even more obvious. “What do you know already?”

“Um, not much. Danny told me about the masks, Doms and Subs, the thing about the cups, addressing you as ‘sir’ and…” you clear your throat, a previous anger returning, “having a straw in my cup.”

“Ah, so he explained it to you, did he?” Fuck, even his grin is perfect.

You bite your gums, eyes averting. “Wish he didn’t.”

A piercing whistle rings in your ear, short and sharp in the small, panelled office causing an audible wince. “Oi, eyes up here.” Did he just whistle at you? “I’m going to handle this very delicately because you’re new, but if you keep testing my patience then I won’t even give you the chance to back out.”

What the fuck.

“Since your friend failed to explain the rules, I’ll have to do it instead. This is my private establishment and I expect anyone who enters it to follow my rules, including newbies like you. Rule number one: respect. Respect for me, respect for others, respect for the property. Simple, yes?”

“Yes.” His eyes widened slightly, “sir.”

Tom begins to circle around his desk, nearing you. You tuck your feet in underneath the chair as he leans against the desk a foot in front of you. “Rule number two: boundaries. Boundaries must be set by every individual and must be adhered to by every individual. That includes things they consent to and things they don’t consent to, and safe-words should be agreed to and abided by also. Yes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And I know you know rule number three.”

But does he know that you also hate rule number three? Grinding your teeth together, you bite back his answer. “Yes. Sir--” Before you’re able to utter another syllable from your lips, Tom has your cheeks in the pinch of his fingers, pulling you from your seat until you’re just a breath away from his own. Despite the circumstances of your racing heart and your throbbing cheeks, you come to realise that Tom has brown eyes, that his suit is really black, that he has one strand of hair that curls against the rest. Shit. You’re really dipping your toes into muddy water here.

“See this fucking attitude of yours? Drop it. If you’re really so eager to talk, you’ll tell me what it is you want out of this. And know that before you start speaking, you’re on your last warning.” Thankfully, his grip loosens but it doesn’t disappear completely. Keeping you just as reigned in as before, his fingers sink to the curve of your chin and curl around it gently. It’s hypnotising enough that it coaxes you into spilling the truth.

“A little bit of excitement and adventure. Danny suggested I could find it here. So I came to find out for myself.”

“And?”

“I’m…not sure yet.”

“We can certainly offer what you’re looking for, but it depends what kind of adventure you want to take. Do you want to explore or do you want to experience?”

“What’s the difference?”

Tom drinks in your curiosity, content with a quirk to his wet lips. All is silent in his sound-proof office, the beat of your own heart thundering in your ears and it’s the only thing you can tune into while the incredibly intimidating man in front of you sadistically drags out each and every second. “We can start off slow, test your endurance and your tolerances, discover your likes and dislikes, introduce new things one at a time, a soft start over a number of weeks.”

“...Or?”

His pupils dilate. “Everything all at once. A full session, right here, right now. Thrown in right at the deep end. No restrictions and I get full control. An experience to say the very least.”

You gasp and the breath gets stuck in your throat. As the idea is spoken into words, you can’t help but picture everything you saw in the hallway, the whips, the paddles, the chains, the ludicrousy of them ever being used as sources of pleasure and begin to feel yourself being overwhelmed. Albeit, the rebellious side of you plagues you with the mentality of saying ‘fuck it’ and trying it anyway, its voice ringing with the sound of your youth; willing to try everything, to say that you were brave enough to try it, to run away from the boring life of always saying no because you just weren’t sure. You might even find that it’s something you like…

“What do you say?” He whispers with the small coaxing of his thumb gracing over your pout. “And don’t leave it up to me. I think you know what I would prefer.”

You take a breath, cheeks already flushing knowing what’s to come. “I…I want the experience.”

He doesn’t move aside from his lids opening a fraction wider. “Say it again. To be sure.”

“I want the experience.”

A slow, salacious moan sings through his sigh, his breath crashing against your skin like a wave. “Mmmm, I was so hoping you would say that. I’ve been wanting to put this brat back in her place all…night…long. Now I can. All. Night. Long.” Warmth encircles your neck and you realise that his hand has completely captured your throat, controlling every breath you breathe. You desperately try to whimper but even then, all your sounds are clamped down by him. Sensing danger, your own hands reach for his wrist as he pushes you back against the spine of the chair and shadows over you with fire in his eyes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Safe word?”

“Err…” You don’t have one. You’ll have to make one up. What did you have for dinner last night? “Pasta.”

Tom chuckles but accepts it. “Pasta it is.”

When your one and only chance to speak is taken, Tom quickly readjusts his grip on your throat again, closing it off until your skin is tinted red with exertion. He sinks low, invading your space until there’s nothing but him in your darkening sights, until his lips skim the tips of yours.

“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on you all night. Do you have any idea how hard it was to keep that urge at bay? So fucking hard. I knew you were a newbie, but fuck, you were so fucking rude. You know, you never even thanked me for helping you up earlier. Instead, you chose to insult my club and my customers, and when you do that, you insult me. That doesn’t fly with me and something will need to be done about that mouth of yours.”

You gasp erratically, fighting for breath and his vendetta against you refuses to relent. Just as blackness consumes your vision, just as you're hanging on the precipice of consciousness, he finally relieves the tension and you gulp down air like it’s your drug, your lifeline. Almost simultaneously, Tom thrashes his lips against yours, seizing back whatever oxygen you just gained in a vicious attack. His tongue slips in almost too seamlessly, brushing against your own and tasting every inch he can reach.

From one method of suffocation to another. With his hand no longer occupied at the base of your throat, you find it clamped to the roots of your hair, keeping you detained as he forcefully kisses and licks every part of your mouth, barely leaving any time to breathe. It isn’t painful as such, but god damn it’s overwhelming. The small squeak of struggle easily gets swallowed up by him and he growls for more. In time, another is drawn out but this time it's the result of Tom’s other hand pulling down the neckline of your dress and finding your tits, pinching and squeezing with a passion that’s guaranteed to leave behind a bruise. To say you completely underestimated what the experience is and how little prepared you are for it, is under-statement of the fucking century.

He really isn’t shy, is he?

Minutes go by and you’re losing sensation in your swollen lips and Tom can sense that too; you become lethargic, sloppy and out of control but that’s exactly what Tom is waiting for. He can feel the plumpness of your lips as he drags them out slowly between his teeth, perfect to have wrapped around his cock.

He stands to his tallest, your hair still tight in his grip. “Do you have anything to say to me?”

“I’m…I’m sorry, sir.”

“What else?”

“Th-thank you for helping me up, sir.”

“There’s actually one thing you should know about me,” he murmurs darkly. “If someone is apologising or thanking me, I expect them to show their regret or their gratitude to me. Usually on their knees. That way, I know they mean it.”

“And if I don’t?” You are genuinely curious.

A shadow casts over his face, eyes glowering at your words. He clenches his jaw so tightly that you have to remind yourself to unclench yours out of fear. In quiet, articulated words, he provides you with the first piece of insight of what kind of night lies ahead of you. “I will fuck you and edge you against this desk until you are spent of every piece of sanity that keeps your bratty brain together. Even if you beg, even if you are crying out for release, I will not stop until you are nothing but my cum-filled slut.”

“Fucking hell,” you whimper quietly, but he hears it all the same.

“I would think very carefully about your next words, newbie, or you’re going to become very familiar with my temper.”

Hey, you said you were up for the experience…right?

It takes just a fraction of your lips to curl into a smirk for Tom to realise your motives. Provoked by just the smallest of your smiles, he runs his tongue along the lining of his cheek. He can’t quite tell if he’s insulted or pleased, regardless, the result of either is the same; he will have you reduced to absolutely nothing if his life depends on it. After all, he doesn’t allow insults to run dry on him, he snuffs them out as soon as possible and that’s the lesson you need to learn.

“Don’t fucking do it,” he warns one last time. How generous of him.

The air is tight and feverish, and so very, very quiet. Until…”Fuck. You.”

Your words trigger a pregnant pause, leaving just enough time to hear a pin drop before something sinister happens. A cacophony fills the room: the wooden scraping of the chair legs as Tom yanks you from it, the squeal and the grunt that marry together, the clutter of objects as they fall from the desk to the floor, the resounding thump as your body mercilessly collides with the wooden desk and subsequent the yelp of pain to be heard by no one other than Tom.

The brute’s groping hands impatiently tug at your dress, whipping it up to sit around your torso and the moment your ass is exposed to him, he wastes no time to drill his hips into yours in a desperate bid to split your legs wider and keep you still. The sweltering heat of your cunt seeps onto his trousers and, even contained, his cock feels it all. The harder he pushes to force you down, the harder the edge of the desk cuts through your pelvis, and the longer you stay there, the louder your pleas become. And every second of it all is like heroin to him. This is his high.

Tom rips your underwear from you, the thin material reduced to rags in seconds and just as quick, they become your bindings. With your hands now tied behind your back by the remains of your wet thong and your head smothered against the wooden surface, you are unequivocally oppressed.

“Stay there, and don’t move.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t bother trying that shit with me. You’re too late. You’ve already made your decision to be a brat, so I’ll fuck you like one.”

The recognisable sound of chain links clinking together stops your heart dead in your chest. “Wait, what are you doing?” You try to shimmy a look over your shoulder to take a peak, but you can’t see Tom crouching down behind you.

“Extra precaution.” Cold metal tightly hugs your ankles, grinding away at your bone with every tug. There’s little room to move, you can barely bend your knee without causing yourself harm. You didn’t want to believe it, but the reality is true: he’s chaining you to his desk.

“No fucking way.”

“Yes way. This is what you asked for.” He leans down to leave a patronising kiss to the shell of your ear, unbinding your hands and placing them exactly where he wants them, gripped to the edge of the desk beside your head. Not chained, but the wordless warning to keep them there is evident in the squeeze to your wrists. You’re almost crucified to the desk. It’s enough to make your sweltering body shiver. “And I’ll gladly provide.”

Without warning, he spits into your ass and stops to watch it trickle down to your clit with hunger ruining his patience. He collects it with deft fingers, spreading it through every lip of your cunt, all the way back to gloss your puckered hole. You can feel every movement of his whether feathered or anchored, following the path of his fingers from your asshole to your clit and back again, only stopping to teasingly circle your entrance. He repeats it over and over and over again until you’re leaking with your own slick, glistening underneath the singular spotlight and the fire of Tom’s eyes. It’s tantalising. Worse yet because you can’t move to stop him. You’re stuck with a burning cheek pressed against the desk and your hands trapped under what feels like Tom’s invisible reins.

“Look over to my clock and tell me what time it is.”

“It’s 11:57pm.”

“Good to know.”

By 11:59pm he has you teetering towards the edge of your first orgasm with as little as two fingers and a thumb violating your cunt. By the turn of a new day, he has you wishing you had just said sorry and meant it.

“Such a tight little pussy.” He groans behind you, littering small kisses along the base of your spine and your ass. His two fingers enter you again, anchoring down on the spot that winds you up so perfectly, stroking it with the curl of his knuckle and just when you both sense the coil tightening, he picks up speed and power. Anxiety and excitement broil in your stomach.

“Oh God, f-fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He already knows this. He doesn’t need you telling him. In fact, he’s familiarised himself with the quivering of your thighs, the shaking of your body and already, he knows exactly when to stop. “No! Fuck!” You grieve over the loss of your climax quietly with a small groan laced with heavy breaths.

His gruff, irritated voice buzzes straight down your ear, vibrating with impatience. “You will take what I give you. And you will thank me for it.”

The voice that spills from your lips is hardly recognisable. Whining, winging and moping, you don’t quite understand where the grovelling came from and how it took over, but you can’t find it in you to stop it.

“Thank you, sir.”

And just like that, the routine starts again and without a doubt, the result is the same.

Muscles ache, bones shaking, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of liquifying here on his desk. Alas, Tom possesses the ability to keep you solid like no other man has, keeping you somewhat stable and conscious enough to make you feel every last drop of his torment. No matter what sweet relief you feel when he gently massages your cunt, it’s completely forgotten about the moment he slaps the back of your thighs for moving your hands one centimetre out of place. And just like that, you’re back in the room.

When Tom painfully edges you for the sixth time, he asks you to read the time again. The digits of the numbers have blurred since the last time you checked, but you can just make them out. “It’s 12:32am”

He smirks. “Good to know. Fuck, look at the mess you’re making on my floor.” A flat palm smacks against your cunt, seizing at the stimulation. Your thighs beg to squeeze together, anything to build up some friction to tame the urge but the chains rattle beneath you, keeping you contained.

He tames the fire with the lick of his fingers that curl eloquently onto your clit and swivels it around in circles in the same, insatiable manner as before. At first, you think he’s going to build you up again like he has done for the last thirty-something minutes and you’re not so sure that your mind and body can take the strain, but you feel the pressure of his other hand anchoring down onto your back, pressing your stomach flat against the wooden desk and eliminating any chance you have of escaping. Not that you had any before, but Tom’s a man of guarantee rather than possibilities.

It’s new and the prospect that he might allow to cum reignites the exhilaration in your core.

Effortlessly, he sets your nerves on fire, plucking every one with overstimulation and you're on the cusp of the well-desired orgasm that you’ve waited for for what seems like all night. You writhe so desperately for it that your pebbled nipples are starting to chafe underneath you.

Tom’s maniacal laugh drifts into your ears, his lips pressing soft, tender kisses against your ear and your neck. “What do you want?”

You open your mouth and moans spill out, not the words of an answer. He continues to ruin you anyway. “I want…I want to cum. Please!”

“So you don’t want my forgiveness? You’d rather cum instead? So fucking selfish of you.”

He rips his fingers from you and the sensation is lost. “NO!”

“Yessss.”

~~~~~

You still haven’t came yet. How the fuck have you not been allowed to cum in all the pleasure Tom’s fingers and teasing words have granted you? He hasn’t allowed you to move either leaving all of your muscles, joints and sanity aching against the stiff wood as you remain prisoner to his chains. And as his prisoner, all of your self-control has been stripped from you. With your eyes closed, voice gone, mind vacant, Tom decides to finally, finally, re-evaluate the situation.

And by re-evaluate, you mean change position.

Now unchained, he forces you to lie on your back and you’re thankful that the desk is long enough to support your head, because when you are being punished with extremities, the littlest things can be a saving grace.

“Tell me the time.”

You look over, Tom catching a glint of your red cheeks and the imprints of the wooden grain etched into your skin. “It’s…it’s 1:23am.”

He grins wickedly, licking his lips, and with a smooth wink, he replies. “Good to know.”

“Please, Tom.” The crack is your voice is liquid gold in Tom’s ears and with his hands skating over your thighs, he hears what you have to say. “I’m so sorry about earlier. I am…so sorry. Please--I…I can’t take it anymore.”

“What is it you want?”

“I want your forgiveness. Please, sir.”

He sees it. He really does; the desperation in the tear that leaves your eye, the look of absolute surrender donning your features in fear that he won’t accept your apology, and even in the way your body warms at his touch tells him that there’s nothing else that you desire. That’s the part he loves most and the main attraction for his dominant tendencies; the moment when the bad turn good. When they’re at such a loss with their original intentions that they have no other option but to surrender and submit. From brazen words to pitiful pleas. From bratty attitudes to willful compliance. From ‘fuck you’s to ‘thank you’s. When that switch is pulled, that’s when Tom knows he’s won.

He holds your legs dearly in his hands, your swollen cunt perched directly in front of him as he crouches to the floor. It’s red, puffy and glistening in the light, screaming out to be touched, filled and ultimately freed of the orgasm that is running ragged inside.

He eases the slight quiver in your thighs with a grounding kiss, powerful enough to emboss just the traces of teeth marks onto your skin.

“What a good girl you’ve become.” The same kiss is planted on your other thigh, just a hint closer to your crying cunt. “I’ll tell you another thing about me,” he whispers, feeling the softness of your skin against his lips. “I don’t just dominate and manipulate people, I manipulate pleasure too. I control it. I can stop it from happening, but sometimes I can be in the mood to make sure it never stops happening.”

You take a breath and hold it. The anticipation of what’s about to happen savagely ruins your mind that you just can’t settle your pulse, and even if you try to slowly release that breath, you realise that it is all in vain. Your heart still positively thunders in your chest.

“And guess what, sweetheart?”

Traces of your voice weakly spill out. “What?”

“I’m in that exact mood.”

Tom doesn’t waste a second before his tongue is licking a fat, wet strip up the centre of your cunt and completely destroys your sanity. It’s slow, meticulous in its travels as it covers every inch of you from your hole to your clit and your body involuntarily searches for more. It’s like a wave, rolling over your cunt before crashing into the bundle of nerves at the end. Your cries vibrate through your body, all to be felt by Tom when his lips tightly seal around your cunt, suffocating it with the heat of his mouth and the lashings of his tongue. It’s incredibly enthralling; being constantly aware of every small minuscule change in direction. From thrusting into your hole with tenacity to swirling tightly around your clit in a frenzy, there’s no telling what he’ll do next.

Your body drips with sweat and you can’t decide if it’s from all the involuntary squirming upon the table or if it's the fire within, being fuelled by Tom’s uncontained lust. There’s a small explosion waiting to happen inside you, and Tom holds the detonation trigger.

“Holy fuck.”

“Mmmmm.”

With his head buried beneath your thighs, his hands blindly roam your body. They descend down your thighs and over the valleys of your hip bones, shaping the contours of your waist before feeling the grooves of your ribcage as they expand with each pant you breathe, until he finds your tits, groping and pinching where he can. In both of your minds though, his hands are an afterthought, especially when his gorgeous mouth is massaging your pussy so rhythmically, moving against you like a ship on a wave.

“Ohhhh my God,” you whimper, feeling the burn in your abdomen descend deeper and deeper towards your cunt. You’re so close it hurts. Your legs start to twitch closer together.

“Legs open,” he mumbles. “And look at me. Look at who’s got you shaking.”

You cast your eyes downward, unblinking as he sucks and pulls at your cunt with his lips, making what you think to be the most salacious, delicious sounds a man could make while eating you out.

“F-fuck. Tom, please—.”

Tom’s dark lashes lift, lids heavy as he stares at you with such forbidden intentions that it’s enough to make you shiver. Neither of you break the connection and you think it might just be the final nail in the coffin. With a deathly snarl, he claws at the back of your thighs, lifting them until they are pressed harshly against your chest and pans all of his attention, mind, body and soul into forcing you to cum. You sob as his tongue darts out, abusing your clit in all directions and it slingshots you directly towards the climax you have been aching for.

“Tom!”

With a final flick of his tongue, you crash into your orgasm. It immediately wreaks havoc on your system and splinters your sanity completely, so much that you can’t tell whether you're ascending or crumbling right here on his desk. Your lips part to scream, but your consciousness is shattered into a million pieces and your voice is lost. Wood creaks as your nails dig into the edge of the desk, white-knuckled and numb with a grip so tight you swear you feel your bones begin to bend under the strain.

Like he promises, Tom doesn’t stop. Despite being trapped between your thighs, despite the wriggling and writhing, your pleas and desperate whispers, Tom doesn’t stop. Not for one second.

Every flick of his tongue is more intimate than the last, plucking at your nerves so harshly, nerves that are already pulsing and in need of mercy. Regardless, Tom remains kneeling, feasting on you like you are his last meal, last drink, last breath he’ll ever take.

Swimming through the pain, you come out of the other side to find another climax already waiting, just seconds from bursting as drastically as the first one. With one final pleading look to Tom, his dark eyes swallow you whole, subliminally telling you that he’s more than ready to keep this cycle going for as long as he deems necessary.

Mercilessly, his lips seal around your cunt, tongue slithering itself straight deep into your entrance, still not yet satisfied with what he’s tasted all ready. You’re so wet, and with Tom’s constant laving and licking he only just adds to the mess that he spreads with his hands to your thighs until the glossy sheen catches your eyes. The sparkle of it makes you truly realise for yourself just how aroused he has made you, the sight so alien from your own eyes. No man has ever worn you down like this before. It’s…unnerving. Only because you’re not sure if this is supposed to be what it’s like.

As another orgasm explodes, your body shudders violently on the table, his hands digging themselves into the crooks of your knees being the only thing to keep you from completely wriggling away. Your head collapses against the desk and gives way to a desperate whimper. It isn’t cute, it isn’t coy or coquettish like what you’ve heard before in porn or films. It’s raw, painful and very, very real.

It never seems to end. You’ve lost the ability to determine when one climax ends and when the next starts.

By the fifth time - at least, you think - he claims yet another, an hour later, you break.

After his torture renders you thoughtless, mindless and perhaps a tad vacant, your instincts quickly take over. Your hands whip from the silent hold he had on them and swing down to push Tom’s head full of curls away from your aching cunt while it still throbs through the orgasm. He grabs your wrists, far too quickly for your liking. Tom watches your every movement through his brows, still latched onto your clit, giving nothing away of the disapproval you know he would be demonstrating had he not been so adamant in eating every particle of you. “Please,” your hoarse voice scratches your throat, sounding nothing like you. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’ll do anything, please--ah, fuck--it’s too much.”

Slowly, deathly slowly, Tom’s lips detach from you, finally granting you freedom, salvation, relief. Yet he just can’t resist recoiling every other second for just one last taste, one last swift lap of his tongue from entrance to clit in one clean strip. The moment all touch detaches from you, your thighs swing close, nursing the pulse that squeezes at your abused clit, taming the orgasm as it flickers its last flame.

“Fucking hell,” you pant. “You truly are a sadist.”

Tom only chuckles, deep, dark, leaking from lips soaked in your slick. It rumbles straight to your core. “Tell me the time, sweetheart.”

Bleary eyes lazily drag themselves over to the clock and after a few blinks, the numbers sharpen. “It’s 2:38am.”

His fingers tickle up your shin, tracing circles around your knee. “So, so good--” you gasp, darting to catch his hand before it sinks between your thighs. He smirks, “--to know.”

Your sadist allows you just one minute, you know because he counts it, to cool down and let your body reset; a glass of water, a clean rag and a comfy seat, unshackled and dressed. He also very calmly warns you as he sheds his blazer and unbuttons his cufflinks, rolling his sleeve up his tanned, muscular arm, that although it’s very late into the night, traipsing on the verge of closing, that you still have a long night ahead of you.

A small breath narrowly slips from your lips while you hold his stare. You can’t even dwell on the gravitas of the situation, not risking spending the valuable seconds of your - likely - only cool down. So you bite your lip, sit yourself down and quietly regain your energy.

Your heart beat doesn’t slow as quickly as you want it to. The exhilaration doesn’t leave your system either, stuck in a perpetual cycle of replaying all that had just unfolded.

You force your way through a breathing exercise sitting on the chair he originally placed you in, facing forward, blocking him out behind you because you know that one look at him and he would detonate all that you had worked to subdue. Once calm, the tether between mind and body reconnects and there’s one thing that screams down the line.

Filled with pleasure, yet still feeling empty. Yet to be fucked.

Tom alerts you that your cool down has come to an end as he saunters out of the dark corner behind you. It felt like barely a second. He had watched you the entire time, eyes roaming your figure, how it shook, how it quivered, how you barely managed to stand on your own two feet as you jumped from the desk, body scorching with the heat from your core. You were like a new-born deer learning to walk while he was a wolf waiting in the shadows.

Sat on the chair, you spin around to complain, attitude brimming, mouth open, words at the ready and…“Hmph!” His hand clamps down hard onto your mouth, pinching your nose with the other. Not a breath slips through.

“Here’s me thinking you had learned to know better than to talk back to me.” His body arches over your head above you, tilting your head back to catch the panic glaze over your wide eyes. You think he’s going to do something rash, something to make you regret even thinking about turning around to answer him back; a slap to the face, a tug to your roots, something as evil as his wicked voice sounds in your ear.

So you can't exactly blame your heart for tripping over itself when, as smooth as butter, he lowers his head, lips puckering to lay a slight kiss to your forehead. It feels like air, an offering that doesn’t conceal something malice behind it. A fragile dusting of comfort to your skin, gentle like a snowflake feathering down onto the ground. Your conscience arrows towards it.

When he lifts his hands from your mouth and nose, you don’t find yourself desperately sucking in the air you lost. Rather, you inhale slowly through your nose and out through your mouth. It had to be that small, insignificant little kiss that lay your nerves to rest.

Tom is one hell of a manipulator.

His lips remain lingering on your skin, skating over the surface, mirroring his hands as they trickle down your cheeks and hold your jaw in their embrace. He whispers…“Do you think you can behave like my good girl again?” A small hum of confirmation buzzes at your lips. It isn’t enough for him. “Take this as your warning. If you decide to be a brat, if you decide to not listen to every word I say from now on, know that I cannot be responsible for what happens to you.”

The severity of his caution has your eyes opening just a fraction wider, able to read the same warning that traces his words in his eyes. He means it. Really means it. Danny’s words echo around your head. ‘He’s a stickler for obedience’. What is he about to do to you that it’s imperative you listen to what he says?

You could say no. You could invoke upon your safe word and make it stop right now. But when you delve deeper into the part of you that made you agree to this in the first place, you find that it still roars with life, telling you that your need for adventure hasn’t quite been satiated.

You swallow, throat bobbing under his digits. “I understand.”

He scrunches his nose in delight. “Perfect.”

You don’t turn to follow his movements to the back of his office, your ears tell you what you need to know. A cupboard door squeaks open, old, rickety, likely an antique. Then rustling. Objects hard, soft, textured, plastic, rubber, metal. A hum of satisfaction, then the closing squeak of the door, different to the first. His footsteps near you, perching directly behind you while you feel the soft sweep of his torso brush against your hair.

Then darkness. Soft, pillowy darkness that floods your vision. Remnants of light trapped in your irises float around like shooting stars before fading completely. It’s the only thing you can hone in on as the knot tied behind your head tightens, confirming that he has indeed blindfolded you.

“Remember your safe word.” He breathes into your ear in earnest. Pasta. “Don’t hesitate to use it.”

“Yes, sir.” You don’t know if he’s still expecting you to say that, but you do it anyway to stay in good graces with him. You’re not entirely sure if it will make a difference to the impending danger Tom warned you of. Even if it doesn’t, Tom’s lip still curls anyway.

“Good,” a quick kiss to the corner of your mouth has you blushing, “now don’t move.”

A single breath is all you have to prepare yourself before something cold eases across the skin of your arm. Insubstantial, almost weightless, it falls from the curve of your right shoulder and descends down until it reaches your hand, resting on the velvet arm. The sensation is ghostly but frigid, gliding but piercing. You can’t quite work out what it is…

The same icy coldness retraces its path back up your arm, floating and gliding along your clavicle and stops directly at the base of your throat, the pit where your collar bones meet.

It knicks your skin.

“Oh my God--”

“Don’t. Move.”

Holy fuck. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It’s a knife. It is a fucking knife.

That’s the metal object you heard. And its sharpest point is resting directly against your neck.

Your skin pales and your stomach swirls with nausea. All your efforts to stay still and keep calm drains very quickly and panic floods in. Any chills the knife aroused in its cold path is replaced by small beads of sweat, your entire body blazing, screaming danger. Surprisingly, among other things, your nipples begin pebbling, brushing harder against the silk slip of a dress that adorns your body the more the blade's sharpest edge tickles along your skin. Your heart pounds, the sound of panic-infused adrenaline thrumming in your ears, comparable to the time you went on that rickety, old roller coaster when you were younger.

You guess the memory isn’t too dissimilar; forced to feel the thrill of having your own safety rest in someone else’s hands. You have no control here.

It’s…intoxicating.

A dark admission on your behalf, but you’re here for the experience, right?

You dare not speak, dare not break his rules as the peak of the very sharp knife trails lightly up the column of your throat as its runway, bumping over your trachea, scraping the finest layer of your skin, commanding you to incline your head as it rises higher and higher. Your lungs expand and you can’t deflate them until the knife flicks off your chin. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

In the stone cold silence of his room, the resonating shwing of the knife rings in your ears. A small respite.

From what you can hear, Tom moves behind you somewhere. The creak of the floorboard dances from the left to the right and back again, giving you not one hint of where he plans to strike next, subjecting you to the torment of crippling anticipation until he does.

Suddenly the blade comes into contact once more with your skin, laying its long, razor sharp edge against your neck. Your body freezes, your nails scratch the edge of the armchair.

“Stand,” Tom commands sharply. The knife’s blade maintains the same pressure on you, even as you come to a stand, knees knocking beneath you.

Seconds later, the chair clatters behind you, just the swiftest of touches of velvet to your calves before it crashes off to your left, and where four legs once sat now stand just two. Tom. The warmth of his breath flowing past your ear is a stark contrast to the cool blade on your throat. But it’s the low grumble bubbling against your back that plucks a chord deep in your stomach. You can feel yourself getting wetter…

“I can feel your heartbeat hammering against your ribcage, newbie. Worried?”

Yes…

“Or is it more than that? Excitement? Anxiety? Lust? Desire? What is it? Tell me, a penny for your thoughts.”

“Nerves. Mostly. But…exhilaration and curiosity. And confusion.”

“About?”

“Do people actually get off on this?”

He chuckles at your naivety. “Lots of people do. It’s perfect for keeping any brat in their place. But you’ll find it’s mostly the sort that spend all day bossing people about. Whose jobs are to take on the burden of responsibility, leadership, authority. If it’s been a particularly long and hard day for them, they come here. This is their relief.”

“To be held at knife point?”

“To relinquish control. To let someone else take the reins for once. To be controlled rather than being in control. The knife just adds that flare, the incentive to keep them in that headspace of receiving orders instead of being the one to make them. It could be a gun if you’d like,” he jests. You’d shake your head, but you might slice your throat in the process.

You take a constricted breath, feeling the weight of the knife’s edge becoming just that little bit heavier. “And…do you like it? Being the one in control?”

He presses himself against you as if to mould the contours of your body into his, lips furrowing deep into the crook of your outstretched neck roaming where they please. His free hand anchors down onto your hip, slithering its way across the expanse of your abdomen where, if he held you long enough, would feel the flutter of butterflies wings coming from within. Alas, he spreads his fingers, sinking lower onto your pelvis, teasing the curve of your pubic bone and presses down hard, bending you into him. As if the knife he holds against your neck isn’t controlling enough.

His erection pokes and prods at your backside. He’s so hard you release a whimper. What you would give to feel him inside you.

Tom’s words speak directly onto your neck like he’s tattooing them onto you. “I love it.” A beat, then--“Tell me,” he says, low in tone and volume. “Your dress. Any sentimental attachment to it?”

“No.”

The knife’s blade glides to the strap of your dress on your shoulder and picks it up, pulling it taut. “Good.”

One tug and the material snaps.

A small yelp falls out and a flinch has your shoulders raising just an inch closer to your ear. The integrity of your dress now hangs precariously with just one strap holding on for dear life. If one thing is for certain, it won’t be holding on for much longer. You smother the urge to scold him for ruining your dress, your property, and lest you forget the threat of the very sharp knife he holds against you, it’s only the straps, you could tie them back together as a temporary solution. An easy fix.

The knife repeats its actions on the other side until your dress hangs lifelessly around your hips. The cold air bites at your nipples and Tom doesn’t wait one second before he brings the tip to circle around the little bud.

“Oh--” You can’t stop your head tilting back onto Tom’s shoulder when the slight overdose of adrenaline makes you dizzy. The tickling sensation refuses to relent, crossing over the valley between your tits to tease your other bud just as salaciously.

Just when you find pleasure of the tip running rings around your nipples, when Tom’s hand sinks to cup your pantiless sex, when his scent rushes in through your nose, a harsh slap of the blade's flat edge to your tit whips you back to caution. It’s unexpected. Being blindfolded, every touch is. Any touch you feel, whether blade or not, makes you flinch. Quick as a bolt of lightning surging through your body. It’s torturous because in your darkness, in your paranoia, you’re permanently recoiled, shielding, flinching at nothing, waiting for the next hit.

He’ll strike. You know he will. Not knowing when is killing you. And he knows it.

“You asked if I like what I do-” his finger sinks into you, skimming over your clit wet with your slick, “-from what I can feel, I think you like it too.” Your hips buck to gain more friction from both his fingers and from his hard cock pressed against your ass, desperate to feel that euphoria of pleasure again. A sick, twisted crack of satisfaction surges through you when you hear him moan. “Shame you’ve forgotten your manners.”

The surface of the knife slaps you again, harsh against your nipple. “Ow! T-thank you, sir.”

“Better. Now move.”

A few blind steps clumsily place you facing a wall, palms resting flat against the wallpaper while Tom kicks your feet further apart. He makes sure that while he puppeteers you to never let you forget that the knife he holds is always within close proximity, that if you dare defy him, he wouldn’t hesitate to use it. Gentle scrapes, warning knicks, cold presses, even to go as far as break skin would he warn you.

The audacity he has, though, when he takes the knife and slices his way through the remaining fabric of your dress, leaving you to stand stark naked before him. That’s going to be less easy to fix…

“You ripped my dress!”

“Problem?” His voice is challenging, subliminally daring you to bite the bait.

“How the hell am I supposed to get home with no clothes?”

The fiery attitude that tries to bloom inside dies the instant he presses the flat edge of the blade flush against your cunt. The cold surface lying against your heat causes a stutter in your breath. It pushes upwards, almost lifting you off from your feet and onto your tiptoes from fear that any slight movement of defiance would trigger excruciating pain. It’s dangerous, careless, and reckless, and you wish you could scream it, thrash around, push him away and yell in his face. The compulsion is overwhelming. If only you didn’t have a knife to your cunt…

“Telling me your problem isn’t going to make it my problem.”

Your jaw slacks, away from his prying eyes and you suppose you could allow yourself just one moment of freedom. Just one moment of no restraint because releasing what you’re dying to say would just be as gratifying as the first time Tom allowed you to cum. You can easily feel the knot that’s dying to unwind, and saying what intransigent words would tease out the knot inside you, and also send him reeling.

He wants to call you a bratty sub? Fine. That’s what he’ll get.

“You are such a bastard, do you know that? I think you’ve spent too much time being told ‘yes, sir, of course, sir, thank you, sir’ that it’s all gotten to your head. Maybe you could do with being reminded that not everything you do deserves that.”

Quick as a whip, the blade snaps to your neck, digging into your skin that you feel it tearing your skin. The wince is evidence of your pain, but Tom ignores it, settling on placing his focus not on the knife he holds against you, but how quickly he can undo his belt, his trousers, springing his hard cock free and lining it up with your sopping cunt.

Without a warning, because you don’t deserve one, he thrusts into your core, holding your breath hostage under the knife. “So fucking tight,” he stutters to himself. Even for him, the sensation is immense. His next message is for you. “Cheeky little bitch. Think you’re clever? Think you’re funny? We’ll see who’s laughing when you’re begging me to stop.”

Your bodies clash as Tom begins rutting his hips against your ass, the staccato notes of skin on skin and the room swallows every snap, barely making out the door. He fills you, stretches you, and ruins you within seconds and you can’t explain how the pain you feel translates so quickly into pleasure. You feel yourself needing more of it. The stretch, the burn, the knife, it’s indescribable.

His relentless pace maintains, stopping every ten or so seconds to ensure he fills every inch of you, submerging himself to the hilt and mercilessly grinding his hips against you, rolling around your cunt. Without fail, your hands claw at the wallpaper when he does, begging for reprieve.

“When I tell you,” he pants, lips pursed and eyes ablaze, still holding the knife firmly against your neck. “You are going to give me everything.”

He drops himself, snatching a slab of flesh between your neck and shoulder between his teeth and bites viciously in his frustration and you howl. His thrusts only become faster and harsher.

“I need to feel you squeeze around my cock.” A hand slides between your bodies and starts toying with your clit. “I’m not going to stop until I feel you cum around me.”

Tom effortlessly tugs at the elastic band in your stomach and you are about to snap. He overloads your senses, violating your sensitive cunt to the point where you can feel it pulse in anticipation of the orgasm that is threatening to spill. Under the knife that now trails down your body, a pressure builds and it clenches your muscles with its tight grip, and with each pounding Tom hits you with, it grows a little closer to letting go.

Tom fucks you in phases, fast, slow, harsh, gentle, silent, loud, anything and everything thrown into his efforts to completely tear you apart. If it’s regret he’s after, he’s got it. If it’s an apology he wants, it’s there for the taking. If he desires to hear you begging, then it’s on the horizon. You’re willing to give because you’re not sure you know where your limits are, and with your legging threatening to crumble beneath you, you sense that you’re about to get a good idea.

Tears brim your eyes only to be soaked up by the blindfold, a quiet plea for release.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, please! ” Tom denies relief, keeping you squirming on his cock until his needs are satisfied. He has no care for you writhing to get away, because he can easily drag you back where he wants you with just a swift reminder of the blade that pierces your skin. You’re certain by now that you have tiny little cuts littered over your body, accidental or not.

“Tom, stop! I can’t! It’s too much. Fuck!” He doesn’t heed your cries because to him, they are the symphonies he is waiting to hear.

Your entire body quivers and with the flick of his deft fingers and the thrust of his cock, you come undone. There’s no holding it in anymore. The elastic band snaps and a white-hot wash of pleasure convulses through your body. Blood pumping at your core but Tom isn’t relenting.

The squeeze of your orgasm around his cock is suffocating, but yet just as painfully pleasurable as he needs it to be for the euphoric feeling to consume him. Finally, as the walls of your cunt contract once more, he cums inside you. But by this point, you are weak and Tom can clearly see just how destroyed you are. Nevertheless, his selfishness convinces him to pull away and sink into you over and over again, slower and with purpose.

“Don’t you have something to say to me, sweetheart?”

“I’m s-sorry, fuck, I’m sorry!”

“Taking me so well. My little cocksleeve, aren’t you?” He peels away the blindfold to find your eyes over your shoulder, but in your pain and exhaustion you can’t focus on much else and your eyes serve a very glazed-over look. “Look at me,” he spits, you obey. “You’re mine. This pussy is mine. Remember that any time you want to act like a brat.” He thrusts into you again as a testament to his words.

“Yes,” you meekly whisper. The word comes out of your mouth before your sex-inebriated mind can comprehend what he actually said. Once it does, you gulp.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl. Stay still.” Blinded by bliss, Tom pulls from you and with his size, it’s a feeling equivalent to an orgasm in itself and you hiss. Your pussy is hot, swollen, pulsing and leaking and yet somehow, as evident as it is for how sensitive it is, Tom can’t resist one more taste. The knife clatters to the ground. Salvation.

“No, no, no, no, it’s too much, Tom, please, I’m begging you.” The words drip with a desperation you don’t recognise. He simply hushes you, kneels behind you, splits you apart and continues to savour the taste of your arousal, meticulously circling his tongue around the small bundle of nerves once again. The warm, wet muscle glides from entrance to clit, cleaning you up of your wetness and replacing it with his own. For as excruciating as it is to endure so soon after an orgasm, you find yourself melting into the feeling and dizziness envelopes you in a warm hug.

~~~~

“Tell me the time,” he murmurs, turning you around.

Your eyes peer to the clock. “Fuck, it’s…it’s 4:29am. When does this place close?”

Tom sniggers, floating over you with a smirk. “It closed an hour and a half ago.”

“What?! Why am I still here?”

“I’m the owner of this place. I decide who gets to stay and I promised you an experience did I not?”

“You did,” you agree quietly. The slight stickiness between your thighs bears a reminder of the experience and suddenly you’re burning again. You bite your lip, trying to contain the coy giggle like a teenager with a crush. “Some experience that was.”

“Sweetheart, that was child’s play,” he laughs.

“What?”

He pulls you close, skin to skin, soothing out your muscles in a gentle massage. “You didn’t actually think I was going to show you everything, did you?”

Would it be stupid of you to admit that you did? “I don’t know, you did say--”

“That I would give you an experience. Something new, something outside your comfort zone, something you hadn’t done before, an adventure.”

“But--” But the paddles, the chains, the whips, all the things you saw outside…

Not another word lets slip before he cups your cheeks, holding your stare and wordlessly silencing you. “If I had shown you everything, there would be no incentive for you to come back again now would there?” You shake your head. “While you may think I’m a sadist, there are some things within BDSM that newbies like you just can’t be thrown into. Trust me. I wouldn’t put you through that. At least, not yet.”

“Like what? Tell me, I wanna know.”

Tom’s lip curls. He’ll definitely be seeing you around here soon enough given you’re so invested. “Voyeurism, roleplay, flogging, bondage, anal, wax play, primal, orgies, consensual non-consent--”

Your brain fumbles over his words. “Wait what? What’s that?”

The way his eyes lit up so brightly. He brings you closer to brush his nose against yours. “Consensual non-consent or CNC. A fetish where people enjoy being either the victim with the extreme lack of control or the predator with extreme control. Sometimes called rape play--” your eyes widen, “--but it is thoroughly negotiated beforehand and varies from scene to scene. Consent, as well as safe words, are vital. But for some people, verbally communicating consent takes away from the mood. To overcome that, they assign consent to an object. It would be agreed beforehand, could be a red scrunchie that you tie in your hair. If you came here one night wearing a red scrunchie, I would know that you would consent to me taking control over you. Perhaps drag you away against your will, take you somewhere where no one would see, make you get on your knees, suck my cock…” his voice reduces to a whisper and lets you feel his words on your lips. “Would do things to you…”

“Oh…”

Tom sighs, pulling away and composing himself. “For another time.” He winks. “But for now, you need to clean up. There’s a bathroom through that door. Feel free.”

“Oh, uh, thanks.”

~~~~

You don’t emerge from your bedroom until early afternoon the next day. In your true stubborn nature, you do anything you can to prolong the confrontation with Danny. He knows what prevailed between you and Tom, and munching away at a bowl of cereal, you find him smirking at the breakfast bar. All because he knows he was right, he knows that bringing you to the Hunting Ground was the ideal thing for you. You can’t deny him of it.

His eyes find the bite mark on your neck first, bruised and marked. Then to the large T-shirt that he’s certain isn’t yours. The memory of Tom dressing you in it last night has your heart thrashing against your ribs.

“So how did the kinky-cultish-sex club turn out for you?” He grins, a smile stolen from the Cheshire cat.

You click your tongue, deliberating the two ways you could go about this. Against your better character, you grin back at him, colour rushing to your cheeks.

“When can we go back?”

#ive been reading a lot of spicy books recently so this is why this exists #this is foul #knife play??? who am i #truly foul #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #smut #dom!tom holland #sub!bratty!reader #tom holland x you #the hunting ground #peter parker #dark!tom holland

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thewriterg · 8 months

Text

𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐘 𝐆

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ༝༚ okie so did I exactly finish spooktober last year… no BUT I’m very hopeful this year and have experienced what works for me and what doesn’t so I’m 87% hopeful we can make it the full month っ◞‸◟ c anyway I’m doing the big three (fluff, angst, and smut) each category gets 10 days and FALL IS HERE WRITERS!

EVENT DURATION; oct. 1st - oct. 31st 2023

may include dark and triggering content ™ thewriterg

{¬º-°}¬ {¬º-°}¬ {¬º-°}¬

LEVEL 1. (fluff)

DAY 01 ϟ costume participation (ghost x r x soap) DAY 02 ϟ a walk in the park (dallas winston x r) DAY 03 ϟ studying for exams (peter parker x r) DAY 04 ϟ baking festive foods (john price x r) DAY 05 ϟ pumpkin carving (pope h x r x jj maybank) DAY 06 ϟ record shopping (miles morales x r) DAY 07 ϟ pictures at a graveyard (stu x r x billy) DAY 08 ϟ saving a black cat (tate langdon x r) DAY 09 ϟ pumkin spice (tony stark x r) DAY 10 ϟ house decor (luke danes x r)

LEVEL 2. (angst)

DAY 11 ϟ relationship problems (loki x r x thor) DAY 12 ϟ saving them (johnny cage x r x kenshi) DAY 13 ϟ villian and a hero (steve rodgers x r) DAY 14 ϟ household problems (simon riley x r) DAY 15 ϟ jealousy (johnny castle x r) DAY 16 ϟ abandonment (konig x r) DAY 17 ϟ toxic relationship (peter parker x r) DAY 18 ϟ dilf problems (simon riley x r) DAY 19 ϟ comfort (dad!simon x daughter!r) DAY 20 ϟ the one left behind (neytiri x r jake sully)

LEVEL 3. (smut)

DAY 21 ϟ spanking (tom holland x r) DAY 22 ϟ sex pollen (miguel o’hara x r) DAY 23 ϟ stubborn 2 admit (sub!character x dom!r) DAY 24 ϟ somnophilia (leon kennedy x r) DAY 25 ϟ angsty sex (jj maybank x r) DAY 26 ϟ DAY 27 ϟ DAY 28 ϟ DAY 29 ϟ DAY 30 ϟ

FINAL LEVEL.

DAY 31 ϟ

#🦇𝐒𝐏𝐎𝐎𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑;𝐆 #spooktober #kinktober #angstober #flufftober #october #fall season #fem!reader #gn!reader #male!reader #fluff #angst #smut #romance #2023 #i love you #thewriterg

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kamaluhkhan · 1 year

Text

if it's real, if it's sweet

pairing: shuri x fem!reader

summary: you and shuri are pretty much living in domestic bliss, until a double date leads to a revelation about your relationship. your reconciliation involves you fucking shuri like no other girl has before and giving shuri the best orgasm(s) of her life (and vice versa). let's just say....the two of you live happily ever after <3

warnings: fluff, angst (reader and shuri have an argument), and smut!! mostly sub!shuri, oral (reader and shuri receiving), spitting, squirting, strap-on, tribbing...enjoy :)

song inspo: "cherry" by FLETCHER and hayley kiyoko

a/n: hello! this fic is kind of a part 2 of my first fic i'm not wanting anything (but your loving, your body, and a little bit of your brain) but not much context is needed. there is a lot of plot and smut is mostly at the end. this is set between endgame and wakanda forever. i might do a part 3 that would be very angsty, so stay tuned. also if you're wondering my fancast for harry osborn it's jonathan daviss and for peter parker it's nico hiraga (sorry tom holland!)

"fuck, shuri," you moaned as her tongue touched your folds. "we don't have time for this...."

you had class in an hour and shuri had to get to work, but the combination of the hot water hitting your skin and shuri's tongue in your cunt was something you did not want to give up just yet - even if you didn't want to admit it.

"usana," shuri scolded, looking up at you innocently, as if she wasn't the one who decided to push you against the shower wall and get on her knees in front of you. "it was your idea to shower together this morning."

"well, sorry for wanting to save water," you breathed, your grip tightening on her curls. "the planet is dying."

shuri pulled away from you once more, lips shining with your slick. "well, i didn't realize you cared so much about the environment. if that's all this is...." she got up to her feet and turned off the water. "we better get going, pretty girl."

you whined at the loss of contact and clenched your thighs together at the nickname, something that did not go unnoticed by shuri. shuri ran her tongue across her bottom lip before leaning forward to kiss you, your back pushed against the cool tile and the taste of you faint on her tongue.

hearing your alarm go off reminded you that there were other responsibilities you each had to attend to. reluctantly, the two of you dried off and made your way to your (shared) bedroom. you put on a matching bright orange boyshort / bralette combo before slipping on some jeans and an orange cropped sweater, and moving on to your makeup.

as you got ready, you watched in the mirror as shuri looked in the closet for something to wear, currently only dressed in black briefs and a sports bra. once she picked out an outfit, her eyes caught yours in the mirror.

"what?" she asked, slipping on a white mesh top.

you smiled, swiping on some orange eyeshadow (shuri might have been the princess of wakanda, but you were the queen of coordination). even though shuri was moving in at the end of the month -- she needed to go tie up some loose ends in wakanda before coming to live in new york long term -- you loved how comfortably she already fit into your life here. you loved seeing her clothes in your closet, the lava lamp she spotted at a thrift store on the corner of the desk, the photobooth strip of the two of you at a surprise birthday party you'd thrown her last weekend (everyone had a great time and danced and drank until late....needless to say you and shuri showed up very hungover to pepper potts' baby shower the next morning). you loved how you could smell your papaya body wash on her skin. you loved waking up with her arm around your waist, how she mumbled in her sleep about calculations she needed to get done. you loved how she took the subway with you to class, how she visited you at work when you had a slow shift. the two of you had been together for a few years, but your lives had never been this intertwined.

"nothing," you finally responded, finishing with a layer of mango lip gloss on your lips. "don't forget we have that double date tonight."

shuri groaned. "do we have to?"

you didn't particularly want to have dinner with your roommate and his (somewhat) pretentious boyfriend either, but peter parker has been your best friend and partner in crime-fighting for years as well. you owed it to him to give harry osborn a chance.

"if harry's spending more time with pete, it means he'll be spending more time here, so it's probably best that we all get along," you reasoned. you walked over to where shuri was examining her outfit in the full length mirror and wrapped your arms around her waist. she leaned back into your chest, sighing. "please?" you trailed kisses down her neck for good measure.

"fine, i'll do it."

"amazing!" you planted one last kiss on the corner of her mouth before pulling away and gathering your things for class. "the dinner's at 7, but we should probably come back here to change into something nicer. maybe we can meet here and walk over together?"

shuri nodded just as another alarm went off from your phone. "how many alarms do you have?"

"too many, as necessary as they may be," you declared brightly, pressing the cancel button and kissing shuri one last time. you pulled away and she groaned, taking the opportunity to move your shirt slightly and leave bites on your exposed collarbone. you checked the time on your phone.

maybe you could spare a little more time.

the double date was at some fancy italian restaurant in the upper west side. you each ordered pasta dishes and harry ordered a bottle of red wine for the table. the wine came quickly, but given how busy the restaurant was, you anticipated your food would take longer. meanwhile, the conversation flowed naturally from awkward small talk about the weather, to current tv show obsessions (you and shuri were bingeing project runway), to work at oscorp (where you, peter, and harry were interns), and finally to college classes. that's how you found yourself ranting about the lecture in your molecular engineering class from that afternoon.

"i mean no offense to tony - loved the guy - but i know for a fact that my super smart sexy girlfriend cracked that technology years before he did," you declared. "so the fact that my professor -- this white woman, by the way -- uplifts stark tech as the beacon of the future is total bullshit."

"that is total bullshit," harry agreed. "colonizers gonna colonize, i guess."

shuri laughed, a sound you would never get tired of hearing. she had her right arm casually draped across the back of your chair as she held her glass in her left hand, taking occasional sips.

"i mean most of the avengers use nanotech now, right?" harry was directing his question at you, since to his knowledge you were the only avenger at the table, but peter seemed to have forgot that he had a secret identity.

"most of us, yeah," peter answered. you nudged his foot under the table. "ow!" he exclaimed, but once he looked at you, he realized his slip up. "most of them," he corrected, chuckling awkwardly and avoiding harry's gaze. "at least that's what i can gather from my stark internship."

it took a lot in you to not roll your eyes at the fact that peter was still using the 'stark internship' excuse, but harry seemed to buy it.

"anyways, y/n, finish your story," peter suggested.

"well, that's basically what i said in class," you explained.

"that your super smart sexy girlfriend cracked nanotechnology years before tony stark?" shuri wondered.

you shrugged. "pretty much. i also said something about colonizers, but i forget what exactly."

shuri grinned. "that's my girl," she leaned over to plant a kiss on your cheek.

a few waiters came over to bring plates full of pasta, and you all thanked them. your stomach grumbled at the delicious smell, a reminder that you had barely eating all day in between classes. you were so ready to dig in to some quality fettucine alfredo.

"you guys really are a power couple," harry pointed out, gesturing between you and shuri as you started to eat. "how long have you two been together?"

you swallowed a mouthful of pasta. "well, we met right after the avengers split up because of the sokovia accords," you started, clearing your throat. it certainly wasn't your favorite time of your life, but something good obviously did come from that time. if none of it happened, you might not have gotten together with shuri.

"steve dropped me off in wakanda -- i was freshly 18 and he was worried what would happen to me if i went back to new york. so, i stayed there for a while and that's how i met this one." you nudged shuri playfully with your elbow, and she moved a hand under the table to squeeze your upper thigh. "she showed me around, we worked in the lab together and we were friends for a while, of course, but our first non-platonic date was the night before i left wakanda. she brought be up to the top of mount bashenga, we shared a bottle of mango soju that t'challa brought back from korea and then we...." you trailed off, not wanting to necessarily go into the physical details of your first time together. "long story short, we've been girlfriends ever since."

"well, that wasn't our first official date, though," shuri said, taking a sip of her wine.

"oh?" you tilted your head, wondering if your memory was off. but, no, you were sure. it was the night before you left wakanda - it couldn't have been before and it couldn't have been later. your entire relationship had been long distance until recently.

"i visited you in the fall," shuri recounted. "you took me to magnolia bakery to get that banana pudding, we walked around central park, and then we slept together in your dorm while your roommate was at a frat party - that was when we became exclusive."

you chewed slowly, ingesting her words. "that was a few months after i left wakanda though." shuri nodded. "we were already together."

"yeah," shuri agreed. "but weren't exclusive."

"okay, you keep saying that word." at this point, you had completely forgotten your dinner and your double date. "what does that mean, though?"

"like, we were seeing other people," shuri stated casually. she was still eating her pasta, and you grabbed the fork out of her hand. "i wasn't finished with that."

"so you were sleeping with other people? while we were together?"

"well...yeah."

peter's mouth practically dropped to the floor, and harry almost choked on a piece of penne.

you, on the other hand, were silent, frozen. it shouldn't have been that big of a deal - maybe you would have agreed to do the whole friends with benefits thing - but you and shuri clearly hadn't been on the same page. you fell for her, hard and fast, but it didn't seem like she would say the same for you. and you were sure that you'd had the are we exclusive? conversation before you parted ways.

suddenly, your avengers buzzer (an addition made at the request of carol danvers - she swore by them) went off.

harry cleared his throat. "avengers business?"

"yeah," you replied, dropping shuri's fork back in her plate. you glanced at peter, who just shook his head slightly. he would have to sit this one out. "i have to go."

shuri started to call out your name, but you were already out the door.

when you got home later that night, shuri was still up, sitting in the living room with one lamp on. she hadn't changed from dinner, still wearing her patterned suit, but had unbuttoned the top even more. she looked way too good, and if you weren't currently frustrated at her, you would have suggested going to the bedroom right away.

"peter is sleeping at harry's."

"okay," you replied crisply.

you walked to your bedroom and removed your supersuit, looking for some comfortable clothes to wear. your entire body ached, your head throbbing.

"are we going to talk about it, or are you just going to shut me out?"

you groaned, way too exhausted after dealing with a flying green goblin terrorizing midtown. you didn't want to have to deal with this right now. searching through your drawers, you eventually found some sleep shorts and the i <3 wakanda t-shirt shuri had gotten you as a joke.

"i'm tired, shuri." you sat on the bed and started rubbing some lavender body butter on your arms and legs.

"no, you're angry," shuri countered, leaning against the doorframe and watching you go through your nightly ritual.

"can't i be both?" you got up, took off your bra, and slipped on your shorts. you turned to shuri just in time to watch her stare at your bare chest before you finally put on your t-shirt.

"look, you have nothing to be angry about. those first few months, we were keeping it casual, yeah? we were -- how do you americans call it -- friends with benefit."

the way she stated it as though she was explaining scientific theories, the way she was being so casual now like you were overreacting, sent a wave of frustration through your body.

"you can't be fucking serious right now!"

"i don't understand why this is such a big deal! it was years ago!"

you scoffed. "i thought that what we had was real from the start, okay? friends with benefits only works when there are no strings attached, and i remember us very clearly having strings attached. there's no way i would have - i don't know - been so vulnerable with you if i thought it was just sex."

"that's the friend part," shuri continued matter-of-factly. she finally walked into the room, removing her suit jacket and unbuttoning her shirt even more. before long, her top half was only covered by a black sports bra.

you scoffed. "if that's how you act with friends, then i seriously think you need to follow up with the rest of the girls you fucked at the time. how many were there, anyways?"

shuri hesitated.

"answer the question, shuri," you snapped.

"i like sex, you know that! you weren't there, so i had to find other girls to sleep with."

"yeah, i like sex, too! and normally i wouldn't judge you, but we had agreed--"

"we had not agreed ---"

"we had!

"can we agree to disagree? what's the big deal anyways?"

"well, the big deal is that while you were busy sleeping with other girls, i was in my dorm, waiting to spend all my international minutes on a call that would go to voicemail because - oh !- you were apparently busy sleeping with other girls!"

"i kept telling you to use the kimoyo beads i gave you," shuri mumbled.

"are serious right now?" you exclaimed. "i spent most of that semester waiting for you, thinking about you - and you probably couldn't have cared less! i was stressed and lonely and - yeah, i'll say it - horny, while i could have been out having fun too."

"that's not my fault," shuri scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. "i doubt you missed that many opportunities."

"oh? how can you be so sure?"

"well, no one knew that you were an avenger then."

when you first started being an avenger, you were a kid. it wasn't until well after you were 18, after the accords and in a desperate plea to get steve and the others to return, that you revealed your identity to the world, press conference and all. which meant that shuri had a point: during your first semester at empire state university, no one knew that you were an avenger.

"so you're saying that girls would only fuck me if they thought i was a superhero?"

"i'm not saying that's the only reason, but it is a big one."

it took a second for the implication of her words to fully sink in. suddenly, the room felt smaller and you hated every reminder that you and shuri were building a life, here, together.

"is that why we got together in the first place? you wanted to fuck a superhero?"

shuri froze, as if she too just understood the turn your argument had taken.

"shuri. answer the fucking question. is that the reason we got together?" her silence made you claustrophobic, and, again, you were way too tired to deal with this. "i'm gonna sleep at mj's." you were about to grab your phone and keys before shuri stopped you.

"wait. baby, please wait," she pleaded. "i didn't mean -- just, let me explain, okay? please."

you looked at her, jaw tense and eyes searching yours, and you couldn't resist. you just had to hear her out. she sat on the edge of the bed, gesturing at you to join her, but you remained standing, arms crossed and waiting for an explanation.

"maybe....maybe i was intrigued by the fact you were an avenger. i thought you were so cool and badass and i wanted to know you, like really know you. and once i did, i couldn't help but fall for you. i wanted to be with you."

"yeah, you fucking other girls really reflects that."

"let me finish," shuri sighed. "when you went back to new york, i didn't think we'd last. i was scared that our time together in wakanda was just some short, passionate fling for you and you'd forget all about me. or, worse, you'd realize that you just want to be friends and i would be stuck alone, pining for you. sleeping with other people was just a protective measure, i guess."

while you were surprised by her confession, you didn't feel entirely satisfied. you did, however, finally sit on the bed next to her. "you didn't think to talk to me about any of this? to ask whether or not i was invested in our relationship?"

"i'm good with calculations, y/n, not people."

being this close to her, you couldn't help but stare at shuri: at the way her jaw looked sharper in the moonlight, her eyes darker, her lips slightly parted as she waited for you to say something.

"i guess it would have been nice to know how much you thought about me," you whispered.

shuri brings her hand up your thigh and under your shirt, stroking the skin underneath your breast with her thumb. you shuddered at the contact.

"i thought about you all the time. bast, i even called other girls by your name during sex. multiple times."

weirdly, you felt a little proud at that. "i guess i really made an impression on you," you hummed. "tell me: did any of those other girls fuck you better than me?" you asked, voice low.

shuri removed her hand from your body, shrugging. "maybe."

"shuri," you warned. "don't."

"or what?" she challenged, leaning forward, the ghost of a smirk on her lips. "are you gonna punish me? because if you want to have your way with me....i wouldn't stop you."

with that, you pushed her onto the bed. she let out a yelp when her back hit the mattress. once you were hovering over her, legs and arms on either side of her body, you did what you yearned to do as soon as you walked in earlier that night: you kissed her, passionately, deeply. you bit her lip as you pulled away.

"you really want that - for me to have my way with you?"

shuri whimpered. "yes."

"you might regret saying that, usana."

shuri loved it when you spoke xhosa, you knew that. she leaned up to capture your lips, but you had other plans.

you kissed down her jaw, her neck, her exposed chest and shoulders down to her stomach. after you fumbled with the button of her pants, shuri lifted her hips from the bed so that you could remove them. once the pants were thrown on the floor, you kissed her core through her briefs, feeling a wet spot against your lips.

quickly, you took off her briefs, being greeted by her glistening pussy. blowing onto her folds, you ran your tongue from her hole to her clit, loving how you already felt her slick coating your lips. shuri lifted her legs so they rested on your shoulders. with this angle, you gathered some of her slick and sunk two fingers into her heat.

"gods, i've barely touched you and you're already about to come," you teased, feeling her clench around your fingers. "are you going to come for me?" all you got in response was whine. with your other hand, you reached up to pinch the side of her hip. "answer me, princess."

shuri propped herself up on her elbows to look at you, just as you removed your mouth from her.

"yes!" she cried. you'd be lying if you said you didn't feel throbbing between your thighs, hearing how frantic her voice sounded - like she needed you and only you. "please, just do something."

at her request, you moved up the bed so that the two of you were face to face, one of your hands holding her chin while the other was still two fingers deep in her cunt.

with your thumb, you traced over her lips. "open." shuri obeyed you instantly, and you couldn't help but clench your thighs together - you had never seen her this desperate. you spat in her mouth, heart racing as you watched her swallow the combination of your saliva and her cum without question.

you continued fucking her with your fingers until she moaned, louder and louder as she reached her peak.

removing your fingers from her pussy, you locked eyes with her as you brought your glistening fingers to your mouth and sucked off her juices. then, you kissed the tattoo underneath her ear, whispering: "have i ever told you that you're the sweetest thing i've ever tasted?"

when shuri smiled, you couldn't help but think how gorgeous she was, how vulnerable she was underneath you, how she was yours. unfortunately, you also couldn't help but think that there was a time when you thought she was yours and yours alone, while there were other girls with her like this.

so, you decided then that you weren't quite done with her.

"you really want me to have my way with you?" you asked once more, just to be sure.

"yes. anything."

you kissed her again, this time rougher than the last. "where's that new strap you made?"

shuri gestured to the closet. you stripped down before retrieving the strap - bigger than any either of you had used on the other before - and adjusted it around your hips. when you turned back to the bed, shuri was completely naked, nipples perked against the cold air, thighs shining from her previous orgasm.

"turn around," you instructed. "on your knees."

again, shuri complied. you knelt behind her on the bed, grasping her hips. you looked down at her cunt, already dripping, and she gasped when she felt you spit onto her hole. without further ado, you thrusted forward.

you both moaned when you started to enter her. shuri invented a strap that allowed both the wearer and the receiver to feel pleasure; hell, you could even feel her walls clench around you, how deep you were inside her. technology was a beautiful thing.

"you okay, baby?" you asked once you were halfway inside her.

"yes," she breathed. she turned her head as much as she could towards you. "keep going."

once you were fully inside her, strap nestled in her warm cunt, your thighs met her ass. you slipped out slightly, only to thrust back in, over and over, until shuri was a moaning mess beneath you. her body started to shake and she almost collapsed onto her elbows, so you reached one hand to her neck and lifted her up so that your nipples brushed against her back.

"more," she moaned, reaching an arm back to help guide your hips forward, faster.

you kissed the back of her neck, trailing your hand down from her neck to pinch one of her nipples. you moved your other hand to her clit, rubbing the nub in tight circles and gathering as much slick as you could. you then took those same fingers and shoved them into her mouth, allowing her to taste her sweetness.

you almost came right then and there, watching how she truly let you have your way with her body. "i never knew you were such a slut," you taunted. you took your fingers out of her mouth so shuri could respond, instead grasping her neck once more, applying just the slightest pressure you knew drove her crazy.

"only for you," she groaned.

after a particularly hard thrust, shuri came, bursting all over the sheets. she collapsed forward on the bed, breathing hard.

"did you just...." the wet stains on the purple silk sheets were enough evidence. shuri just squirted.

shuri laughed, breathlessly. "fuck. i've never done that before."

you took off the strap and turned her over. her skin glistened with sweat and her curls were stuck to her forehead, but shuri would never not be beautiful.

"one more time for me, okay, pretty girl? i want to feel you against me," you whispered. "i want to watch you fall apart, knowing that i'm the one who makes you feel this good."

shuri nodded, allowing you to adjust your positions so that your cunts were touching. both of you were so worked up, you from watching shuri fall apart twice and shuri from, well, her two previous orgasms, that it didn't take long for you to feel her gush against you, and vice versa.

strings of cum connected you as you removed your body from hers. for a few seconds, you both lay on your backs, staring up at the ceiling and trying to catch your breath.

"i'm sorry," shuri finally said. she shifted her body to lay on her side, facing you. "i almost messed this up but --"

"it's fine," you said, turning your head towards her. "it was a misunderstanding."

"i just...." shuri sighs, voice trembling slightly. "i just want to assure you that i would never want to do anything to hurt you. what we have is more real that anything i ever had with any other girl. you were right, it has been like that from the start, even if i almost messed it up."

you used your thumb to wipe away a tear from shuri's cheek. "are you crying because i gave you the best orgasm of your life?"

despite being in tears, shuri laughed. "i'm crying because i love you."

"i love you too, shuri," you assured her, your finger tracing the tattoo on the side of her arm. "also we should probably take a shower before sleeping."

shuri hummed. "you and your showers." the two of you laughed, remembering this morning. "before that, i have something for you...." she got up and grabbed a paper bag on the floor, handing it to you.

one eyebrow raised, you opened the bag and pulled out a bottle of lychee soju. your expression softened. "it was lychee soju," you mused, looking between the bottle and shuri.

"see, i do remember!" shuri grinned. she slipped on her underwear and your sleep shirt before running to the kitchen to grab some mugs. shuri poured the drink into them and handed you one.

as you sipped the bittersweet liquid, you couldn't help but think: you and shuri. this was real.

#shuri #shuri smut #shuri fanfiction #shuri x reader #princess shuri #shuri udaku #shuri x y/n #black panther: wakanda forever #black panther #shuri fluff #shuri angst #shuri fic #shuri imagine #shuri x you #Spotify #saf writes

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venus616 · 2 years

Note

bro i fkn came at the thought of your blurb prompt fuck right off HAHA

the blurb prompt in question >:-)

cake; {p.p.}

Pairing: peter parker x f!reader (gif is tasm but you can interpret this as any peter parker)

Summary: it's not even my birthday, but he wanna lick the icing off (lyrics by rihanna, birthday cake)

“Happy birthday Peter,” She speaks with her hands planted on her knees. He gets on the bed, ready to pounce on her to her delight. “I think this will be my favorite gift yet,” He mutters while she leans back, elbows falling on his pillows.

Warnings: established relationship, smut, food mention, vaginal fingering, oral sex, light dom/sub dynamics if you squint, spanking, allusion to self esteem + body image insecurity, language, 18+, NSFW

Word Count: 3.1k (2.5k is smut... (i got carried away) (anyway))

A/N: decided to go with the birthday theme bc its leo season aka peter parker + spider-man season also happy birthday to mcu peter :') so feel free to imagine this as tom holland's peter cause it's canonically his day shdnsjd

It was Peter’s birthday and they were barely getting home from his celebration. It was an intimate gathering of his closest friends and his girlfriend at one of his favorite restaurants that wasn’t strictly Chinese takeout.

To her satisfaction, this was after a few weeks of complaints from Peter of her going all for his birthday because he claimed it was “no big deal”. A few days beforehand, she eventually wore him down to allow her to do this one nice thing for him, mainly because he was able to piece two and two together and realized his objections fell on deaf ears.

He was still embarrassed from the singing from everyone in close proximity, followed by the cake play she teased him with when everyone was too distracted to tease them both about their PDA.

Peter closes the door behind her, while she’s still holding onto his hand. All she wanted was to give him his final present for the night to remind him how grateful she was for his presence in her life.

“Peter, c’mere,” She lightly whines while he locks the door of his apartment.

“What is it baby?” He responds, looking down at her before she pretends to wipe away leftover frosting from his cheek.

“You got a little something here,” She lies, making him look at her. He’s so tired from all the attention tonight, his face softens up from just staring at her.

“Do I?” He smiles gently. She smiles back before trailing her fingers to his lips.

“Yeah,” She whispers under her breath before bringing her other hand to the nape of his neck. She pulls him in to kiss her, inhaling the scent of his cologne. It was intoxicating being with him, and she swore it was something she’d never get used to.

Peter smiles against her cheeks when you pull away to breathe, remembering her plans for the rest of the night. “Are you ready for your last present, birthday boy?” She smirks, feeling his hands grope her ass as he refuses to let her go.

“You gave me like three this morning and threw me a birthday dinner,” He mumbles in her skin as he hangs his head in the crook of her neck with an iron grip on her waist.

“Hence why I said “last”.” She reminds him. She hesitantly grabs Peter’s hands to detach himself from her, telling him to wait in his living room.

She goes into the bag she brought earlier for tonight to get ready, looking at the lacy lingerie set in front of her. She had bought fishnet stockings that went up right below her ass, with a garter belt wrapping around her waist. There was a floral pattern tracing the lower half of the belt, complimenting the soft flesh of her stomach sitting underneath it.

The underwear and bra were a matching set, barely leaving anything to imagination which she knew Peter would be delighted by. They both had the same flowers on her garter, but with the sheer fabric that graced her backside leaving her ass on display.

She clasps the stockings to your garter and stares at herself in the mirror, making sure there wasn’t a hair out of place and that her makeup was still intact. She reapplies her lipstick from earlier and studies herself, feeling shy as she’s about to call him back in.

Turning around to make sure her ass is complemented by the material, she spins back to the front. She’s still studying her nipples through the material, assessing the flowers that decorated the valley of her chest.

She crawls onto his made bed, smiling to herself as she knows that won’t be the case for long. She kneels on this mattress before the door, fidgeting with her hands in her lap before she calls Peter.

“Come in,” She yells out, focused on the way her thighs spilled out of her stockings due to the position she sat in. She tried not to pay it no mind, knowing that Peter didn’t care how her body looked, but it was hard not to feel particularly focused on every part of herself before they became intimate. She hears his steps pick up behind the door and feels her heart picking up at the doorknob turning.

He comes in, staring at her with his lips being chewed between his lips. He silently huffed in surprise and a blush crept up his cheeks. She still avoids holding his gaze for too long, hoping he’d find the gesture sexy enough. She continues to be fidgety with the thin material of her set, looking at him with her eyes glassy and doe eyed.

Peter strolls along his bed, loosening the buttons of his shirt. He sticks his tongue out licking his bottom lip, still not saying a thing. She looks up to see his eyes darken when his lips curl into a smile and feels her confidence rushing back, knowing he probably wanted nothing more than to take her right there. She sits up straighter, her chest on full display before she breaks the silence.

“Happy birthday Peter,” She speaks with her hands planted on her knees.

He gets on the bed, ready to pounce on her to her delight. “I think this will be my favorite gift yet,” He mutters while she leans back, elbows falling on his pillows. Peter attacks her with kisses, trailing down to her chest as he cups her breasts through the bralette.

“Yeah?” She asks, struggling to hide the excitement in her voice as he showers her in affection. She gasps out as she feels the wetness of his mouth devouring her nipple through the bra, feeling his tongue roll along her breast. Peter removes his mouth from her nipple and nods in between her tits and she can feel his smile when he does before she even looks down to see his eyes staring her down.

She averts eye contact, closing her eyes and humming while she wraps her fingers into his hair, tugging at it lightly.

“Don’t do that,” He quietly demands, much to her confusion.

“What?” She pouts, furrowing her eyebrows at the absence of his body on hers. She opens her eyes and sees him shaking his head while he readjusts off to the side of the bed to take off his shirt. On a side note, she doesn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing Peter shirtless, if she had it her way his physique would be in a museum.

Peter’s answer takes her out of her daydream. “Don’t close your eyes. Look at me.” He insists, to which she rolls her eyes to before staring at him. She clenches her thighs closer together at the sight of his body, muscles defined even in the low lighting of the room and his hair tousled (courtesy of her).

She nods, biting the inside of her cheek, still captivated by the sight of him. Oppositely, Peter focused on the way her heart beat was picking up as he unbuckled his pants. While he pulls his pants down, he watches the way she crosses her foot behind her leg, shifting her weight on one arm to inch closer to the side of the bed he’s standing by.

“That’s my girl,” He says smugly, making her thighs clench together again. She positions herself on all fours now, fingertips teasing the waistband of Peter’s boxers while you palm her erection through the fabric. She smirks as she feels his cock twitching at her touch, gripping tighter around him as she feels his veins through the material. He covers her hands mid stroke and gently gestures to her to stop, to her frustration. He half-smiles.

“I think you’ve done enough today,” He playfully scolds, before kneeling on the bed, making her back away. She’s back to her original position on her knees, still sitting up to meet Peter on eye level. She shakes her head, laying back down in the pillows in defeat, knowing what he wanted to do. She knocks her knees together while flat on her back and feet planted in the bed. Peter maneuvers himself to separate her legs with himself, aiming his face to attack her heat.

Then, Peter thinks better of it. “I wanna try something,” He declares. She starts to speak but he picks her up by the waist, replacing her previous position with himself. She finds herself with her legs on either side of his waist before she can think better of it. He’s now beneath her, smirking at her confusion before she asks. “What is it?”

“Sit on my face,” Peter says nonchalantly, almost shrugging as he plays with the straps connecting her stockings to the garter. She lets go of a breath she didn’t realize she was holding in and barely sets her weight on top of him, very hesitant about his request. Peter is trying to read her face and pouts slightly when he senses her discomfort.

“What if I hurt you?” She seriously asks. Peter laughs a little too hard, causing her to fall forward to hide her face in his neck.

“Stop it, ‘m serious,” She mumbles against his skin when she feels his chest heaving slow down. Peter runs his hands along her spine, one eventually resting on her ass cheek to cup and squeeze it. She plants her hands on his pecs before raising herself from her previous position to face him again. She sees him grinning, still amused by her previous question to which she rolls her eyes at.

“I know you are,” Peter lightly smacks her ass causing her to moan, mindlessly grinding on his lower abs.

“But think about it as my final birthday gift, yeah?” Peter’s face lights up at the suggestion as she can feel him practically clawing at her backside, excited to readjust himself to place his mouth to her wet cunt once she says yes.

“You won’t hurt me,” He adds seriously. She knew realistically she wouldn’t (or couldn’t), but there was a bit of self consciousness making her too afraid to put her entire weight on his face. The same fear that she had when she originally started sleeping with him and hated being on top for the same reason, until he displayed his insane strength and started slamming her own hips onto his.

“Okay, yes.” She nods and exasperates jokingly before Peter quickly worms his way down his bed to position himself right underneath her slit.

Her thighs were on either side of Peter’s head, he acknowledges this by peppering them in kisses, making her drip in anticipation. He wraps the back of her knees with his own arms, hands firmly grasping her hips before letting her put her weight onto him.

“My pretty girl,” He murmurs underneath her, lips lightly grazing the fabric that separated her wetness from him. “Gorgeous body too,” He adds before giving her a much stronger smack on her ass, making her yelp out and lean forward in pleasure.

Peter moves her panties to the side, finally lowering her body onto his mouth and forces her to rest her weight on his face. He savors her, licking long stripes on her slit making her squirm on top of him from under the amount of pressure he put on her sensitivity. She felt like her thighs were going to crush his head and attempted to not squeeze any further but he noticed this, shaking his head before he interrupted to speak.

“What did I tell you?” He says, a deeper, domineering voice sending sharp vibrations through her body.

She whimpers as an answer. Peter doesn’t like this. He slaps her ass again making her yell once again, unconsciously clenching Peter’s head around her thighs and he forces her to hold this position. She feels his mouth go to work on her as she mindlessly grinded against his tongue.

She ruts onto his mouth from the strength Peter was displaying by not only holding her up, but squeezing her skin so hard she’d be sure to feel the bruises the next morning. Peter’s enjoyment could be heard through the room by the way he slurped down her wetness. He readjusts one of his hands to the front to play with her clit during, making her legs shake on top of him.

She eventually stops fighting it and squeezes around Peter, only encouraging him further by as he applies pressure onto her cunt with his tongue and her clit with his thumb, She leans down grabbing his hair for some, any leverage as the sensation felt like she was about to see stars. She begins panting, begging Peter to relax.

“Peter please slow down,” She cries, wanting to lift off but Peter refuses, keeping her on at the same amount of pressure. He only holds her tighter, shaking his head in between her thighs while his tongue thrusted further in her folds. He only let her lift off briefly, before bringing her back down to suck on her clit, slowly at her request.

This bastard, she thought, but all that came out was a moan that could barely be heard. Her soft stomach heaving up and down from the contractions of her orgasm building up.

She rocked her hips as slowly as she could in his hold, still not wanting to hurt him, but it became harder with the way his tongue skillfully rolls along her nub. He playfully grazes it along his teeth making her cry out louder.

“Fuck,” is only one of the obscenities that was strewn along with his name. She removes her hands from his head, and moves to the headboard in front of them, and starts to actively grind against his mouth knowing what he wanted.

“Faster,” She mutters, making the bed creak beneath her at the pace she was moving.

Peter briefly pauses on her clit, fully maneuvering the hold he had her under to replace his mouth with his thumb and looks at her from below, grinning with a mouth and chin covered in her wetness. She still whimpers with his touch, feeling like she was going to cum soon off of the rubbing alone.

“I still gotta prep you baby,” Peter says, making her dizzy. He uses his other hand for the prepping in question and slowly inserts one one of his long, calloused fingers inside of her. Without thinking, she reached down with one hand to spread her lips wider for his insertion, making him chuckle at her desperation.

“My needy girl, want me to fill you up that bad?” Peter teases, shining his perfect smile at her. So perfect it only makes her more frantic. He quickens the thrust of his own finger, watching her carefully which makes her shy, but she knows he was gonna spank her if she avoided his eye contact.

On second thought?

She looks back up, bracing herself for the loud smack that would send tingles right to her cunt. He bites his lower lip before fully removing his one finger and a loud blow is sent to her cheek. She clenches around nothing, leaning even further down with her forehead on the headboard, a loud curse being shouted in his bedroom.

“Look at me,” Peter says in a much gentler tone than earlier, squeezing her burning flesh before movin one of his hands back to her desperate, dripping cunt. Her back straightens up, meeting his eyes when she looks down and nods, tears brimming her eyelashes from how good it feels, and how badly she wanted him to continue.

“You want me to stop?” Peter seriously asks. She shakes her head profusely, before verbalizing.

“I want you to continue Peter.” Her breath was ragged, reaching for his free hand, lacing his fingers with hers before kissing the front of his. He gives her a few more seconds to breathe which she takes to show how eager she was to continue. She sits back up, giving him space to fully readjust inserting his fingers in her, this time two.

Bouncing up and down on them, she focuses on returning Peter’s intense gaze, finding it hard to compose her expressions. Peter found it hot, jaw practically on the floor while he stared up at her almost losing herself only on his fingers. He starts to curl his fingers inside of her, making her briefly throw her head back, breasts almost falling out of her lingerie. Peter was making a mental note to make that happen sooner or later.

He soon adds a third finger which makes her hips stutter, a little too full inside of her to fully ride but Peter is determined to make her comfortable. He moves back within her thighs and places his mouth on her clit, holding her backside to make sure she was still able to feel his fingers within her.

Soon she loosens up enough to continue grinding on his mouth and fingers, but feels herself heaving once again, an orgasm building up in her stomach which inevitable by the way Peter was repeatedly hitting all the right spots.

“I’m gonna cum,” She gasps. She cuts Peter off by the smug look he has in his eyes and speaks again.

“And I can’t hold it,” She moans, internally begging him to continue at the pace he was going at. He obliges, pumping in and out of her repeatedly until her orgasm is basically engulfing his fingers back in. She slows down her movements on his fingers, barely able to breathe or form a coherent thought at the moment.

Peter removes his fingers from her cunt and raises her a few inches higher so he can worm his way back to a sitting position, back against the headboard and her in his lap. She’s already exhausted, trying to wake up from that orgasm because the night had just started and her set was still fully intact. Her head is resting on Peter’s collarbone running her hands against his chest while he holds her closely.

“Tired?” He jokes. She can hear the smirk on his lips and wants to kick him right there.

“Mm,” She grumbles.

She trails down her hand to his boxers, slipping beneath the waistband and her fingers immediately feel the wetness of his precum leaking all over his erection. She playfully gasps in shock before tipping her head back to whisper in his ear.

“Are you wet?” Her voice sounds as if it’s a scandal, trying to mimic the same teasing tone Peter loves to pull on her. His laugh fills the room, making all the energy from earlier come back to her body. He brings his hand up to her face, staring at her with love.

“Ready for round two?” He questions, holding her chin in between his fingers to catch her gaze. Her eyes flicker in between his eyes and lips in a half lidded stare of lust.

“Nuh uh, lay back down and get ready for a taste of your own medicine.” She grins, already getting a strained moan from Peter’s lips as she starts to tug at his cock.

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shawnxstyles · 1 year

Note

Kk so it 2 in the morning and I’m horny so fem reader x tom Holland or Nathan Drake which ever you prefer where tom/ Nathan is always cocky in public and reader is shy and quiet but In bed the opposite and reader is like really dominant and stuff and Tom/Nathan is kinda like babyish idk only if your ok with it tho tyyyyy

talkative

warnings: smut; (unprotected sex, cockwarming, dirty talk), fluff, and language

note: i wrote this very fast because i feel bad for procrastinating my other writings :) also, i’m not a huge fan of sub!male but i tried it anyway (probably won’t do again)

(slight) sub!ceo!tom x (slight) dom!reader

—

“we made it official in january,” tom chats with his co-worker, harrison, and his wife that are seated across the table from you. tom squeezes your hand on the white-cloth table. tonight was a simple dinner with tom’s best employee who has been working with him for years. they grew to be great friends over time.

“you always did know how to close a deal,” both men share a hearty laugh while you smile softly at tom. he returns a smile graciously, making your chest bubble with love.

even months after the wedding, that honeymoon feeling never faded away. every day with tom was like a dream. you couldn’t have asked for anyone or anything else.

“well, you two make just the loveliest pair,” harrison’s wife compliments with a fond expression. yours and tom’s smiles deepen with love and warmth as you stare into each other’s eyes.

“we do, don’t we, darling?” tom puts an arm around your shoulders and pulls you in for a forehead kiss. a heated rush runs through your head at the action. you were never good at pda; it always made you flushed and you couldn’t hide how it affected you.

you talked little throughout the rest of the dinner. sure, if someone asked you a question or two you’d answer, but you were never the most talkative. you grew up a listener, curious to hear what others had to say. however, when it was just you and tom, you were more open and detailed when you spoke.

especially when it came to the bedroom. you didn’t know you were that talkative until you met tom. well, until you had sex with tom.

it was freeing and comforting to know that there was always someone who was just as curious as you. so, out of curiosity, you married him.

even with separate chairs, you leaned close into tom’s side as the night continued. your hands intertwined under the table, resting on your smooth legs. tom would rub reassuring circles over your knuckles and occasionally kiss your temple to remind you that he was right there. his little actions of care was something that you not only craved but grew to need.

a familiar, fuzzy feeling burned in your lower stomach that you had to endure until you went home.

when the dinner ended, you all said your polite goodbyes and shared charming smiles. tom and you walked toward the car and headed home.

—

as tom and you got ready for bed, your need for him was growing uncomfortable.

“tom.”

“yes, baby?”

“i need you.”

with the simplest words, you were crawling over tom’s lap in an instant. your silk nightgown rose to your hips as your legs spread over his hard bulge underneath his boxers.

“you’re already hard?” your hands rested on his muscular shoulders as you rolled your hips in a circular motion. tom groaned and put his hands on your hips to guide you. “poor tommy.”

“‘course i am. looked fucking gorgeous in that dress tonight,” he huffed out as your movements got faster. “fuck. need to be inside you.”

“why should i let you?” you teasingly questioned as you pulled down the delicate straps of your gown, revealing your pebbled nipples. licking your lips, you stopped rolling your hips until tom gave you an answer. he puffed out, irritated at how much control you have over him.

“i waited all night. talked to harry and madeline the whole time so i wouldn’t be too tempted to take you in the bathroom stall,” tom negotiated breathlessly.

“hmm. i guess that’s valid enough,” you shifted your panties to the side while tom hastingly slid down his boxers. his eagerness to be with you always caused a smug smile on your face. you were just as eager, but way better at hiding it clearly.

you rubbed your arousal against his cock, edging you both. without wasting any more time, you lifted your body up and angled his cock deep inside of you. you both hiss at the feeling as if you’ve never been together. but your bodies knew each other more than anyone else you knew.

his smooth, rough hands caress your sides as you pick up your pace. your breasts bounce as both of your moans collide in the heated air. your hands crawl around his neck and dig into his scalp. your cunt squeezes his cock causing him to whimper with a rough bite of his lips.

“k-kiss me,” tom moans with his head moving loosely.

“what, no ‘please’?”

“baby, please fucking kiss me,” his fingers twist your nipples, nearly stealing all your words from you. you bite your lip at the pinch of pain, leaning into his touch.

“that’s more like it.”

your lips crash together in a burning kiss. the fire between you two never seemed to dwindle, and you both melted together as if you were one. your hips never ruined their accelerated pace, even when tom began to thrust up into you.

the additional movement had you both moaning and groaning desperately against each other’s mouths. too immersed in tom’s lips, you were blind to notice tom slipping his hand between you both. he slyly rubs your throbbing clit, getting you closer to your orgasm.

sweat dampened at your foreheads while your legs burned from the vertical repetition. you felt tom’s cock twitch inside of you, alerting you that he was very close.

“come inside of me. i need your cum in me, tommy,” you encouragingly demanded in shaky breaths. obeying, tom releases inside of you, coating your walls.

“come with me, darling,” tom directed. you clutch around his length, squeezing everything out of him. the sensation of his fingers and his orgasm have you coming right soon after. he guides your hips as you ride out your blissful highs together.

all that can be heard are your panting breaths and your racing hearts as your forehead falls onto his shoulder. tom caresses and rubs your back, cock still sitting warm inside of you. neither of you make any movements, too afraid to ruin the euphoric experience. you both close your eyes, but know better than to fall asleep like this. you both know you’d feel sore and achy if you didn’t lay down on the bed.

but you wanted his cock to stay warm and tucked into you forever.

“c’mon, darling, let’s go to sleep,” tom insists, slowly lifting you up.

“but i want you in me,” you whine, not caring how dramatic you may sound. tom reassures you that he’ll slide back inside of you once you’re lying down.

tom’s body disconnects from yours and you feel a wrath of coldness flood your body. you remove your panties completely and discard them somewhere across your bedroom floor.

once you’re laying down comfortably, tom fulfills his promise and gently slides back into you. you hum at the satisfying thickness and fullness that fills you. you can’t help but rub your ass into him, causing him to hiss from behind you.

“goodnight, you minx,” tom tucks your hair to the side and kisses your cheek lovingly.

“goodnight,” you smile, all warm and cozy.

it’s easy to fall asleep when you’re entwined with the love of your life.

—

tags: @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya

crossed out= not able to tag

#shawnxstyles #tom holland #tom holland smut #tom holland fan fiction #tom holland fan fics #tom holland fanfic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you

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tokkiwrites · 8 months

Text

⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀૮⠀⠀(TOKKi)⠀⠀♡⠀(18 +)⠀⠀౨

⠀⠀⠀⠀୨⠀⠀🎃⠀ 𝖿꯭i𝗋𝗌꯭t⠀kinktober ୨꒰ ˊ͈˘ˁ ⑅ ꒱ა⠀⠀♡

⠀ please read 𝑝͟𝑖͟𝑛͟𝑛͟𝑒͟𝑑⠀𝇄 𝇃⠀post⠀⠀⁄⠀NSFW

⠀⠀ ⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝⏝

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⋆ ٠ ─ ✷ 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧 SUB!READER, AFAB, 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 SHE/HER 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐬, SMUT & P 𝐢𝐧 V 𝐒𝐄𝐗 (𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝)

D 1 ㅡ PEDRO PASCAL | JAVIER PEÑA | ropes & choking

D 7 ㅡ AARON TAYLOR JOHNSON | KRAVEN | degradation & begging

D 15 ㅡ MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER | SPENCER REID | jealousy sex & voyeurism

D 30 ㅡ TOM HOLLAND | PETER PARKER | hair pulling & spit

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yourimagines · 7 months

Note

Sub!Peter ParkerxTopMaleReader (Tom Holland)

[After events of NWH]

Peter Parker got a job at the Daily Bugle selling photos of "Spider-Man" and quickly became the company's top photographer. Now Peter travels in a van with his companion M/n, exploring New York City for story ideas. However, Peter experiences a creative block. M/n tries to help by making dinner at his apartment and buying some wine. As the wine takes effect, a sexual tension builds between them, and they eventually give in to their desires for each other.

This one gave me to be honest anxiety, I really needed my time to write for this one, I really hope you like it, I tried my ultimate best to make this a good one.

Wine and Dine

* English is not my first language I apologise

* Gif is not mine

* Triggers: 18+, smut! fluff

Peter POV

We were driving through New York. “I’m out off ideas.” I said with a big sighed. “What about we go to my place and relax a bit?” I shrugged my shoulders. “Come on Parker, you need some time to think and relax, you haven’t had the time to do that, you’re always working.” I looked at him. “Okay, only this time.” He smiled at me. “Good now let’s go to my place then.” He told me where I could park the van and went to his place.

“Just relax, I’ve got you.” He was standing in the kitchen, making some dinner. “You don’t have…” he shot me a glare before I even finished my sentence. I held my hands up. “Okay okay. I’m just going to take some glasses for the wine.” I moved away to grab two glasses and walked out of the kitchen.

We both were sitting in the living room. He sat down on the ground by the fireplace, I sat down in a lounge chair, relaxing while drinking some wine. Feeling already a bit drunk. “I always thought you and Gwen would end up as a couple.” I coughed and he started to laugh. “Easy there Parker, is not that bad.” I shook my head. “Me and Gwen?” “Yeah, why not she’s cool right?” “No way, she’s kind but I don’t see her like that.” “You don’t?” “No..” he was looking at me, his eyes traveling down. “I bet she likes you.” He looked back into my eyes. “You think?” He nodded. “Why not, you’re spider man.” I laughed. “Yeah right, nobody wants to date me, I fight against the bad guys but I’m not like Bucky and Thor.” I pointed at my arms. “You are so insecure Parker, why don’t you just for once let people close to you.” He moved carefully to my seat, sitting I front of me. The fire was reflecting on his skin, making him glow, looking like a god. I felt my heart started to beat faster.

His hands carefully tracing down my legs. I started to feel a bit dizzy as my breathing began to slow down down and got deeper. “Are you okay?” He looked up at me, I nodded. “You sure? We don’t have to you know.” “ I know, I just don’t like the teasing part.” He smirks at me. “Okay, just use your words yeah.” “Okay.” His hands move up to my knees and slightly pulled me off the chair right on top of him. I grabbed his shoulders Incase I would fall. His hands travel up to my face, tracing with his thumb over my lips. His other hand travels to the back of my head, tangling his fingers into my hair. I looked at his lips. ‘God, he’s hot.’ Before my brain could even progress what he was doing he crashed his lips on mine. I kissed him back, my hands going through his hair as his hands go down to my waist, slightly pushing me down on him. I moaned and he slipped his tong in my mouth. I felt his hands roaming around as I slightly pulled his hair. He leans us to the side and lays on top of me. He places his thigh between my legs. He breaks the kiss and starts to kiss along my jaw to my neck. His hands are going under by shirt as mine rest on his broad shoulders.

“Let me take this off.” He unbuttoned my shirt and throws it on the chair. His hands roam over my chest. “You are so fucking beautiful Parker.” I blushed at him. “Don’t get nervous now.” He placed a trail of kisses behind. Sucking my neck, as his hand went down to my pants. “Okay, I do need to tell you I never done this before.” He smiled at me. “That’s okay, just talk to me yeah?” I nodded. “Yeah, just be careful.” He unbuckled my belt and pulled my jeans down. “I’ll be careful.” He slowly pulled my boxers down. Revealing me completely. “Already hard i see.” He carefully strokes my boner. I softly moaned his name. “You like that?” I hummed at him. “Words Peter.” “Yes.” I started to move my hips, causing more friction against my boner. “Not so fast.” He stopped and moved his hand away, I whined out. I looked at him as he takes off his sweater. Revealing his muscular body. Broad shoulders, abs and muscular arms. Looking like a god, looking down at me. “We are just getting started Parker.”

We were both naked as I lay down on my stomach. “You sure.” He asked while tracing his fingers along my back. “I’m sure” I felt him grabbing my waist and pulling me closer. I was getting tired and the alcohol in my blood made it even worse. “I’ll stop if it hurst to much.” Then I felt a sharp pain. I grabbed a random pillow and hissed. “I know, it does get better.” I felt him slowly moving. “Why are you so big.” He chuckled. I felt him grabbing my hand and guided it to my boner. “Pump yourself, makes it way more good when you cum.” I did what he told me and started to move my hand. He placed a trail of kisses behind along my shoulders while moving in and out. I started to moan his name as he started the dirty talk.

I was a total mess. I lay down on the floor, covered In sweat and sperm. “Are you okay?” I nodded, way to tired to talk. “Let me clean you up.” He picked me up and brought me to the bathroom. “I’ve made a bath for you.” He carefully placed me in the bathtub. Warm water hits my sensitive skin. I hissed At the contact. He joined also, sitting behind me. “Let me help you.” His hands moved to my shoulders and massages them, placing kisses on my neck. “Relax, I’ve got you.” I closed my eyes again and leaned a bit back against him.

I woke up in bed, laying against his chest. I rolled away to look at the clock on his nightstand. 04:00. Way to early. I rolled back to him and closed my eyes. The alcohol was almost out of my system and I still felt the same. Maybe it is time to let people close. I snuggled a bit closer and fell slowly back to sleep.

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michellejunes · 2 years

Text

lock the door ✩ tom holland

word count ✎ 3.1k

tropes ✎ mob!tom / married!au / smut

warnings ✎ exhibition, oral sex (m receiving), brief masturbation, fingering, desk sex, dom/sub, edging, orgasm denial, talk of a hypothetical threesome, light spanking, sir kink

summary ✎ you surprise your husband at his new office with a gift under your dress and another under his desk. but you forgot to lock the door…

a/n ✎ hey besties, i wrote the first half at home and the second on the train so i’m sorry if it feels rushed at the end 💀 please reblog and let me know what you think 💗

“Knock knock.”

A glance up from his work was made, then a double-take. “Mrs Holland,” Tom greeted. “Aren’t you supposed to be at home?”

Closing the door behind you, you smiled. “I thought I would come visit, see how you’re getting on.” With that you came closer to the desk.

The file in front of him was shut and pushed to the side. “And you couldn’t have waited for me to come home to ask that?” he teased with a smirk.

You were at his side, your fingers trailing across the desk. “I know that settling into a new place can be stressful sometimes.”

Your movements and tone felt suggestive; his head slightly turned as you stepped beside him, eyes following your fingers. “It is,” Tom slowly agreed.

“Well, since it’s my day off, I thought I could help you.” You smiled.

“Help me? And how would you do that?”

“That was… my question to you, actually.” You bit your lip. “Do you need help with anything, Mr Holland?”

Despite the fact he was usually called by such a formal title due to his career, it always hit him differently when it came from you; his cock was almost immediately hardening. Turning to face you a little more, he leaned back in his chair and allowed his eyes to rake up and down your body. “I could use a release, now that you mention it.”

“Of course.” You sat on the desk. “Where would you like me?”

Humming, Tom rolled his chair back a little, then motioned to the opening beneath his desk. “On your knees,” that familiar smirk returned, “Where you belong.”

It was a nice, sturdy desk, and you hiked up your skirt as you slid beneath it, revealing the stockings and garter belt underneath the simple blue dress. “Yes, Mr Holland.” Your brow was raised, but you were smirking as you knelt.

“Christ, Y/N,” he mumbled when he spotted the lingerie, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip. But as soon as you settled beneath the furniture, he slid his chair back to where it was, giving you access to him.

You took a moment to work the sleeves down and pull the dress down to bunch around your waist, showing off the blue silk and black lace bra underneath, before both hands were on his pants, undoing the button, pulling down the zip, and tugging the fabric open to reveal his cock straining against his boxers, then kissing softly along the outline.

A quiet exhale left Tom’s lips as he pulled the file he’d been looking at earlier back in front of him, knowing it was useless to try to work while you were between his thighs, but he had to at least try.

Well, maybe not.

Regardless, the file was opened and a pen put atop it before he was sinking into his chair, eyes closing.

You worked his cock free from his boxers, slowly stroking it. It was already hard, but you liked the way it felt in your grip. This was hardly the first time you had played like this, but it had always been at home, where you being his secretary and looking after him could be played out for as long as you wanted.

He slightly moved his chair back to see you even though you didn’t have your mouth around him yet, his eyes focused on how you were stroking his cock. “Come on, baby,” Tom breathed, pulling his dress shirt up a little, “Start sucking.”

Your lips closed around the tip, and carefully you began to work him into your mouth, inch by inch, sucking as he had asked. Your tongue flicked along the tip, swirling into the little slit, as your hands ran up and down his thighs, squeezing gently. Your eyes met his.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes briefly closing as he relished in the pleasure, though they were soon opening again to focus on you. “God, yes. I’m so glad you stopped by, love.”

You winked, your lips wrapping around the base. You started to bob your head, careful not to hit the desk, watching his expression as you swallowed around him.

It was difficult to see you when you started moving back and forth, the edge of the desk getting in the way, so Tom opted for letting his eyes flutter shut, his head tipping back into the chair as he enjoyed what you were doing to him. “Fuck, Y/N,” he panted.

There was a knock at the door.

Tom sat up straight in his chair, making a quick glance down at you. “Who—” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat, “—Who is it?”

“It’s Harrison. You were looking up the Thompson case?”

“Fuck, fuck,” Tom whispered, leaning back enough to see you. “Did you lock the door?”

You let out a soft noise to indicate no.

“I’m—” heat rushed through him, his chest still heaving from pleasure, “—I’m, uh… I was, yeah, but, um…” Fuck, he couldn’t think straight.

“… is now a bad time?” Harrison called.

If he said ‘yes,’ that was a clear indicator he wasn’t alone; but if he said ‘no,’ then Harrison would come into the room. And you weren't stopping.

“… No? I don’t—I don’t kn—” Taking a sharp inhale, Tom just shook his head. “No, it’s—it’s fine.”

The door opened, and Harrison walked in. His eyes immediately locked onto Tom. “Everything all right?”

Tom shifted in his seat, quickly nodding his head. “Mhm, yeah. Everything’s fine,” he answered, though his voice was tense.

“Sure? You look like you need to adjust your thermostat,” Harrison chuckled, as he came over, the file in his hand. “Here. Everything I’ve got on Thompson and his closest men. Seems pretty open and shut, we’re looking at breaking and entering, theft and arson in our Manchester warehouse. You really don’t think the guy did it?”

It might have been funny if the room actually wasn’t much hotter than usual and Tom’s face wasn’t flushed red from pleasure. Not to mention frustration as Harrison approached. Still, Tom leaned forward a little, taking the file and setting it down. “No,” he answered, clearing his throat again as he shifted in his seat once more. “It was, uh… h-he had a—what’s it called—alibi. Made sense. Pretty—pretty sure he’s being,” god, he was squeezing the arm of his chair, “Uh, framed by a rival or enemy.”

“Man, Y/N has changed you,” Harrison chuckled. “Tom Holland giving someone the benefit of the doubt. That’s impressive.”

Tom’s other hand was on his chin, his elbow on the arm of the chair as he leaned on that side, still gripping the other. “Mm, she has,” he agreed through gritted teeth.

You were careful just to lick him, not sucking too hard, or doing anything that would make too much noise in front of Harrison.

Harrison paused. Then the tiniest of smirks quirked at his lips. “So, how is she? How are you getting along?”

Great. He wasn’t leaving but apparently making fucking small talk. “She’s—she’s good,” Tom replied. “We’re, um, doing good. Really good.”

“Glad to hear it. Surprised she took you up on that offer to get her overseeing the Liverpool division in the end. What changed her mind?” Harrison asked.

You took that moment to slowly deepthroat him.

A slow, shaky breath left Tom’s nose as his eyes tightly shut. “You know, I have—I have no idea,” he admitted.

“You’re probably right,” Harrison agreed. “I’m sure it took a lot of hard work with you sucking up to her to get her to change her mind.”

Meeting the blond man’s gaze, they stared at one another for a long moment. “… Meaning?”

“I’d tell you, but trying to explain it would,” Harrison’s lips quirked, “be a mouthful.”

Tom picked up the closest thing to him—a paperweight that had been a gift years ago—and chucked it at his best friend. “Get the fuck out.”

Harrison caught it, laughing, and placed it back on the desk. “Have a good afternoon, Tom. And Y/N.” With that, he rapidly left the room.

As soon as the door was shut and he was alone with you, Tom deflated in his chair with a heavy sigh, rolling back just enough to see you again. “You’re always getting me in trouble.”

You were immediately rapidly bobbing your head and sucking, your eyes fixed on his, your hands leaving his thighs to pull your bra down just enough that when you lifted your arms again, the cups pushed up your bare breasts.

The constant stimulation the entire time you’d been between his legs had allowed a small amount of heat to build at the base of his spine, but you speeding up was fanning the flames of it, pulling him toward the edge. “Oh, fuck,” Tom groaned, sliding back a little more so you were able to scoot out from beneath the desk enough for him to thread his fingers into your hair.

You tapped your face, your chest, your throat, silently asking where he wanted to finish as you sucked harder.

His eyes rolled up again as he moaned, that heat coiling tight. “I want to cum down your throat.”

Nodding, you moaned around him. One hand slid between your thighs and pushed past your underwear, starting to rub your clit so the sound wouldn’t stop. The other reached into his boxers and stroked his balls, your eyes on his as you moved your head faster. The wet noise of him in your mouth filled the room.

“God, fuck, I’m close,” Tom groaned. The temperature in the room was hot, and he couldn’t keep his hips still as they reflexively thrusted with each movement you made.

You took him deep, lips around the base of his cock, swallowing around him before bobbing once more. Your tongue stroked over what it could reach as your gaze was fixed on his.

Tom was sent over the edge with a low moan, his back arching as he came down your throat. “Fuck, fuck, Y/N.”

You pulled your lips back far enough that it was easy to swallow his cum, licking and sucking, wide eyes watching his expression of ecstasy as you worked him through his orgasm.

With a heavy breath, he nudged you off his cock. “Good girl.”

You licked your lips clean, and sat up with your breasts on his thigh, panting softly. “Did that help, Mr Holland?”

“Yes, it did, Mrs Holland,” he answered, breathless. “I feel much better now, thank you.”

“Wonderful.” You kissed the still semi-hard cock. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

He started tucking himself away and buttoning his pants up, “You could convince me to leave early.”

“Hmm,” you mused. “…maybe if, if I’m… desperate enough to leave.”

“Oh? Well, I suppose I could just continue working for the next,” Tom checked his wristwatch, “Four hours. You know, instead of taking you home and fucking you into the kitchen table like I’m thinking of doing. But I guess that’s fine, too.”

You stood, the straps of your bra loose around your arms, your breasts still hanging free. “Persuade me.”

“Persuade you, hm?” One arm abruptly wrapped around the back of your thighs and pulled you against him to where you were between his legs, your lower half against his chest and his chin on your stomach as he looked up at you. “By making you desperate?”

“Mhmm,” you gasped.

“I suppose I could do that.” The tips of his fingers trailed up the backs of your thighs, grazing along the stockings while moving between your legs. “I could also fuck you bent over my desk, too.”

“Either works,” you whispered.

“Go lock the door this time.”

You were immediately slipping away to the door and locking it, checking it to make sure, before you came back to him, your hands behind your back.

Standing, Tom shrugged off his suit jacket and folded it in half, draping it over the back of his chair. His eyes turned to you once you were beside him, though he quickly moved some items on his desk before motioning to it. “Bend over, hands behind your back.”

Turning around, you leaned over it, spreading your thighs wide and grasping your wrists as you bit your lip. “Yes, Mr Holland.”

Tom stepped behind you, his palm pressing to your ass and pushing your dress up to your hips. Rather than removing your underwear, though, he yanked at the fabric, roughly pulling it to one side of your ass before his fingers rubbed along your folds.

Biting your lip, you moaned softly, trying not to be too loud. The walls weren’t particularly thick, and you didn’t want anyone else knowing what was going on.

“Think you can keep quiet?” he asked, one finger pushing into you.

“Mmm,” you groaned. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.” Slowly thrusting his one finger a few times, a second was worked in after a moment, and he finally crooked them, seeking out your sweet spot.

The brief moments you’d been touching yourself, the time you had spent under his desk, you were already wet enough that both fingers just felt good. You swallowed your moans, soft panting filling the air, and your hips ground against his touch.

“You always get so damn wet just from sucking my cock,” Tom pointed out. “Why is that, hm?”

“I-I like b-being at, fuck, at, oh, your- your mercy!” you confessed breathlessly.

Twisting his wrist, both fingers pressed into that sensitive bundle of nerves and started rubbing just as he leaned over you, hovering, his free hand placed on the desk to hold him up. “Did you like almost getting caught?”

“N-not so much,” you gasped, your thighs trembling. “Oh, fuck.”

He kept the motions slow, gently massaging your sweet spot, almost teasing. “Think you might like Harrison joining us one day?”

Your brow furrowed for just a moment. “W-wait, would y-you, fuck!” You sucked in a breath, the wet noise of his fingers audible. “Y-you would- want that?”

There was a slight shrug, his head tilting toward his shoulder as he did. “With some rules, I might. But getting to see you helpless, desperate, writhing in pleasure,” Tom’s eyes dragged up and down your body, “Would be worth it.”

“R-rules?” you gasped.

“Mm,” he confirmed, pressing a bit more firmly against your sweet spot. “No coming in you, things like that.” The pads of his fingers heated up a little. “And we’d have to tell him.”

You keened softly, your thighs trembling “You mean you would tell him, or—fuck—should I?”

“We could do it together,” his fingers roughly ground against that sensitive bundle of nerves, “Call him in the next time you’re choking on my cock under the desk and ask him formally.”

The thought of being sandwiched between the two of them, fucked by both of them at the same time, made your whole body flood with heat. “FuckI’mgonnacum-!”

Pulling his fingers out, he clapped his hand down on your ass before standing up straight. Your body tensed up, trembling as you rode that edge, your breathing heavy and hard as you tried to keep your noises down.

“Fuck,” you breathed. “Tom, god.”

“Tell me what you want,” he ordered even as he was unbuckling his belt.

“Take me home, right now,” you panted.

He paused. “I thought we were going to fuck here first?”

“I’m not gonna be able to… to keep quiet,” you whispered.

“Fuck,” he breathed, redoing his belt. “Alright, let me get my stuff. You drove here too?”

You nodded as you started pulling your underwear back in place, your body still burning hot from the denial. Fuck him and his clever fingers.

“… we can, uh, be in here… another day,” you whispered.

Tom grunted, then quickly started gathering some files together, putting them in a bag so he could take them home. He’d be leaving work early, but that was fine; there were no clients for the rest of the day, it only consisted of going over cases and paperwork. Once he had everything together, he pulled his suit jacket on and buttoned it, then grabbed his bag.

“Let’s go.”

Getting your clothes on, you made sure your makeup was intact, quickly reapplying some lipstick before you slid on your jacket. “Right this way, Mr Holland.”

“You’ll be the death of me,” Tom mumbled as you stepped out of his office, the door being locked behind him. And as you quickly passed the secretary, he let her know that he was leaving early, waving. “Goodnight, Jessica.”

“Night, Mr Holland.”

“Alright.” You were finally out of earshot. “Let’s get out of here so I can fuck you.”

The doors to the nearest elevator slid open, and Harrison stepped out. His eyes met theirs, lips quirking just a little.

“Mrs Holland, Tom,” he said, nodding toward them.

“Mr Osterfield,” you smiled politely, “pleasure to see you.”

“I’m heading home for the night, Harrison,” Tom told the other man rather than greeting him. “I’ve already told Jessica, she’s leaving in about an hour.”

“All right. You two have a good evening.” Harrison started walking away. “Oh, and, Tom?”

You were in the elevator, and Tom turned around almost impatiently. “What?”

“Don’t go flying without a license.” The blond man turned and strode away.

Confusion washed over Tom’s face as he stared at the back of Harrison’s head. “Don’t go—what? What does that even mean?”

Your eyes glanced down, and as the elevator door slid shut, you silently reached down and zipped his pants back up. “Safety first, pilot.”

Lips parted, he looked down at himself, then at you, repeating the action a couple times. “What? How does that even make sense?”

“Your fly is unzipped,” you pointed out. “Flying?”

Tom’s nose crinkled after a few seconds, the elevator door dinging as it opened back up. “You’re lucky I tolerate this nonsense,” he grumbled before stepping out.

You leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting,” he protested with a huff. “I’m a grown man, Y/N. Grown men don’t pout.”

Taking his hand, you kept walking with him through the lobby. “Whatever you say, sweetie.”

“Keep testing me and you won’t be coming for the next few days, darling,” Tom warned.

Despite the heat flooding your body, you grinned. “Well, you have a twenty minute drive in peace before we get home. Maybe you can, hmm, jet off to a more peaceful mindset.”

He let out a slow breath through his nose. “A week.”

You reached the doors outside. “See you when I get home, honey.”

“What you won’t see is an orgasm,” Tom told you in a low tone. “Which I’ll enjoy denying you.”

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