Brazilian, I'm over 18, she/her, my ao3 is Bina_Passionfruit , Don't think too much about the "weird" things I reblog, I like it and that's it
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In the three months you've lived in your apartment, you've only seen your neighbor twice.
Once, when you caught him on his way back from the store. Carrying an obscene amount of bags in one arm, all of them looking suspiciously like microwave-dinners. The other time you had caught him in the lobby looking about ready to murder the out-of-service elevator. You chatted with him while you both walked up the stairs, and he introduced himself as "simon"
And, sue you, you feel bad for the guy. Doesn't get visitors, doesn't go anywhere as far as you know.
And those damn tv dinners.
So, you buy all the fancy ingredients you usually reserve for celebrations and cook dinner for two. Your school drama teacher would have been proud of your performance when you sheepishly knocked on his door with a tray of lasagna "uhm, hi. I'm your neighbor, I don't know if you remember me–"
"I do." Simon cuts you off, door barely hedged open. His arm, the one on his cane, shakes with effort. Eyes cutting down to your tray, narrowing, "what's that?"
"Oh– uhm. Lasagna. I made more than I expected, and I'm out of town in a few days and I don't want to waste it–" you rattle off, faster than you'd like but conscious of the way his shoulder must be aching just to stand and talk to you, "I thought– if we shared–"
"Fine." Cutting you off again, door pulling further open "but I don't own dishes. Bring yer own."
Which is how you end up sharing a tense dinner with simon, footie match on the tv in the next room. You try not to stare but...he's handsome under that surgical maks he always wears. Good, strong jaw, pretty lips, nice scars.
When he's done, simon whipes the food that spilled off his chin and grunts "best damn meal I've had in years."
Really, it becomes routine from there.
You bring over a homecooked meal, every week at least. Eventually you and simon start chatting, at first bitching about the elevator and neighbors, then life in general. Ghost starts to accumulate actual plates and cups in his home, some food items other than microwave meals.
You learn a lot about simon. About what he did before the injury, about the mates he calls now and again. Eventually, you bully him into using his wheelchair when you visit instead of forcing himself to use a cane. He also bullies you into getting your shower head fixed.
It's....nice. you never notice, but when you aren't looking simon looks at you like a lovestruck fool.
You know it will take you some time to prepare the ritual, to summon something from the Other Side. You'll need ingredients. You'll need to find the book that will guide your summoning. Oh, there's so much to do.
The anticipation makes you fidgedy and nervous, but it's also somewhat arousing. You won't tell the demon, of course. But you've always thought they looked kind of hot in the paintings of your ancient books. Strong, big, with loincloths to hide what you imagine are massive red cocks. You rub your thighs together. You should really get going to get the main ingredient for the potion.
One hand sneaks between your legs anyways. One orgasm can't hurt, right? So you rub your clit with your fingers before sliding them through your wet slit. You're standing in the middle of the room. You've already pushed the table and chair to the side so you'll be able to draw a pentagram later. Your pants are constricting your movements, but you manage to slip first one, then two fingers into your needy cunt, moaning. C'mon, fuck yourself!
It doesn't take you long to get that orgasm. You suck your own juices off of your fingers and grab your bag to gather the herbs. Now,
where will you gather your main ingredient?
Sage, near where someone saw big paw-prints recently
Thyme, deep in the forest where a strange song has been heard
You need the thyme for the ritual. Of course, you lost a lot of time masturbating. Didn't even clean yourself up, huh? Just pulled your panties up over your glistening cunt after cumming all over your hand and gathered your basket and bag, throwing a fur over your shoulders and went out to get the herb.
The place where you can get the best, wild thyme isn't close to your hut, but you're fine with walking there. You only want the best ingredients for your ritual, to make sure it works.
Your soaked pussy is slowly ruining your underclothes, drenching the fabric. Maybe one orgasm wasn't enough, but it's too late now. Thoughts of the demons fill your mind, how they'd look. How they'd behave. How they'd fuck you. It doesn't help your situation at all and you feel your slick running down your thighs.
You're almost there. You promise yourself that once you've gathered enough thyme, you'd go back to your hut and chase that second orgasm.
Walking all this way pays off. Wild thyme is growing in thick bushes between the trees. Beautiful, dark green leafs and stems. Yes, this will do nicely for the ritual. You take your sickle to gather the herb into your stachel. It's scent is soon wafting thorugh the late afternoon air. You enjoy this, being outside. Otherwise you wouldn't have learned how to make potions, how to enchant runes, how to read the ancient scriptures.
You can hear something in the distance. A voice, singing? It's beautiful. You gathered enough thyme now and despite your promise to yourself to go straight home, you decide to investigate the strange song, following the voice through the forest. The ground is soft beneath your feet, the light filters golden thorugh the trees and the song is beautiful. You feel a tingling between your legs, more slick is running down your legs. Is this the songs doing?
You see a lone figure once you reach a clearing. They're swaying to the song in an enchanting dance. A woman, you're almost sure, but her song sounds like a siren's. You gasp. The urge to push your hand between your legs is overwhelming, but you can't look away from the singing woman.
When she stops singing, it feels like something is ripped out of your chest. Your body is strung up tight, muscles taut and your pussy is throbbing mercilessly. She turns around and looks at you. Huge blue eyes, fair skin, sharp teeth. It is a siren. You can't help but gape at her as she nears you.
"Poor thing, did you get lost?" she asks innocently.
"How?" you gasp out. How can she be here? How can she affect you?
"Hmm, that's my secret. You followed my song, though, listened to it. Now you'll have to pay." She grins a sharp grin. "On your knees."
Your knees buckle and, horrified, you follow her command.
"Don't worry, you can go once you served me," she promises.
She's naked. Her sinuous body is a piece of art, soft curves on display in the golden sunlight. She comes over to where you're kneeling, unhurried, graceful. She steps close. So close that you feel the heat radiating off of her body. There's a strip of curls between her legs and with a start you realize that you want to be there, between her legs. You want to know how she tastes. You want her voice screaming just for you.
And - what are you waiting for? She wants you to serve her. So go on, do it.
You reach up, grasp one of her breasts. It's soft, nipple puckered. You tease it, twist it. She lets you. Your other hand curls around her thigh, holding on tight. When you slide your hand over to her other breast, she gets impatient. One of her hands slides into your hair, to grip it and bring your face closer to her cunt.
You bury your face there, lick through her slit with a flat tongue. It makes her keen, a beautiful sound. After that, you can't hold back. She tastes like riptide. Wild, salty. Your moan makes her moan, too. She's probably feeling the vibration.
You don't stop playing with her tit, but slide your other hand up to grip her ass, press her against you. She lifts one leg over your shoulder, granting you better access.
It's filthy, how she uses you, rides your face. But you love it, don't you? You contemplate sliding your hand between your own legs, but decide against it. She wants you to serve her, not yourself. So instead your hand leaves her ass, sneaks between her legs and you slide them through her heat, gathering her slick.
She moans again when you push your fingers to her entrance. Two of them, but just the tips. You savour the feeling, slide your fingers around, revel in her taste.
"Do it," she urges you.
Your fingers slide into her wet heat and her velvety walls ripple around your digits. You suck her clit, pull her nipple. She moves her hips. This makes it harder for you, but you establish a steady, fast rythm with your fingers and she seems to appreciate it.
"Yes," she hisses. "Make me come, human," she demands.
Your fingers speed up again, you graze her clit with your teeth and she's a goner. Her release drenches your face, her walls squeeze tight around the fingers you've pushed into her as far as they can go. You fuck her through it, aim for another - but she pulls your mouth away from her clit, breathing heavily. Her leg slides down from where it was still resting over your shoulder and your fingers slide out of her cunt.
"Good girl," she praises. "Up."
You obey again. You face is sticky with her juices, your own cunt is drenched and desperate. She looks at you hungrily. Her hand slides up your side. She pulls your top down and your tit out, to slide her thumb over the hardened point. She licks her own juices off of the corner of your mouth.
"You're free to go," she murmurs, but squeezes your nipple in a way that makes you think she'd like you to stay for a while.
What do you do?
Leave her, so you can masturbate at home
Beg her to fuck you
Leave her to get the other ingredients, greedy for demon-cock
You pull your top down again, covering the nipple she just teased so expertly. She offered you pleasure, but your know if you stay here, she will be satisfyed and while it's a possibility she'll let you cum, too, it's not guaranteed. Not with a siren, they're tricky.
You smile at her. "I have to go."
She sighs and smirks. "Too bad. I'd have liked to clean up the mess between your legs."
You shrug, but wipe at your face with your sleeve and make your way back to your hut to put the thyme up in tiny bundles to dry out. Soon, you think, soon you'll have a pentagram drawn in the middle of this room. You'll have all the ingredients for the ritual. You still need the book with the correct chant. Still, it won't be long.
It's darkening already. But you need the sage... and the sooner you get it, the sooner you can perform the ritual. You know where to get it, too. It isn't far, you might make it back by midnight. Going out alone at night is a risk, but a calculated one.
You should change, really. There's probably some of the siren's juices still on your face and your panties are a soaked through mess, but you'd rather just get the sage and get home again. Take a bath, go to sleep.
So you gather your bag again and leave the hut. Sage needs light, dry soil and a lot of sun. There's a clearing with just the right conditions just over the river. It doesn't take you long to cross the bridge. The moon is bright and full. It illuminates your way.
It's only when you reach the place that you realize... the full moon, the paw prints your friend was telling you about.
Shit.
Don't panic, now. You grab your sickle again and gather the sage as fast as you can. With the thyme you took your time, bundled it up carefully. The sage you stuff into your bag with worried looks at the sky. You don't have a watch with you, no way of knowing if it is midnight already. It was late when you left.
When you have enough sage, you make your way back to the bridge, but, of course, that's where your luck runs out. You hear steps behind you and turn around to face a big, panting werewolf. He's massive, packed with muscle. He is staring right at you and you know that you cannot outrun him.
You also know that he is not going to kill you, otherwise you'd be dead already. You're not his dinner. But you are his prey. You know why he is staring at you like that. Your panties are still soaked and ruined from your encounter with the siren. He must've smelled your slick all through the forest, a perfect way to find you. You should've bathed and rested at home, returning to the forest for the sage in the morning. You should've had patience. But it is too late now.
Slowly, you put your bag down. He keeps watching you and you're sure he'd smirk if he could. You curse yourself. But what else are you to do? That's what you think when you pull your panties down and lower yourself to your hands and knees. This is what a bitch does: she presents her pussy to the Alpha. You know it will end with you like this sooner or later, so why not just accept it?
You are ready to be mounted by this beast. You're thankful that you're already wet, but the appreciative growl he lets out makes your traitorous pussy leak. You crane your neck to watch him as he comes near. His cock is already standing proud, red, swollen and leaking precum, and you can see, already, a small bulge where you know his knot will form. You swallow.
But when you think about the huge, veiny demon cocks you crave, well, maybe this can be a good training. And you got the sage, after all. It's packed securely in your bag.
You hold still when he puts his dick on your back. You feel it hot and heavy on your skin. He moves and it slides between your asscheeks, rubbing your folds. One of his big paws lands in the center of your back, holding you down as he aligns the tip of his cock with your pussy and pushes.
You whine and grip the grass underneath your hands when he slides into you. Like the bitch you are. The friction is delicious, his cock is so hot. Of course, why would supernatural creatures share the same temperature as humans? He pushes in all the way and you feel the slight bump at the base of his cock before he bottoms out inside of you, filling you to the brim with his cock balls deep in your pussy. Then he pulls out, pauses and pushes back in again at a torturous pace. Slow and precise and before long you're holding in loud moans and cries. Every time he slides in, you feel the bump grow. His knot is forming. Your tits are pushed into the ground as well, nipples hard but he pays them no mind.
You start to worry at one point. He's fucking you harder and faster and your pussy clings to the considerable bulge every time he pulls out. It's quite the stretch already, but you are well aware of the reason for the knot. It is meant to tie the bitch to him. To make sure his cum stays in. It is meant to seal your pussy.
Maybe you didn't think this one through.
He notices the change in you, how you subtly try to pull back from his heavy thrusts and he is having none of it. The paw on your back presses you harder to the ground and you feel his breath at the back of your neck, one arm going around your belly to make sure you can't get away. And then he starts fucking you harder. The evergrowing knot sliding in and out of you.
"Please," you beg, but you're not sure if you're begging him to stop or to continue. The friction his knot creates at your clit makes you climax. He howls and your eyes bulge when his knot, now fully formed and even bigger than before, pushes against your pussy with full force. You're trapped in your orgasm, you can't do anything to stop it when he forces the knot into you and starts rutting into you. The pain and pleasure from this intrusion make you cum again and that's all it takes.
You feel him twitch inside you, cock secured in your cunt with the knot when the first thick, scalding hot rope of cum paints your insides. He pumps so much cum into you that it should be overflowing by now - but it can't. All of it is trapped inside by his knot you and you whine and moan, feeling so full.
The werewolf still has you trapped underneath him. But he curls around you now, just keeping you warm at this point. And you, you realize, are cockwarming him. The thought is unexpectedly arousing. You're trapped on his cock, warming him - or is he warming you? Even now you can feel how hot his dick is, deep inside of you.
He starts moving again, makes you cum two more times while you're panting, eyes heavy and exhausted. He pumps more cum into you, if that's even possible. And it takes hours until, finally, his knot starts shrinking again.
He leaves you like that, with his cum leaking out. There's so much of it and, even in your fucked out state, you have the mind to rummage around in your bag for a medium sized glass vial to fill with his cum. Who knows when you'll need some werewold cum? Even though now you know where you can get it, you shouldn't waste it. You've spend half the night getting split open and thoroughly rutted by a beast to get it, after all.
With the vial sealed and the sage bundled up in your bag, you pull your ruined panties up and walk home on wobbly legs. Of course, it doesn't take long for more cum to tickle out of your cunt, soak your panties again and run down the insides of your legs, but you make it home alright.
You put away the vial and hang the herbs to dry out before you heat up some water to clean yourself. The sun is already starting to rise again. You'll take tomorrow to rest.
The question is, after resting,
where will you search for the enchanted book?
near the ruins of a long forgotten castle
close to a big, blue lake at the top of the mountains
You needed that day of relaxation. You poor, fucked cunt needed a break, you had to wash your clothes and your garden needed tending. But now you're ready to journey up to the ruins of a forgotten castle to get the enchanted book. You imagine all the demon cock you'll have once you get the damned book and finish the ritual. Maybe these encounters you're having are the best kind of practise you'll get for what's to come.
It's a nice hike through the valley and up the hill. Not too strenuous, but it still takes most of the morning and a good part of the afternoon. Good thing you brought your tent and some ingredients for a delicious meal. Once you reach the ruins you set up a small camp and start a fire to keep you warm and for cooking. Then, after you gathered enough wood to last you the night, you start searching the ruins for any hidden chambers. It takes you most of the late afternoon and early evening - but you have to give up. After searching everything twice, you found some ancient golden coins, an expensive looking set of tarot cards that you can use next time a commoner wants to know their future and, you're quite sure, a dragon tooth. On top of that, you found something that looks somewhat like a plug... and the urge to push the thing up your ass is there - you can admit that to yourself. No enchanted book.
You sigh deeply. So the book must be at the top of the mountain, exactly what you feared. The hike here was fine, but you're not a fan of climbing a mountain! It doesn't matter. If you want demon cock, you'll have to. So you decide that tomorrow, you'll bring what you found here home, rest for the night and climb the mountain right after that. No sense it waiting, right?
You cook yourself a nice, hearty stir and carefully pack all your findings. You retire early, so you might make good use of the morning tomorrow...
...but you wake up in the dead of night to something touching you.
At first, still tangled in your blanket and sleep clinging to you, you think it's a dream. But the more your wake, the more real the touch feels. Your shirt is pushed up, so your breast is free and your nipple is stiff in the cool night air. You swear a finger is circling it, occasionally pulling on the puckered flesh. When you try to touch it yourself, something invisible catches your hand and pinns it to the ground above your head.
"What-?" you squeak, but can't do anything against what's happening next. Your other arm is caught in the same way, pinned so you're immobile and soon your thrashing legs follow, getting pinned so you're now spreadeagle and tangled in your mess of sheets and blankets. You can see the low light of the fire outside of your tent and know that while it might be night, it's nowhere near the new day.
Invisible hands push your shirt out of the way for good, exposing both your tits to the cool air. You can't help but moan when something licks and sucks them. Is that the outline of a person you see shimmering there...?
"Fuck!", you moan when your pants are ripped right off you at the same time as your left nipple is viciously twisted. Your glistening cunt now for whatever entity is manhandling you. All your squirming and struggling is for nothing, the hands holding you are like iron cuffs. You know now that you have to take whatever they'll do to you, and you have a pretty good idea where that is - fully exposed like this you expect to be fucked quite thoroughly by these... ghosts, you realize. It must be the ghosts inhabiting the ancient ruines.
You moan when a cold, almost-there hand touches your clit. These shapes have been waiting for a long time, you think. And of course you place your camp right in their domain, like the dumb slut you are. The hands keep teasing you and it doesn't take long for your juices leak from your cunt and your moans to be loud enough you're almost sure will attrackt even more unwanted attention.
Something slaps your face and when you gasp, taken aback, a cold cock forces it's way down your throat. You gurgle and thrash around, to no avail of course. The ghost is fucking your face with abandon - but not hurried. You get the impression that they're savoring it.
Then your legs are pushed up toward your tits, exposing you even more. You know what comes next: a thick cock is sliding around your slit, gathering your juices. The thick mushroom tip of it is teasing your entrance, sliding in so that your pussy is streched around it before pulling back. You quirm you hips, unsure if you're trying to get away or for that cock to finally sink into you.
You'd beg, but can't with the cock still shoved down your throat. You're sure you'll be sore come morrow. When the dick finally slides into your cunt fully, you're granted no time to get used to it's enormous size. You should thank that werewold for preparing you, because the fucking that follows is hard and fast, slamming you into the ground with each forceful thrust.
The cock in your mouth is picking up speed as well, and before long it pulses, thickens and shoots roaps of cum down your throat. You're near your orgasm as well, welcoming it after all the teasing and it's only fair that you get to cum too, right? But the cock in you cunt slams into you and stays there, deep inside of you, right as you're at the edge.
"Nnnngjhgnn", you mewl around the cock. You try to quirm again, to get the friction you need to cum, but it's no use. Once the cock pulls out of your mouth, you start begging.
"Please," you moan. "Please let me cum. Please make me cum..."
The ghost makes you cockwarm them for what feels like an eternity. You're helpless and stretched around a cock, panting, begging. Then, you feel another cock nudging your lips. You open your mouth, welcoming it. And as you please this new ghost with your mouth, the cock in your pussy finally starts moving again, too. Like the first time, it thrusts into you forcefully and so deep from the get go, no build up. They're making you take every inch. Your orgasm builds quicker than the first time - but like the first time, right when you reach the edge, ready to fall over, it stops. You take another load down your throat, but the dick in your pussy stills.
"Please, please, please", you beg when your mouth is free again. Your juices are gushing around the cock stretching you out, but your orgasm is denied. Again and again, it continues. Your throat is fucked raw and you take what feels like a dozen loads like that, but your pussy is denied until you can see the first pink of the day.
"No, no please don't leave, don't go! Fuck me! Make me cum, please," you plead, since the ghosts will be gone at the first ray of light that creeps over the mountaintop.
You wish is granted, finally. You scream as the cock that you've warmed all night and that teased you all night starts pistoning in and out of you again with purpose. Mouths lodge themselves to your nipples, sucking, biting and invisible hands are all over you. When they start teasing your clit, feeling the cock move so deep inside of you, feeling so streched and violated - you cum. You cum so hard that your vision turns white and when you come to again, it's light out, your pussy is empty and leaking cum and your voice is raw from the throat fucking you've been subjected to and from screaming.
What will you do now?
bring your findings home, then keep searching for the book
bring your findings home, then try out that plug you found in the ruines
The hike home feels like one long walk of shame. Your legs are shaky and you've got all this stuff you found with you, too. It feels as if everyone you see on your way knows you've been fucket into next week by what felt like a dozen of ghosts.
When you finally make it home, you store all the things, except the plug. It's gold in color and there are differently coloured stones set in the metal. On top of that, there are runes carved into it. You don't know what they mean, but you're not an expert at all in the arcane. You're more of a 'friendly neighborhood witch' that can cure coughs and ease childbirth. People like you and buy your medicine and solutions often - from love-potions to first-aid stuff. It's a mix of magic things and medicine, really. Not all things need magic to be fixed and some basic coughing-sirup doesn't need to be enchanted to work perfectly fine.
Your magic is average at best. You're sure though, with the enchanted book and the right ingredients your summoning will work. You could even have some of the other local witches join in to make sure there's enough power to not only summon but bind the demon for a while. However long it takes for it to fuck you thoroughly and fill you with it's seed. Seed you need for further studies.
You decide that before you keep searching for the book at the blue lake, you not only deserve some rest but you also deserve to try out the plug. If this journey taught you anything, it's that filling and streching all your holes seems to be beneficial to your goal.
You decide for that bath first though. The plug can wait another day. This journey has taken a lot out of you. Aside from getting railed so often in the last few days you were hiking around a lot to find the ingredients and the book. You're sore and not only in the fun way. The warm water and heavily scented bath oils you use are exactly what you need to relax. Your pussy twitches a bit, but you decide not to touch it right now. You kinda want to... but getting edged and denied a whole night long is enough to warrant a longer break. Those asshole ghosts didn't even do any aftercare - so you'll have to do it yourself. You drink a big glass of juice in the bath and have a hearty meal afterwards. You take the day to relax and sort through everything you gathered. All those nice herbs you got, the vial of werewolf cum and the plug. You bed feels heavenly and you sleep like the dead until the sun is almost at it's zenith the next day.
Your anticipation grows. After a big cup of herbal tea you decide that you've waited long enough. The plug is shiny. You take it into your hand to look at it closely again and your other hand automatically slips between your legs to rub at your clit. It's not a small plug. Certainly big enough for you to feel the stretch once you've worked it inside of you, you think. But You need to do some preparation first. A nice orgasm and some lube are essential for this. You also thoroughly clean the plug. Who knows, right? Safery first. You get the lube ready and rub your clit more aggressively. An orgasm will loosen you up, but the main event will be pushing the plug in. You just know that it will feel amazing inside of your ass.
It doesn't take you long to cum. Rubbing your clit like this is a dirty and cheap trick that always works. Your juices are overflowing. Normally, this wouldn't really satisfy you, but alas, it's only the start. You move to get on all fours on the bed, no pants or panties on and with your tits hanging down. You spend some time flicking and pulling at your nipples before picking the plug up, spreading a generous amount of lube around your ass and onto the plug and pushing it against your puckered asshole.
Your ass clenches, the plug is cold and feels massive against your tiny hole. But you're sure you can work it in. You push and feel it spreading your muscles. It's a tight fit and you don't even get it to the thickest part before you have to pull it back again. Fuck - pushing it in alone will be so intense. You tease your asshole a bit with the plug. The metal is getting warmer, too. You liked the cold before and with a smaller plug you would've tried pushing it in fast, feeling the metal warm inside your warm ass, but with this monster... no thanks.
By the time you've worked it as far as the thickest part you're a moaning mess and if it wasn't you yourself pushing it in, you'd be begging by now. Your hole is streched so intensely. You push and pull the plug so the thickest part fucks your ass before letting go, letting your greedy asshole swallow the thick plug all the way.
It settles deep inside of you, making you feel so full. You gasp - but not only because your ass is so stuffed. No, you feel a powerful magic inside. Is the plug amplifying your powers? You sink into your sheets, trying to get used to being so full when the plug starts vibrating. Low, at first, but intensifying the more you concentrate on it.
"F-fuck, fuck," you mutter. Your fingers slip on the base of the plug. Maybe you shouldn't have pushed a foreign object like this into your asshole. You should've done some research on it. "Fuck!" The vibrations keep intensifying and you can't get the thing out of your ass.
All the euphoria from getting it into your ass disappear and you start to panic, but your hands are slippery and the plug is so big and it starts moving back and forth a bit and fuck fuck fuck fuck!
You gasp out another orgasm, wirthering in the sheets and involuntarily pulling your nipples, rubbing your clit. Afterwards, the plug settles and stops moving and vibrating. Just sitting there in your ass, as if nothing happened.
And it definetly amplifies your magic, you can feel it now, lying on your ruined sheets, asshole clenching around the thick intrusion. You imagine yourself summoning the demon, plugged up like this... your pussy clenches around nothing. You should get up and search at the Blue Lake.
And, you think, maybe you should have the plug inside just in case you need your magic powers enhanced. On the other hand, hiking with the plug inside will make your journey harder. You could also take it with you in your bag and put it in once you're there. The risk of losing the artifact is there, though.
What do you do?
Leave the plug inside of you on your journey to the Blue Lake
Leave the plug at home for easier traveling
Take the plug with you, to put it in when you reach the Blue Lake
Thank you so much for that delicious alien bar milking story! Probably is the best free use kink story I’ve read here on Tumblr ❤️
I do wonder now if girly will ever be taken home by someone to be “wifed up” or just treated like a cow forever at the bar. The patrons’ talk about girly’s fate has me curious now
Watch an alien farmer take girly home to wife up and be his breeding cow. Gotta keep that milk constantly flowing somehow
🌾🐄💍🥛🌾
Our girly stays at The Den. The aliens are all bark but no bite. They know what is good for them if they don't want to anger the owner.
[alien] Help
[aliens] Friday Special
But I'm sure we can find another Reader...
alien!Sconar x human!fem!Reader
Good to know: lactation, breeding
_
You arrive at Sconar's farm as part of an exchange program to learn about the planet's agriculture and share human methods. Your job is to take detailed notes on what might work well on Earth, and teach your alien host about human techniques in exchange.
The air shimmers under the brutal sun. Ever since you arrived, you hadn't seen so much as a stray cloud, let alone rain, only dry, searing heat. Yet the plants stand tall and lush around, their leaves plump and glistening.
"How do they survive this?" you ask, wiping sweat from your brow.
Sconar only grunts, then crouches down beside a long row of low-growing vines. His scales catch the sunlight, drinking in the burning warmth. He reaches into the worn pouch at his belt and pulls out a handful of small, pearl-like orbs. They glow blue-white in his gloved hand.
You lean in closer. "What are those?"
"Moisture seeds," he finally answers, though it just leaves you with more questions.
"How do they work?" Your fingers dart forward, eager to scoop up a small handful from the soil where he had just dropped them, but Sconar's hand snaps out before you can reach the scattered orbs. His grip is firm but not painful.
"Don’t." His warning is short and barked.
You freeze. "Why?"
"Cold burn," he says, releasing your wrist once he is sure you won't do anything stupid. "Would blister your soft human skin in seconds."
"Oh." You stare at the pearl-like seeds as curls of frost rise from them when they slowly activate. "How long do they last? Do you make them? Or buy? Can you use it for any plant? What if-"
"Slow down, girl," the alien grunts. "They last ten days. I buy them. And you can use them on any plant, but you have to be careful with the amount you use." He gives you an amused, knowing look and nods toward the tablet in your other hand. "Take your notes. Just don't touch anything until I say so."
Life on the farm feels surprisingly familiar. You wake with the sun, feed the animals; the six-legged creatures and the ones with features you spend hours drawing in your notebook, then walk the fields, check the shimmering crops, water the blossoming plants, and help Sconar with whatever he needs until the long day eventually settles into twilight that stretches for hours before morning comes again.
Sconar straightens up and dusts off his scaled hands with a sigh. "Day is over," he says. "Time to head back."
Even though it is technically night, you can hardly tell. The sky has softened into deep purples and oranges, but a thin, golden stripe of sun still clings to the horizon, refusing to disappear entirely.
"It doesn't feel night at all," you tell him, eyes half-closed as you enjoy the warmth of the sun that is finally stopped burning. "It completely throws off my sense of time."
"You will get used to it." He jerks his head toward... well... his horse. "Come."
The six-legged creature stands patiently by the fence post. Its light brown double coat shines under the never-disappearing sun.
You end up nestled between Sconar's thighs, your back pressed against the solid wall of his chest, with his arms caging you in so he can hold the reins.
For a while, it's quiet, with only the creature's steps on the dry path filling the warm night air. The rolling gait beneath you slowly melts you against the alien as the day's work settles into your muscles with exhaustion. Then-
You feel it.
Sconar's flat nose at the side of your neck as he draws in a deep breath.
You turn your head slightly with a shiver running across your spine. "Are you sniffing me?"
Sconar doesn’t pull back. His voice is a calm and unashamed rumble against your skin. "Yes."
Your face warms. After a full day working under the brutal sun, you feel sticky with sweat and dust. "I must smell awful." And why did you just say that???
He inhales once more, almost lazily, taking his time. "You smell warm and salty."
"Yeah," you squeak. "That's... that's sweat."
"I like it." Then, when you think your face can't grow hotter, he adds; "You must taste nice."
But of course, you can never truly forget that you are not on Earth anymore. Especially with the alien who greets you first thing every day. Sconar is a sturdy, robust alien, barely taller than you, with a build forged over long years of hard labor. Most of his body is covered in smooth scales that are the exact shade of green as his land during rain when nature awakens, vibrant and fresh after weeks or even months of dry spell and burning sun.
You step out of the house, ready for another long day in the fields, and the first thing you see is Sconar sprawled out on a chair. His legs are thrown wide apart, and his upper body is completely bare as he soaks up the sunlight. The already strong morning rays gleam across his green scales.
When he hears your steps on the creaking wooden porch, his eyes open just enough to acknowledge you, and without a word, he tilts his head toward the small table with two steaming mugs beside him. One for you, one for him. You brought coffee with you from Earth, and you are sure Sconar decided to like you when he first tasted it.
"Thank you."
You settle into the chair opposite him, staying in the shade of the roof, but your eyes keep drifting back to the alien.
Sconar is all hard muscles from years of farm work and a healthy layer of fat from good meals and steady living. As he basks in the sunlight, his scales seem to grow a deeper shade before your eyes. Your gaze travels from his powerful shoulders, thick arms, and a broad chest that rises and falls with slow, contented breaths, down to where his pants sit low on his hips.
And you don't notice it, you are too busy ogling him, but Sconar does.
He shifts slightly, pushing his hips forward in a slow stretch as if adjusting his position. The movement draws your attention straight to the heavy bulge straining against the front of his work pants while, at the same time, the muscles of his abs and chest flex. He holds the pose just a moment longer than necessary, letting you enjoy the way his scales shimmer under the sun.
And with parted lips and hooded eyes, you are unable to look away.
"Human?"
You jolt and have to force your gaze up to his face. There is a faint, knowing grin at the corners of his thin lips, but you decide not to see it.
"Yes?"
But it's not just you who learns and observes.
The midday sun beats down without mercy, and Sconar welcomes the heat while you are sitting on the ground a few meters away from him under a tree and its shadow. You are busy reapplying your suncream, and he watches you openly. You tilt your head to the side, exposing the soft curve of your neck as your fingers smooth the white cream over your skin. The lotion glistens in the filtered light.
But Sconar's gaze soon drifts lower.
Your button-up shirt, practical and usually loose for field work, now stretches noticeably tighter across your chest. The fabric pulls across your breasts, and the buttons strain just a little more than they did a few weeks ago.
He tilts his head, then, like it is the most normal thing in the world, he asks; "Did your tits grow?"
Your hand freezes mid-motion. Your head snaps up, eyes wide with shock as you stare at him. Sconar remains completely relaxed on his rock, one arm resting on his bent knee, scales dark and gleaming under the sun. He looks back at you steadily, waiting for an answer that never comes, with no trace of embarrassment.
But Sconar is right.
Your breasts feel heavier, fuller, and far more sensitive than they have any right to be. Even the soft fabric of your clothes feels too rough, especially across your nipples. Every brush of cloth makes you sharply aware of them. You have been trying to ignore it, telling yourself it must be the dry air, the constant heat, or some strange side effect of the new planet, but you have never heard any of the other humans in the exchange program mention anything like this.
One night, after a long shower washed away the day's dust and sweat, you sit at the kitchen table with a bowl of cut fruit in front of you, when another sharp, tight ache blooms in your chest. With a grimace, you cup your left breast gently, trying to ease the heavy, uncomfortable pressure. You will definitely have to find a doctor about this.
"Are you okay?"
Your hand drops instantly, but it's too late. Sconar stands under the arch of the doorway, his slit-pupiled eyes still on your chest.
You swallow.
Sconar is the last person you want to discuss this with, but you know he has met humans before and maybe knows more than you.
"Have you ever heard of human females complaining about changes in their bodies? Like… sudden growth. Soreness. That kind of thing."
The alien steps closer with a shake of his head, then his gaze falls to the bowl of fruit in front of you and nods toward the dark purple, glistening pieces you have been eating every day. "Maybe it's the korva."
You frown and pick up one. It's plump and sweet, your absolute favorite since you arrived. "What do you mean?"
"We feed them to our breeding animals," he says with a casual shrug. "Helps them produce more milk and strengthens their young. I didn't think it would work on human mammals, too."
He didn't think-?
Your eyes widen and drop the piece of fruit back into the bowl like it burned you. The sweet scent suddenly feels far too strong. "What?"
But Sconar, completely unfazed, just steps closer. His large, scaled hand wraps around your upper arm and coaxes you up from your chair.
His eyes drop straight to your chest, head tilted with open curiosity. "Do they hurt?"
The embarrassment burns hot across your cheeks, but you nod. Talking about it somehow makes the ache sharper, the heavy fullness more noticeable.
You can't believe you ate that fruit every single day without properly researching it!
Your spiraling thoughts shatter when Sconar's other hand slides up and cups one of your breasts through your top. His grip is warm and careful as he gives a slow squeeze, and you can't help but groan at the relief. The sound makes the alien's gaze snap up to your face. He watches you intently while his big hand massages your swollen tit, lifting the plush weight and rubbing his thumb over your painfully sensitive nipple. The pressure feels so good that it makes your knees weak.
"Does it feel good?"
"Yes," you squeak out.
You know you should probably stop him, but the mere thought of pulling away from his hand makes you whine in protest.
"They must be full," he hums, almost to himself, but the word full hits you anyway.
The growth, the pain, the sensitivity… it isn't just swelling. The fruit is making you lactate.
"Oh, no…" you gasp, one arm flying up to cover your chest. But it's already too late. When you look down, two dark wet spots bloom across the front of your top right over your nipples.
Sconar grunts something so low and guttural under his breath that the translator in your ear doesn't even catch it.
"What?"
"I'm sorry," he says, but he doesn't sound sorry at all. His palm presses more firmly against your breast, kneading and squeezing until more milk leaks out. "I should help you."
You are so dazed, you think he means he has some kind of medicine. "You can?" you ask, hopeful and embarrassingly breathless.
But Sconar clearly has something else in his mind, because he hauls you up onto the kitchen table with startling ease. The bowl of fruit clatters to the floor, forgotten.
Your heart hammers as he steps between your spread thighs. "Sconar?"
"You poor thing," he grunts. "It must hurt so much."
You whimper as he grabs the hem of your soaked top and pulls it up and off in one smooth motion, tossing it aside with the scattered fruit on the ground.
The air brushes over your bare, swollen breasts, making your leaking nipples tighten even more. "F-fuck!"
Sconar’s eyes darken as he stares at your chest. A low, hungry sound rumbles in his throat. Without hesitation, his large, scaled hands cup both of your heavy breasts, lifting and squeezing them together. The relief is immediate and overwhelming. You moan loudly as milk beads at your nipples and drips down onto his fingers.
"Poor little human," he murmurs. "Look at you. So swollen and full. All that milk just leaking out… does it ache?"
You nod frantically. His thumbs brush over your sensitive nipples, and you arch into his touch with a broken sound. He leans down, and you reach up without thinking, sliding your fingers into his hair that only grows in a strip at the center across his head. He closes his lips around your right nipple and sucks. The sensation punches the air out of your lungs. Wet heat envelops the aching peak as he gulps down your milk with deep, satisfied sounds. The pressure eases in waves of pleasure, making your toes curl, and your thighs tremble around his hips.
"I didn't know…" he grunts against your wet skin, switching to the other nipple and latching on just as greedily.
"What?" you manage to gasp.
He pulls back just enough to answer, lips shiny with your milk. "That human women are so pretty like this. Heavy, leaking tits… all for me."
Then his mouth is on you again, sucking harder, tongue rolling over your nipple as he drinks. Milk spills from the corners of his lips no matter how greedily he swallows. It drips down his chin and onto your stomach. The wet, obscene sounds of him feeding fill the quiet kitchen.
You whimper and hold onto his braid like an anchor. "Sconar… ohgods!"
He switches between your breasts, massaging the soft, swollen flesh while he nurses. Every pull of his mouth sends sparks of pleasure straight between your legs.
"You taste so good," he growls around your nipple. "My poor little human… walking around with full tits every day. I should have noticed sooner. I'll take care of you now, though. I'll empty you until you feel good again."
You arch your back, offering yourself to him without shame. "Please- Don’t stop, please, Sconar…"
But Sconar doesn't seem to have any intention of stopping anytime soon. Not the sucking, and definitely not your milk.
While you moan with your head thrown back, lost in the wet heat of his mouth, Sconar's mind is spinning with darker possibilities. He could keep you here. After the exchange program ends, he could make sure you never leave his farm. He imagines you like this every day; tits heavy and swollen with milk, knees shaking from how well he takes care of you. Round with his child. He would feed you korva fruit every morning. Would keep your breasts full and leaking for him. He would keep you rested, spoiled, and constantly pleasured as his young grows inside you.
The thought makes a deep, possessive growl rise in his chest.
You hear the distinct clink of his belt as he frees himself, but you can't see his cock, he refuses to pull his mouth away from your dripping tits even for a second.
"Sconar…?" you breathe shakily.
He releases your nipple with a wet pop. A string of your milk and his saliva still connects his lips to your swollen peak. "It’s okay, little human," he shushes you. "I'll take care of you. I'm going to breed you nice and deep. Fill this soft belly until it swells with my child." His hand strokes possessively over your stomach. "Your tits will stay full for our young… and for me. Every day I'll drink from you while I put another one in you."
You know you shouldn't want this. This goes against everything you came here for; the research, the exchange program, your life on Earth. But the moment his scaled hand slips into the waistband of your shorts and tugs them down your legs, your body betrays you completely. You lift your hips and open your thighs for him without hesitation.
Your pussy clenches around nothing, slick and aching at the thought of staying here forever. Of being his. Of having a family with this strong, blunt alien who's currently devouring your milk like he's starved for it.
Please is the only word that manages to escape your lips.
And the alien doesn't wait any longer.
He pushes forward. The thick, blunt head of his cock opens your soaked pussy with one slow thrust. You cry out as he sinks deep and fills you completely. He is big, and the stretch is deliciously overwhelming.
"Fuck! Sconar!" you moan as your walls flutter and squeeze around him.
He groans loudly against your breast, while the table creaks as he rocks back and forth, fucking you with deep, steady strokes.
"You feel so good," he growls, switching to your other nipple and sucking hard enough to make your back arch. "So tight… so full of milk for me. My perfect little human."
You hold onto him desperately; fisting his hair and clawing at his scaled shoulder. Every thrust drives him deep, and the wet slap of skin against skin mixes with the greedy sounds of him sucking and swallowing your milk.
"You're going to be such a good mother," he grunts between pulls on your nipple, milk dripping down his chin.
"Yes! Ohgodsyes," you whimper, legs wrapped tight around his waist. You shouldn't agree. You shouldn't encourage him, but right now you don't care. All you want is him.
"Gonna keep you here," he snarls, hips snapping forward. "Feed you korva every day. Breed you full. Keep these pretty tits swollen and dripping while your belly rounds with my young."
His words send white-hot pleasure through you. You clench around his thick cock, crying out as another gush of milk flows into his hungry mouth. He drinks it down eagerly, growling with satisfaction.
"I want it," you gasp deliriously, holding his head to your chest. "Please, Sconar-"
He fucks you harder if it's even possible. The table shakes violently beneath you. His scaled hips slap against your thighs as he drives into you again and again, never letting your nipples escape his mouth for long. He switches between them constantly, sucking, licking, and massaging every drop he can get while his cock stretches and claims your dripping pussy.
"You're mine now," he growls. "Say it."
You shouldn't-
"I'm yours!" you moan, tears of pleasure slipping from the corners of your eyes. "I'm yours, Sconar!"
A deep, feral sound rips from his throat, and he slams into you one final time, grinding deep as he sucks hard on your nipple. Your orgasm crashes over you violently, pussy spasming around his cock, fresh milk flooding his mouth as you shake and cry out beneath him. Sconar follows right after with a guttural roar, hips jerking as he pumps you full of hot, thick cum. He keeps sucking gently even as he comes, milking every last drop from your sensitive breasts while filling your womb.
The table finally stops creaking. For a long moment, the only sounds are your heavy breathing and the wet pop as he finally releases your swollen nipple. Though, the alien stays buried deep inside you, towering over your body, his forehead pressed against yours. His scaled chest brushes against your tender, milk-smeared breasts with every breath. Still panting and shivering from the intensity of your orgasm, you reach up with both hands and cup his face. Your fingers slide over his smooth, warm scales, and he lets you guide him, surprised but willing as his mouth meets yours. His lips are hot, slightly rough, and taste unmistakably of you; sweet, warm milk and raw desire. The moment your tongue brushes his, Sconar groans deeply into your mouth. His cock, still buried inside you, twitches and swells rapidly, hardening again in powerful pulses until he is rock-hard and throbbing.
Sconar breaks the kiss just enough to growl against your lips. "Fuck, girl… You really want to keep yourself full, don't you?"
His hips give a slow, lazy roll, pushing his thick cock deeper into your cum-filled pussy. You whimper, clenching around him instinctively.
You can't lie. Not right now. Not with him still inside you and the taste of your own milk on your tongue. "Yes," you breathe. "I do."
idk who needs to hear this, but your partner should be making your life better and easier than it is on your own. if your partner is making your life harder, they're constantly stressing you out, if they're not showing up for you? babe you gotta leave, life is so short and we only get one, so don't spend it with someone who makes you feel bad about your life, you deserve so much better than that
Okaaaaay but Royal!Price who’s married to Reader for like two years and the entire time the court is breathing down your neck because you haven’t produced an heir yet.
And ofc somehow this becomes entirely your fault bc nobody questions Price or considers that the problem might not be you because he’s the king, he’s healthy, he’s strong, he’s already proven himself in every other way that matters to these people, so obviously it must be his wife who’s defective.
And you spend two years being poked and prodded by royal physicians and forced to drink disgusting tonic things and tracking your cycles and praying at shrines and enduring every older noblewoman at court giving you unsolicited advice while rumors about the “barren Queen” spread through the palace.
And Price doesn’t exactly stop them. Maybe in the beginning he tells you not to listen, tells you there’s still time, but as the months pass he starts treating your inability to conceive like a personal failure.
And ofc there’s this one woman at court who makes your life like absolute hell over it. Daughter of some powerful duke or neighboring kingdom or whatever, beautiful and fertile looking and exactly the sort of woman everyone whispers Price should have married in the first place.
She makes little comment about children whenever you’re nearby, brings babies into conversation just to watch you go quiet, maybe even starts getting increasingly bold because Price is starting to favor her. And you know they’re sleeping together long before he admits it. You just don’t have any power to do anything about it.
Then Price divorces you.
And he’s not quietly about it either and that’s the part that really destroys you because he could’ve found a dozen political reasons to dissolve the marriage, could’ve protected whatever dignity you had left and let you save face but instead he specifically cites your failure to provide an heir as the reason for the divorce. Has it entered into the official decree that the marriage produced no issue and that you’re presumed barren, basically stamping it into history that you failed in the single duty expected of a queen.
And to add insult to injury he marries the woman who spent the last two years tormenting you, who becomes Queen, and suddenly all those rumors about how she’d always been better suited for him become accepted fact.
Meanwhile you’re just… there. The discarded Queen. Technically still noble, technically still wealthy enough, but socially ruined because who is going to marry the woman the King publicly declared barren?
Except Simon, Price’s knight who’s his own kind of social outcast cause he’s scarred, disfigured, and everyone assumes will never marry anyway because nobody has ever exactly been lining up to become Lady Riley to a monster, you know.
So when Simon asks for your hand, you say yes. Maybe Price even allows it because he thinks there’s something almost amusing about it. His unwanted wife and his disfigured knight. Two things the court has decided are damaged being tucked neatly away together.
Except Simon doesn’t treat you like you’re damaged. And then the absolute fucking scandal when, before the end of the year, you start appearing in court with a very obviously rounding stomach.
At first everyone tries to pretend they don’t notice because surely not. Surely the former Queen who spent two years unable to conceive isn’t pregnant within months of marrying Ser Simon Riley.
Except you are and it isn’t even ambiguous after a while. You’re glowing with health, Simon is hovering around you like some enormous armored guard dog, the physicians confirm the pregnancy is progressing perfectly, and suddenly all those old whispers start changing direction because Price’s new Queen still isn’t pregnant even after and entire year.
Meanwhile you give birth to this enormous fat healthy Riley baby and suddenly the court has to reckon with the fact that maybe their discarded barren Queen was never barren at all.
Which means maybe the King publicly humiliated and divorced his wife, destroyed her reputation, married his mistress, and announced to the entire kingdom that she was incapable of giving him an heir-
when the problem had been him the entire fucking time.
Or like, Reader who’s not even meant to be in the military. Or in fact, you’re just some sort of personal. Government Hooker, as in, this is one way to work off the crime you committed is to work as a military dog.
Fetch and retrieve. Usually as the go to get away driver, the escort.
Today it’s the task force 141.
Just a pick up and drop off.
And you heard they’re all big and strong, 700 pounds in total, an entanglement you pray to be far away from just from hearing how well they work together, how they’re so close knit, it gives you a weird taste in your mouth. Jealousy? You’re not opening any cans anytime soon. They all pile in the large black SUV at the airport after getting their luggage inside.
Ghost in the passenger side while the other three men in the backseat. John clears his throat, gives a smile, “Laswell said you’re the one to pick us up, it’s nice to meet you love.”
You give an unamused hum, ignoring the friendly look he’s giving you in the rearview mirror and looking towards the traffic filled airport. You tap your finger on the steering wheel, “Seatbelts.”
Gaz and Soap exchange look, Soap shrugs his shoulders, “Maybe she’s shy?”
“Looks like she doesn’t want t’ be here mate.” Gaz chuckles, trying to ease the tension.
And even in the awkwardness, it’s enough for you to turn the music up and whip out of the parking spot, the last moments of peace before you turn a 45 minute drive to the army base into a 25 minute one. Switching lanes as if you’re too indecisive, one arm rested on the car door mindlessly, while you drive with one hand, lightly humming along to the music as the backseat is filled with screams and groans. Sure Soap has threatened to throw up, Gaz holding onto dear life as John tries to get you to slow down, all while Ghost is laughing up a storm as he sits in the passenger seat, unsure if this was an attempt on all of their lives or your just pure hell on the road.
But you make it to base in one piece, Soap does throw up in the parking lot and John is already yelling up a storm about the dangers of the road but you’re not really listening. Not even when Kate comes to get you guys for the meeting that was set to be had, John is red in the face, Gaz is simply worried that you’ll actually be working under them, Soaps fanning his face while cursing up a storm and you can hear the amusement in Ghosts voice. All while you’re yawning and picking at your ear.
Kate can only sigh, asking you to wait outside for a brief moment. You oblige with a huff, door shutting behind you.
“John-“
“-Kate I’m not putting my team through another hell with her-“
“You dont have much of a choice here John, the only way to take down these guys is through her.”
“Through her?” Gaz asks, he takes a beat, “Do you mean-“
“I can’t say whether she worked for or against them-“ Kate pushes through the eruption of grumbles, “But it was either help the special forces, or jail for the rest of her life. I’m sure you know which option would best suit someone like her.”
Kate sighs, “So if you’d please suck it up, she’s a good get away driver— in her file for that. [+]’s driven Shepherd around, you’re in good hands.”
“My fucking arse-“
“[+], if you could come back in!” Kate raises her voice just enough for you to hear outside the door. Before you can step too far in Kates words cut through the air, “and if you could please return their wallets, I would greatly appreciate it.”
You let out another sigh, wallet after wallet plopping onto the table. You shrug while taking a seat “I don’t know who the hell you guys are either.”
“You’re shitting.”
“Yer mental Kate.”
“She’s funny, this one is, yeah?”
“Kate seriously—“
a/n: nothing burger, I’m getting some shit out my drafts
the pros of reading ao3 fics in public is that their layout is so clean and simple that people would think you’re reading some academic researches when you’re in fact reading a 50k fic. the cons is that you need to control your face all the fucking time
need a hat that says I WONT SPEAK UNLESS SPOKEN TO AND ITS NOT BECAUSE IM DISINTERESTED AND DONT LIKE YOU I JUST DONT UNDERSTAND SOCIAL INTERACTION AS WELL AS MOST PEOPLE AND ASSUME BY DEFAULT MY PRESENCE IS UNWELCOME AS A PRECAUTIONARY MEASURE SO I KEEP TO MYSELF BUT I DONT MIND IF YOU INITIATE so i can wear it to work
The second Captain John Price receives credible intelligence regarding his missing lieutenant, accompanied by photographic evidence of said lieutenant’s current condition, he pinches the bridge of his nose and holds it there for a long moment.
Then he releases a sigh so deep and profoundly exhausted that the paperwork on his desk flutters.
There are moments in a man’s life when he reflects upon the choices that brought him to his present circumstances. Price has had more of those moments than most, usually while being shot at, occasionally while filling out expense reports, and once while watching Soap attempt to determine whether a grenade could be used to open a particularly stubborn jar of pickles.
This, however, may be the first time he has seriously regretted not accepting that desk job his uncle offered him straight out of school.
Corporate office. Nine to five. Sensible shoes. Perhaps a retirement party where the greatest threat to his life would’ve been Sandra from Accounts becoming emotional after two glasses of prosecco.
Instead, he is staring at a photograph of Lieutenant Simon Riley tied to a chair in what appears to be a dungeon.
Bare concrete walls, chains hanging from hooks, one exposed bulb casting ominous shadows. There is even what appears to be a table containing several neatly arranged implements of torture, although Price suspects at least two of them are novelty kitchen utensils.
Simon sits in the middle of it all wearing his skull mask, trousers, and an expression that cannot be seen but can nevertheless be felt radiating through the photograph.
Price studies the ropes binding his lieutenant’s wrists.
He blinks.
He studies them again.
The rope is looped around Simon’s arms perhaps twice, secured with what looks suspiciously like a shoelace knot, and hanging loose enough that a moderately determined toddler could escape it.
“Are we certain this is current?” Price asks.
The intelligence officer standing opposite his desk shifts his weight. “Timestamp puts it at fourteen hundred yesterday, sir.”
“And we’re certain it’s Riley?”
“Yes, sir.”
Price looks back at the photograph.
Simon’s boots are planted comfortably apart. His shoulders are relaxed. There are no visible injuries. Someone has placed a folded blanket beneath him so the metal chair won’t be uncomfortable.
There is also, Price notices with mounting despair, a bottle of water positioned beside his right foot with the water level already half gone.
“Right,” Price says.
The investigation continues and it should be difficult to determine how one of the world’s most highly trained special operations soldiers was abducted from his own home. Simon Riley is six foot something of professionally cultivated paranoia. He checks exits without thinking, sleeps lightly, and once identified a surveillance team because the same pigeon appeared outside three different cafes.
You, by comparison, possess all the operational subtlety of a marching band falling down a staircase.
Price discovers you have been following Simon for six weeks.
Not discreetly, no. You’ve followed him to the store, the gym, the shooting range, and several coffee shops. You’ve taken photographs from behind newspapers held upside down, worn a black trench coat during a heatwave, an once crouched behind a decorative hedge that did not make you as invisible as you probably led yourself to believe you were.
Security footage shows Simon looking directly into the camera on several occasions while you scurry behind him between hiding places.
Price sees all of this and lowers his face into his hands.
The next report arrives shortly before lunch.
“A syringe was recovered from Lieutenant Riley’s residence,” an officer tells him.
Price straightens slightly. Finally. Something resembling an actual crime.
“Forensics?”
“Lorazepam, sir.”
“What dosage?”
The officer consults the report. “Zero point five milligrams.”
Price stares at him.
The officer clears his throat. “Ativan.”
“I know what lorazepam is.”
“Yes, sir.”
Price looks at the report again, perhaps hoping an additional zero will materialize through force of will.
It doesn’t.
“Zero point five.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That dose wouldn’t knock out a pensioner after Sunday lunch.”
“No, sir.”
“Riley weighs nearly two forty.”
“Yes, sir.”
They stand in silence and Price’s eye begins to twitch.
The final piece of evidence is recovered from a traffic camera positioned across from Simon’s flat where Pricd can see you dragging Simon beneath the arms towards the back door.
Dragging is perhaps generous. You are straining, red faced and panting, moving him approximately three inches at a time while Simon allows his boots to scrape uselessly across the floor. His head lolls against his shoulder with theatrical unconsciousness.
In the process, his boot catches the base of a standing lamp, which begins to fall.
Simon, still allegedly unconscious, reaches out one hand, catches it, carefully rights it, and places it back beside the doorway.
“Unbelievable,” Price mutters.
You turn around at the sound and he drops his arm and resumes being unconscious before you see him.
You stare suspiciously and Simon remains perfectly still.
After several seconds, you shrug and return to your kidnapping.
Price pauses the footage, sits back, and runs both hands slowly down his face, dragging his palms over his beard until he resembles a man trying to physically remove himself from existence.
Behind him, one of the task force operators shifts impatiently. “Captain?”
Price says nothing.
“Do you want us to assemble a team?”
“No.”
There is a pause.
“No, sir?”
“No.”
“But Lieutenant Riley has been taken hostage.”
“Has he?”
The operator looks at the frozen image on the screen. Simon’s enormous, supposedly unconscious body is halfway inside a compact hatchback while you attempt to fold one of his legs through the door.
“He’s tied to a chair, sir.”
“He could break those ropes by sneezing.” He says while he picks up Simon’s personnel file.
He opens it, turns to the appropriate page, and begins filling out a leave request.
The operator watches him. “Sir?”
Price writes Simon Riley beneath the section marked PERSONNEL NAME.
“Captain, what are you doing?”
“Administrative work.”
“Shouldn’t we at least contact him?”
Price checks the box beside personal leave.
“He’s been missing for two days.”
Price writes seven beneath REQUESTED NUMBER OF DAYS, considers it, crosses it out, and replaces it with fourteen.
“Sir.”
Price signs the bottom of the form with a flourish made violent by fatigue.
The operator makes a questioning noise in the back of his throat.
Price places the completed document neatly on top of the photograph showing his lieutenant sitting comfortably in a dungeon with a blanket beneath his ass, a half finished bottle of water by his foot, and enough slack in his restraints to knit a second rope.
“No deployment,” Price says. “No rescue attempt. No one contacts him unless there’s an actual emergency.”
graveyard | simon riley x reader au | 1.5k words | ao3
cw/tags: minors + ageless dni. cis-female reader. at a funeral but not sad. everyone's awkward. explicit sexual content. unedited.
it's hot when they bury her.
the humidity squeezes you like a sponge, pushing the sweat out of your skin to run down your body in small rivulets. you're the only one that showed, so you stand, sweating profusely and dry-eyed, watching as four pallbearers do their thing with her basic casket.
it's not your first burial, but it's the first time seeing strangers do this job. one of them clearly is just a cemetery groundskeeper. overly large and looks like he could've pursued pro wrestling. behind your sunglasses, you end up watching him nearly the whole time.
you don't toss anything on her casket. you just stand and watch as they lower it in. you wander away for awhile, giving the workers distance, and smoke cigarettes in quick succession. you watch as the big one goes through the motions of burying your stepmom with a clean precision, no wasted effort, muscles flexing under sweat and ink and glistening hair. you smoke and picture yourself under the muscles.
when it's just him and an older guy, you walk over. you watch the older man realize he's not wanted for this conversation, and dips off to do something out of sight.
you catch the eye of the big one, which is harder than you expect. "thanks."
he gives you a polite response, something packaged clean for grieving friends and family who take the time to thank the workers who did the job that nobody else did. probably gets it all the time.
"what time are you off?"
his eyes are slow to catch yours, but caught off guard even so. you wonder if he keeps his eyes open during a kiss. he glances down at a hairy wrist, a watch banded there across his sun-dark arm. "gimme an hour."
"i'm the blue camry." you flick your chin toward the nearly empty parking lot.
he nods, eyes still trying to pull you apart to understand this. if it's a joke at his expense maybe.
you sit in the stale air conditioning of your car. you smoke some more, pop some sun-softened gum from the dirty console, and recline your seat a little. from here, you can make him out, bending, shovelling, lifting, pushing. tree trunk legs and a torso to match. you want to feel small under him, twisted into shapes to fit him.
by the time you see him heading your way, you're worked up.
"pub nearby," he offers in your cranked open window. he points to a truck at the far end of the parking lot. "wanna follow me?" you nod.
the pub smells like trapped asbestos and the ac sucks, but it's quiet and the server's got a kind smile and leaves you alone. the man — simon — taps his dirty fingertips against his sweating pint glass.
"sorry for your loss," he offers and you can't help the way your face pinches into a grimace, like it disgusts you. you shake your head firmly.
"you saw that i was the only one that showed up, right?" you laugh a little after a mouthful of wine. "she was a fucking cunt." you crave a cigarette so badly your fingers grip the glass a little tighter.
there's a wrinkling around his eyes that pleases you. "fair play then." his voice matches his work; ugly and important and grounding. it pulls at your stomach and tickles your nerves. you want to hear him in your ear.
the conversation is stilted, neither of you fully knowing what you're doing except the obvious first steps before the thing that matters.
"you live close?" you ask over a cigarette in the parking lot, kicking at a cement barrier.
"ten minutes, give'r take." his eyes wander over your face.
"closer than me. i'll follow."
—
he offers tea and you decline. for appearances, he flicks on some action movie playing on tv. to the sound of some jungle gunfight, you straddle him in his big dumpy armchair that reclines. you get the kissing over fast, then dive into the crease of his neck to smell him, unabashed. he's got fresh and dried sweat baked into his work shirt and skin, and you want to bite into him for it. he gets hard under your writhing hips and you find the right angle so that it strokes against your clit under linen pants and underwear, muttering dumb words into the hairy, damp crevices he has on offer.
he doesn't seem to know what to do with you. to his credit, you're not sure you do either; you feel crazed, overbaked from the sun and humidity and the fucked-up deluge of feelings when someone you hate dies, so you just bury yourself into his big body and mark yourself against him. every noise he makes is delicious, so you learn and move the right ways to earn them, louder, stronger against your scalp.
you unbutton his shirt, some bits of dirt and twigs falling out of where it got trapped, and he glances up at you like this is going to kill the vibe. you wonder if it's the same dirt that buried your stepmom. "keep going," you urge him, pulling at the shirt impatiently.
he's covered in hair and it's brushed all kinds of ways from sweat and his shirt, and you press your body against him to just…sink in. soak it up somehow. your jaw rests over his shoulder, and your mouth latches onto his neck, your arms trapped between your chests pleasantly. he's big and real and sturdier than a stone headstone.
it feels too good to detach enough for you to both pull pants off, so you just find yourself grinding, clothed, forehead against his collarbone until your clit finally gets what it needs and you open-mouth gasp into his damp skin as your orgasm rolls over you like a heatwave, oppressive and claiming.
when your head comes up, it's wobbly and you feel dizzy. "whoa."
his dark, beautiful eyes are blown wide and just as confused.
you shift around until you're facing the tv. sitting on his lap, legs partially entwined, his sweaty chest to the back of your thin top. you both stare at the tv, probably both unseeing.
—
his apartment's dark when someone wakes and suggests the bed. it smells like him and you groan when you hit the sheets.
you get your wish when with enough sleep-slow touches, he finally climbs over you, undressed in the dark, and pushes himself between your legs. you both release pent-up moans when his cock — big, deliciously big — slides into your ready cunt, and you wreath your fingers around his thick neck to draw him in close for a sloppy kiss.
he's too sweet for awhile and you don't say anything, just breathe in his dipped ear and fuck his mouth with your tongue to urge him on. then the temperature shifts, you widen your hips and knot your ankles around him, and you whisper, "more. i need you to distract me."
then your breaths and words are knocked clean out of you when he sets to it, a determined noise behind his gritted teeth, his cock driving in steady and deep. you think you hear a dark laugh when you gasp and your laced fingers turn into sharp fingernails into his scalp.
"fuck—" you hiccup, and he gets faster, fucking the thoughts right out of your brain.
"you gonna come for me?" has your thighs clamping around his hips as his cock hits right and you press the back of your head into his pillow, your eyes shutting to focus on the sensations.
"yeah, you're gonna come 'ard, all'ver my cock. what you need, eh."
"oh my god don't stop, don't stop, don't stop—"
"i won't fuckin' stop. g'on then. come for me, love. let it go."
your orgasm has you grappling him like you're a pro wrestler of your own, trying to draw him into you, clamp him so tightly that he lets out a strangled groan of his own, spilling his come into you as you fuck him more than he fucks you. a bizarre mating that has you feeling animalistic and carnal, your noises unearthly, absorbing everything he has.
then you force him, grab him harshly, not to move off you. you use your body to stretch him out over you, crushing you under his heat and density. the smell, the weight, the real.
if it's a cliche, it's an earned one, but he pulls out a pack of smokes and lights you both one. your shaking breaths has you accidentally inhaling wrong and you cough violently, his come soaking the bedsheet under you as it expels itself from the contractions.
"i'm not normally like this," you say in the dark bedroom.
"what're you normally like then."
you're seized by silence. "i actually have no fuckin' clue. i just felt like i should say that."
"s'alrigh'," he says quietly, not chuffing along with your laugh. "was never gonna get a bird like you by any other means."
"what'd you mean?" you know he won't want you to look at his face, so you stare up at his spinning ceiling fan and watch the smoke drift up until it's dispersed.
"not exactly normal myself."
"hmm." you hum appreciatively. "aren't we a pair then, eh."
—
he makes tea in the morning. you make a face and ask for coffee.
when he says he doesn't drink the stuff, you tell him to start buying it and keeping it around for you.
Pairing: Brendon Park x Fem!Reader | Series | Ongoing | Smut
After a long 7–7 shift at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, Brendon Park wants exactly one thing: quiet. Instead, he finds his new neighbor halfway inside the bushes outside their apartment building, trying to rescue a tiny feral kitten with tuna, a towel, and far too much emotional investment. You’re new to Pittsburgh, lonely, and trying to survive culinary school. Brendon is tired, sharp, controlled, and better known at the hospital as Park the Shark. Neither of you is looking for anything complicated. Unfortunately, Biscuit the tiny orange criminal has other plans.
Chapter One: The Hedge Incident —7.8k
Chapter Two: Not a Transaction —7.8k
Chapter Three: Property Damage —10.3k
Chapter Four: No Regrets —7.7k
Chapter Five: Something You Didn't Cook —7.6k
Chapter Six: Later —7.8k
Chapter Seven: Still —12.5k
Chapter Eight: Daylight —10.4k
Chapter Nine: Your Turn, Part 1 —9.6k
Chapter Nine: Your Turn, Part 2 —13.5k
Chapter Ten: Too Much —7.5k
Chapter Eleven: Guarding —12k
Chapter Twelve: The Keys — 6k
Chapter Thirteen: The First Quiet Minute — 7k
Chapter Fourteen: Home — 3k
One-Shots
One Step at a Time —9.8k
Pairing: Brendon Park x wife!Reader | No Smut
From three positive pregnancy tests to the first heartbeat, first kick, late-night conversations with your belly, and one long, exhausting labor, Brendon is there for every careful, terrifying, beautiful step. Precise, steady, quietly overwhelmed, and completely undone by the first time he holds his baby.
Small sweet passion fruit @bina-passion-fruit - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
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