thinking about thomas being absolutely obsessed with you being pregnant <3
i think its universally decided that thomas hewitt has a breeding kink. he was, still is, and will always be confused yet overly thankful that you choose him everyday. growing up, he wasn’t too sure that he would be able to have a family of his own but with you—everything he thought wasn’t possible is now possible.
so yes, the first time you two made love he wanted to make sure the outcome ended up with you growing his child. and sure enough, it worked.
thomas was scared to be a father. the cloud of what if’s crowded his mind and almost completely took over his head. but at last, he has the most beautiful and perfect woman ever by his side and with you he always saw the bigger picture.
you helped him get over his fear of being a dad, assuring him that while he wouldn’t be the most traditional dad, your kid would still love him no matter what. it also helped a lot that you went around calling him big daddy or something along those lines.
after your first was born, thomas missed seeing you pregnant. much sooner than you would have preferred, you were pregnant again. thomas was over the moon and honestly if you allowed him to, he’d make sure you were pregnant every year until you physically couldn’t have anymore.
he just couldn’t help himself. as he held onto his first born baby girl and watched you cook with luda mae he noticed how you glowed, a soft smile on your face while one hand rested on your growing child and the other stirring the stew.
“can’t believe you done knock her up again tommy” hoyt scoffed as he plopped down next to the man. thomas smiled behind his mask, his eyes casting down to the baby in his arms. she was asleep, lips parted slightly, reminding him of how you slept.
he loved seeing something he created look so cute and innocent—no one would have expected this little angel came from someone like him.
“but i understand” hoyt sighed “if i was hittin that i would have a whole baseball team” he chuckled “she still good down there?”. thomas snapped his head towards the man, his once soft eyes now hard and threatening.
hoyt’s chuckles died down slowly. he knew joking about you wasn’t such a good idea with thomas around but its hoyt we’re talking about. luckily for him the man knew when to take a hint. he might think he’s the one who ran this family but he was still scared of tommy.
and now you weren’t just his wife, you were the mother of his children and he’d be damned if he let anyone harm you guys—family or not.
thinking about thomas keeping photos of you everywhere <3
your camera was the only thing you still had from your life before the hewitt’s, it was the only thing you were allowed to keep. when thomas saw all the photo’s you had of your old home and friends he did his best to encourage you to take photo’s of them and their home.
that idea brought you much comfort and you quickly got to work. you took lots of photos, taking some of monty and hoyt or luda mae while she was cooking, you took photos of the farm animals and the abandoned slaughterhouse. but there was just one thing you hadn’t been able to catch on camera and that was thomas.
he hated the camera, every time you pointed it at him he turned the other way or held his hand in front of the lens, his eyes scolding you for even attempting it. at night, he would hide the camera or place it somewhere you couldn’t reach so you wouldn’t attempt to take one of him while he was sleeping.
when you finally did catch him off guard you had to beg and plead for him to allow you to keep it. you promised that no one other than you would look at it and unfortunately for him your puppy dog eyes worked.
you kept your promise, taping the photo of him next to the wall you slept near—little heart drawings around his face. seeing you display his photo like that made him want one of you.
so after many failed attempts of working your camera, thomas was able to catch one of you with luda mae. the both of you were seated at the kitchen table laughing and thomas was very proud when he captured that photo.
downstairs, above his work station he taped that photo up—his eyes always wondering up at it to remind him that these two women actually exists and loves him just as much as he loves them.
he actually became a bit addicted to taking photos of you, his wall was pretty much covered and when he ran out of space he started keeping them in random places.
some were kept scattered around the basement and some were kept in the pocket of his apron—he even taped one to his chainsaw. sure he had to replace it every now and then but that was fun for him.
when you found his little collection you were flattered but kinda upset—how was it fair that he could have a whole gallery of you but you couldn’t have one of him.
it took lots of convincing but he started to allow you to take photo’s of him—but only if he wasn’t aware of them. now you just had to convince him to take photo’s with you.
team i have a few asks to get through but yall idea’s are so creative im trying to not mess them up thats why they are taking so long 😭
under the cut: You're not as alone as you think when Bob Gray joins you for an impromptu smoke break. (daddy kink, smoking/weed use, oral sex, size difference, creampie)
Carnivals aren’t really your bag.
It’s kind of nice, you suppose, the smell of popcorn and sweets on the air, calliope music and freak shows, the excellent people-watching opportunities. Families wander around with their children, chattering and shrieking with laughter. They mosey about checking out the attractions and playing carnival games, throwing little rings that slip right off the smooth edges of glass bottlenecks, tossing darts at little primary-colored balloons to win a prize. There are little stuffed bears and bunnies, ragdolls in patchwork dresses with button-eyes. The largest of the stuffies are big, soft turtles, hanging there on hooks like bait for the kids, for the teenagers trying to win their date the big prize. The turtles look on with their blank, glazed eyeballs, indifferent to the winners, the losers, the projectiles.
You’re on your own, here. It’s a nice waste of time on an otherwise boring, mild evening, warm enough to wander around without a jacket but cloudy enough to feel fall coming. Dry leaves skitter over the ground, catching on bits of wood chip and tufts of browning grass.
After a couple turns around the area, it feels time to duck behind some of the tents on the edge of the grounds, where there’s barely anyone around. Just the edge of the woods. Just a bit of solitude, of privacy - the perfect place to pluck the spliff you brought with you, tucked safely in your pocket. It was hard to get every bit of tobacco scraped out and even harder to reroll it with your clumsy fingers, but it being a little on the ugly side won’t make it work any less. Hell, the hint of tobacco leftover will enhance the buzz, anyway, so… fuck it.
You light it with a match and inhale deeply, letting all that green smoke fill you up as you close your eyes. A couple tokes in, there’s the crunch of heavy footsteps in the dirt, and turning treats you to an impossibly tall, looming clown. His wig is off, patches of light, thinning hair wispy and mussed on his balding head. The stark red of his grin is like a gash, a cigarette parked between his lips, the bottom one slightly pooched out. Without really turning his head, he looks down at you as he pulls a flask from inside his clown suit.
“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be all alone back here,” he says, voice low and gravelly. There’s a quality to the way he speaks, slow and musical. Threadbare. Worn down by smoke and booze, by age.
“Not alone now,” you say quietly, chancing a nervous smile. The clown scoffs a little laugh as he takes the cigarette between two long fingers, guzzling from his flask and shuddering at the flavor. He nods a little, a gentle ayuh, uh huh on his breath as he stares out into the dark woods.
“So… you’re a clown,” you say awkwardly. Now he turns and grins at you, giving you a show-smile, that heavy bottom lip drooped down and his eyes all big, waving a hand theatrically before the expression melts off into a smirk, his eyelids heavy once more.
“What gave it away, kiddo?”
“You know, I used to be kind of scared of clowns. Still kind of am, like… a little. I guess. I dunno.”
“Reckon you don’t gotta be scared'a me. No, not Pennywise. Not ol’ Mister Gray.” He’s still smirking as he says it, eyes on you as he takes another healthy swig from his flask. Those eyes roll up and down your form, lingering, feeling you through his gaze like he’s using his big, big hands instead. The thought makes you shiver a little and he laughs. “No date tonight? Nobody to… hold your hand? Win you a turtle? Kiss you on th’ferris wheel?”
You blush, noticing just how dark it’s gotten in the short while you’ve been back here. It seems even darker with Pennywise - or, you suppose, Mister Gray - around. You fiddle nervously with the spliff and he hums, reaching over to take it from your fingers. He flicks his own cigarette down into the dirt, crushing it under his clown shoe as he brings the joint to his lips and inhales. He, too, closes his eyes, humming as the smoke trails out from his nostrils, also painted red.
“What luck, finding such a sweet lookin’ treat back here. Unchaperoned, even… naughty thing,” he winks, wiggling the joint before he gives it back. “Your secret’s safe with me. ‘N since you’ve been so kind as to share with me, I’d like to share a little something with you, too.”
Mister Gray turns and brings one huge hand to cup your cheek, thumb brushing across it to meet your lips. He runs the digit over your bottom lip, pulling it slightly open as his smile falters.
“I - um, I don’t really… drink, so –”
“Oh, not talkin’ about that. No, darlin’... gunna need that for my show. What I’m fixin’ to share with you is gunna taste nicer’n that,” he titters, the bells on his outfit jingling softly as he laughs. “On your knees, now. Nice and easy for ol’ Mister Gray.”
“Uhhh - I don’t… think…” He pushes that big thumb between your lips, pressing it down on your tongue and audibly groaning, the vibration in his big chest steeling you to the spot.
“Don’t need to be doin’ much talkin’. Not much thinkin’, either, not when you look like that.” His thumb slides deeper, deeper until he’s tickling toward the back of your tongue, threatening to gag you on it. He watches with his slack lips, shiny with his saliva before he licks them. “Gunna make an old fool beg, hmm? Or you gunna be good?”
The sound that comes up against his insistent thumb makes you flush a particularly shameful shade of red up in the apples of your cheeks. Mister Gray’s peculiar smile only gets bigger - finally, he slides his big thumb out of your mouth and tastes it for himself, that hint of a laugh shaking through his chest like an unexpected breeze in a long, abandoned hallway.
“I’ll be good,” you murmur. Bob’s eyebrows raise up and he nods, thumb pulled from his own mouth with a lewd pop. He uses this hand to pluck the joint back from you, forgotten and snuffed out by neglect.
“Let’s see it, then. Go on.”
You’re sinking to your knees before you can really think about what you’re doing, entranced by his strange and off-putting energy, the glimpses of a handsome man under his balding skull and garish, rubbery grin. It doesn’t feel important to think about why you're so taken by this long, strange person, why you’re doing this at all. The ache between your thighs is answer enough. Settling into the twigs and dirt earns you the privilege of watching his big, long-fingered hands unzipping the clown outfit. He doesn’t shrug out of it - he merely pushes the fabric aside, heavy cock straining against his underwear before he tucks his thumbs under the waistband and pushes them down his thighs. His slim belly and long, smooth torso is hidden under an old, stained white undershirt, holes forming in some spots. It’s endearing in a weird way. Intimate.
He frees himself from the garment and there he is - his size is, fittingly, clownish. Obscene. Long, thick, bobbing with his pulse as it juts out from his body. All of him, so fucking lengthy and solid; it’s no wonder his dick should match. The tip is flushed and fat, shiny with his arousal as it drools from his slit. He gives himself a couple slow, languid strokes, watching you as you blush a pretty pink, eyes wide, lips parted.
“Like what you see, girlie?”
“It’s –” Huge. Intimidating. Menacing, even, fucking harrowing in its size, the shaft laced with pulsing blue veins. All these thoughts pass through the hot film of lust in your mind, shot through with the fear sluicing just under your skin. “It’s, um…”
He chuckles, a low, gravelly sound that bubbles up his chest as he reaches to pet your hair. His gloved fingers stroke over your scalp with a tenderness that makes you shiver, a touch of kindness before he braces his palm over the back of your head and encourages you closer.
“Oh, I know - it’s a lot, isn’t it? But I think a smart girl like you can figure it out, can'tcha?” He titters. “Just… open up for ol’ Bob, now. Niiice and wide, let me see that tongue.”
Obediently, there it is; you present your tongue to him, opening up for his cockhead to slide over it. He taps it there for a moment, humming, appreciating the sight of his shiny prejack dripping over your tastebuds like that, the big, dumb fuckin’ look in your eyes. Fuckdumb - that’s exactly what you are.
Bob inches further into the warm, wet home of your mouth, groaning softly as you close your lips around his girth and start to lick, hollowing your cheeks to suck and work him further inside. He pets your hair a little more, stroking it without any pressure - you’ve got this all on your own, you eager thing. The taste of him is heady, his sweat, the salt of his body, something so uniquely him. His pubic hair, wiry and graying, tickles the tip of your nose as you get brave and try to throat him. He’s just too fucking big - you can only reach a bit over half of his length, the rest of him held and stroked by your hand. The sight of your delicate, soft hand on his big fucking cock fills him with a feral sort of hunger, a violent bolt of molten lust racing from his chest to his balls.
He hums and grunts as you start to work into a rhythm, gagging yourself on it. Runners of your saliva drip over your lips, your chin, drip down the shaft of his cock to wet his balls.
“That’s it, sweetheart,” he says, low and gravelly. Picking a match from his pocket and swiping it deftly across the wood of the old fence post near him, he relights the joint, sucking a deep, green-flavored breath into his lungs and holding. The rumble of satisfaction in his chest is more felt than heard as he exhales, gifting you a halo of sweet-spicy smoke as you work him closer and closer. “Make Daddy proud.”
Daddy? The immediate mental response is repulsion and confusion, that it should strike you so deeply in your core as you pause. It’s barely a moment, inconspicuous, and yet Bob laughs in his unsettling way. Low, rumbling, like he’s sharing a joke with himself that you can’t quite figure out. It’s becoming harder and harder to ignore the growing heat between your own thighs, and idly you imagine reaching down to relieve some of that ache, even as much as stroking your own slit through multiple layers of fabric. The nagging feeling that you shouldn’t, that you’re not allowed to… this persists as you moan and suck and lick. You can feel the telltale signs - his cock engorging even further, the pulses. He’s close. Just as you start mentally preparing to take it, he pulls slowly out of your mouth, groaning as he comes completely free.
“Up, darlin’ girl. Up against the fence. Now.”
There’s a ramshackle wooden fence lining this area, a separation between the tents and the open woods with occasional openings to allow walking through. He nods his head and twirls his fingers - hurry up. The look in his eye is focused and feral, gleaming in the dying light like an animal’s might.
It doesn’t take any further convincing - you’re rising to your feet and wiping the drool off your chin, trembling as you round the opening and brace your hands on the old wood of the fence, hearing him, feeling him as he settles behind you. He reaches his long arms around your waist and does you the kindness of unbuttoning your jeans, unzipping. He frees you of the confines of your clothing in one fell swoop, thumbs hooked into your pants and panties alike as he drags them down over the curve of your ass and down to your knees. He yanks at your hips to bend you over, cheeks burning with excitement and humiliation as he drags his heavy gaze over your exposed cunt, whistling low with appreciation.
“Well, lookit you. Sweet fuckin’ thing, aallll spread out for Papa, huh?” Bob Gray reaches down with his big fingers, dragging two of them over your wet, achingly empty slit, teasing them at your hole. Swirling. Nudging them like he might plunge inside, but he doesn’t - he only continues until he finds your clit, where he circles his slick fingertips and hums against your shoulder before he bites into it. Slow, gentle, but with warning - the way an animal might keep its mate still to breed it.
“Awfully wet for how much you’re shiverin’,” he murmurs, licking his own bite marks in your flesh. “Must really want it. Why don’tcha tell me? Tell me how much you want this old clown to split your plump little cunt in two.”
There’s another shudder - it’s hard to think, hard to form words. There's the throb of your ripe, swollen cunt, the feeling of his massive cock nudging against it, the feeling of his baited breath on your wet shoulder. He’s a patient man - he waits through your mental turmoil, your embarrassment and shot nerves. It’s cute, honey. He likes it. He drags his fat cockhead lower, sliding easily through your cuntlips so he glides over your aching clit and back toward your hole again, thrusting just enough for you to feel the whisper of his girth against it.
“Please,” you whisper. “Please…?”
“Please what, my little doll?”
You exhale in a desperate rush of breath, eyes rolling momentarily back. God, every woman he encounters must be little in comparison - he hovers over you, so long and big and broad, so powerful. You’re no tiny waif, and yet he engulfs you as though he could eat you whole. Maybe he will. The thought in the back of your mind has a delicious shudder ripple down your spine, goosebumps spreading over your skin as he chuckles. The weight of his voice carries a certain knowing, like he can read your thoughts through every little breath and twitch, your body a roadmap that he memorizes.
“Please fuck me, Daddy.” Humiliated, you can barely summon more than a pathetic mumble. His big, heavy hand traces around to your lower back, fingers splayed as he strokes up under your shirt, crawling up along your spine until his thumb pets at the back of your neck. He gently grasps you there, as if to brace you for what’s to come. He saws his hips a little, the tip of him nudging a little further with each forward motion.
“There we go. Niiice ‘n slowww…”
True to his word, Bob takes his time to work his obscene cock into your soft, tight pussy, his breath uneven and heavy with each rock of his hips. The fullness is astounding; his flared, broad cockhead drags over nerves you didn’t know you had, and not all of it is without pain. The sharpness of the stretch hurts, but it’s all so intertwined that it only has you clenching harder against him in a vicious cycle of pleasure and discomfort. When he’s fully seated within you, it feels like he might just fuck himself up into your guts, might just split you in half like he’d said. He pauses there, rocking imperceptibly just so he can feel it all at once.
His fingers on the back of your neck tighten and he looms over you, all that length, all that man enveloping you while you rear up on your tiptoes, as if that’s going to alleviate any of the electric pressure between your thighs. He drags his tongue along the shell of your ear.
“Feels good, don’t it? Sweet little snatch all plugged up with Daddy’s dick.” The hand on your hip dances down, Bob moaning as he rubs his fingertips where his cock disappears into your cunt. Those long fingers slide up to your clit, rubbing too slowly to give you any respite from the mounting heat. “Don’t worry, darlin’. Gunna let you cum on it soon enough - know you’re hungry for it.”
“Feels… intense,” you manage, rocking ever so slightly so you can feel that molten, electric sensation as he presses against your cervix. It fucking aches, it’s way too much, and yet you rut down against it like a mindless animal. “Please… please.”
And what are you really even begging for at this point? Bob laughs, letting you whimper and struggle for it, for words, for thoughts, for friction. He keeps his fingers on your clit as he finally pulls out enough just to fuck back into your body, and suddenly there’s even less room for thought or need. Only naked, primal instinct, fingers squeezing into the wood as he starts to pound into you. He uses that hand on the back of your neck and his arm wrapped down around your middle to bounce you off his dick, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh loud enough to make your face burn. His strength, the leverage he has with his hold on you… you’re just an object. A wet hole for him to bury his fat cock into until you sound exactly as you do now, whining, moaning, babbling like a moron.
“All mine, now - Papa’s fuck-puppet, mmm? Slippery little cocksleeve. Fuck - only getting tighter for me, aren’t you?”
“God - yeah. Yes,” you whimper, feeling that irresistible pulse. You can barely get enough breath in your body as you get closer and closer to orgasm, the flush on your cheeks burning hotter with each grunt torn from his throat, rumbling up through his chest so it vibrates against your back. He shifts just so, and you’re fucked - he thrusts wildly into a sweet spot you never knew you had. He laughs as your breaths come out sharper, body shaking in his grip.
“That’s it - cum nice ‘n pretty for me,” he urges. Beholden to his command, every muscle seems to tense deliciously so; you hold your breath as it all squeezes down against him, all those wet, throbbing muscles in your cunt, milking his cock as though your body can’t bear the thought of him pulling out. Tumbling over that bright precipice leaves you moaning and whimpering, so much so that Bob has to slide his hand from the back of your neck to your mouth, where you wet his palm with your drool, lips parted and cries muffled as best they can be. It almost hurts, rushing from your pulsing pussy all the way to your toes, bouncing up in a blissful wave up to your dizzy brain. Bob Gray can barely help himself, now - he chases his own release with a brutality that only serves to heighten your own pleasure, each thrust punishing until he’s yanking you tight and those delicious little throbs begin.
He empties his balls into you, cursing and groaning and grinding each thick spurt right up against your battered cervix. He releases your mouth just to lick his palm, tasting you there before he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes with the last vestiges of his climax. The both of you catch your breath for a moment, his softening cock still inside of you as he rocks his hips, gently now, nuzzling into the side of your throat to kiss you there. When he finally pulls away and steps back, you hurry to pull your clothes up in your sudden shyness. He smirks as you eye his wet cock, still so intimidating when soft. He puts himself away and gives you a bow, chuckling as he pulls a little case from his pocket to snatch a cigarette.
“Done real good, sweetheart,” he murmurs, reaching for a match. “You know how to show an old fool a good time.”
“Um… thank you,” you say. “And - and… I had a good time, too.”
“Oh, you sure did,” he chuckles, raising his eyebrows knowingly. “Left me soaked. Gunna be smellin’ your sweet scent all night, I’d reckon. Get an old man through his last show for the night.”
Bob grins and saunters over to you, brushing a thumb over your cheek before he pinches it affectionately. “Don’t be ashamed, pretty thing. You’ve made me very happy. You come by any time you like and find me here. Now, off you go.”
(Dilf!Stu Macher x Ghost!Billy Loomis x AFAB reader)
18+ Warnings: Mind control, just porn 0 plot, age gap (Stu in his 50s, reader and Billy in their 20s,) unprotected sex, creampie, riding, supernatural occurrences (Billy is a ghost,) big dick Stu, AFAB reader (no use of pronouns) — Unedited
You should’ve said no when he invited you in, but you didn’t. You should’ve declined the wine he offered, but you took the glass.
Two glasses.
Hell, why not three?
Three too many…
You ended up in his bedroom. Your friendly neighbors bedroom. Sure, you’d been attracted to him since he introduced himself a few days after you moved in, but you never thought you’d end up riding his huge cock while he sat on the edge of the bed.
He held your hips with his large, rough hands and bounced you on his lap. Used you like his personal stroker. The sound of your ass slapping against his thick thighs echoed around the room.
“You squeeze me better than I imagined,” Stu Macher groaned.
You moaned at his words. He was thinking about fucking you. Stu jerked off whenever he saw you changing in your room from his living room window. When you took your shirt off and exposed your mounds, for anyone to see. He liked to imagine it was for him though. That you were being a slut and tempting him just to end up drenching his thick length with your needy cunt.
You laced your fingers through his salt and pepper locks, pulling his head against your chest. Stu ran his fingers up your back as he pressed his face against one of your breasts.
Your eyes were closed as you concentrated on the feel of your clit rubbing against his belly, and when you fluttered them open you were met with the sight of a man standing at the other end of the room. He was significantly younger than Stu, probably in his 20’s, much like you. His bangs framed his handsome face and his eyes were dark and ominous. You scanned his lean frame and your eyes landed on his prominent bulge. He was enjoying the show.
“Call me Billy,” a deep voice said inside your head. You gasped in surprise and slight fear. The mixed emotions made your walls contract around Stu and he hissed at the feeling.
It was him. The voice. The stranger standing there. Billy, who started to run his large hand over his clothed cock. Who smirked at you when you bit your bottom lip at the sight of him unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his glistening cock out, stroking it at the same speed as Stu, who pounded you from below.
“I feel good, huh?” Billy whispered in your head. His voice was so dark and so fucking hot that it pulled a moan out of your mouth.
Your attention was captured by Billy, and at that moment yo were riding him, not Stu Macher. Billy’s cock was inside you, stroking every delicious point inside your cunt. You jumped on his lap faster, the squelch of your juices audible. Billy and Stu moaned at the same time. Fuck, you swore Billy was feeling you around him too. Squeezing his throbbing cock, pulling all the way up before sitting all the way down, swallowing every inch.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” both Billy and Stu said. You thought you were going insane but, fuck, you loved every second of it.
“Mm, Stu… I’m close,” you moaned softly while grinding against his lower belly, slowly decreasing your movements until his cock was all the way inside you and Stu barely thrusted, hitting just the right spot while you focused the pleasure on your sensitive bud.
“Mm, baby, keep doing that and I’m gonna cum inside you,” Billy groaned and your moans grew louder.
“Fuck, yes, keep going sweetheart,” Stu moaned against your breast as you squeezed him tighter. His cock, Billy’s cock… grew harder. They were both nice and snug inside you.
“Ah, Billy!” You moaned as you came undone.
Stu chuckled at the mention of Loomis’ name and grabbed your ass tightly, thrusting up into your clenching pussy before spilling his seed inside you.
You rolled your eyes at the sensation before focusing on Billy’s face. He was cumming too. He was cumming inside you. You knew it. Felt it.
After riding out your orgasm, Stu pulled out and you crawled next to him, laying down with your legs spread. His seed spilled out of you slowly and coated your slit.
Stu took a look between your legs and smirked before looking up at the direction where Billy was standing. When you looked back, Billy smirked one last time and disappeared…
A/N; Was missing this big guy so I decided to finish this WIP I’ve had for way too long 😭 also needed a pick me up so naturally I went back to my omegaverse roots 🫡 and tysm for all the love on my first omegaverse, it was very unexpected <3
Summary; Kylo Ren, the feared Supreme Leader, never expected to find his mate on some backwater planet during a random mission. He never expected you to be so feisty either.
Content; NSFW 18+, AFAB reader, fem reader, omegaverse, soulmates, omega reader, virgin reader, alpha Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader Kylo Ren, scrappy feral reader, heats, ruts, loss of virginity, Kylo POV & reader POV, Knights of Ren, original characters, kidnapping, you try to fight Kylo (it doesn’t work), alpha voice, extremely possessive and obsessive Kylo, Force bonds, mind reading, suppressants, omegaverse terms (kids referred to as pups), nesting, scenting, fingering, piv sex, breeding kink, overstimulation, getting pinned, knotting, fluff, soft Kylo, Kylo’s a good alpha, heavy aftercare, you get pampered
Wc; 10.5k
☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ .。.:*
The smog of the city is thick. It makes Kylo appreciative of his helmet, of the filter it holds inside so that less of the disgusting air gets into his lungs. The smells assaulting his senses are almost overwhelming; burning metal, smoke, sweat, the spices of food, and to top it off, the scent of any aberrant passing through the market square. There’s more betas than anything—as is the standard of today—but occasionally he catches hints of aggressive, potent scents from alphas and even sweet, enticing scents from the very rare omegas.
The city of Yvelo II is especially crowded this time of day it seems. Kylo can feel the occasional pair of eyes on him, people curious about the owner of the fancy ship that just landed in the bay. He pays them no mind, all of them inconsequential to his mission on this worthless planet. He didn’t even want to waste his time here, but multiple generals on his council were insistent. There were strong leads that pointed here, suggesting a spy the Order is after is finding refuge on Yvelo II. He’d been told it would be worth checking out at least, so off he’d went.
He hadn’t brought Stormtroopers with him, instead choosing two of his Knights. They’re significantly better at keeping a low profile compared to the bright, shiny white spotlight Troopers make in a crowd. Not to mention their Force abilities will be crucial in trying to find an individual in the masses. Ap’lek and Kuruk stand next to Kylo now, covered head to toe in their typical array of weapons and black armor.
“Fan out. Find what you can.” Kylo orders. “Alert me when you get something.”
Both of the Knights nod, going forward and immediately disappearing into the ebb and flow of the city. Kylo decides to go in a different direction, trying to cover as much ground as possible. If this mission ends up being entirely worthless, he thinks he’s going to gut whoever came up with it in the first place.
The heat of all the collected bodies and heavy atmosphere presses in on him, sweat collecting beneath his mask and black padded armor, making it feel like it’s stuck to his skin. He knows it’s also making his scent all the more pungent, especially when a few heads turn as he passes by, their own noses assaulted by his alpha pheromones.
He does his best to weave amongst the streams of people, his hood drawn up in an attempt to make himself more inconspicuous, hiding the majority of his newly reconstructed helmet. Merchant carts line the streets, sellers yelling out their wares and deals to try and attract anyone with enough credits. He passes by more than a few squabbles, some started over something as petty as being bumped into while others are about trying to swindle a better deal. There’s restaurants made out of run down buildings mixed into the mess, all of them seeming to be full with lines out the door.
It’s all very loud, creating a jumble of thoughts and noises inside Kylo’s mind that he can barely make sense of. He knew this mission was stupid, he truly didn’t know why he let himself be persuaded to do it. Even with his Knights, he has very few hopes of finding a spy that might be on the planet. Some of the notes about the mission suggested the western sector of the main city, so that’s where he tries to head now. There’s a ring of informants that lives in the area, selling themselves to whoever has more to offer.
Kylo has to shoulder his way through the denser parts of the crowd, his height and width always coming in handy. He even gets the rare person jumping out his way when they smell him coming—he likes when that happens. It satisfies that primal part of himself.
The throngs of people begin to thin the farther he gets from the market square, allowing him to finally hear his own thoughts and make sense of the ones of those around him. None of them are worth anything; one is thinking about what she’ll make her family for dinner, another is cursing about having to spend so much on a ship part, and all the rest follow the same meaningless pattern.
Until there’s something that makes him stop in his tracks.
It feels as though someone just dragged their fingers up his spine, a shiver running through his body. There’s a singular, female voice that’s louder than the others, as if it’s being projected to him specifically. Although based on what she’s saying, it doesn’t seem like it’s on purpose, making Kylo all the more curious. She’s the one thing he can hear clearly, the only thing he can understand as everything else fades. There’s a rasp to her voice from misuse, from having to yell across a workers line. It’s… oddly soothing, calming something deep within him on default. It creates a very strong, very irresistible urge to keep that voice close.
Kylo tries to take a singular step forward and fails when he feels such a strong tug in his chest that it jerks him backwards. It startles him, setting him on edge with his hand against his lightsaber that rests on his hip. One word rings clearly and unexpectedly in his mind: mate. His blood seems to sing, pounding in his ears as everything in his biology screams at him to follow that tug. He has to help her, protect her, protect his omega-
He shakes his head roughly, his breathing becoming labored. His thoughts are jumbled, turned into a cacophony of desperate thoughts surrounding this mysterious voice. He doesn’t know what’s come over him and he finds he’s unable to use the Force to center himself, the otherworldly power instead exacerbating his problem. It projects this woman even more, to the point he can almost taste her on the roof of his mouth with just the smallest inkling of her scent, something so heavenly and right that he needs to get his hands on it before he jumps out of his skin. He feels an ache in his own scent glands, like his body knows how close it is to something he’s been looking for without realizing.
He has no choice. He has to follow that voice, that pull, that feral need.
He has to find her.
» ☆ «
You wipe sweat from your brow for the hundredth time. Lupar’s never wanted to invest in some fucking air conditioners in the workshop, despite complaints from every person that’s stepped inside. It’s suffocating, but you’ve gotten so used to it that it’s like a second home. It’s strenuous work for little pay, but it still manages to put food on the table and even allows you to get a drink every now and then.
You’ve worked for Lupar for around ten years now, finding your way into his shop when you were twelve and sticking around since. You’d been interested in the heavy-set male with gills on the side of his neck, webbed fingers, and pale green skin. It made you wonder why an aquatic like him chose to live on a hot, dry planet like this one.
You stayed because of Lupar’s generosity, something different from the flat out cruelty other workshop owners partook in. Besides, there’s worse things you could be wasting your life on than making ship parts in the back of his store. Lupar sells them for cheaper than most other vendors so people are always buying from him, luckily keeping you employed.
You’ve been promoted multiple times throughout the course of your time, steadily moving up the line all the way to where you are now: quality control. You stand at the end of the line, inspecting each piece as it comes your way for any loose or missing bits, then dipping it into its final sealant once it’s deemed satisfactory. The chemicals always burn your hands through the shitty gloves you wear but your skin has become so rough and calloused that you barely notice anymore.
Lupar trusts you more than any of the others, giving you the job of keeping everyone straight and making sure there’s no slackers. The whip that sits on your belt is telling enough of your status, though you’ve never used it and never plan on it. Simply yelling at anyone not pulling their weight is usually enough to solve the problem. Most of the workers are kids, just like you were when you started. You still have the scars on your back from the times you messed up around the wrong person.
“Zara, straighten up!” You shout. The teen immediately snaps back to attention, her shoulders hunching as she twists her pieces of metal tighter together like she should be. You’d noticed a few of them coming loose in the line, thus tracing it back to a specific part in the process. You huff, taking a rather heavy piece and dipping it into the coating and handing it off to Qiar who puts it on a massive drying rack.
Your life has fallen into an easy pattern. You wake up in your nearby apartment, you work for Lupar from dusk til dawn, and then you go home and do it all again the next day. You gave up your dreams of leaving a long time ago, never having the funds and always being fearful of the what the rest of the galaxy might have in store for an omega like yourself. You owe a lot to Lupar; he was the one that helped you when you presented at thirteen, giving you some of the basic supplies you needed just to survive your first heat.
It was the most unbearable thing you’d ever experienced, but he’d told you that you had to go through at least one to make sure your body didn’t go all out of wack. After that, he’s kept you strictly on suppressants. You aren’t sure where he gets them from and they’re definitely sketchy but they work so you couldn’t give less of a shit. Lupar provides them for all aberrant workers, just so he won’t have to lose them for a week to a heat or rut. It’s less than stellar, but if it allows you to ignore your biology then you’ll take it.
You’re about to take another hunk of metal before you feel it.
A prickle on the back of your neck, the hairs along your arms raising like there’s been a sudden chill despite the workshop being boiling. There’s a ringing that starts in your ears, your head feeling as though it’s been shoved underwater as all the noise around you becomes muffled. You stumble back a step, your eyes shutting in a wince. You don’t know what it is, you don’t know what’s happening, and your heart seems like it’ll beat out of your chest. You can feel a presence just at the corners of your consciousness, massive and dark and intimidating and also so, so… alluring. Something deep, deep inside of you that you haven’t felt for years is desperate for that unfamiliar entity, yearns for it so deeply it makes you ill.
Your lungs constrict in your chest, overcome with nerves and an innate instinct of fear and submission. The scent glands along your neck throb to a near painful degree, as if they’re trying to call out to something but are too blocked by your suppressants to do so. You tentatively reach up a shaking hand, pressing one finger to a gland and immediately regretting it from the ache that meets you. They’re probably flaring red if you had to guess, still unable to emit any scent. Your skin feels like it’s crawling with some kind of primal need you can’t recognize, that dark presence still thrumming along the edges of your mind.
You want it to go away, trying to say so again and again inside your head but it persists as if it can’t hear you, like you have no control. You’re confused, you’re scared, and your body is demanding something you don’t know of. You dig your teeth so sharply into your tongue you can taste blood coating your mouth, the iron tang so sharp it finally snaps you out of it. That, and someone shouting your name right next to your ear.
Your vision clears, your ears cease their ringing. Your breath comes back to you in a gasp, lungs finally free of the fist that was holding them. Qiar is next to you, looking at you with vague concern. “Hey, come on! Get back to work!” He says roughly, motioning to the back up of parts on the table.
“Right-” you begin to speak before blood dribbles down your bottom lip. It seems you bit yourself harder than you thought. “Fuck- sorry-“
Qiar lays a hand on your shoulder and you immediately twist away from him, the touch seeming to burn and feeling wrong. His brows crease. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just- just keep working.” You spit, trying to swallow the blood in your mouth and not choke as you dip a ship part. You can breathe again but your muscles are still tense and it feels like there’s something you’re forgetting. It’s going to drive you mad, you think.
There’s a sudden lull in the line and you’re so busy trying to catch up that you don’t notice for a good few minutes. You’re about to yell at somebody before you hear what they’ve all paused to listen to. There’s shouting and also plenty of things being tossed around and crashing to the ground. It’s not unusual, sometimes Lupar does get the occasional unruly customer, but said customers have never busted down the fucking door.
A lot of the younger kids scream and cower when the door to the workshop goes flying off its hinges. A cloaked stranger in a mask stands in the doorway, his massive build filling the frame and blocking anyone from escape. You notice the weapon ignited at his side before anything else. A lightsaber, spitting red plasma with an unstable crackle to it that you’ve never heard of before. You read about lightsabers and Jedi and all that bullshit when you were younger and had a fascination with them, but you never thought you’d be met with one. Everything about this man sets you on edge; his black robes, his helmet full of red cracks, his chest heaving… and the fact he looks directly at you.
You flinch under his gaze even despite not being able to see his eyes. That muffled sensation from earlier returns, your head swimming as you gasp in pain. Your body doesn’t feel like it’s your own, instead feeling like an animal pacing in a cage, desperate to get out to whatever waits on the other side. Your blood is on fire beneath your skin, and so are your stagnant scent glands.
You can’t do anything as he walks up to you, methodical and predatory. Your limbs refuse to move, gripped tightly by some invisible force. You realize you’re completely at the mercy of this strange man.
Then his scent washes over you.
It reminds you instantly of rain in a forest, giving you the taste of something you’ve never been able to experience. It’s cooling and relaxing, like a fresh breeze blowing across your face. There’s depths to his scent that you haven’t smelled in other aberrants before; cold rain mixed with a gentle tinge of pine and then under it all is something smoky like a campfire, something that promises a strong personality, a strong alpha. It’s the most incredible thing you’ve ever scented, it’s an immediate balm to your burning skin. It soothes that deep, primal thing within you but does nothing to help against your regular, human panic.
“It’s you.” He says lowly, his deep, modulated voice sending shivers down your sweaty back. There’s a curiosity that edges his tone, like he doesn’t quite understand you standing before him—or why he’s been pulled to you. He reaches a gloved palm forward, easily gripping your chin in his fingers and moving your head from side to side. Just that touch is enough to send lightning sparking through your veins. 
You can feel his eyes on your scent glands and it makes you squirm. “Why can’t I smell you?” He speaks as if talking to himself, though you hear the distaste in his tone and his complete disappointment at your blocked scent glands. It irrationally makes you want to apologize, apologize for upsetting this alpha and ever taking suppressants in the first place. What the hell?
“Who are you?” You finally manage to say, trying to steel your voice so you can sound like the opposite of how you feel. He’s much bigger than you, both in height and build, your head having to tilt up slightly just to look into his visor. You’re obviously outclassed, especially with him still holding that lightsaber.
You’re so caught up in each other that you didn’t notice the commotion happening beside you, where Qiar is shoved to the floor by a man dressed very similarly to the one in front of you. “Get off of me!” Qiar shouts, angrily thrashing against his captor, though he has no hope of breaking free. You’re stomach churns when you hear a sickly snap followed by your coworker’s pained screams. He’s hoisted to his feet, tears falling down his sallow face, his body threatening to go limp.
“Master, this is the one we’ve been looking for.” The man says, his voice even deeper and rougher. He reeks of pure alpha—leather and metal and salt, the scent sharp and unpleasant against the roof of your mouth.
“Take him back to the ship.” The one in front of you orders, finally letting go of your jaw. “You’re coming with me, omega.”
You startle at the use of your designation; you haven’t been referred to that way in a long time. You feel the fight rise within you, trying to ignore that other part of you that howls with desperation to go with this threatening man. You bare your teeth, trying your best to growl. It’s a pathetic imitation of something an alpha could do, the sound coming out like a sad garble in your throat. It’s still enough to set off some of the alphas around you, their bodies tensing when they hear your distress call. No one’s coming to save you though.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” You snap. You manage a single step backwards before he’s reaching for you, gripping your arm with a leather clad hand and pulling you back towards him. Your instincts flare, a hiss ripping from you as you flail in his hold, kicking and trying to elbow your way out. It doesn’t work of course, that padded armor he wears doing a good job of protecting him from your weak assault.
“Omega, enough.” The man snarls and… oh. Your body has no choice but to comply. You have to choke back the whine that almost comes out as you struggle to lift your arm for another hit. You become weak in his hold, that alpha voice enough to make even the angriest of omegas turn docile. You’ve never before cursed your biology as much as you do in this moment. You want to continue fighting, to break free and run away but that pathetic thing inside of you has taken over, telling you to listen to the alpha.
He scoops your legs out from under you with a strong arm, holding you to him in a bridal carry as if you weigh nothing. With your face pressed against his tunic, you have no choice but to breathe in an abundance of his heavenly scent. It seems to finally be doing its job and forcing its way into your system and under your skin, bypassing your dosage of suppressants to get your muscles to release their tension and give in.
It all dissipates when you see Lupar’s body on the floor at the front of the shop.
Your flailing movements are so sudden that the man drops you, your knees banging painfully against hard concrete as an agonized scream explodes from you. “No! No, no, no!” You beg, your hands finding his already cooling body and turning him over. There’s a cauterized hole in his chest, his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Sobs are wracking you before you even realize. Lupar had saved you, he helped you feed yourself and protected you from more pain than you could imagine and this… this is the death he gets?
You’re torn from his body by strong hands around your middle pulling you back. “Get the fuck off me!” You screech, fighting with everything in you, alpha bullshit be damned. You wish you had a blaster, you wish you knew how to use the whip Lupar gave you, you wish you had anything to help you.
“Quiet, omega-” The man says, though the command doesn’t have that edge this time, like he’s trying to give you a choice.
“Fuck you!!” You yell in response, feeling satisfied in yourself when you wheel back your elbow hard enough into his ribs to make him grunt.
It doesn’t last long though. That invisible pressure from before returns, pinning your arms to your sides while your muscles strain in an attempt to escape. You show your small fangs, the growls coming easier this time, fueled by your rage. The alpha hesitates for only a second, clearly off-put by the blatant disobedience and rejection. He quickly collects himself, bringing a gloved hand forward and hovering it in front of your face. You don’t understand what he’s doing until you feel a very sharp pull on your consciousness. You try to resist, to fight back and stay awake, but you find it impossible as your vision starts to go black at the edges. That strong will slips further and further out of your grasp like sand falling from between your fingers.
You have no choice but to give in to the darkness.
» ☆ «
“Find something extra, master?” Kuruk jests when he sees Kylo emerge from the crowds with you securely in his arms.
However, Kylo is in no mood for jokes and so he snarls at the other alpha instead. The Force hangs heavy and dark around him, his scent thick with something tangy that’s downright unpleasant to any competitors nearby. It’s a very loud and clear warning to stay away from the omega he carries. Kuruk bows his head as Kylo passes him on the ramp into the Night Buzzard, fully admitting his submission simply to avoid a conflict on the journey back to base. Kuruk hasn’t seen his master like this before, but he knows good and well what a territorial alpha who just found his mate is capable of. Force only knows what the mighty Kylo Ren would do if any of them misstepped. He’s like a ticking time bomb.
Kylo takes the furthest possible seat from Kuruk and Ap’lek, who sits at one of the weapon control panels fixing calibrations. Kylo can smell Qiar on the ship somewhere, his misery sour on Kylo’s tongue, locked away in one of the prison cells to suffer with his broken arm and collarbone. Kylo curls his body around yours, hiding you within the darkness of his cape and shielding you from any wandering eyes. He’s never felt this on edge, like at any moment someone might try and take you from him and so he needs to be ready. His mind is a useless ramble of mine, mine, omega safe, protect, mine over and over and he finds he’s unable to shake off those thoughts. Not when you look so peaceful as you sleep, so wonderfully his.
The ship rumbles to life beneath his boots, Kuruk taking his place in the pilot’s seat. It’ll be at least two hours before they make it back to the Steadfast which gives Kylo more than enough time to look you over. He doesn’t understand the urges he has, the deep desire to know every single thing about you and see each inch inside and out. He’s never been this confused, he’s never had so little control of the Force, and he’s never felt such a connection to anyone before. But at the same time, nothing has ever felt so right either. Having you in his arms soothes something in him he didn’t know needed to be soothed and he never wants to let go of that feeling.
You shift suddenly in his arms, a small whimper escaping you as you shift through a dreamless sleep. It makes Kylo encase you a little more, bringing his head down so he can hear every sound you make. His eyes catch on your scent glands, on the red, swollen skin that he wants nothing more than to run his tongue over. Before he even realizes what he’s doing, he’s bumping the muzzle of his helmet against your neck, trying so desperately to coax your scent out. His breathing is unsteady through the filter in his mask, his chest rising and falling erratically in hopes that he could catch just a whiff.
It angers him that he can’t smell you at all, that he can’t properly scent his omega because of the damn suppressants running through your system. Knowing Yvelo II, the medication is probably shady and unsafe and he just hopes it hasn’t permanently damaged your health after all this time. Getting you examined will be the first order of business when they make it back to the Steadfast.
Finally abandoning the fruitless endeavor of trying to get your scent, Kylo takes note of all the other things that you need to be treated for. He picks up one of your arms gingerly in his gloved hand, studying the chemical burns that crawl halfway up your forearms. Your skin is red and splotchy and irritated, scars layered over one another in some attempt at strengthening your arms and hands against whatever acid that sweatshop was using. There’s a few fresh burns, cracked and caked with dried blood. He also saw the scars laced across your back, the ends of them poking out from your tank top. They seem to be from a whip of some kind, probably the same one you still have attached to your hip.
It maddens him, seeing how much pain his omega has gone through. Some insane part of him hisses that he should’ve done better, should’ve protected you as if he didn’t just find out you existed today. He has to shake his head to clear that voice, to try and get a grip on himself before he loses it entirely. He has you now, that’s all that matters.
Kylo huffs to himself, then noticing the already dark purple bruises on your knees. From when he’d dropped you. He does allow himself to feel some guilt about that—it was partially his fault after all. He wasn’t expecting you to fight him so much, and how was he supposed to know you’d be so distraught over that worthless fish-man? The one who had attempted to keep you from him? The way you’d sobbed and screamed over the shop owner had set something inside Kylo on edge and he’d tried to help you, but you refused to listen. He put you to sleep with the Force instead, just so he could take you back and not have to see your blatant distress anymore.
He uses the Force now to make sure you’re still deeply asleep, to make sure you won’t suddenly wake up and start throwing a fit with other, dangerous alphas around. The door to your mind is wide open to him, your defenses nonexistent in your unconscious state. He can sense the undercurrents of your emotions, the unease and fear and panic that consumed you moments before you were taken out. He centers himself to be able to walk through your mind, to rifle through your memories as though they’re stored away in a filing cabinet. He has to feed that insatiable desire to know everything about you and doing it while you can’t fight him seems like the easiest way.
Kylo sees how monotonous your days had been leading up to him finding you. You’d wake up in a dingy, run down, one room apartment, go to work in that hazardous sweatshop, and then go back home once the sun got low. Your memories go back for years like this, an endless cycle of just getting through this day and the next with barely any difference in between, save for an occasional visit to a cheap bar. He passes by all of that, lets it run through his fingers like smoke, searching for something deeper.
He discovers you have no family to speak of, your mother dying in childbirth and your father abandoning you once you were old enough to scrounge for scraps yourself. You were a feisty young thing, getting into tussles with other kids on the streets over food or odd jobs so you could get a few credits for the week. He sees when that man, Lupar, found you behind his shop, when he offered you a job and some sense of safety in the harsh environment of Yvelo II. Kylo almost can’t believe you stayed around for that long, all the way from twelve to you now being twenty-two.
Kylo digs into the memories of Lupar, of the suppressants he gave you every day. It kept you from having to deal with your biology, from ever having to seek out someone to put out the burning fire of need. Something in Kylo perks at that, knowing you’re untouched, like you were waiting for him all this time. He already knew that he had to help you, keep you safe, set you straight so you don’t have to suffer anymore—this just confirms it.
He’s pulled from your mind with the familiar quake of the Night Buzzard signaling it’s being docked. He looks up from you to the viewport, seeing the walls of one of the Steadfast’s many hangars. Kuruk stands from the pilot’s seat after switching off the controls, him and Ap’lek heading towards the back to drag the prisoner off the ship to be interrogated by Kylo later.
Kylo follows after, still holding you impossibly tight, finally bringing you into your new home.
» ☆ «
You barely recall anything, what you manage to catch being a blur as you slip in and out of consciousness seemingly against your will. You only catch a few things like bright lights and white walls, a new and sterile smell assaulting your nostrils, people poking and prodding at you—some with needles—and through all of it, that man swathed in black. He’s always there, right at the edge of your vision, watching over you with eyes you can’t see.
Kylo never once looks away from you while the medics examine you, as they run their endless tests. It takes everything in him to not grab you from them, the irritation of them touching you biting beneath his skin. He knows that the nurses can feel the pressure of him in the room, especially after he already grabbed the wrist of one when she went to give you the first of many vaccines. He couldn’t help it, the beast inside him snarling to not let them anywhere near you.
“Where did you find this omega, Supreme Leader?” The head doctor asks, the older woman studying him over the rim of her glasses. She clearly holds some suspicion towards him, towards the fact that he’s never before brought an omega on board but now he’s suddenly appeared with one he’d be willing to kill her whole staff for.
“Yvelo II. She was an inhabitant there.” Kylo responds, his voice crackling through his mask. “I was… drawn to her.”
The doctor hums. “I figured as much. Based on your reaction to her, this looks like a case of a fated pairing. An alpha and omega being so inexplicably perfect for one another, through a mixture of pheromones and preset genetic coding. To put it simply, there’s no one else more compatible for either party than each other. I assume it’s even stronger for you because of the Force.” She says. “It’s fascinating since this has become an increasingly rare phenomenon in recent years.”
Kylo doesn’t respond, but he mulls the information over in his head. It explains why the Force showed you to him in the first place, why he couldn’t do anything other than search for you on that backwater planet. He’s surprised that someone like himself would even have a fated pairing; he thought that those were just a myth. He nods towards you. “What of her? What’s her condition? The status of her cycles?”
The doctor sighs while scrolling through her data pad full of information on you. “She’s not in the best shape, though it’s expected for a resident of a planet like Yvelo II. She’s malnourished and dehydrated, but we’re giving her fluids now, and her chemical burns have been treated with some simple bacta. The suppressants she’s been on aren’t dangerous per se, and the dosage is surprisingly low, but her being on them since she presented certainly isn’t good. There’s a solution in her IV to help flush the rest of them out and as soon as they are, her body will immediately self-regulate and send her into heat.” She explains, her voice almost taking on a grave tone. “You’ll need to make sure she eats enough if you’re going to make her go through a cycle after so many years. It won’t be easy on the poor thing.”
“I know that.” Kylo snaps, visibly bristling under her scrutiny. “Don’t treat me like a fool, doctor.”
She doesn’t cower, merely meeting his steely gaze behind his helmet. “I’m not, I’m merely looking out for my patient, Supreme Leader.”
» ☆ «
You don’t know how long it’s been when you finally wake up, when you at last have control over your own mind and body.
You sit up slow, cautious of both your surroundings and the faint pounding in your head. You quickly realize you’re in a bedroom, though it’s not like any you’ve ever seen before. This one is bigger than your entire apartment back home.
Panic jolts through you at the thought, your memories rushing back to you in a suffocating wave. You remember the strange man, getting kidnapped, Lupar’s death—all of it making you spring up from the very comfortable bed you’d been laid in. You need to get out of here, before that man comes back.
There isn’t much in the bedroom besides a small bookcase, a desk, and two bedside tables, all of it in a matching dark color scheme. There’s large windows near the bed, revealing the glittering stars outside that stretch on for farther than you could ever imagine. It doesn’t bode well for your hope of escape if you’re in the middle of space. You try to ignore the scent that’s so thick in the room it coats the roof of your mouth—the scent of him. It threatens to cloud your thoughts, the weaker part of you telling you that you should just stay here in this heavenly smell, get cozy and wrap yourself in it. You refuse, heading for the door instead and finding it unlocked.
You open it into an even bigger room, this one looking to be some kind of general living space. Theres a couch and coffee table to your left, another bookcase and more doors to the right, and ahead of you is a small kitchen area. There’s a dining table next to it and on it is a wide assortment of food, more food than you think you’ve ever seen in your life. All different kinds from meats to fruits to cheeses and breads—it’s quite possibly anything you could think of. Your mouth immediately waters at the sight, your stomach howling in response, the tantalizing smells making you dizzy with hunger. Your meals on Yvelo II mostly consisted of stale foods that vendors didn’t want anymore or freeze dried packets from the cheapest place in town, never something like this.
You have to use every ounce of willpower to refrain from eating everything in sight, reminding yourself you’re in an unfamiliar place with a dangerous man undoubtedly nearby. It’s odd that you haven’t seen him yet though, that you can’t even sense him. It probably means you should use this opportunity to try and escape before he returns.
You try the most obvious route first—the main door. You aren’t surprised that it won’t open, but you figured you’d try anyway. You notice a silver plate next to the hexagonal doors, inscribed with a name and identification number. Kylo Ren. Considering the singular scent covering the whole space, you figure that’s the name of its owner, of the man who brought you here. The name is vaguely familiar from the pamphlets of propaganda that would occasionally reach Yvelo II, telling the galaxy of his accomplishments and plans. All you know about him is how deadly he is, how people would talk of his brutality, of the lightsaber he wields. You really need to get out of here.
You try the other doors in the room, seeing if maybe you could find a vent or something to crawl into, but each door you try is locked save for the bathroom. You curse under your breath, wiping your clammy palms on the new set of black pants you wear, the ones that are oddly well-fit to your figure, same with the dark gray tank top on your torso. It’s sad to admit they’re the best clothes you’ve ever worn.
You’re shocked when the final door you try opens, but your hopes are quickly dashed upon discovering it’s just a spacious closet. There’s nothing in it except for… a spread out comforter, pillows, and blankets? You pause in the doorway, your body swaying with how thick Kylo’s scent is inside, like every item was rubbed right against his glands. It’s intoxicating and pure alpha, easily fogging your mind, making heat prickle on the back of your neck. You stumble forward without thinking, your knees sinking into the plush comfort, his smell wrapping around you like a second skin.
You visibly shudder at the perfection, of all the nice soft materials soaked in an alpha’s scent… so good for nesting. The thought is foreign to you, never before needing to build a nest, never having the materials for one, never having a whole room for it before. You barely recall the singular time you did make one during your first heat, where you desperately tried to fit together your only two blankets and pillow into something satisfactory and it never being enough. But this is like heaven for the primal thing inside you, so comfortable and safe and warm. You know you should be irritated at the fact Kylo assumed you’d want something like this from him, that he used it to lure you in, but the smoldering, uncomfortable heat you feel building in your veins is enough to make you ignore that.
There’s a low whine that comes from you without you even realizing, the sound echoing through the space. Sweat has begun to bead at your brow, your limbs becoming shaky, and worst of all is the pressure you feel between your legs. It has your nails digging in to the comforter below you, your mouth dropping open in an attempt to breathe but just getting more of Kylo’s scent instead and making it worse. You know your underwear is already damp, sticking to your cunt with your slick. You gasp as a cramp clenches your lower abdomen, your body curling in on itself in pain. Past the haze in your mind you’re confused; you should still be on suppressants, they should still be working- unless they- unless Kylo-
“Good, you found it.”
You jump at the deep voice, forcing yourself to sit up, even if you have no hope of fighting anyone off in your state. Standing there, right on the threshold of your nest, is Kylo… but without the mask. You hate to admit that he’s beautiful with his rounded jaw and sharp nose, his strong features dotted with freckles, his shoulder length black hair that curls delicately. Theres a long, deadly scar bisecting the left side of his face, disappearing beneath his collar and making you wonder how far it goes. His chocolate brown eyes almost seem too soft for someone like him, someone so full of wrath and anger.
Those eyes look over you now, studying, calculating. His nostrils flare when your scent finally hits him, those damn suppressants gone at last. It’s the best thing he’s ever smelled, so sweet and honeyed from the onset of your heat, calling directly to those alpha instincts inside of him. He can see how badly you need him in your flushed skin, the quivering in your arms and legs, and the thick, cloying scent of your slick is undeniable. He’d step in and claim you right now if he could, but there’s that annoying part of him telling him he can’t enter your nest without permission, can’t invade your safe space.
You’ve scooted away from him as much as you can, your back pressed against the wall, though it does nothing to lessen his scent, fresher now with him standing right in front of you. You try to ignore the slick staining your pants, the ache that wracks your entire body. “You… you killed Lupar.” You manage to spit out, attempting to sound tough but ultimately failing with how much your words shake.
“He was harboring a spy.” Kylo says simply. And hurting you, he almost adds.
Your head shakes, trying to clear the fog. “There were kids that depended on him.”
“They’ll find someone else. There’s always scum to replace scum.”
“You’re a monster.” You say with as much venom as you can muster.
Kylo’s gaze narrows, the air shifting, his scent turning sharp for just a second. “I may be, but I still saved you, omega. Kept you from rotting away in that worthless place.”
“Don’t call me that.” You snap.
His head tilts, mocking. “Why? It’s what you are, isn’t it? My omega, my mate, it’s all the same.”
That manages to break you out of it for a few moments, your brow furrowing. “Mate? The hell are you talking about? I’m not anybody’s damn mate.”
The corner of his lip lifts in amusement. “Theres that bite from before.” He says. He then sighs. “I know you feel it too, that pull to me. We’re meant to be, you and I. It’s why you’re going into heat right now, omega.”
You whimper, folding over yourself again as the cramps return tenfold as if on cue. Sweat soaks your clothes, a raging fire of need and desire burning beneath your skin. “No.. no I-“ You try, refusing to succumb to your biology, to this stupid cycle that renders you helpless, to the horror of it.
“You didn’t think you could be on those suppressants the rest of your life, did you?” Kylo asks, watching as you writhe, hunger blazing in his eyes. “You won’t be touching them again. You won’t need them.”
“F-fuck off.” You bite out, trying so hard to ignore the voice in your head begging for him, for an alpha, to be mated good and proper like you’ve always needed, to get stuck on a knot and filled- “shit-“
“I know it hurts, sweetheart. Just let me help you.” Kylo says, gently this time, coaxing you. Everything in him is telling him to take you, the beginnings of a rut already starting to claw at his mind. He can’t help palming at the erection tenting his pants, the stimulation making him groan.
“I- I can’t.. f-fuck-“ you gasp, words broken by your heat, by the need too strong to ignore despite your struggle. The pain ruins you, and the omega inside you that’s always been neglected wants him more than anything, wants to—for once—be cared for. You’re looking up at him without another thought, desperate hands reaching towards him. “Kylo, please-“
Before you can even blink, before you can regret what you’ve said, he’s on you. His plush lips meet your own in a bruising kiss, his warm body presses firm against yours, your space no longer being your own and instead becoming a shared thing between you. You openly whine into his mouth, his scent fully enveloping you, his strong hands gripping your waist. It feels so right to have him there, to have him kissing you with a hot and sloppy possession, appreciative noises rumbling low in his chest. He shrugs off his cape, tossing it somewhere to the side, his tunic, gloves, and undershirt following after to be added to your nest. The smell of them is potent, making you more than pleased with the prime nesting material.
You moan when his lips trail down to your jaw, then the column of your throat, stopping at the scent glands at the base of your neck. He presses his nose to one and growls, his hold on you tightening as a shiver runs through his body. “Can finally scent you. I’ll fucking cover you in me.” He mutters, mouthing at the sensitive gland, running his tongue along the inflamed skin, your whines growing louder.
You paw at his now exposed back, nails digging in to the wide expanse of scarred muscle. You can’t help doing the same thing he is, sucking at his own scent glands, his taste flooding your mouth. It helps to quench some of the fire raging within you, soothes the ache between your legs for a split second with that pure alpha smell. It’s everything an omega could want, full of promises of protection and warmth and pups.
“Barely even touched you and you already want my pups?” Kylo says, voice dangerously low and amused, his breath fanning across your neck. You can hear the subtle pride in his voice, his teeth flashing right next to where your mating bite would go. “Good girl.”
You’d forgotten how easily he can read your thoughts, feeling your desire like it’s his own. You gasp as another wave hits you, heat flashing through your body, a gush of slick pooling in your underwear. It has you scrabbling for him, your mind fully clouded over. “Please, please Kylo- I need- it hurts- I need you-“ You beg, words beginning to slur together.
“I know, sweetheart, I’ll make it better.” He tells you, his hands working your pants and underwear down your legs. You shiver when the cold air hits your exposed skin, your pussy drenched and glistening in your own arousal. The scent of it is like a drug, flooding Kylo’s senses, making his head spin. He curses, eyes locked on to your cunt, saliva pooling in his mouth as he spreads your knees apart. He wants badly to lick you clean, collect every drop of slick you’d give him, but he knows you wouldn’t be able to handle that now. Your face is a flushed mess, limbs shaking and subtly trying to shut your legs.
“Easy.” He warns, voice thick with the lust sparking in his blood. You whimper at his tone, your biology forcing you to comply and go still. His chest heaves with his breath, each inhale embedding your scent further into his lungs. “I’ll take my time with you later.”
You jolt at the feeling of two fingers dragging through your folds, coating them in slick. Your moans turn breathless and you hide your face in his shoulder as he circles your entrance before sinking a finger in to the knuckle. Your entire body reacts to the sudden intrusion, your teeth digging into your lip, toes curling into the comforter below you. “You’ve never been with anyone before, right? Let alone an alpha.” Kylo grunts, watching the way slick coats his palm, his finger repeatedly disappearing into your hot pussy with rhythmic movements. You manage to shake your head, eyes shut tight, mouth dropped open in pleasure. “Saving yourself just for me, hm?”
“Y-yes- Kylo- please, more-“ You choke out, your hips rolling with his thrusts, chasing the friction. You easily adjusted to just the one, your heat making you pliant and eager. He hums at that, complying with your request, a second finger filling your pussy. You cry out at the pleasant burn, at the way he scissors your plush walls, stretching you nicely for his cock that’s straining against his pants.
His free hand shoves your tank top up and over your head, pinching a nipple between the pads of his fingers at the same time his thumb finds your clit. The sound you make may be the best thing Kylo’s ever heard, all whiny and high pitched as your muscles tense with pleasure. You can feel a pressure building in your gut, one that threatens to release as he palms your breasts and rubs vicious circles on that bundle of nerves. He loves seeing you so lost in your need, so dependent on him to snuff out the fire of your heat. Your scent shifts with your oncoming orgasm, becoming almost sickly sweet, and beneath it Kylo can smell the way his own scent has already intertwined with yours.
Your head falls back with a sob as your whole body bunches up, your release falling over you like a wave. He relishes in the way your cum covers his hand, your cunt squeezing his fingers. He tugs you even closer to claim your mouth, to lick the taste of you from behind your teeth, drinking you like the finest wine.
Your orgasm gives you just a moment to breathe, a second of clarity in the storm that is your heat. You’ve never felt such intense relief before, your body tingling from the aftermath. However, you can still feel the warmth licking at the bottom of your spine, a beast ready to rear its head at a moments notice. You know it won’t be fully satiated until you’re plugged with a knot, claimed in one of the most primal ways possible. Kylo knows it too, probably better than you do, his cock aching to be inside you, to fill you with his cum and keep it there.
Both of his hands grip your waist, moving you over, repositioning you so you’re lying on your stomach, knees beneath you and ass in the air. You don’t even resist, letting him do whatever he wants with you in your post-orgasmic haze. “My pretty girl,” Kylo murmurs, running a palm along the cheek of your ass, his thumb separating the folds of your pussy to see the mess you’ve made. Slick coats your thighs, runs down your cunt in small dribbles, soaking the blankets below you.
Your nails dig into the comforter in anticipation when you hear the rustling of fabric behind you, the sound of a zipper pulled down. Kylo groans when his cock is finally freed, painfully hard with precum beading on the tip. He pumps himself a few times with the hand he’d fingered you with, coating his length with your release, the sight making his breath catch. You whimper when you feel his shaft press against your pussy, tensing as his tip breaches your entrance, sinking in so, so very slow.
The stretch of his cock is almost too much, filling you more than you thought possible, forcing your legs further apart to accommodate. His warm, calloused palm runs up and down your back. “Breathe, omega. You can take me, I know you can. You were made for it.” Kylo says, the ends of his words cracking when he feels the way your pussy is pulling him in, hot and wet and greedy. His body bends over yours, his strong arms caging you in on either side just as he bottoms out. His intoxicating scent wraps around you like a noose, your mouth dropped open but no sound able to come out, his cock having punched all the air from your lungs.
“Fuck- so good for me-“ Kylo moans, sweaty forehead pressed to your shoulder, relishing in the feel of you, of his omega. The alpha in him swells with pride at getting to claim you, at being the first and the last to ever do so. He’ll fill you again and again, get you pregnant, make you smell like him inside and out so every other alpha in the damn galaxy knows who you belong to. The thought makes him groan in satisfaction, his lips finding your gland and sucking it into his mouth as his hips shift experimentally.
Your back arches to meet his chest, mewling for more, desperate for the heavy drag of his thick cock against your walls. He starts easy, slow thrusts where he draws all the way out before sinking in to the hilt. He’s never felt something this divine, his mind swimming as if drunk on your heat. Nothing has ever been this right before, like his connection to you is written into his blood, the Force and something deeper binding you together. He knows you feel it too, your emotions and thoughts shared, tied together with an invisible string.
He fucks you in earnest now, his thrusts snappier, the degenerate sounds of your slick being sloshed around by his cock filling the small space of the closet. There’s nowhere that isn’t full of Kylo, all of your senses knowing just him; his scent, his breathy moans and gasps, his body pressed against yours so all you feel is him. Tears stain your cheeks, another orgasm quickly building inside of you, growing each time he hits that spongy spot at the top of your walls.
“Gonna give you my pups- fuck- keep you here with me, sweetheart, keep you full. I’m all you fucking need.” Kylo snarls close to your ear, once again kissing at your gland, never able to leave it alone for long.
You barely manage to nod. “Y-yes- please, alpha-“
He groans at his designation, at the feral tone of it. He snakes an arm under you to rub his fingers against your clit, encouraging you to reach your peak a second time like a reward. It isn’t hard with how sensitive you are and you bury your face in the blankets, trying to muffle your cry as you cum around his length. Kylo nearly doubles over from the way you grip him, your pussy fluttering against his cock, slick and cum gushing out and smearing along his pants. “That’s it- so fucking good, sweetheart-“ He manages to get out.
You whine at the way he still brutally thrusts into your abused pussy, pleasure sparking within you like a frayed wire, your arms and legs twitching with aftershocks. Your mind is nothing but a chant of good alpha, my alpha, bite me, claim me, strong alpha, any other rational thoughts fucked out of you. The feeling of it is borderline overwhelming, so much so that you instinctually try to claw yourself away from him, your nails scrabbling desperately at the comforter underneath you. Kylo notices immediately, his hands coming to tightly grip your waist, tugging you back into him with a displeased rumble sounding in his throat. He further curls himself over you, using the full pressure of his body to completely pin you down so you have no choice but to take his cock as deep as you can, his tip kissing your cervix again and again.
Your vision waters, your moans become obscenely louder and Kylo revels in it, his nose buried in the crook of your neck so he can breathe you in. “My sweet omega, perfect omega…” He pants against your skin, the deep timbre of his voice sending shivers down your back. He rumbles again, his scent spiking with something heady and spicy—something so possessive it threatens to choke you. Your pussy throbs and oozes more slick around him in response. “Trying to run from me… you’re mine now, omega, mine.”
He gets his point across with harsher thrusts, steadily growing more erratic as he nears his release. Your own isn’t too far off—for the third time. You can feel his knot beginning to swell at the base of his cock, something like fear spiking in your chest over how big it’ll be, but Kylo’s given you no chance of escape. You’ve surrendered yourself to him completely, to your need for each other, to your mate that you didn’t know existed until a day prior. The noises you manage are a garbled mess of lust, of overstimulated pleasure bordering on begging for mercy as you cum once more.
Kylo merely kisses away your tears, silently praising how good you are, this last orgasm taking everything out of you and drawing his own out of him too. He thrusts once, twice, three times before he groans loud, his fat knot at last locking in to your pussy. You do a full body shudder when you feel the heat of his cum coating your walls, rope after rope filling you so completely you barely feel like you have room to breathe. You try to swallow down the air that you need, Kylo doing the same above you. Both of you are utterly spent, and your heat has finally calmed with his claim inside of you. It leaves you feeling exhausted but also satisfied, something you haven’t felt in a long time.
Kylo’s kisses are gentle along your neck and shoulders, but you nearly get sent into a panic when you feel him begin to move you. “Relax. You’ll like this better.” He tells you. You try to be good and let him shift you around, even as every limb aches in protest and it tugs on his knot firmly stuck in your cunt. He rests against the left wall, situating you in his lap so you’re basically sitting on his cock, keeping him impossibly deep inside you. You let out a small moan when a fresh spurt of his cum releases from the stimulation of his knot while his fingers dig into your waist.
He brushes your hair back from where it’d stuck to your face with sweat, holding his hand against your cheek so he can look at you. You lean into his touch, eyes closing, too tired to hold up your own weight, feeling like you need to sleep for the next ten years. “Beautiful.” Kylo mutters, his lips reverent when he kisses from between your breasts, across your gland, and up your neck to your lips. It’s nothing like the kisses from before which were hungry and desperate, instead this one is soft, loving, claiming you in a different way.
He nuzzles against your jaw when he separates from you, basking in your scent. “You need to eat before you fall asleep.” He says, forcing you to stay awake despite your struggle against it. “I know you didn’t before. You need to keep your strength.” You grumble a response, cracking your eyes open to find a plate sat to your left. You’re confused about how it got there before you remember Kylo’s weird Force abilities or whatever they’re called, letting him manipulate things in the space around him. He must’ve brought it in here when you weren’t looking.
It’s a simple plate with a mixture of fruits, cheeses, and pieces of bread, something easy to start so you don’t get sick. He’ll make sure you have a proper meal later, when you can think more clearly and you aren’t stuck together. He watches as you pick at the food, choosing whatever looks best, soothing the sharpest edges of your appetite. It makes him happy to see you eat, to know his mate is taken care of and getting the proper nutrition you desperately need. Healthy mate for strong pups, the alpha in him whispers, his teeth gritting together when he cums again as a result.
He brings you a bottle of water too, making you drink the whole thing because of how dangerous dehydration can be for omegas during a heat. It’s shocking to you how easy it is to get basic necessities like food and water in this place after having to struggle for them your entire life on Yvelo II. You’ve never felt this pampered before, this safe and comfortable and cared for. You know it’s because of the alpha before you, your alpha.
You can’t help but reach your hands out, running them through his sweat slicked hair. He seems to preen at your attention, his eyes closing in contentment. Even in this moment of peace, you can’t ignore the thing that’s been gnawing at you ever since he knotted you. You bite the inside of your cheek, rolling the question around in your head. Kylo makes a grunting noise at you, like telling you to just spit it out already. You’ve clearly forgotten again that he can see inside your mind. He wants you to say it though, which makes your cheeks flush a little. “Why didn’t you mark me?”
His eyes open at that as he hums, studying your face. He stops your hand midway through his hair, instead bringing it to his mouth so he can kiss your rough and calloused palm. He nuzzles against it, his sigh tickling your skin. “It seemed like a lot for your first time.” He explains. His gaze shifts to where your mating bite will be, as if imagining the indent of his teeth there. “But I will next heat.” He says it with such finality and determination that it makes you shiver, a familiar warmth bubbling in your blood. If you weren’t so tired and still locked onto his knot, you’d probably go back into heat right then. He smirks at that, knowing exactly how his words affect you.
His arms come up to encircle you, bringing you forward until you’re laying on his chest. You immediately sink into his hold, your head resting nicely beneath his chin. You can hear his heartbeat thrumming steady and strong in your ear, a soothing melody that has your eyes falling shut. Kylo brings his cape over with a simple motion of his finger, wrapping it around you so you’re encased in his warmth, his scent. He says your name softly, like it’s something fragile he doesn’t want to break.
imagine she sneaks down to the basement every night, fascinated by this gentle giant. she touches him innocently and lets him hold her. he tugs at her dress, then does away with it. she lets him explore her body. he craves skin-to-skin contact, and they hold each other naked. he gets hard, arousing his primal instinct, and must bury his cock in that warm, wet place of hers... up to you how rough he is 🫦
this ask is everything 🙈
Consummation
creature x reader
word count: 3.1k
summary: you're engaged to william frankenstein, but your heart belongs to the creature
tags: religion / chains & captivity / loss of virginity / nsfw creature lovin'
“The thing,” Willian spoke in hushed tones, as if hiding his confession from God himself, “is here.”
“What do you mean, he’s here?” You asked, a mixture of surprise, bafflement and rejoicing in your words.
“My brother has business to attend to overseas,” William explained, “he cannot travel with it without fear of detection, so the task falls to me to conceal it within the Frankenstein estate until his return.”
“He, not it.” You corrected him, already gathering your skirts, reading yourself to dart down to see him again. Your sunlight, once again shining on you in this barren land. “Where is he? Which bedroom?”
“You will not visit it.” William said strongly. “I forbid it, it is not safe, nor is it ladylike, for you to be consorting with other men so close to our marriage.”
“So you admit he is a man, then.” The reply was icy, your eyes narrowed as you dropped your skirts. “I repeat, fiance, where is he?”
William looked mildly irritated, but concealing it behind the guise of being a gentleman. “It is being kept in the basement.”
“The basement?” You nearly exploded with anger, flashes of the poor creature’s imprisonment in the tiled sub-dwelling of Victor Frankenstein’s macabre castle springing unhappily to the forefront of your mind. “He is a living being, I will not allow you to keep him in captivity.”
“You have little choice in the matter, wife, I have given you my orders.”
“I am not your wife yet,” you spat venomously, “nor can I recall why I ever agreed to be so in the first place.”
William sighed, stepped forward and put his hand on your cheek. “The beast corrupts, my dear, it is from the devil. I would not keep it so close to my love if not for my brother’s plight. Please, forgive me.”
Fire was still raging within you, but you softened and leant into the touch. “Of course, my love. There is nothing to forgive. I shall not venture to the basement.”
Night fell, and you ventured to the basement, wearing only a pale gossamer night dress, your hair loose down your back, and holding a candelabra, the only thing lighting your way down the stone steps.
You came to the heavy wooden door and prepared yourself for a moment, the creature elicited such strong responses from you that you knew you would lose yourself as soon as your gaze fell upon him, and in doing so, find yourself anew.
You pushed the door open gently, a soft creaking accompanying it, and ventured into the basement. It was vast down here, and cold, the dwelling lit by but a few candles, casting shadow over errant boxes, and glinting from the iron of a long chain that was rustling, drawing back and away from you.
“I’m not going to hurt you.” You found yourself whispering gently, as if the darkness were caging your voice, “it’s me. I’ve missed you so.”
A low rumbling, deep within the chest, seemed to vibrate the very floor. You cast your candelabra forwards and saw him, his long limbed body curled upon the floor like wounded prey attempting to make itself impossibly smaller, an insect hiding from the boot of its oppressor. He unfurled himself to the sound of your voice, a flower finding the sun, and stretched his arms, legs, torso, throwing every scar under the light, the deep grooves of life lost and reborn, pain caused and healing, leaving scar tissue where stitching once was.
Pale flesh was pulled taut over muscle and sinew it was not born with, moving under the skin, one and the same, separate, until the creature was crouched behind a box, bandaged hands gripping the wood. An unwashed mess of brown locks adorned his head anew, but his eyes were the same, deep and black and watching you, his pale blue lips stretching wide and wrapping around your name, it fell from him and tumbled through deep gravel until it arrived at your ears.
“You speak,” you said, “I knew you could. You remember my name?”
He spoke it again, tilting his head from side to side, his eyes soft, wide and shining with adoration, like the sun was shining too hot and blinding him, but he couldn’t look away.
You placed the candelabra on a nearby box and stepped towards him, he did not cower from you as he did for Victor, instead he slowly drew himself up to his full height, head near brushing the ceiling, his body, bare but for the modest cloth around his waist, stretched and beckoned you.
“I’m so glad you’re here.” You were still whispering, and you had no idea why. Your state of undress might have startled you if he weren’t in a similar fashion, it felt like two beings just being, just seeing one another.
You stopped in front of him, his body heat was a peculiar thing. The warmth from blood pumping through veins, but the chill of dead flesh slowly reanimating back to new life.
You reached a hand up and his face followed the movement, tracking it, you held your hand in front of his eyes, on your fingers, and he pushed his skull forward until his temple, his cheek was under your palm.
His eyes fluttered closed and his chest rose as it rumbled again. The noise was too pleasant and too pleased to be a growl, it was like a kitten’s purr.
You let him nuzzle into you, and with another hand you began carding through his hair. It was longer than the average gentleman wore his, but not as long as yours, different shades of brown and yellow, patches of scar tissue on his scalp where no hair fell at all. It was grimy and unwashed and you felt tears prick your eyes. Darting down his body, seeing the grime on his flesh, the blackened state of his bandages. “When was the last time you were bathed?”
“B-” He tilted his head, still pushing into your hand. “Bathed.”
“Yes, bathed, washed. Clean.”
He hummed with unused vocal chords and you swallowed.
A maid brought down a bucket of warm water and a cloth, with strict instructions not to mention this to William. The creature sat atop the box he had so recently cowered behind, holding his knees to his body and watching you as you rung the cloth out and brought it to his skin.
He tried to recoil, you saw the way his muscles bunched under his skin to prepare for pain, but relaxed again once soft, warm water replaced it. He smiled, the closest approximation to a smile you could imagine, and you smiled too, even as your heart was breaking. There was something beautiful in experiencing the simple act of existing, he brought you to a simpler, happier place.
Once bathed, you placed a towel over his shivering shoulders and he reached for you again, wet hands on your upper arms and soaking the fabric through, bringing you to him and pressing your body to his. His long arms curled around your back and held you tight, you’d never felt such strength in any human before, and it made you shiver, and not just from the cold.
When he finally let you go, your night dress was wet on your skin, your stomach and breasts exposed through. He took note of neither, too busy staring at your face, and into your eyes.
The next night you brought clothes, books, and a set of keys. You removed the chains one by one, and then you helped the creature pull on black trousers and a black shirt, the riding uniform of one of the servants of the estate. The shirt was too small and had to be worn open, but the trousers and the boots fit a treat.
You opened a book, Gulliver’s Travels by Jonathan Swift. William and your parents had disapproved of your reading such a book, political satire not something a woman of your birth should have been indulging in, but it also spoke of far off travel to new places and new people, something you longed for.
The creature huddled into you as you sat perched on the box. It was like he hadn’t quite realised he was so much bigger and stronger than you, and that he could push you off the box with one movement. He never did, though.
His mouth curled around the words in the book, and you smiled and laughed as he spoke, each new sound an achievement you shared, until he laid his head on your shoulder, nose in your neck, hair tickling his cheek, and allowed you to read the rest to him.
It became a nightly ritual, every evening you would go down to the basement with food, new books, various clothes, and you would spend hours with him, teaching him words and writing, and he never asked about Victor, or leaving the basement, or the outside world you both read about, he just stared at you with the sun in his eyes, maybe you were the world.
Then the dreaded day was nearly upon you, but a week until your marriage. You loved William, or at least you had when you’d accepted him, and a life married to a good man with a fine estate was something most women could only dream of. So why did it fill you with such dread?
Of course, there was also the small matter of:
“My brother will be able to attend,” William said happily over breakfast, “he’ll be here within the week, and afterwards he can take that dreaded thing with him.”
So that was what was to become of you, to lose your freedom and your creature on the same day. God was feeling particularly cruel, it seemed.
He could tell something was wrong, the minute you stepped into the basement. The smile that adorned his lips when he saw you lowered, his forehead creased, shoulders slumping as he paced the vast stone floor towards you in three strides. Hands gripping your shoulders, pulling you to him so tight and fast you nearly stumbled.
“What is wrong?”
You kept your gaze level with his chest, peaking out pale and blue from the undone shirt,watching his scars, the ones that carved out a path to his heart. You imagined yours to follow in similar fashion, carved out and abandoned in the snow as Victor Frankenstein took him from you.
“Nothing.” You faked a smile, drawing your hands up and pressing them into his skin. He leant into the touch. His finger cradled under your chin, urged your face up to look at him, his eyes slack.
“Victor will return within the week, when I am to marry.”
“That…makes you sad?”
“No, of course not.” Another lie. Your fingers found his cheeks and stroked down, his wide eyes fluttered. “I want you to be free of this room. It is not a good thing to be kept down here, to hide from the world.”
His hand was on the small of your back. You could feel it.
“Then why do you hide with me?”
You were lost for words. There were so many answers. Because you didn’t want to lose him, because you didn’t want to get married. Somehow, those two things were the same, but you couldn’t quite figure out how.
You felt tears welling in your eyes and you wrapped your arms around his waist. It was narrow, and your hands climbed higher, feeling his rib cage and his spine beneath your fingertips.
You scarcely knew what this touch felt like, you had never been permitted to be so intimate with another in your life. But for the creature, this was like breathing. He craved physical contact, he needed it, it was a comfort to him, perhaps it was a comfort to you, too.
He was purring again, a sound so deep it felt like it came from his chest, felt even more acutely now your whole front was pressed to his.
You could feel his hands travelling up your back, mirroring you, as he so often did, until strong fingers were tangling in the lace of your corset and tugging. Something ripped but you didn’t care as the bodice of your dress fell away, pooling at your waist by your skirts, and suddenly your front was bare with his, skin to skin pressed together. A mixture of hot and cold, soft and hard texture. Perhaps he thought it would comfort you, the way it comforted him.
“I don’t want you to leave me.” You whispered into his chest. The warmth of his contact stopped your nipples from pebbling, but you felt the way the tender flesh pressed against the scars around his heart deeply.
You could feel his nose in your hair on the top of your head, his lips on your forehead. You felt his words more than you heard them.
“A dying leaf cannot leave its sun.”
Hands were on your bare flesh, pulling you closer, your skirts snaking around his legs, like he was trying to pull you inside of himself, to make separation impossible.
A muted growl, definitely a growl this time, never before had you heard such a rough noise from your creature. The hands on your back were stronger, gripping tighter, pulling you in, against something hard between his legs that was not thigh nor hip.
Your eyes burst open, every emotion in your head swirling into a cacophony, and you sprang back.
His gaze looked sorrowful, but there was fire in his cheeks, chest rising and falling, an arousal making itself known within the garments you had stolen for him. He reached for you with both of his hands and you backed away.
“I…”
You didn’t even let him finish his sentence before you were running from the basement, fixing your dress and scurrying up the stairs.
You didn’t go back down to the basement for days, squandering your precious time with fear, not of your creature, but of what you were feeling inside, betrothed to another, and holding a man in such a way. Perhaps William truly had cause to worry, because the creature was a man, was he not? Was that not what you had been trying to convince the Frankenstein brothers since his conception? This was a man’s nature, that’s what your mother had taught you to expect on your wedding night. Your wedding night, where you were married legally and before the eyes of God, to your husband. Tomorrow.
It was close to midnight when your bare feed padded down the stone steps and pushed the door open.
You didn’t see him at first, but he was watching you, sitting up in the rafters, your copy of Gulliver’s Travels looking small in his broad hand.
He lowered himself down, booted feet touching the ground, the expanse of flowing, black material made him look entirely too much like a man. You swallowed. He was watching you, but not approaching you, that adoration in his eyes was guarded, somehow. It made him look…angry.
“Am I to congratulate you on your nuptials?” It sounded bitter.
You wasted no more time, unfastening the buttons on your nightgown and letting it fall to the floor, you stepped out of the fabric and left it behind as you walked forward.
His eyes fell all over your naked body, mapping every inch as you reached him and he gathered you in his strong arms, your legs around his waist. You felt like a dainty bird in his grip. His hands came to cradle your backside and when bare flesh touched you shivered.
Your virgin core was pressed against the dark fabric of his trousers, feeling the hardness beneath pressing against you, but your hands were on his cheeks, tracing his scars, the guarded expression in his eyes was replaced by something else.
“What is this feeling?” He asked you quietly.
“It’s what man and wife do.” You whispered.
“Wife-” He repeated.
You responded by reaching between the two of you, hand disappearing beneath his waistband, your fingers wrapped around him and his mouth parted. You released him, and his hard length lay rested against your core.
You were surprised initially to find him intact, but supposed that a manhood required no surgery to function as it should, and with how erect and swollen with blood it was, you presumed, with a wet mouth, that it worked perfectly.
He took over then, perhaps some primal instinct of lives lost, but the pupils of his eyes swallowed his irises as he lifted you by the hands on his hips, and then lowered you back down again. You both groaned when he pierced you, the wet glide of your body down until hips met hips and he was grunting into your neck.
Your head fell forward into his shoulder, feeling full of life, just full, your body stretched and conquered by something new. Your toes curled in the small of his back as he held you strongly, you couldn’t tell if he started lowering your hips or moving his own, but he was moving inside you and your eyes rolled, a soft sigh escaping you into his flesh as sparks of godless pleasure ignited within your being.
He was groaning in your ear and that felt just as good, you gripped the back of his neck with your fingernails and rocked yourself and he growled, there was no denying it this time, tearing your face from his neck to look at you.
His eyes were wild, cheeks red, lips bared around clenched teeth as he held you close and the movement became frantic, fervent, and your lips were crashing together as you crested that peak, your whole body jolting and spasming and he growled into your mouth. You felt him twitching inside you, then warmth, then warmth all over.
Twin virginities now absent, the creature lowered you and sat you in his lap on the floor, and you curled against his chest in perpetual ecstasy.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” He murmured in your ear, hands stroking through your hair, his breathing heavy, bare chest rising and falling, the plate of flesh in front of his heart hammering a little harder than the rest of him.
“You didn’t.” You assured him, nuzzling into his neck and feeling him mimic you.
Neither of you fell asleep, you didn’t think, until you heard the bells chime and your warm safe bubble burst, looking skyward to the upper levels, where your wedding party waited.
“I have to go.” You said with tears in your eyes.
The creature didn’t look sad, he looked like, for the first time, everything finally made sense to him. Like you were the one who didn’t understand.
You're just a caretaker, you feed them, clean the tanks, make sure they're content and check for any sick or injured mers.
You've really loved this job…up until now.
“I know he looks scary, Doll but he's just playing."
Your superior pats you on the back as you stare at the huge mer on the other side of the glass. His big black eyes bore into you, sharp grin bared with his huge hands placed on the glass. Yeah, he's obviously trying to scare you but that doesn't make it any less scary!
“He can get touchy but you just gotta shoo him away."
She waves you into the room where his tank is and you hesitantly walk in with all your cleaning gear. He gets a little secluded tank all to himself because apparently he bullies the other mers and jump cares any guests that come past the small observation window of the tanks.
You keep the door open for some sense of comfort, your steps echoing in the silent room. His head pops up from the water, only his eyes visible as he watches you get all your gear ready. You just stand at the edge of the steps leading into his tank for a moment and he stays in his same spot, unblinking.
You shuffle around in your pocket and pull out a sardine, tossing it in front of him. He watches the dead fish sink into the water and then points his gaze right back at you.
You resist a shiver, sighing in defeat and taking the first few steps into the shallow waters. As soon as you reached knee deep, he sinks down into the water and you can see his huge figure swim deeper into the darker parts of the tank.
Hoping that he lost interest, you decide to just get this over with as quick as possible and start wiping down the thick glass of the tank. You go around the whole tank, only doing the areas closest to the surface while trying not to think about how you'll possibly clean the deeper parts.
Every now and then you feel a brush against your leg or a force in the water next to you but you end up getting the whole top section of the tank done without much incident.
You sit on the edge of the tank, getting your scuba gear ready, eyes flicking around the pool every now and then. The silence makes everything so unsettling, it feels like he's just waiting for-
You don't even register the huge black blur moving towards you before he bursts out of the water, claws and teeth bared. You scream and swing your fist at the thing your instincts are telling you is trying to eat you, punching the mer right in the nose.
You gasp immediately after, holding in a tense breath as he groans and cradles his face. He looks at his bloody hand and then back at you in what appears to be shock. You wait for him to rip you in two but he just stares. Then his mouth slowly turns up in a sharp grin, blood still dripping from his nose.
He lunges forward and wraps his thick arms around your waist, nuzzling his head into your stomach. You wheeze at the crushing hug, confused and still a little scared but if his happy clicking sounds are anything to go by, he definitely doesn't want to kill you.
You're not sure if you would've preferred cleaning the tank in constant fear for your life or if having a massive mer clinging to you the whole time was the better option.
You managed to get it done, with much struggle. He actually helped you a little at first, but got bored quickly and opted for seeing how far he could unzip your swimsuit before you swatted him away. He also stole one of your flippers at one point and only gave it back when you gave him sufficient head scratches.
Once the job was done, you knew he wouldn't just let you leave and you kind of felt bad when you started packing up and he let out sad little whines so you sat on the edge of the tank, patting his head until your superior came looking for you.
“So…you punched him?"
You sheepishly nodded to her, munching gratefully on the donut she brought for you since you missed your lunch break.
“and now he's in love with you?”
You give her a solemn nod this time, watching as he traces patterns on your thigh.
“Well shit."
All you can do is nod once more in agreement to that accurate assesment of your situation.
day 4: "come sit on my lap" | alex wright x fem!reader
╰┈➤ spooktober day 4: "come sit on my lap": in which alex needs to get work done, but he can't deny his favorite distraction. wc: 1.3k. tags: smut, fingering, degredation/praise, alex calls u bunny bc the post about his computer wallpaper being a rabbit gave me thoughts lol, minors dni. a/n: apologies for this being late as absolute fuck, i'll try to get day 5 out in a few as well but we'll see how that goes lol, thanks for being patient with me!!
╰┈➤ find my spooktober masterlist here!
Alex was a hard-working guy, and you loved that about him. So dedicated to his work, so in love with movies and making them and every part that goes into making a movie. You loved him and his work ethic with every inch of your heart and soul, but there were sometimes you couldn't fucking stand it.
"Baby," you groaned, resting your chin on his shoulder as he clacked away at his computer. He had recently started a new script, the follow-up to the indie darling that was his premiere, Grave Encounters 2— the film world had embraced Alex's movie and, even though it got middling reviews, it was a hit with a specific category of people, who demanded more from Alex and his brain. "C'mon, it's so late. Don't you wanna come to bed?"
"I will," Alex told you, backspacing on a typo. "Just let me finish this scene."
"Ugh," you sighed. "I don't think you're listening to me, baby. I want you to come to bed. With me. Now. Please."
"I hear you," Alex assured you, pausing his work to look back at you. His eyes caressed your body, fresh from a shower, his t-shirt and panties and nothing else, and you watched his eyes stick on your chest for just a moment, your nipples pressing against the fabric in a way that you knew would make Alex cave. "Trust me, bunny, I hear you loud and clear. But I'm busy. You go lay down and I'll come join you in a second, okay?"
You pouted and pressed a kiss to Alex's ear, but you obeyed him. "Okay," you whispered. "But if you come in and I'm touching my clit, just know that you can't get mad at me for it."
"Wait, is that what you're talking about?" Alex asked quickly, instantly redirecting his full attention to you. It was almost funny; Alex had gone so long in his life without any female attention and now that you constantly craved him, it was still an adjustment for him to understand that you thought he was hot and wanted to fuck him.
"Alex!" you exclaimed. "Yes, that's what I'm talking about! I'm horny, I want you to fuck me!"
"Oh!" Alex said. "But… I'm working!"
"Well, hurry up and finish this scene, then," you told him. "I'm gonna start sucking my own tits if you make me wait much longer."
Alex sighed, graveled and choked in his throat. "Bunny," he mumbled. "I really need to finish this tonight… Come sit on my lap, will that hold you over until I'm done?"
You bit your bottom lip and smiled, and you skirted around his chair to perch yourself on top of his thighs, throwing your arms around his neck as his arms wrapped around your body reach his keyboard once more. You touched your forehead to his cheek, listening as he typed away, a little faster than before, and he whispered, "You smell so fucking good."
"All for you," you told him. You pressed a gentle kiss to his neck, feeling the way his pulse throbbed under his skin, and you smiled. "You like me like this?"
"I like you however you are," Alex told you. "However you want me to have you, I like you like that."
"How sweet," you cooed. "You're so good to me, baby… I love you so fucking much."
Alex sighed, his fingers hesitating over his keyboard. You cast your gaze over to the computer, trying to read what he was writing, and you didn't get to do that for too long before Alex was dragging you backwards into a messy kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth to get a taste of you. You squeaked with surprise, letting out a throaty moan as Alex's hands skated down your body to your legs, and he shoved your thighs apart before pressing his hot palm to your pussy, hidden by the thin layer of your panties. "What happened—" you began, getting interrupted by Alex's hard kiss to your lips. "What happened to finishing work?"
"Can't work too well when I know you're so needy," Alex told you, slipping his fingers under panties and instantly rubbing your clit with a hard pressure. It was exactly what you had been begging him to do, and you whimpered and whined as your cunt throbbed, needing to be filled. "Fuckin' distracted by you, Jesus, bunny… This is gonna have to be really quick, okay? Think you can be quick for me?"
You nodded, letting your head loll back to expose your throat, and Alex clamped his mouth down on you in an instant as his fingers spread your pussy open, swiping his middle finger around your throbbing hole. His other arm wrapped around your body to grasp one of your tits, and this devil of a man started to pinch your nipple and roll it between his fingers as his thumb rubbed your clit hard. He knew what he was doing to you, and you couldn't hold back the noises you were making, all whorish and pathetic, your hips quivering and jostling around, urging him inside you.
Thankfully, Alex obliged you, and his long, slender middle finger nudged inside of you. Instantly, you were throbbing around him, and Alex laughed softly into your throat, all wet with his spit and bite marks. "You like that?" he whispered. "Bunny, I know you can take more than my finger, I've seen you take my cock, so why the fuck are you so tight? But you're so wet too, you're practically dripping on my lap here… Pretty, pretty girl. You like my fingers?"
You nodded silently, your mouth opening to try to whimper as you clenched your eyes shut. You did like Alex's fingers, they filled you so good, the pads of his fingers always finding that spot inside you and rubbing you to a crying climax, and it seemed, as he pushed his ring finger inside you, that's what he was after. Your hips shifted, like you were trying to get away from his hands, the feeling getting to be too much too quickly, but Alex kissed your cheek and shushed your tiny sobs. "No, no, baby, you wanted this," Alex whispered. "You wanted to come bother me while I was working, wanted me to fuck you, wanted me to push my fingers inside you, wanted it to be quick— you wanted so much and now it's too much? Sweet bunny, you're so silly. Are you already close? Is that why you're acting like this?"
"Y-Yeah," you whispered. You liked whenever Alex called you bunny, his favorite little pet name for you that was only reserved for at-home moments— Trevor might roast Alex alive if he knew Alex was being as soft with you as he was.
Alex scoffed, and, as you squirmed, you felt him under your ass, stiff and ready inside his sweatpants. As little as it took to get you worked up, it took Alex even less; you wouldn't be surprised if he had popped a boner the moment you walked in the room. "You're the sluttiest thing I've ever seen," he told you. "I used to watch a lot of porn before I met you, and you're still the biggest slut I've ever seen."
You couldn't help but smile at his praise, and Alex caught sight of that. "You like it?" he asked, his whispers almost impossible to hear over the filthy wet noises of his fingers fucking you. "You like being a big fucking slut? Yeah, I know you do, listen to this pussy, you love it… Y'know, you keep on with this, I might have to put you in my next movie. Or we can make a movie together, just the two of us… You wanna be a movie star, bunny?"
Dragon bf who’s never really had luck in the sex department. Most of his past exes and flings have gone ok, that is until he shows them his two massive cocks. The second even bigger and more girthy than the one on top.
At first they try always tried to make it seem like it was no big deal. Told him they could take it. Only to jump to them squirming and whimpering before he’s even bottomed out with one.
If that was the only problem he might be able to handle it. He didn’t need total satisfaction, he could make it work. But when his past relationships also saw how much pre and cum he released they were hesitant to have penetrative sex all together! And if they did risk it they made sure he quadruple-wrapped up and he had to pull out before he was about to cum anyway.
The preventative measures cut off all sensation for him and made him lose all connection he got with his partner from the act. That feeling of closeness had been erased till things just eventually didn’t work out.
It’s left the poor beast with the biggest dry spell known to man. That is until he meets you.
When you first see his cocks you light up. He tries not to get excited but there was no fear in your eyes. Maybe you had more experience with monster cock than he thought and he was all the more grateful for it. Your own ease helped his own, allowing him to relax.
And when you two first started, moving together and grinding as his cocks split open your already dripping swollen folds. Each rock of his hips sending his throbbing tip to smear against your puffy clit. Endless droplets of oozing milky precum dribble from his leaking tip and coat your slit in his eager essence.
When he sees the shock on your face he prepares for the work. Ready for you to tell him to wrap up first or to stop altogether. But it’s him who’s surprised as your expression fades into awe, sweet pretty moans slipping past your lips and making leak even harder.
He doesn’t even try to hold back how eager he is for you, his growls echoing against the walls of his den and his throat glowing with a low blissed out ember. Picking up pace his cocks start to push at your entrance. As you gasp sharply he starts to rear back, about to ask if you’re alright, when you suddenly hook your legs around his waist and push not only one but both of his cocks inside you.
Dragon bf throws his head back with a furious roar, sparks crackling through the air and increasing the tension of the room. You’re so wet and so so tight, he can’t believe how well you’re taking him in. But given how much your sopping pussy is squelching as it sucks in his lengths gives him no room for argument.
Every inch deeper inside your slick silken walls massage every vein along his shafts, delivering a deeper sense of pleasure than he ever knew possible. He lets you set the pace, taking him as hard and fast as you like, using him to give yourself pleasure.
And use him you do. Your hips buck wildly, swallowing up his cocks like you’re starving for it. He meets your every thrust, pounding into the narrow channel of your cunt that shifts with every hard pulse as it molds itself to his shapes. Hugging him so perfectly he could cum already.
But he holds on as best he can when parts of his cock have never felt the sweet warmth of a hole as perfect as yours. More and more precum gushes into your pussy, sloshing around inside you and he merely drives it in deeper, using it to mark your walls as his. Swiveling his hips to hit those spots inside you that have you seeing stars.
He’s filling you so good and you’re suffocating his cocks like the good girl you are, clamping down and holding onto him for dear life every time he hits somewhere reallyyy good. The way he fucks you it’s like he’s memorizing your body, watching closely for every little reaction you give him so he can best please you. Moving his body, his cocks, and his fingers as they rub against your clit to have you singing for him.
And when you cum your vision flashes, the corners darkening before a loud crack rings out and a second later a pleasurable pain blooms on your cheek. Blinking your eyes open you realize he’s lightly slapped your cheek as he grips your jaw and mushes your cheeks together.
Telling you firmly to look at him as he cums inside you and breeds your fat cunt. Letting you know that you’re his now, there’s no leaving or getting away. And that he’s gonna make sure you have to stay.
That’s when you feel a bigger presence begin to push at your entrance and a second later he’s slamming his thick knot inside you’re already overstuffed cunt, stretching you further than you thought was physically possible. It’s as though your body just automatically listens to him as it opens up for him like it was made to. Then he’s coming, rope after rope of scorching hot cum.
You’re not exactly sure how long it takes before he finishes coming but in the meantime he made you cum two more times while he worked you both through the waves of euphoria you couldn’t deny. If anything his words only served to turn you on further.
It’s not a surprise that after all that he ended up succeeding in everything he had said to you. Sure, most people, and even you he images, think him insane for getting you pregnant when you two barely even knew each other.
But after finding such a treasure like you how could he ever risk letting you go now?
premise . . . you should be terrified, you should be fucking horrified. all the annoying bitches around you drop dead like flies and the masked hottie man in front of you is about to kill you. and, oh my god, it's that nerd from chem
( requested by anon ! )
CAST virgin!slasher slutty!final girl
TAGS plot with porn, murder and attempted murder, mentions of attempted suicide, crack treated seriously, possessive behaviour, light obsessive behaviour, light knifeplay, light femdom/dominant reader, light submissive slasher, brief breeding kink, creampie, unsafe sex done by unsafe people
affiliated links ─── pinned inbox requests (closed for now)
death clings to your scent—everywhere, it knows where you are. it started small, seemingly a one-time thing. some old hag dies and everyone assumes it was from old age. it wasn't. god forbid, it wasn't. whispers echo through the hallway and doesn't leave your ears; it was a murder. who the hell gave a shit though, right? you didn't. you couldn't care when that hag refused to give you the mark you deserved. fuck her.
then, mechanically, it comes after one another. you're starting to think of moving, really. like flies, your contact list fills with dead bodies. literally. name after name, vague description after just another number, the men you've slept with are all fucking dying. if you were superstitious, you'd think this was karma. yet, you're not. you're realistic. you know someone is haunting your trail and they aren't fucking stopping.
the world stops for a moment. the only thing you can hear is that repetitive bounce of some... fucking tennis ball or something. the house is dreary, the silence occasionally stabbed with the thrumming of the ball bouncing around. your heart pounds against your chest. you can't feel your fingers though they tightly wrap around the handle of the kitchen knife. you've been sensing you were next for a while. you just wish that it didn't end like this when you're half naked, a nameless man dead on the floor of your bedroom, and pussy out in the fucking cold.
it's getting closer. your hands are grasped in prayer as you pull it close to your chest. when the pounding stops, you know he's there.
quickly, you turn to face the man in the doorway. you raise your hand to stab yet he halts you by your wrist. fuck. all your anger and frustration bubbles into a punch but it comes out fruitless. his fist hammer to your ribs. you're promptly pushed down; weak, hurting, and pathetic. this was not how you wanted to die. the man towers over you as he drags you by the hair—a string of whines fall from your lips as you struggle out of his grasp.
"get the fuck off me, you sicko!" you scream, the sting at your scalp more painful than a knife stab. you think so, anyways. "i won't fucking report your ass just please! leave me the fuck alone!"
if he's been operating systematically, killing off your contact lists one by one, you just knew that telling him off wouldn't stop him. still, he drops you on the floor. you find yourself on your back, staring wide-eyed as the mask looks into your eyes. he has no eyes, not really. he has one mouth, a grin so wild. his entire body is cloaked and with it soaked in blood—you were too. both of you were bathed in the blood of some bloke you didn't even remember the name of. you hoped, just a little, you get to have one good fuck before you died.
"do you like pain?" he says your name, his voice unnatural and a deep monotone. "i know you do." fucking pervert, watching you getting your masochistic streak on. "you like inflicting them more than you receive them, though. i know you do."
"i don't know what you mean," your voice trembles. he slowly squats down to your level, his bloody gloved hands making a print on your cheeks. "j-just..." his knife kisses your jaw, "if i did something or i said something to you—... i'm fucking stupid. you can ruin my life however you want just let me live! wouldn't that be better? let me live with my own mistakes?"
his laugh comes out a growl through the voice changer. it's animalistic. "you have been living with your mistakes," he tells you, "everyday, every man you bring home. every single one of them is a man who doesn't even care for you. they're a mistake. you've lived far long enough with them, haven't you? i'm here to finally—" the edge of the blade traces a line on the bottom of your jaw, leaving a heated pain behind—"dissolve you from your past."
before you try to reason with him, he grips his mask. the white sullen face is pulled upwards revealing—revealing...?
him? "you?" this feels like a sudden joke. "no... oh my god, no fucking way."
you want to laugh; hat was, of course, your attempted reaction before you felt the blade go deeper in your skin. fucking ouch. the man above you is none other than that nerd in your chem class. you remember months ago how you laughed because he continuously tried to flirt with you. his attempts all but adorable with his soft face and thick glasses. it was endearing back then. you almost slept with him just because you thought he was cute.
but now? holy fuck. now, it's different. you almost couldn't tell they were the same person if not the mole on his lips, a gentle kiss from the gods that turned his mouth a shade of pink. the soft cheeks have slimmed into a distinguished jawline. strands of hair curl at the top of his head, almost shielding his watercolour eyes beneath those stupid glasses. you can't believe it. that fucking nerd, after disappearing for months, came back to do a killing spree all because... you didn't sleep with him?
"you embarassed me," he says, his voice almost whiny. "do you know how hard it was for me to go around school? everyone picked on me because you said that i was... i was a good for nothing fucking virgin! you made fun of me and the entir..."
it's odd how his words dulled into a muffled tone. from this angle, the cloak falls off a little and you see a glimpse of his collarbones. he lost weight, didn't he? that's slightly sad, you quite liked him in his softer body. you mourn it silently but you notice how his voice trembles into a deeper tone—had he gone through puberty again? jeez. he looks and sounds cute. you're smiling a little as your heart skips a beat from anything but fear.
"what the fuck are you doing?" he asks, snapping you out of your trance. before you could notice it yourself, your hands already moved down to your crotch. you haven't even came yet, not even a fake orgasm. you're only slightly bit shameful that you're touching yourself while he's having his villain monologue.
you hum, spreading your legs. "look, i feel a bit bad and all, but you really caught me at a bad time." you see his eyes trail to your cunt, seeing where your fingers disappear between your legs and how he gulps down in want. "come on, he didn't even have his cock out, baby. i was just barely taking off my panties when you interrupted us. and... you're kinda hot."
"you're sick." hah! the irony in that. "you want to fuck me now?" he laughs, gripping your hair again which makes you moan this time. you can see how his face loosens for a moment at the sound. "y-you only like me now because i lost weight! i starved myself from the bullying, and planning on how to fucking kill those people!"
"but baby, you're cute the way you are," you pout. "the only reason why i didn't fuck you was because you were just kinda weird at times. it was cute how you thought flower facts were going to get you pussy. and it was going to give you pussy, baby. but i can't risk my reputation if i fucked a cute nerd like you. can't give it all up just for one dick, you know?
"but now...?" you gasp, reeling in his attention with how two fingers slip in with ease. "you fucking killed those dickheads, baby. i fake orgasmed with most of them. i don't need a reputation when you've killed my audience."
his face drops into one of shock. you're not surprised that he's surprised. you're a bit surprised too—hah, you're kinda going delirious, maybe you are insane after all. despite the festering pain on your face, the stickiness of blood, you curl your fingers perfectly into your g-spot that has you moaning. you admire the way his eyes are trained onto you, his desires unfulfilled coming back again like a pest. he's tried to get over you but he hasn't. you're not letting him. absolutely fucking not.
his knife moves and you stick your tongue out, chasing the tip of it. you moan, looking into his eyes as you lay your tongue flat against the plane of the blade. "co' fu'h me?"
the words "come fuck me" were muffled but it seemed like he got the gist.
like how it was meant to be, you lay on stained bedsheets. it's a bit disgusting but you're too distracted with how cutely he's hurrying to undo his jeans. the cloak is pulled apart and you see how his hands struggle to undo his belt. silly boy. you reach out, hands expertly taking them off as he melts in your hold. it's thrown away along with your underwear, wherever it may be, as his pants are roughly pulled down by him.
you can't help but tease him, "feeling excited, baby?" he moans, hips grounding against you with a sticky fabric bordering you two. "so cute. did you cum in your boxers already? why's it all wet, baby boy?" he blushes, silent as you pick him apart knowingly. your hands make it inside his briefs and both of you moan at the contact—he's fucking wet, almost gushing. you would think he already came with the pre-cum leaking at the tip. despite that assumption, his cock is an angry red demanding warmth. your warmth.
"such a pretty little boy for me. take that off," he does so obediently. his fat cock—and it is fat, the length of it just nice but the thickness of it makes you drool in want—slaps against his stomach and makes a patch on his happy trail. "good boy, such a pretty and good boy for me.
you ask, "wanna shove it in?" and he moans, an echo of agreement and pleas falling from his mouth. he's pressing kisses against the open wound, a silent apology as he begs to be touched by you. the pain doesn't feel that bad now. it's numbed as his cockhead presses against your wet heat, wanting an entrance. you can only hear his ragged breathing as his tongue laps up the blood. your heart races against each other, the two of it throbbing with only both your flesh and bones separating them from mauling each other.
it's a miracle how he hasn't combusted yet. however, you hold onto that as he shoves the first inch inside. you've barely stretched yourself with two fingers and you almost wish you took more. the stretch of his cock punches a moan out of you, unwilling. the little thing above you whines and moans, "so good, so good, you feel so fucking good." it's the only thing he can muster in his brain as your cunt grasps him in a tight embrace, slick gushing around it as it tries to ease the slide.
"so good," he draws out in a tight moan. "i've never... you—i can't fucking believe it." you almost forgot the nerd was a virgin. "you feel so good around me. your pussy is so tight but it's, oh my god, it's opening up so nicely. so nicely for me."
your hands tangle itself in his hair after you pulled his hood down. "yeah, is it how you imagined? how does my pussy feel in comparison to your hand?" he's barely understandable with how fast he repeats so good so good so good. without prompting, one of his gloved fingers reach down to play with your clit. mostly the men need a signal or even a guide to do that. the leather is an odd feeling against such a sensitive area. still, it's not unwelcomed. you moan freely, your legs moving to wrap itself behind him. you want him to start moving. you need him to.
"come on," you goad, "need your fat cock inside me. you gotta start fucking me how you did in your fantasies, baby." then, that he does. he pushes inch by inch in, making you moan with the delightful and painful stretch. it's a feeling you're never going to tire yourself from. his cock splits you open more than anyone ever could. he presses it nice and deep, the tip kissing your g-spot gently. he doesn't move his hips, the vice around his cock too tight. he understands immediately and flicks your clit, a rapid motion that has you grinding against his hold.
that gets him to move. he starts to fuck his cock in and out of you. it's slow, pulling out until the tip is left just for him to fuck it deep again. his playful hand gets distracted but it's okay. every thrust you're groaning, your head having swivelled backwards from the pleasure. it's getting your legs to numb out. his balls slap against your ass and there's lewd sounds of skin slapping with echoing moans from the both of you. it's textbook erotic. you crave his cock just as much as he's craving your pussy.
"faster, come on." he's a show dog who's memorised all his cues. he moves his hips faster, opting for a more chaotic pace to chase both of your orgasms. he moves his hand again, a slower and more gentle act of circling in contrast to the impaling of his cock. your cunt is leaking in wet arousal as your breath is stolen from you. you can barely feel your legs when he's going ballistic. he mouths delightfully at your face now, just shy of kissing you.
you don't let his fantasy go to waste. eagerly, you tilt your head so your lips meet in unified desperation. he's moaning into the kiss. his pace stutters as he loses himself to the pleasure of being kissed. you're not surprised if you took all of his firsts tonight. in eager motions, he's chasing his orgasm orgasm. his first orgasm inside a cunt raw. you don't really mind that he's without a condom. you know you're safe when you've made everyone who tapped to wrap it up. this little killer of yours is, of course, a special exemption.
"'m gonna cum," he whines, dick hammering into your cunt. "gonna cum inside your pussy. gonna make it mine. gonna breed your pussy and you're gonna be all mine, all mine, all mine."
his free hand goes to grip your waist with one final thrust, both of you pulled into waves of orgasm. he's cumming inside of you and you mirror as you squirt all over him. the orgasm is intense as he gently plays with your clit, easing it with a slow lull. all of it becomes just a bit too much and you're writhing beneath him. he gets the point and moves away, carefully moving out of you.
in between the post haze, you feel the sheets move beneath you and you lay on the mattress. he wraps you in his arms and you're being embraced by the warmth of his body and the feel of his tongue against your lips. his kissing could be improved, you think with a laugh. that pulls him out of his cocoon-like touches. an insecure question of, "what are you laughing at?" has you smiling a little.
you answer him truthfully, "you fuck like a menace and kiss like a virgin. it's cute though, don't get me wrong." he blushes like a virgin too. you can't help but squish his cheeks. "gosh. you're adorable," the fog thins and you smell the corpse rotting at your feet, "and... you're a serial killer. how are you going to get rid of that dead fucking body?"
he looks down, almost surprised that there was a dead body there. "oh," he says, quite dumbly, "i actually don't know. i really did plan to kill you and then kill myself afterwards. i don't want to go to jail."
oh. o-fucking-kay.
you two sit up and you pull at your hair. the golden curls fall in front of your face in anger. "why the fuck would you go through all this just because you couldn't get some pussy?" he's about to answer you and you know he's going to repeat his monologue. "no, no. okay, i get it. i'm sorry. but seriously, i don't want to die and i don't want to go to jail because i fucked the murderer." this is bad. his knife is on the bed and you're thinking about just stabbing him.
wait, that could work. you grab the knife quickly and stab him. that immediately gets him to yelp, "what the actual fuck!?" he glares at the knife in his stomach then at you, "why would you do that?" he's looking at you like he's about to cry. you actually feel a little bit bad.
"sorry," you say, letting go. "i just needed to come up with a story." you pull your hair back, sitting cross-legged in front of him. "so, you were fucking me. he came here and tried to kill the both of us. he's all jealous that i was fucking other people—sounds familiar? yeah, well, this time, i kill him with this knife and now he's framed for the murder. assuming, of course, you don't have any incriminating evidence inside your house."
"no," he groans, hands hovering above the handle in wanting to get it out but knowing it should be stuck in. "your cameras are all dead too, by the way. it's been dead for a few days and no one saw the two of you when you sneaked inside from the back door. no one saw me too."
"great!" you promptly pull out the knife and he screams. "sorry! sorry! i just need to stab it inside of him and then call the cops." you put the knife right where he put it in earlier, right between his crotch. if this all goes well, you all go home without a worry. if it goes bad, well, you could always run away, right? you look at the killer bleeding, cock out and cum dribbling down his thighs and squirt on his stomach. you don't think both options are that bad.
"the costume?" he asks, looking down head to toe at himself. you're about to undress him gleefully and play dress-up with a dead body.
Fic request: Like we talked about, riding Hans’ thigh while making out. He uses your hand to pleasure himself 😌
I'm sorry this is a bit short, but I hope you like it!😊💛❤
Come Here.
Colonel Hans Landa (Inglorious Basterds) x f!reader
Warnings: NSFW, smut, thigh riding
Masterlist
Tagging: @daddywaltz @jawline-of-steel
Like my work? Buy me a coffee! 😁
"Cat got your tongue?" The colonel's voice is mocking, one eyebrow lifted as he stares shamelessly at me, a smirk playing at his lips.
"N-no, sir, you've just...caught me off-guard, is all." I hasten to answer him, blinking to hide my embarrassment, my legs inadvertently rubbing together under the intensity of his gaze.
Inevitably, Hans' eyes flick down to acknowledge the movement, triumph creeping into his expression already as he watches me, sitting back in his armchair with a hand on one thigh, the other resting on the armrest. Returning his grey eyes to mine, his lips pull into a strong line and his tone loses the playful edge it had before.
"Undress."
The one word has me moving of my own accord, quickly yanking at my clothes as he eyes my actions, face still stern even as I uncover my bare form for him. He makes no move to remove his own clothing, remaining clad in his unforgiving uniform, not a hair out of place on his immaculate jacket and slacks. The only sign that he's enjoying himself is the very slight gleam in his eyes, which roam torturously over my body as I stand before him, naked.
"Good. Now come here." The colonel beckons me over, waiting until I'm standing just inches away from him before giving me his next instruction, "Sit down."
His finger comes down on his thigh, a clear gesture. I blink, looking at him.
"Sir, are you-" I begin, only to have my own thigh swatted sharply in reprimand.
"Did I say you could speak? Do as you're told." He almost growls, threat very clear in his tone now - I can't tell if it's genuine or if it's a facade, but I don't want to find out.
Hesitantly, I straddle his clothed thigh, biting back a soft gasp as the rough fabric of his slacks rub over my already slick clit.
For a moment, we remain in silence, before he suddenly slaps my thigh again, giving me a disapproving look.
"I am not doing this for your benefit. Make it worth my time." His words instantly remind me of what he's already asked me, my pulse jumping as the words come back to me: "you're always so needy, aren't you? Maybe I should make you cum right here, though I don't think you've done enough to deserve my cock today. Maybe you should come over here and get yourself off on my leg?"
With a stifled groan, I start to move, dragging my rapidly-wetting cunt over his muscular thigh, biting my lip tightly at the stimulation. It's almost uncomfortable, having the fabric rub up against my sensitive spots but I quickly manage to forget that, pleasure starting to creep into me as I move, hips grinding down on his leg. Biting back a moan, I place my hand on his other knee, using the grip for leverage as I start to move a little faster, feeling his slacks getting damper and damper beneath me.
"If you keep muffling those sounds, I'm going to have to find some way of punishing them out of you." Hans suddenly interjects, watching me almost impassively. Almost - I can see a bulge growing in his trousers, aching to be touched.
Apologizing hastily, I moan out loud and whimper as the colonel lifts his thigh unexpectedly, driving the rough fabric directly into my aching clit. Panting out his name and title, I reach up to play with my breasts, my head falling back as pleasure swiftly builds in me, my senses alight now from the stimulation. As I do so, however, I feel a large hand close around my throat, fingers squeezing warningly into my pulse points, silently commanding me to keep my gaze fixed on him. Dropping my head again, I moan loudly at the absolute lust now etched into his stare, wishing he would let me lean in and kiss him to feel how his tongue might ravage my mouth as his cock will at some point in the near future.
Keeping his hand on my throat, Hans uses his other to take my own and move it to his crotch. Both of us gasp at the feeling of his large erection through his slacks, his hand pressing my palm down on him, using me to rub over himself. Moaning, I let him use my hand even as I use his thigh, matching the thrusts of my hips with the movements of his hand, circling my sex over his leg needily, sweat beading on my skin as I start to get closer to finishing. Slick coats my thighs, my clit fast becoming sensitive now from the friction of the cloth, but I can only mewl more at the feeling, utterly absorbed by the way this man is using me to get himself off.
Deftly, the colonel unbuttons his trousers, returning his grip to my hand and thrusting it into his underwear, freeing his cock from its confines as best he can. His flesh is hot and heavy in my hand, weeping over my fingers as he moves my grip up to squeeze his head, drawing a soft sound of appreciation from me. Veins pulse in my grip as he drags my palm over his length, pants and grunts escaping him now. Spurred on by his pleasure, I rock my hips faster, moaning loudly for his benefit, feeling the knot in my stomach tighten as I get closer and closer.
He pulls me in, lips suddenly on mine, rough and insistent as he kisses me hard. Caught off-guard, I can only moan into the kiss, allowing his tongue into my mouth, where he proceeds to thoroughly ravage me, as I'd hoped he'd do, the hand on my throat moving to my hair to yank me closer. Groans and moans are swallowed by both of us, my hips moving faster as he bites down on my lip, sucking it into his mouth without further ado. In my hand, his cock twitches, his need very evident in the way he jerks up to meet each movement.
Hans' breath hitches suddenly, a sharp curse escaping him as his hips buck upwards into my hand, his lips pulling from mine, saliva connecting us.
"Finish yourself, (Y/n). Do it." He growls between pants, the grip on my hair tightening as his hand starts to speed up, making me jerk him off fast and hard.
With one last, forceful push, I drag my cunt over his thigh in just the right way, sensing myself over the edge. Gasping loudly, I squeeze my eyes closed and grind down on his unforgiving thigh erratically, riding out the pleasure as best I can, mewling in ecstasy as I throw my head back. This time, Landa doesn't stop me, only groaning one last time before he, too, cums all over my fist. He jerks himself off a few more times, bucking into my hand as he does so, before stopping to sit back in the chair.
Catching our breaths, we stare at each other, the grip in my hair suddenly pulling me back down to him. Sloppily, Landa kisses me again, tongue sliding lazily into my mouth as he explores to his heart's content, saliva dripping down my chin from the messy gesture, my eyes falling shut again. After a moment, he chuckles lowly, and pulls back, the mocking edge back in his voice.
"You will do anything to cum, won't you Liebling?"
SUMMARY: A handsome stranger comes knocking at your door around Halloween and needs a hand with his injury
CONTENT: pet names, praise, blood, stitches, incidental touching, tension.
NOTES: The Guest is one of the greatest Halloween movies of all time. When I re-watched it a few months ago, I got the sense that David had control over his arousal, which threw me off with my smut writing. But in honor of his season, I thought I'd at least give you some sexual tension. I hope you enjoy it and let your imaginations run wild with what happens next. 😏🎃
At a distance, the stranger weaving through styrofoam headstones in your yard could have been mistaken for a minimal-effort zombie. The tall man's gait was uneven with one leg straight, a hand on his hip, and a blank face alive with drive. To complete the look, his clothes were torn and blotched dark brown.
When you answered your door, his calm demeanor didn't align with the rest of him. The intensity of his blue eyes demanded your attention. "I hate to bother you, ma'am, but could I use your bathroom?" His manners put you at ease enough to step aside and let him in.
"Nice pumpkins," he said of the jack-o-lanterns on your porch. "What are you up to this evening?"
"I was just about to... make something to eat," you said, noting the blood staining his blonde hair.
"Good," he nodded. "Good. You should do that."
You showed him to the bathroom and volunteered to call an ambulance.
The warmth left his face and voice all at once when he gave a decisive, "No." His subtle smile recovered, and he said, "Go ahead and make yourself something to eat, sweetheart."
. . .
You stood with the door of your refrigerator open, looking at the contents but not really seeing them. It was distracting having him in your house–a badly injured man who wouldn’t let you call an ambulance. You could hardly remember what kind of food existed, much less how to make it. After several minutes of alternatingly pacing in your kitchen, leaning against the counter, and staring into the fridge, you took out a carton of eggs and some bacon. Then, you heard a groan from the bathroom.
David had stripped down to gray boxer briefs, one side of which was dark with blood. He was standing in front of the sink examining his hip, with all his lean muscles flexed and pumped up.
“You alright?” you asked.
He looked up with a polite smile and gave you a thumbs up.
“Okay,” you nodded, and your eyes fell on the blood that had splattered the sink and counter.
His calm voice interrupted your thoughts. “Hey,
beautiful? Would you mind bringing me a needle and thread?”
—--
When you returned to the bathroom, a shard of glass was falling into the sink. With one hand, he was holding down the waistband of his boxer briefs. Thick, dark blood was filling the slice on his hip where the shard came from. He held a hand towel to the wound, then with his other hand, began to tug at his waistband.
You put down the stitching supplies and offered, “Let me help.”
“Thanks,” he smiled. Your heart raced as you visually inspected his boxer briefs, trying to determine the most appropriate approach.
“Go for it,” he smiled and tugged at the waistband on the non-injured hip. You approached and felt him watching you with that mild-mannered smile as you carefully reached around him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband. He smelled masculine, with a salty hint of sweat, but his scent was also remarkably clean given the state he was in. His deodorant was minty. Heat radiated from his chest to yours as you reached around his broad torso. You glanced at his muscular glutes in the mirror as you pulled his underwear down, first under his bottom. The front of the waistband followed, exposing his neatly trimmed, light brown pubic hair. Then, you found yourself holding your breath, trying not to look at his dick as you pulled the underwear down his thighs.
You didn’t look right at it, but it was chubby and proportionate with his overall size. You squatted to take his underwear down over his knees, heat settled in your lower belly as a light waft of his musk hit your nostrils.
“Good girl,” he praised you. You glanced up to see his kind eyes, with his out-of-focus cock in the foreground. Your cheeks warmed and you turned away as you stood up to retrieve a towel for him.
You wrapped the towel low on his hips, securing it low enough to work on the wound, leaving his short pubic hair exposed, and the very top of his dick.
He started off by closing the wound with one hand and holding the needle in the other. You wiped the blood for him.
He made the first few stitches, began to squint, then dropped the needle with a sigh. You offered to bring him some better light. He shook out his hand and clarified that it was just a cramp.
“You seem like you’re not squeamish,” he observed.
“Oh, did you want me to–” you looked at the needle.
“You’re a doll,” he said.
—
He leaned back with his butt against the bathroom counter. The bulge of his cock was visible through the towel, and you tried to identify an approach that would avoid it, but it was difficult to brace your hands without touching it in some manner.
“It’s okay,” he reassured you .
The heel of your palm grazed his shaft through the towel, and when he didn't flinch, you allowed your wrist to rest against it as you held his skin together. he wiped the blood off the wound, and you began to stitch. His abs flexed, and he took a deep, controlled breath through his nose as you began to stitch him. When his cock twitched against your forearm, your face heated, but you ignored it. Then, the warm shape of his cock began to thicken under the towel.
He rested his hand on the back of your head, and your lips parted with a gasp.
“You’re doing a great job,” he said, just above a whisper. Your loins tingled, and you squeezed your thighs together as you stitched him.
“Good,” he said. “You can do it,” he encouraged you as you finished the last stitch. And after you tied it off, he said, “Good girl,” and stroked the back of your head with his massive hand.
You cleaned the stitches, making him wince and flex his lower abs. The veins above his pubic area and along his v-line were slightly raised.
“Great work,” he whispered, and lifted your chin to look at him while you were still squatting near his loins. When your eyes met his, he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip.
“You did good,” he repeated with a small nod and a mildly bewildered smile in his eyes. “You’re really beautiful,” he said. His cock swelled against your wrist. When you realized that you were still touching him for no reason, you pulled your hand away and stood up with a nervous giggle and hot cheeks. “Thanks,” you whispered, looking away. He watched intently as you washed your hands in the other sink and dried them on a clean towel.
Anonymous masked ghostface; ft. Vince (kyle gallner) as your hot neighbor. ilysm, Scream fans! Happy Halloween. 🎃
LENGTH: 4090 WORDS | SCREAM MASTERLIST
ONE SHOT SUMMARY: With Ghostface at large and a curfew in place, you start talking to your hot neighbor. You tease him through your window, and Ghostface takes an interest in you.
WARNINGS: 18+, DEAD DOVE NONCON (physically enjoyed by reader), size kink, ropes, shibari-adjacent bondage, blindfold, (forced) exhibitionism, degradation, P in V, cream pie. Reader is flexible enough for a deep mating press and can be easily lifted by Ghostface. As always, side characters are at canon-typical risk. No aftercare.
HAPPY KINKTOBER: bondage, ropes
Ghostface was bigger in person. You found that out the hard way when your friend got snatched in the alley. It could have been you. It almost was. You weren’t supposed to be out. No one in the borough was. But you hated being told what to do, and it was hard to take a curfew seriously in NYC. After that night, you started obeying it.
And after that night, you hated being home alone. That was a problem, since your roommate was studying abroad. She took off for Spain just after the two of you moved in, so you barely knew anyone in the building. There was a neighbor across the alley, Vince, who was a friend’s cousin. You’d run into him at a party or two before. He was a bad boy. Mullet, mustache, motorcycle. Smoked cigarettes and rolled his sleeves up. Always wore a scowl. Not the most approachable guy, but the fact that his big, living room window was directly across from yours provided some tiny sliver of comfort. Like, at least there’d be a witness if Ghostface snuck up behind you.
-
One night, you were in the mail room, hurrying to grab a package. The room was too spooky when it was empty, and the metal mailboxes echoed. You were locking your mailbox when a voice behind you said, “hey,” making your heart jump to your throat, along with a little squeal.
“Whoa,” Vince chuckled. “Sorry, You okay?” It might have been the first time you’d seen him smile. He wanted to let you know he could see right into your apartment.
“Oh. . . sorry,” you said. “Is that weird?”
“Nah, it’s cool, just thought ya should know. Don’t want ya to think I’m some kinda pervert,” he chuckled, and his eyes took the briefest journey down your body.
You’d been keeping the curtains drawn and the lights on. It was silly, but it felt like as long as someone could see you, you were a little safer. “I guess I just feel safer with the lights on, somehow?” you mused with a shrug. “I dunno, it’s stupid.”
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of Ghostface,” Vince said with a teasing smile.
Your face was serious. “I should go.”
“Oh, shit. You were one of those girls, weren’t ya? Your friend…Shit, I’m sorry.”
You told him it was fine and turned to leave.
“Hey, wait-”
You turned around.
“Maybe we should exchange numbers… I’ll uh.. let ya know if I see him sneaking up behind you,” he offered softly.
-
Vince called you that night to apologize again. “I feel like such an asshole,” he said. You looked out your bedroom window and saw in the smaller window across the street, Vince was lying on his bed face up, tossing a ball to himself. “Hey, so, curfew sucks,” he said.
“Yeah,” you agreed.
“You wanna hang out or somethin’?” he asked.
Your heart raced. You did want the company, even though the prospect of hanging out with Vince made your tummy all nervous.
There was a stretch of silence so long that he stopped tossing the ball and asked, “You there?”
“Uh, yeah,” you said.
“Yeah you’re there, or yeah you wanna hang out?” he asked. “It’s not gonna hurt my feelings if you wanna get killed by ghostface instead,” he teased. Then added, “Still too soon?”
You agreed to hang out.
He came over to your place and you watched a movie. He kept a respectable distance on the sofa, and you shared an ottoman. Toward the very end of the movie, his foot began to rub yours. As soon as the credits rolled, you said you had to go to sleep. It took you at least two hours to get to sleep that night, because you were giddy. Bad boy Vince exchanging numbers with you? Asking you to hang out? Playing footsie with you? He was so fucking hot, you could barely wrap your head around it. Not because you didn’t consider yourself in his league, just because it was wild that he’d been so hot all along, and you had to see it up close.
He came over again, and made a move earlier on in the evening. He gently pinched your chin, lifted your face toward yours, then kissed you on the lips. He pulled back, looked in your eyes, smiled at your mouth, and his eyes darkened with lust as he went in for a deeper kiss. You didn’t watch the movie at all. You made out on the couch, rubbing against each other. It ebbed and flowed from slow and soft to hot and heavy where you could feel how big and hard his cock was. His hands felt like heaven on your body, groping you over the clothes in a patient, graceful way.
Your infatuation with him was growing so strong so fast that you were afraid to really hook up with him because the hormones would do you in. You knew yourself–you couldn’t fuck a guy without getting attached, and you weren’t sure he was someone you should get attached to. So you always made an excuse to cut things short. He would give a knowing smile, plant one last kiss, and go along with whatever your story was – either you needed to go to bed, or to the bathroom, then sat further apart when you got back. He never punished you for it. It turned into a fun game:
The second night, he went home and jacked off. You could see him through the window. The third night, you stood shirtless in view of your bedroom window and watched him slowly stroke himself. It was a sexy game you were more than happy to play.
It never occurred to you that someone else might be watching.
One night, things had gotten extra steamy on your living room sofa. You were down to your panties and t-shirt, and Vince had his shirt and belt off. You were feeling him over his pants, then he was grinding into you like mad, making your cunt twitch. He sucked your neck, rutted against you, and your clit throbbed harder until you came with a little gasp. Vince pulled away to look at your face, and his own face was flushed pink with heat and desire. His hand plunged into your pants and you stopped him.
He smiled and looked you in the eyes. “Afraid of how bad you want me?” he asked, abandoning his efforts to get in your pants.
You smiled and pinched your eyes shut, “Maybe.”
“Yeah?” that irresistible little smile spread under his mustache, he pressed his mouth to your neck and teased, “You should be,” with a smile you could hear.
-
The next day, Vince called you, and instead of inviting himself over or inviting you to his place, he said, “Look… I’ve got a problem here.” You could hear the smile in his voice.
“What?” you asked playfully.
“Goddd, I want you so fucking bad,” he admitted.
“Oh my goshh,” you giggled. “I know, I want you too.”
“Yeah, so…there’s a good chance I’m gonna keep trying to fuck you. A really good chance. Like 100% actually.”
You laughed, “Okay.”
“So just keep that in mind, okay?”
“Yeah,” you agreed.
“Alright, I’m gonna jack off and go to bed,” he said.
You were disappointed at the lack of invitation but couldn’t blame him.
-
That was the night.
Your first night alone in about a week. The first night Vince went to bed early and wasn’t watching you.
Ghostface moved through your apartment like he owned the place. He was so imposing up close. The way he loomed over you… the way his gloved hand dwarfed your jaw… The way he manhandled you.
He brought his own rope. It was a slim diameter, 6mm, with seemingly endless length.
“Time to put that good girl act to the test,” Ghostface announced in his trademark voice, holding up the bundle of rope in one hand, and his knife in the other. “Think you can be a good girl for me?”
“Please don’t kill me,” you begged.
“Okay,” Ghostface agreed, “I won’t.. until you ask me to.”
A pit opened in your stomach.
The hulking man was meticulous in how he wrapped the rope around you. His gloves were fitted and allowed his fingers to be nimble. He had done this before. He took pleasure in the design he made with the ropes and the knots. He dragged his gloved hands along the edges of the rope, satin gliding over your skin as he admired his work.
Your breasts were completely exposed, and their shape was flattered by the way the knot plunged down over your sternum, the way the rope hugged the outside curve of your breasts.
You struggled as he tied your hands behind your back.
“No use trying, buttercup,” Ghostface said. “Save your energy for later. You’ll need it.”
Ghostface was fully robed, looming massively over your naked body on the kitchen table as he continued roping you up. He looped the rope around your back, then laid you down flat. He used his hands to spread your thighs and press them toward your torso in a deep mating press, and tied you like that, looped twice. He finished tying you up like a neat little package. Like a slab of mouth-watering honeybaked ham in a net of butcher’s twine.
He positioned you to face the window, and you were so embarrassed, you could have cried. He was making a full-on, backlit art installation out of this, like your apartment was a shadowbox. Your thighs were spread open, held to your chest, and your cunt was on full display for Vince.
“Now sit tight,” Ghostface said as he tightened a knot.
A light came on in Vince’s bedroom and your heart pounded. You prayed he would look out the window. He could save your life with a discreet phone call. You’d rather die of humiliation than be killed by Ghostface.
Your phone rang, and your excitement soon turned to nervousness. If Vince had seen you, you clearly couldn’t answer the phone. What were you going to do about a phone call?
Ghostface answered.
“Hello, Vincent.”
Your heart swelled at the thought of Vince being willing to take on Ghostface for you. Maybe he had called to intimidate the man.
Ghostface said, “Oh, she can't come to the phone right now. She's a little…tied up.”
“Vince!” You yelled in the background. “Call the police!”
“Yeah, call the police,” Ghostface said, then added with a darker bite, “and I’ll slit her throat right now.”
“Vince!! Be careful!” you yelled.
“Aww. Isn't that sweet?” Ghostface asked. He said to Vince, “If you want her, come get her,” then hung up.
“That’s the risk of playing hard to get,” Ghostface said. “You never know when he might lose interest,” he shrugged. “And you never know when you might die…” He dipped his head and slowly paced near the table. “Now it’s up to ghostie to give you one last cock…”
To your horror, your loins heated at the thought. He was so big, so dominant. But no. No. Ghostface said, “I just need to take care of Vince before we get started.”
Someone knocked at your door, and didn’t let up. “I'm coming in,” Vince yelled, then beat down the door.
“Bad move, chump,” Ghostface taunted, then flew toward the door.
He stopped Bad Boy Vince right in his tracks with just one hand around his neck. Vince wasn’t small, but he looked small fighting with Ghostface. Facing the window, still on display, you could only see the reflection of their quarrel, and heard grunting, tussling, glass breaking.
Ghostface put Vince in a sleeper hold, then dragged him toward where you were and tied him to a chair, facing the sofa. Nothing fancy for Vince, when it came to the restraints - None of the artistry with the rope.
“Alright, polly pocket,” Ghostface said. He picked you up and carried you like a convenient package over to the sofa, then blindfolded you with a black silk tie. Ghostface sat down next to you, manspreading, rubbing himself over his robe, first. He seemed to be in no hurry, but soon progressed to squeezing his naked cock with his bare hand.
“Daddy’s coming, polly. Don’t waste all those juices on your sofa,” he remarked. “Time to stuff you like a pillow.”
Your clit twitched at the darkness in his words. He picked you up in your little package and helped you onto his cock.
It was thick and stiff, and you could hear him breathing. Then, a human groan escaped from under his mask as you sank down on his shaft.
You were stretched so wide by his girth that the burn brought tears to your eyes. It was a burn you hadn't felt in ages, and despite the circumstances, it tickled you with nostalgia. He was right, in a way. You’d deprived yourself for the past week, and for what?
You savored the stretch, knowing it wouldn't last long. And sure enough, your body welcomed the hostile intrusion of this killer's cock. With his big hands, he lifted you like a cock sleeve and bounced you on his cock. He was so strong, you couldn’t imagine you’d ever met him. He certainly wasn’t anyone in your circle. There wasn’ anyone you knew who displayed such strength. His arms had to be absolutely massive the way he wielded you with such ease.
He leaned back, grabbed hold of the rope over your sternum, lifted his hips, and thrust deeper into you, bouncing you on his cock while holding the rope like a harness, keeping you steady.
“I knew you'd make the perfect toy,” Ghostface said. “It's a shame Vince never got to feel you from the inside.”
At the sound of his name, Vince woke up. A look of horror spread over his face as he saw Ghostface bouncing you on his cock, with you all compact and tied up, just like a toy.
“What the fuck,” Vince said. “Hey!” He slightly moved the chair.
“You two have been giving me second-hand blue balls all week,” Ghostface complained. “But Vince likes what I’ve done with my polly pocket,” he taunted. “I can see it all over his lap. Oh, he’s hard… you should’ve taken that cock when you had the chance,” Ghostface said, snapping his hips under you.
“Alright, Vince. Whip it out. Beat me to the finish line, and I might even let you live,” Ghostface offered.
“What?” Vince said.
“Just do it,” you pleaded. “Do whatever he says!”
“Awww,” Ghostface picked you up on his cock and rotated you to face Vince, then sank you back down, pushing a little moan out of you. He took your blindfold off and made you watch Vince watch him, bouncing you on his cock, making your tits bounce.
It was terribly delicious, the way Ghostface stuffed you full of cock. You were gushing arousal to the point that it became easy for him to wield you. You were slipping and sliding up and down that big cock.
“Sure you don’t wanna play?” Ghostface asked him.
“No, I'm not gonna play, you sick fuck.”
“Well, that's a shame…. We would’ve had a good time,” Ghostface lamented. “I guess it's just as well. I was never good at sharing my toys.”
Ghostface focused back on fucking you and said, “Alright, home stretch.” He picked up the pace, used both hands, lifting his hips, bouncing you up with the power of his pelvic thrusts, watching from behind his mask as Vince watched you get defiled.
Vince was barely even struggling. He appeared to be spellbound. Frozen. If it didn’t feel real, you couldn’t blame him.
“Get out of here, Vince,” you urged him. Your words were broken by the cadence of Ghostface thrusting into you.
“We’re almost at the grand finale,” Ghostface warned, and the thought of him coming inside you made you see stars. “Well someone understood the assignment,” Ghostface gloated as you beat him to the finish line.
Ghostface erupted in your pussy and slowed down to fuck you through it. As soon as he finished emptying his balls in you, he lifted you off his cock and sat you aside. He tucked himself away, put his gloves back on, and caressed your cheek as he announced, “Now it’s your turn to watch a show.”
As soon as you began to picture Vince getting fucked by Ghostface, Ghostface said, “No, not that kind…
Poor Vince. He just had to come over. He just had to come be the hero. Didn’t you, Vince?” Ghostface paced around menacingly with his knife on display.
“Is that why you're here, Vince?” Ghostface asked him. “To be the hero and save the girl?”
“No,” Vince replied, and his defensiveness at this prospect gave you a twinge of hurt.
“Hmm…interesting,” Ghostface said, then spun around so fast that his robe swished behind him.
Ghostface closed in on Vince like a shark circling its prey. He stood behind his chair, caressed his cheek with the flat of his knife, then held the blade of the knife to Vince’s throat. “This won’t be pretty,” Ghostface warned. Then he broke focus and took his knife away to muse, “You know, I'm not sure what I like more… stabbing or throat slitting.”
He was enjoying this, dragging it out.
“Just do it,” Vince demanded.
Ghostface didn’t reply, only remarked to himself in delight, “Oh this is fucked up even for me.” He began to pace again. “It’s hard to beat the blood spray from a good throat slitting.” He gesticulated to one side with his knife, as if he was weighing the option. Then Ghostface walked behind Vince and said,, “But there's something about stabbing someone in the back.”
“Just wait!” you begged, “Please!”
“Any last words?” Ghostface asked his next victim.
“DO IT,” Vince yelled, with a neck and forehead vein bulging. He clenched his jaw, looked at you with apologetic eyes, then pinched his lashes shut.
Ghostface raised his knife, holding it like a dagger in both hands, and as he began to bring his hands down, you pinched your eyes shut. You heard Vince groan, but when you opened your eyes, there was no blood yet.
Ghostface looked at his knife, then at Vince, then looked at his knife again and tilted his head.
Meanwhile, the rope around Vince loosened, and Vince’s face darkened as his biceps flexed, and he freed his arms.
Ghostface looked at you and said, “Whoops.”
Vince took his switchblade out of his pocket and sliced through the rope that bound his ankles. Then he pocketed the switchblade, placed his hands on his thighs, and stood up. He was visibly erect in his sweatpants.
Your stomach twisted.
No wonder he didn’t call the cops.
Vince gestured toward Ghostface and said, “I gotta hand it to this guy. He’s a real performer. Apparently I’m not bad though.” He adjusted himself, then stretched. “OR you’re even dumber than I thought,” he mused.
“Why are you doing this?” you asked.
Vince squinted like it was a dumb question.
“That's the problem with girls these days,” Ghostface ranted. “They don’t know how to have fun… Because of woke.” He slumped his shoulders and shook his head.
“You’re doing this just for fun?” you asked with disgust.
Vince said, “Alright you little tease,” as he approached the sofa where you were still tied up in a little package “Ready for the cock you really want?”
You were getting sore from being stuck in that position, and your wrists were raw from friction with the rope, but a seed of pleasure still pinched at your belly at the prospect of Vince fucking you. You weren’t proud of it, but couldn’t help it.
Vince slid his hands under your ass and pulled you forward, positioning your hips for his convenience. This tilted you back so you weren't sitting upright, nor lying on your back. He held his cock in his hand and said, “Sorry… by the way.”
The wild look in his gaze sat behind eyes that were slightly watering.
“You don't have to do this,” you told him. “It's not too late.”
Vince chuckled darkly. “It's always been too late for me,” he said with a small shake of his head. “Just try to enjoy it. Okay, sweetheart?”
“Enjoy it,” Ghostface repeated, “Let yourself have a little fun for once.”
Vince’s mustache twitched with irritation, and he turned his head to look at Ghostface. “Can you let someone else talk for one minute?” he asked. “Get the fuck out of here.”
Ghostface held up his hands apologetically.
Vince braced one hand on the back of the sofa, then used his other hand to line his hard dick up. His brows knitted with desire as he watched the other man's cum trickle out of you. Your cunt was all shiny with arousal and semen.
Vince tapped his cock against your cunt, then nudged your entrance before sliding in.
If he hadn't entered you right after Ghostface, you might have said Vince was big. In fact, you knew he was big. You could feel it in his pants, grinding against you as you made out. But Ghostface had fucked you open to where Vince was a comfortable girth in comparison.
Vince braced his hands on the back of the sofa and let gravity push his hips forward each time he thrust into you. Then he'd withdraw just enough to slam back in. He accelerated into jackhammer speed, fucking you hard and fast with his balls slapping against your ass. He watched your tits bounce, watched you all folded up, rocking against the back of the sofa cushion as he pounded you.
“We could have done this the easy way,” Vince said as he fucked you.
He slowed down to hold one hand on the wall and fondled your tits with the other, admiring the way the rope accentuated them.
“Personally, I love hard to get,” Vince said. He paused, all the way inside you, to pull his sweaty t-shirt off over his back.
He was so trashy, such a skeeze. Your crush on him had masked it before.
And yet, something about his sleaziness made him hotter. Certainly not any less attractive, even as he was forcing himself on you like this.
“This is my favorite part,” Vince said. “The part where I get you.”
He smelled good. There was something about his pheromones. The shame of it made your skin hot, and in some twisted way, also added to the pleasure.
“I don't really care if you come,” Vince said.
Then he gritted his teeth as he sped up his thrusts, chasing his own climax. His hips stuttered, his dick twitched, and he sighed, “yeah,” as he began to cum.
“Guess it’s true sometimes…. it’s all about that nut,” he breathed. “God, men are pigs, aren’t we?”
Vince brought his face all the way to yours as he slid out of you. Then he kissed you on the forehead. Ghostface was nowhere in sight.
“You gonna keep your mouth shut?” Vince asked you.
“Yes,” you promised.
“You swear? You fucking swear?”
“Yeah,” you repeated.
“Cause he won't hesitate to gut you like a fish if you say one word,” Vince warned at a low volume.
“I know,” you said. Your heart was pounding. Vince opened his switchblade and freed your legs first. Finally they could stretch out.
“Sit tight,” he commanded.
“Thank you,” you said, with the cum of two men dripping out of you.
Vince took the time to dress himself while your top half was still tied up. Then he got his phone out and said, “Smile, gorgeous.”
You didn't.
“Smile, goddammit,” he insisted.
You managed to smile.
Then he said, “Now, do something sexy. Like, seductive.”
You were at a loss.
“Come on, make a kiss face or something. Look like you’re turned on.”
You mustered all your willpower and did it.
“Good girl.” He put his phone in his pocket, then sliced through the rope, setting you free.
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happy halloween, and thank you for reading! i appreciate your comments so much <3
The way to get more of what you want is always to show appreciation for the thing you just read. Sharing what you liked about it can help inspire more.
You decide to bake some cookies for your neighbor, a hulking orc who just moved in. You ring the doorbell and put on your best smile as the door opens. You cheerfully welcome him to the neighborhood. He seems dazed as he accepts the housewarming present, the box of cookies looking minuscule in his hands.
The next day you sneak glances at him while you water your flowers. He's been doing some cleaning and renovating and right now, he's carrying furniture out of his house. You think it's amazing that he can carry the heavy couch so easily and point it out in admiration. He almost drops the thing on his toes, his cheeks and neck flushing a darker shade of green.
That weekend you both end up on your porches at the same time. He freezes awkwardly with the tiny handle of the front door still in his hand as though he's contemplating going back inside. You invite him over for tea. He insists on sitting on the porch steps instead of risking breaking your weathered porch chairs so you join him there, sipping comfortably from your mug. You make easy conversation but you can tell he wants to ask you something but he's holding back. After some gentle prodding on your end, he finally caves.
"This kindness you show, is it because we are neighbors?"
"I make it a rule to be kind to others regardless of who they are but I do like getting along with my neighbors, so I guess you can say I'm putting in extra effort," you reply.
"Ah, so it is a human thing," he muses.
"Does it mean something else to orcs?"
He drums his fingers on his knee, looking bashful. "Giving gifts and praise are the way we show interest in a potential mate."
"Oh... I didn't know. So I've been sending you mixed messages?"
"I know humans have their own customs," he says sheepishly. "I am yet to get used to this friendliness. I was caught off guard. It won't happen again."
A couple of days later–because you leave the orc in peace to get settled–you're retrieving your mail early in the morning when you hear an awful racket. It would appear your neighbor has fallen down his porch steps.
"Oh my god, are you okay?" You cross the lawn your houses share to check on him.
"Forgive me." He sits up, looking flustered. "T-this too is human custom?"
He's staring at your bare thighs and your skimpy outfit. You're still in your pajamas, a deep-cut tank top, and a pair of shorts that are very short.
"Clothes?" You question playfully.
He shakes his head. "My apologies. I was simply not prepared to see–"
"Do you think I could be a potential mate?"
"Pardon?"
You smile at how polite he is and lower your voice like you're imparting a secret. "I may have wandered out like this on purpose. I knew you'd see."
He groans. "Mercy, please," he says. "I do not know what to do. I like you very much but I am unsure of how to act."
"We can teach each other," you offer.
"Then what would a human male do in this situation?"
"He'd probably take me to his bed." You give your neighbor a grin.
"Would you like that?" His pupils dilate so wide that his eyes nearly look black and his chest swells with each deep breath he takes, almost like he's taking in your scent.
"Yes."
He lurches up to his feet and scoops you off the floor, pressing you close enough that you can feel the thud of his heart.
"That I can understand," he says seriously. "I will make love to you until you scream in pleasure."
thinking about thomas being absolutely obsessed with you being pregnant <3
i think its universally decided that thomas hewitt has a breeding kink. he was, still is, and will always be confused yet overly thankful that you choose him everyday. growing up, he wasn’t too sure that he would be able to have a family of his own but with you—everything he thought wasn’t possible is now possible.
so yes, the first time you two made love he wanted to make sure the outcome ended up with you growing his child. and sure enough, it worked.
thomas was scared to be a father. the cloud of what if’s crowded his mind and almost completely took over his head. but at last, he has the most beautiful and perfect woman ever by his side and with you he always saw the bigger picture.
you helped him get over his fear of being a dad, assuring him that while he wouldn’t be the most traditional dad, your kid would still love him no matter what. it also helped a lot that you went around calling him big daddy or something along those lines.
after your first was born, thomas missed seeing you pregnant. much sooner than you would have preferred, you were pregnant again. thomas was over the moon and honestly if you allowed him to, he’d make sure you were pregnant every year until you physically couldn’t have anymore.
he just couldn’t help himself. as he held onto his first born baby girl and watched you cook with luda mae he noticed how you glowed, a soft smile on your face while one hand rested on your growing child and the other stirring the stew.
“can’t believe you done knock her up again tommy” hoyt scoffed as he plopped down next to the man. thomas smiled behind his mask, his eyes casting down to the baby in his arms. she was asleep, lips parted slightly, reminding him of how you slept.
he loved seeing something he created look so cute and innocent—no one would have expected this little angel came from someone like him.
“but i understand” hoyt sighed “if i was hittin that i would have a whole baseball team” he chuckled “she still good down there?”. thomas snapped his head towards the man, his once soft eyes now hard and threatening.
hoyt’s chuckles died down slowly. he knew joking about you wasn’t such a good idea with thomas around but its hoyt we’re talking about. luckily for him the man knew when to take a hint. he might think he’s the one who ran this family but he was still scared of tommy.
and now you weren’t just his wife, you were the mother of his children and he’d be damned if he let anyone harm you guys—family or not.
Tags • arranged marriage/marriage of convenience, angst, wedding night, power imbalance, dark Otto (sort of), mild slut shaming, mild dom/sub, teasing, spanking, p. in v. sex
Wordcount • 4,955 (no regrets)
Seduced to sin outside of marriage by Ser Gwayne, you find yourself with child. To spare your family and his own from scandal, Otto Hightower takes you to wife and teaches you obedience.
Otto Hightower Masterlist
Echoes could be heard all along the hallway in front of the Hand’s audience chambers, and you thanked the Gods and their small mercies for the fact that it was deserted, and there was no one to overhear your shame. Inside the room, Ser Otto Hightower was currently receiving your father and mother, as well as his own son, to resolve a matter that now resided in your belly.
Never in your young life had you ever thought you would find yourself in such a position, and yet your condition would soon be unmistakable. For now it was hidden, but in a few short weeks you would swell with the evidence of the life that was growing inside of you, one born of sin and carelessness.
The raised voices quieted for a minute, and you closed your hand more firmly over the seven-pointed star pendant you were clutching.
The large doors suddenly opened and Ser Gwayne stepped out—you took an eager step forward, but all your hopes sunk through your stomach and spilled at your feet when you saw the look on his face. It was cold and displeased. “I am sorry,” he said primly. “May the Gods bless you, and my child.”
“Whatever you mean, Ser?” you gasped, rushing after him when his long strides took him further down the hallway, leaving the Hand’s tower.
Despite your shame, you had been hoping for a happy outcome. On the evenings you and your lover had found refuge in hidden corners of the Red Keep, he had often repeated that he would not leave you in disgrace.
Charmed as you were by his words and his face, you had trusted him to follow through and ask for your hand, however months went by and he did not. Surely now that you were with child, he would have petitioned his father the Hand and your own family, and a wedding would take place.
“My father and yours will explain,” he said over his shoulder, barely stopping in his escape.
“Will you not wed me, then?” you cried out, and at that he had the decency to look ashamed.
“Speak to my father,” he said again, before disappearing down the corridor. Before you could rush to follow him, a hand took the crook of your elbow and pulled you back.
“Come, my dear,” your mother said, and shocked as you were by your lover’s behavior, you let her lead you into the Hand’s audience chamber. It was larger than you had expected, but you could hardly focus on the room, instead you were instantly struck by your father’s pacing in front of the hearth.
Standing proudly in front of an imposing desk, Ser Otto was looking calm but weary. “I don’t understand. Ser Gwayne said you would explain,” you could barely articulate, but forced yourself to address the man.
Otto sighed, gesturing for you to sit on one of the two armchairs that had been placed on the rug, facing the desk. Your mother helped you into one of them, then sat in the other one, letting go of your arm. You looked crestfallen, your shoulders shaking minutely while your eyes glanced between himself and your father, looking for answers.
“Indeed. The matter of the fact is that the young Ser is already betrothed, and part of the very handsome dowry has already been paid,” your father interjected from behind you, and for a moment you refused to believe what he had just said.
“I don’t understand,” you said again, sounding meek as a lamb.
“It means my son cannot marry you, my lady,” Otto explained, firm but not unkind. While he was not inclined to feel pity towards the foolishness of youth, he was rather ashamed of his son’s behavior and did not wish to see you burst into hysterics.
“Cannot or would not?” you cried out, reaching out for your mother again. “He made a promise to me.”
“Whatever promises my son has made to you when he—” Otto cleared his throat. “—courted you, are void and null, and he knew it full well.”
At that you brought a hand to your mouth to stifle your cries, and buried your face into your mother’s chest when she pulled you into an embrace, uncaring for the discomfort of two armrests in her way. She had barely said a word all audience, letting her husband speak in the name of your family.
“This is a disgrace!” your father raged, much as he had done for the past half an hour.
“Mind your tone, or soon the whole castle will know of our shame!” your lady mother hissed over her shoulder, finally voicing her concerns.
Her words seemed to trigger another wave of emotion for you, and you cried out—now the harsh reality of the situation was clear to you: you had brought shame to your family and possibly ruined their good reputation. “What will happen to me, then?” you lamented. “Will I be sent away in disgrace, and what of my baby?”
“Perhaps such matters should have come to your mind before—” your father admonished, which Otto interrupted with the offer he had thought of the night prior, already knowing of the matter from his son.
It had plunged his already preoccupied mind into more thinking. Surely Gwayne should have known better than to seduce a young, unmarried lady of the court and to lead her into sin, but he supposed such was the way of young men. He had once been encouraged by his own brother to sow his wild oats before marriage, however it was common knowledge not to dally with highborn girls.
Whether it was arrogance or foolishness, Otto did not intend this misstep to bring shame to his own family. It was grounds for dismissal from the king, and he needed to protect his integrity.
“I will take you to wife, my lady,” Otto announced, which made you startle and look up from your mother’s comforting shoulder—your crying abruptly stopped as you took in his words.
It felt as though the ground had vanished from under your feet and left you floating in the air, for you would have never expected this prospect. Surely the Hand could not mean such an offer, and yet he looked as serious as you had ever seen him, sitting on the throne and conducting duties in the name of the king. His long, angular face was titled towards you, and his eyes were kind despite the displeased set of his mouth.
“An arrangement has been found with your father. I will provide for you and your child, and thus both our families will be shielded from scandal,” the older man continued.
“This is the best outcome you could hope for,” your mother whispered, her hands clutching yours. You finally detached your gaze from the Hand—your now future husband—and looked at your mother and her pleading gaze.
Slowly, at loss for words, you nodded. Ser Otto did not wait for you to speak, and walked around the desk he had been standing in front of, then settled his hands on the backrest. “It is decided, then. I shall see you in the Grand Sept within the fortnight, my lady.”
Your mother pulled you to stand again, even though your knees felt weak and you still struggled to understand what you had just agreed to.
“Thank you, my Lord Hand,” you exclaimed, almost as an afterthought, as you suspected you would come to be eternally grateful, when the shock would abate.
Women’s instincts were often correct, your mother had taught you, and you found yourself agreeing as indeed, when a fortnight came to a close and you wed Ser Otto in a private ceremony, you were utterly grateful.
Reality had finally caught up with you, and when you had realized how fortunate you were not to have been disinherited by your father and sent away to earn your keep and raise your child in shame.
He was a lot older than any prospect you would have ever considered, and you had to admit his presence and status quite intimidated you. He had the king’s ear and effectively served as his voice when the man was indisposed, which seemed to be more and more often these days, as his health declined.
The ceremony had been short and perfunctory, and your father had noted that it was a near miracle that no rumor had spread at court about your indiscretions and the reason for this rather odd union.
You supposed you had your lord husband to thank for this. Despite your worries, you intended to conform to what was expected of a wife. Ser Otto was your salvation, and you would not want to provoke his anger.
“I wanted to say again, how grateful I am, my Lord Hand,” you said to him as he closed the door to his private chambers after the wedding supper.
You had been too afraid to request an audience with him and asked what he expected of you, unwilling to compromise his offer. Nerves knotted your stomach, but you promised yourself that whatever he wanted from you, you would grant it—your mother had warned you that he might intend to consummate, as was his right.
No matter his expectations, you thought it would be better to be wife to the Hand and submit to his desires than to raise your child in disgrace. Court was ruthless, but poverty frightened you too much, as well as the prospect of your babe potentially being taken from you.
“There is no need for such formalities now,” Ser Otto assured you, unbuttoning the first few rows of his doublet.
“Without your generous offer, I would have been sent away in disgrace,” you insisted, wondering if you should assist him. However he did not go past his breastbone before he stopped, leaving his garment loose over his frame once he unbuckled his belt and set it aside.
You stood in the middle of his chambers, the carpet plush under the thin soles of your shoes. It was well-lit and warm, and overall comfortable. The bed was larger than the one in your room, with large, plushy pillows and thick blankets thrown over the footboard, and the mere sight was enough to make you flush.
Otto observed you for a minute, considering your position and your worries—your father could have easily demanded money from him and sent you to give birth away from the capital and to leave your babe behind to be raised with extended family.
Such was often the case when young unmarried ladies found themselves with child. Instead your father had requested that Otto erased the shame his son had caused, and he found a rather agreeable answer to such a request.
Despite your obvious naivety and foolishness, you were a sweet, beautiful young woman, and it pained him to know that his own blood could be raised far away from his concern. He would happily raise the child as his own and hopefully, teach him the values of dignity and honor his son clearly had not retained from his education.
If the child turned out to be a boy, he might inherit part of the fortune your father had made in his lands, but it would only be so if he had a proper parentage.
In the end, there would be another child with the Hightower name, and Otto took pride in it.
“It was particularly unwise of you to dally with a man outside of wedlock,” he finally replied, a bit harsher than you would have expected.
You knew him to speak the truth, still shame burned your throat and hot tears rose to your eyes. “I pray on my knees every night for forgiveness, my Lord,” you answered, your voice wavering.
Otto had to admit he could not decide if your tears endeared or irritated him. You seemed to accept your fate with grace and you showed genuine contrition, but he still felt the need to correct whatever was the source of your initial transgression.
“You shall address me as your husband now,” he corrected, not unkindly, and yet you felt properly chastised.
“Of course, my lord husband,” you breathed, eager to be agreeable to him.
Otto felt your eyes on him as he crossed the room and sat near the hearth, settling into an armchair. Even though you were now his wife, there was something rather illicit about your presence in his chambers, carrying what ultimately was another man’s babe.
“I must admit the surprise I felt when I was made aware of your situation,” he continued under your hesitant gaze. “Surely a young lady of your station would have been taught to keep herself from sin.”
Something akin to satisfaction coiled in his stomach as your breath obviously hitched and you gripped your wrists harder, crossed in front of you. “I was indeed taught. I have shown great disregard to my education,” you confirmed, your shoulders trembling as tears finally rolled down your cheeks. “I allowed myself to be led astray—”
Otto made a soothing noise. “None of that now, crying will not gain you any favor from me,” he said, knowing he was being more cruel than he needed to be, but your sweet face flushed with shame was delightful.
Nodding fervently, you took a steadying breath before you slowly walked up to him, yet did not sit in the chair across from him, likely waiting for his permission. He did not grant it.
“The sin does not lie only with you, but with my son. He not only risked your reputation, but that of my family as well,” he explained, to which you nodded again, seemingly eager not to contradict him.
He shifted in his seat, his knees coming slightly apart, and you thought that he looked more noble now than he had while standing, perhaps even more intimidating. He was a man expecting to be obeyed and you did not want to disappoint. You were already exposed as a sinner in his and your family’s eyes, you would not be a deficient wife as well.
“I would like to see what he risked it for,” he said, which sounded very much like a command.
The meaning of his words caught up to you and you nearly gasped out loud, although his request did not come as a surprise. You did not reply, instead lifted your hands to unlace the gown that was fastened at the side of your chest then at your waist, unwrapping the fabric that had been tightened to hide the budding evidence of your condition. While your belly had barely started to swell, your chest had grown tighter.
Fabric pooled at your feet, and soon your shoes were toed off as well, leaving you in a simple shift and stockings, and for a minute you faltered. The light of the fire surely did enough to show your curves through the thin cotton.
“Well, were you always this bashful, or has shame reined your impulses in?” he commented, making your knees wobble slightly and heat spread across your face.
“I know better than to succumb to urges, now,” you tried to defend yourself, rather weakly.
“This is an important lesson to be learned,” he admitted, and for a moment you thought he would leave the matter be. “Do you know the qualities I expect in my wife?” he asked, and the rumble of his voice made you shiver.
It took you a moment to find your words. “Restraint. Obedience,” you tried. “Dignity.”
“Yes, but not just,” he replied. “I expect her to fulfill the full duties of a wife to any husband…”
At that you knew he would not let you leave these rooms without taking his due, and resolved yourself to perform it. If your mistake had taught you one thing, it was that intercourse could be pleasurable, and you supposed it would be no different with your lawful husband. You pulled your shift up and past your shoulders, draping it over the armchair facing him.
Shivers ran down your spine and limbs as you were exposed to his intense gaze. He looked pleased, his eyes roaming over your chest and down between your thighs, and you had to admit that it incensed you rather. While you had certainly mistaken the lust you had felt for Ser Gwayne for love, you could admit to yourself that there was pride in standing bare in front of a man and provoking his desire.
“Do I please you, lord husband?” you asked, eyes cast down but the hint of a smile pulling at your lip.
“Come closer,” he suggested.
You stepped further into the light of the fire, your socked feet making muted sounds on the carpet, until you came to stand within an inch of his parted knees. Embarrassment and arousal both curled in your stomach, a loop of sensations that made your breasts peak and your core clench.
“You are a beauty indeed, enough to lead a man to sin,” he said in marvel. His large hand made its way up the curve of your inner thigh. “What promises did my son make, for you to give him what you had no right giving?” he asked with an eyebrow raised. “Your purity was for your husband to have.”
His thumb traced the crease between your rosy folds, once, then twice, then again until you granted him another shiver and shifted your stance, your feet coming further apart. Heat licked up your core, running all the way into you, making you clench.
“He promised that he would take me to wife, and cherish me, and that I would want for nothing,” you said with tears in your eyes, the promises now sour on your tongue. “He was—”
Shame cut off your words, or perhaps was it the gasp that pushed past your lips when Otto pressed the pad of his thumb at your pearl. “Tell me, little wife,” he encouraged.
“He was the son to the Hand of the King,” you replied sheepishly. “I was rather… impressed, I supposed.”
Otto breathed a contained laugh, the irony of the situation not lost on him. He continued his mindful exploration, dragging his palm up your belly, tracing the lovely curves of your breasts, then down again at your hips. Soon the evidence of your sin would show, but for now he could happily pretend you were untouched, and his to conquer.
You leaned into his hands instinctively, and he wanted to chastise you for how obliging you were, unsurprised that you had been so easy to convince.
“Eager, are you?” he crooned after you rocked into his hand, chasing the pressure of his fingers.
Your folds had swollen pink, wetness gathering at their crease despite yourself. It was undeniable that he knew where to touch you to make you tremble.
Without another word, he took his hands back and you bit back the sound of disappointment. For a moment you feared he would leave you as you were, trembling and shameful. Instead he rose, walking towards the bed while he unbuckled his belt and shed his doublet.
His tall, rather lanky frame was revealed, but his severe air kept you rooted to the spot.
“Show me how obedient you can be,” he said, gesturing to the bed, and you did not need a more direct order.
You stepped over to the side of the bed, but when you turned to face him again, intending to lay back and let your knees fall off the edges, he made a tutting sound.
You felt yourself flush, feeling rather chastised again, and a simple tap of his finger at your shoulder directed you to remain with your back to him, instead bending forward until your pelvis was pressed against the edge of the mattress and your cheek hit the bedspread.
It was silky and smelled of soap, but there was also an underlying scent, stronger and more permeating, that reminded you of the incense at prayer and old parchments.
Once again his large hands found your hips, his middle and forefingers dipping into the crease leading between your legs, his thumbs pressing into the flesh of your backside. The pleased hum that came next made you shiver in pride, all the more when he took his hands away, only to have them return to your round cheeks and press into them firmly.
You melted into the sheets when one of his palms, warm and soft, followed the curve of your spine and pushed down slightly between your shoulder blades.
“How delightful it would be, to mindlessly lose myself in this,” he commented, taking a step back, and from the sound of it, disrobing himself fully.
You fought against the urge to look over your shoulder, instead resting easy in the knowledge that he seemed to be a gentle man with a firm hand, and that you could trust him.
Your breathing picked up again when he pressed close to you once more, one of his hands finding purchase at your plush skin while the other returned to your most intimate place. A thumb pushed past your folds, spreading the moisture around, and then was replaced with what felt larger and heavier.
Otto noticed how you twitched when he ran the tip of his cock up and down the crease of your cunt, slightly pressing the tip of his length at your entrance, enough to make you clench around his absence. You gripped the edge of the sheet and parted your knees, angling your hips, no doubt to make the glide smoother, but Otto did not appreciate it.
“Do you truly think you have earned this?” he asked, his tone sharp and smooth at the same time, and admired the shiver that ran down your back. “After all, is it not such an indulgence that landed you in this situation?”
Tears welled up in your eyes, but you held onto your composure. “Yes, husband,” you whispered back.
“You will take what I deem you to deserve, and no more,” he said, to which a spark of heat burst in your core. You bit your lip, nodding fervently against the bedspread, rubbing your face in it to soothe your burning eyes.
Otto finally pushed further, heat spreading in his belly at the way your cunt stretched to welcome the head of his cock. It had been too long since he had indulged in such a pleasure, and he found there was nothing quite like it. Nothing could compare to this sweet heat, to the softness of your skin and the whimpers you were trying to contain.
He could tell by your trembling that you were holding yourself in place, and whenever he would pull back you would grind back, following his movements.
He started a slow rhythm, enjoying the gradual build of pleasure, never pushing further than the head of his cock, instead finding a twisted sort of satisfaction at your frustration. He longed for a full thrust, but knew he would find a deeper climax if he took his time. He let his hands roam your frame, delighted by how responsive you were, but determined to teach you the virtues of patience.
“Husband,” you sighed, your fingers digging into the sheets.
His resolve wavered for a moment and he allowed himself to push further in, your walls stretching to accommodate him. You whined and clenched delightfully around him but he stopped, pressed almost to the hilt, savoring the deeper thrust. He pulled your hair aside, which was clinging to the back of your neck, and was pleased to find that the skin of your nape was flushed. He resisted the urge to kiss you there, knowing there would be time for tenderness later.
It was obvious you were a creature made for pleasure, and that eventually, you would give him all he could ever wish for. However, it seemed that for now, you would need further guidance, as you decided to disobey him. Your hips angled away from him, your belly rubbing against the bedspread and he knew that if he were to look he would find it stained with your essence.
A sharp sound made you jump and yelp before the sting on your backside registered—heat rose in your face when you realized your husband had struck you.
“You will find satisfaction in what you are given and nothing more,” he admonished. “Obey me and I might be more lenient in the future, but not before you have learned your lesson.”
You whimpered, clenching around his length—the pressure made the spot inside of you burst with heat, and you grew desperate for touch at your pearl. “Please,” you whined, sobbing when it earned you another strike across the backside, your cheek burning in time with the throbbing at your core.
Otto watched as you rocked your hips back despite his warnings, angling them and chasing your own pleasure.
“I can see now that perhaps you sought out sin of your own will instead of being seduced into it,” he murmured, rubbing the spot where he had hit you, then pushing his thumb into it for the simple pleasure of making you squirm. “You will take what I give you, or be left wanting, do you understand?” he asked as he pulled away completely, leaving you empty.
You clenched, sobbing into the bedspread, and he soothed you with another gentle stroke up your back. It was only once you had settled that he pushed back in, his cock fitting perfectly in the warmth of your body. You sighed when he sheathed himself fully, finally surrendering to the pressing desire that burned inside of him.
He could see you quivering, desperate for more, but the rhythm he started remained steady and patient. Both of his hands settled on your hips, his thumb digging into the plush flesh where he had struck you, and he lost himself in the way you were clenching around him, struggling to stay put.
A rough breath pushed past his lips after a stronger thrust, and he knew his release wasn’t far. He forced himself to slow down, enjoying the gradual ascent, almost regretting that it would soon be over. You were growing more and more restless in his hands and it was incensing him.
His next few thrusts were sharper, more purposeful until finally he buried himself inside of you and stilled, shutting his eyes as his cock throbbed and spilled. His peak coursed through him in deep waves, made stronger by his patient endeavor, making his limbs shake and his core loosen.
“Husband,” you whined, high and pleading, a great sob tearing from your throat when he pulled away. Uncaring that he was being rough, he pulled at your hip until you flipped over, now spread on your back, your legs falling off the bed.
Looming over you, he looked as poised as he had earlier in the evening and you felt all the more debauched for it. He had left you at the edge and you wanted to weep, remembering he had threatened you to leave you wanting.
To your utter relief he pressed his softening cock back into you, his dark eyes looking down at you intensely. His thumb found your pearl and he pressed firm circles on it, encouraging you to rock back against his touch, and the dual sensation proved to be your undoing.
“Take it,” he requested, and the warmth in his voice was the final straw.
Your vision swam as pleasure erupted at your core, the knot of tension you had been desperately trying to soothe finally snapping. Shame burned bright behind your breastbone at being so exposed, but you were too grateful to care, and too powerless to stop the pulses of pure ecstasy that made your whole body quiver. You slapped a hand over your mouth and rode the waves, grinding into his touch until finally, you were spent.
As soon as you had settled again, he pulled from your body without a word. You expected him to turn cruel once more, perhaps chastise you for your lust, but instead he turned soft. He gently instructed you to lay still as he stepped away, and when he returned it was with a damp cloth. He wiped at the mess between your legs efficiently, mindful of how sensitive you were.
“What a delight you are,” he praised, and you almost startled at how unexpected the kind word was.
“Did I please you, husband?” you whispered, looking up at the ceiling in sudden shyness.
“You did,” he replied, soothing a hand up and down your thigh, then bending to press a kiss at the inside of your knee. You beamed, pride erupting in your chest, and you immediately started to wonder what else you could do to please him.
Otto left your side again to wrap himself in a long robe, and you admired the graceful way with which he carried himself. You did not give him the time to do the tie and instead jumped from the bed and rushed to him, reaching for the belt.
“I am glad I was not a disappointment,” you confessed as you tied the knot. He hooked a finger under your chin, and the gesture made you preen.
“It was not perfect, but we shall work on your obedience, within and outside of this room,” he promised, and it was enough to make your eyes flutter in anticipation.
You would prove to him, and to yourself, that you were worthy of this chance he had given you, and would work hard to redeem yourself. You would become the perfect wife.
Dividers and beta reading by @zaldritzosrose. Thank you for being awesome! Story requested by anon ♡
Otto Taglist: @thedarkwhisperstome @targaryen-madness
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