Summary: A new priest arrives at St. Thaddeus—severe, scarred, and terrifyingly magnetic. His sermons cut deeper than scripture, his gaze lingers too long, and when you confess your forbidden thoughts, Father James teaches you the difference between shame and surrender.
part i of in the house of our lord
-----------
The first time you see Father James Barnes, the candles are guttering and the church smells like old lilies and wax. The doors of St. Thaddeus never quite shut out the wind; October comes in on cat feet, tracing the aisle with a cold finger until it finds your knees. You press them closer together in the pew, hands steepled, eyes obediently down.
You know how to be good. You’ve practiced goodness your whole life: the tiny nod at “peace be with you,” the careful bow before the altar, the way you fold yourself into silence when the choir is a fraction sharp. You are, by all measures, a well-kept thing.
Then the new priest steps into the pulpit.
He isn’t what the gossip circle of church ladies promised. They said young with a little laugh, then corrected to younger than Father Thomas. Which could mean anything between forty and the century mark. But this one is not soft. He’s carved. The black cassock is severe across shoulders broader than a chancel door; the white collar makes a blade of his throat. His hair is short at the sides, longer on top—the kind of cut that would make the mothers sigh if it were any other man in any other room. A scar kisses his brow, a faint pale gash like a misplaced stroke of ash Wednesday.
He does not smile. He looks at you all the way down the nave with eyes so blue they might pass for holy if you believed God colored in people like stained glass.
“Brothers and sisters,” he says, and the microphone hums. “I’m Father James Barnes.”
The sound of his voice is a sin: low, patient, rough in the places where it should be smooth. The word Father sits in your mouth like a candy you refuse to bite.
His sermon doesn’t drift the way Father Thomas’s used to, gentled by decades into platitudes. He speaks about purity and intention. He talks about the wolf at the door and the sweetness of luring the wolf inside. “Temptation,” he says, “isn’t a test you’re given once. It’s a vow you take every morning. To fight. To turn away.”
He shouldn’t look at anyone in particular when he says it. He shouldn’t, but he does. His gaze finds you—a line across your shoulders; a weight. You feel it. You feel it the way a candle feels heat before flame.
You fold your hands tighter. Your body doesn’t understand the difference between shame and attention; it only knows heat. Your cheeks, the base of your throat. Lower. Lower.
By the time Mass ends, you don’t trust your legs. You kneel for a long while and let the people pass: the choir girls with their ponytails and perfume, the stooped widower who still genuflects as if he can bow his grief out of his bones, the mothers pushing small children like errant lambs. Eventually you stand. You tell yourself the lightheadedness is blood sugar. You tell yourself you have not been seen.
Outside, fall stings. The statue of St. Thaddeus is rimed with dew and a spider has made lace of his hand. You don’t look for the new priest. You don’t not look.
“Miss.” The voice is behind you. You should have known it would sound different without the microphone—closer, unamplified, all rasp. “First time seeing a new face in the pulpit can be jarring.”
You turn slowly, careful to let modesty precede the rest of you. Father Barnes’s eyes look straight into the hollow of your composure.
“I didn’t mean to stare,” you say, and it isn’t what you meant to say at all.
“Didn’t you?” His mouth almost smiles. Almost. “It’s all right to look at the person speaking to you. Especially if what I said made you…think.” He lets the pause be a gentle trap. “What’s your name?”
You tell him. He nods like he’s trying it on, like it’s a psalm he might set to chant later. “I’m hearing confessions starting Tuesday evening. If you’d like to talk. The changing of a shepherd…it shakes things loose. Brings old sins to the surface.”
You should say thank you, Father. You should say I’ll pray on it. Instead: “I don’t sin that much.”
“Then you’ll be quick.” He steps aside so you can pass him, and the scent of him—warm, clean, faint spice under something colder—makes you dizzy. “Have a blessed night.”
You don’t sleep. You touch yourself like it’s someone else’s idea, like your hand is a stranger borrowing your body. The thought is disordered and hot: forgive me, Father, for I have— You stop before you say it. You don’t say his name when you come, but you don’t say God’s either. When you're spent and shaking, the dark of your room feels like a confessional without the screen.
Tuesday arrives like a dare. You don’t tell anyone you’re going. You choose a sweater softer than sense and a skirt that could be called modest if no one noticed the way it clings when you walk. The church is mostly dead this time of evening, a handful of people like shadows and the red sanctuary lamp burning its little wound of light by the tabernacle.
The confessional is old wood and little brass lattices. You kneel and the air inside is warm, private, a throat you are sliding down. When the side door opens and shuts, everything in you pulls tight.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” The words are muscle memory. “It has been…two weeks since my last confession.”
“Take your time,” he says, and the voice is the same and not the same, gentler, unthreaded from performance. “What would you like to confess?”
It’s always been small magnitudes for you. Impatience. Pride, in the way you fold bulletins and wish other people were as tidy. Ungenerous thoughts about the woman who sings the responsorial like she’s auditioning for God’s Favorites. You say those things because they are true, and they do not touch the thing that is truer.
“And?” he prompts when you go quiet too long.
“And I…watched you.” You hear your own breath, the shaky thrill of being terrible. “During Mass. I watched you when I shouldn’t have. I thought about you when I shouldn’t have.”
“How did you think about me?” It is a soft question, merciless as rain.
“Father.” Your palms sweat against the leather of the kneeler. “That feels…”
“Shameful?” A pause. “Or vulnerable? Do you know the difference?”
You swallow. “I thought about your hands,” you say, because to say mouth first would be obvious. “I thought about your voice, the way it—how it sounded when you said ‘temptation.’ I thought about the collar.” You stop. You are not brave enough to admit you imagined the opposite: his throat bare, his mouth saying nothing at all.
The screen is old lattice. You can’t see him; you can feel him. A shift; a hand resting on the thin wood between you. He doesn’t move it toward you—he only lets you know it’s there, a presence like a held breath.
“And what did you do with those thoughts?” His tone is neutral, delicately priestly. “Did you pray? Did you put them aside?”
You tell him the truth because lying here would be cowardice of the lowest order. “I touched myself.”
For a long moment there is only the small ticking of the sanctuary lamp, the shuffle of someone lighting a candle on the far side of the church. You breathe and wait to be ruined.
His voice, when it comes, is quiet and made of iron. “And did you say my name when you did?”
Your head hits the wooden partition, a soft thud. “No.”
“Good.” His exhale is slow, like something being sheathed. “Then you can still be saved.”
Saved. The word floats between you, perfumed and terrible. You don’t ask what it means.
“Say an Act of Contrition,” he tells you, and you begin, obedient. He waits, patient, and when you falter over I firmly intend, with Your help, his hand presses once—a warning, a benediction, you cannot tell. He gives you penance like a ribbon around your throat: three Hail Marys and a fast from sugar for a week. He absolves you. His voice is the entire sky.
When you emerge, the nave is empty. You don’t look around. You don’t need to—he is beside the confessional, in the dim, a tall dark cutout from the shadows.
“Walk with me,” he says.
You do.
He doesn’t go farther than the side altar. The statue of Our Lady looks down with eyes the pale blue of a winter morning. The votive candles silver the lines of his face: the strong nose, the scar, the mouth you swore you wouldn’t think about again and already are.
“Temptation is not a failure,” he says, almost contemplative. “It is an opportunity. You said you touched yourself. That’s honest. Honesty pleases God.”
You don’t know where to put your eyes. On his hands? On the candles? On the small, outrageous swell of your own chest breathing too fast? “Does it please you?” you ask before you can make your tongue behave.
A beat. And then he smiles properly for the first time, and it is nothing like mercy. “It pleases me that you’re honest with me,” he says. “We will work on the rest.”
“We?” Your pulse flutters into your throat. Every childish catechism answer falls out of your head. “Isn’t this just between me and God?”
“God chose a mediator,” he says, and touches his collar as if it’s a wedding ring. “Confession is not a negotiation you hold in a mirror. It’s a sacrament. You will come back.”
It isn’t a question. Somewhere inside your belly, a small knot tightens and pulls you forward like a leash. “Yes, Father.”
“Good girl.” He says it so softly you could convince yourself you misheard. Your body does not mishear. It warms at the base of your spine. “Go home. Fast. Pray. And don’t—” His mouth curves, viciously amused. “—don’t pretend that pretending not to think about me is the same as not thinking about me.”
You sleep worse that night than you did before. You try to fast from sugar and end up drinking tea that tastes like penance. You try to say ten Hail Marys and you say his name between the ninth and the tenth and start over twice. It is a kind of worship, this failure.
You go back Thursday, then Saturday. You confess nothing of consequence and everything that matters. He asks questions in that calm way that makes you want to be obscene or holy, either one so long as it’s for him.
On the fourth visit, the confessional feels too small. Your breath fogs in the little space and the wood is warm against your temple where you lean.
“Tell me,” he says, and your body hears open. “What did you do after Mass this Sunday?”
“I tried not to look at you during the recessional,” you say, and then the truth: “I looked anyway.”
“And then?”
“And then I went home and thought about your mouth and the way your eyes—” You clamp your teeth on the rest.
“Say it.” A whisper, a blade.
“The way your eyes looked at me.”
“How did they look?”
“Hungry.” The word pours out of you like wine spilling over an altar. “Like I was—like you’d bless me just to keep me.”
He is very quiet. You press your knees harder into the cushion as if pain can negotiate you back into sense. When he speaks, his voice is lower but even. “Kneel properly,” he says. “Back straight.”
You obey. Your spine becomes a rosary.
“Good,” he murmurs. The little, sinful pride that flares in you is its own confession. “You will come to Adoration tonight.”
“I—”
“You will kneel,” he continues, inexorable, “and you will look at the Eucharist and think only of God. Not of me. If you fail, you will tell me you failed.”
He is making a game of grace. You nod so hard your hair slips over your shoulder. “Yes, Father.”
He doesn’t release you immediately. His knuckles slide once along the wooden lattice, a sound like a match struck, and you imagine it is your skin under those knuckles, your throat, the inside of your thigh.
“Say your penance,” he says, “and go.”
Adoration is a quiet room full of people trying very hard not to be hungry. You kneel, as ordered, and fix your gaze on the white Host in the golden monstrance. It should be easy to hold your mind there. It is not. It keeps sliding: the hollow at the base of Father Barnes’s throat; the way his hand looked curled around the edge of the confessional; the scar. You fight yourself for an hour and lose more than you win. When it’s over, your knees are a chorus of ache and you are worse than when you arrived—raw, cracked open, a mouth without bread.
He is waiting in the sacristy. You shouldn’t go there—no one goes there without asking. The door isn’t shut. The white cupboards glow in the dim and the vestments hang like sleeping kings. He’s in shirtsleeves, collar still on, black trousers severe. The sight of his forearms steals something from your lungs.
“Well?” he asks, and you want to cry or kneel or touch him with your teeth.
“I failed.”
“How many times?”
You stare at the floor like it might open and mercifully swallow you. “I lost count.”
He exhales, and it sounds like satisfaction dressed as sympathy. “Then we’ll try a different penance.”
When he comes closer, you don’t move back. You can’t. He is careful—so careful it borders on cruel—in how he reaches for you. He takes a strand of your hair between his thumb and forefinger and studies it as if he’s never seen that color before. “Do you know what discipline is for?” he asks, conversational. “It isn’t to prove you’re good. It’s to admit you’re weak.”
You are going to shatter. “I am weak,” you say, because there’s something in you that wants to please him even with your ruin.
“Good girl.” He says it again like a brand this time, and your whole body answers.
If the sacristy were ten feet farther from the sanctuary, if the door were a fraction more open, if a woman lighting a candle weren’t humming Ave Maria under her breath two rooms away—maybe the moment would pass. It does not. He steps close enough that you feel heat through cloth. The edge of a vestment presses your shoulder. The room narrows to the space between your mouth and his.
“Do you want to be good?” he asks.
“Yes, Father.” It comes out on a prayer.
“And do you want me to make you good?” He lifts his hand. His thumb touches your lower lip. You part for him without thinking. He presses your mouth open with that single finger and looks at what he’s done like a craftsman pleased with a first cut. “Answer.”
“Yes.” Your voice is a whisper scraped raw. “Please.”
He takes his thumb away and you are ridiculous with loss. His hand finds your jaw instead, firm enough to instruct, not enough to bruise. “Then you will do as I say. You will obey. You will stop trying to carry this hunger alone.”
He kisses you.
Not a soft thing. Not a tender thing. The first press is measured, a test; the second is possession, his mouth moving against yours like he’s fixing something that was crooked. Your hands, traitors, slip up to his chest, and the heat of him is an answer to every cold morning of your life. He licks into your mouth on a soft noise you’ll dream about later. When you gasp, he swallows the sound.
“Father,” you whisper when he lets you breathe. It sounds obscene and right. “This is—”
“Wrong?” His mouth curves against yours. “Then confess it.”
He steps you back until the counter behind you halts your hips. Somewhere outside, the floorboards creak. A man coughs. The parish is alive and oblivious. In here, you are being turned into something else.
“Turn around,” he says.
You do. Your palms land on cool marble. Your breath fogs the glass of a cabinet. His body fits to your back too well for a holy man. He gathers your skirt in steady hands, rolling it up over your thighs like he’s unveiling an icon. When his fingers find the bare strip of skin between the tops of your stockings and your panties, you shiver.
“Already?” There’s pride in the word he tries to hide, the sin of a teacher pleased by a diligent student. He strokes the inside of your thigh, slow circles that ruin prayer. “Open.”
You open. You didn’t know you could open this much without falling apart.
His palm molds over the soft heat of you through the thin cotton, and your knees nearly go. He has to put his other hand at your hip to keep you upright. “You’ll be quiet,” he says, a murmur against your ear. “You’ll take what I give you and you’ll thank me for it later.”
You nod, and he laughs once under his breath, not unkind. He pushes the cotton aside and touches you where you’re wet enough to shame a saint. The indignity of it makes a sound break from you anyway, small and helpless.
“Shh.” His mouth finds the place below your ear. He tastes like clean linen and something darker. “I know, little lamb. I know.”
He teases you until you’re shaking—light passes of his fingers, patient circles that never quite tip you over, the pad of his thumb drawing a liturgy on your clit. You press your forehead to the cupboard and try not to beg. He hums as if you’ve sung correctly. “That’s it. Good girl. Let it happen to you.”
You don’t want to be good anymore. You want to be taken. “Please,” you breathe. “Please, Father.”
“Please what?”
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you.” A scandal in his tone. The hand at your hip slides to your lower belly, anchoring you. The other dips lower, gathers slick, rises to circle. “Be exact with your prayers.”
“Inside,” you gasp, and he makes a soft sound like a man who has been waiting to be asked.
His first finger presses in to the knuckle, slow, patient until patience turns cruel. “So tight,” he says into your hair. “Of course you are.” He curls and your legs almost go out. He steadies you. “Again.”
You give it to him: a second finger, the stretch that makes stars ignite behind your eyes. He moves them in you like he’s learning an instrument and intends to be first chair by morning—curl, withdraw, a slow drag that catches someplace deep. When he finds it, you say God’s name without meaning God at all.
“That’s it,” he soothes, the thumb on your clit pressing harder now, drawing you up and up. “Confess it with your body. Admit what you are.”
“What am I?” It breaks from you like you might cry if you say the wrong thing.
“Hungry.” His breath warms your neck. “Mine.”
You come like a convert—sudden, irrevocable, altered from the inside out. Your mouth opens on nothing; your body bows. He talks you through it, low and steady: good girl, that’s it, take it, give it to me, breathe. You try. Your knees are water. He holds you upright while you shake.
When you can hear again, he gentles his hand, easing you down. He doesn’t leave you empty at once; he withdraws slowly, a retreat, and smooths your skirt with a neatness that feels like aftercare disguised as tidiness. He turns you to face him and your back meets the counter again, the marble unfriendly to your spine in a way that keeps you present.
He looks at you. Really looks—eyes on your mouth, your damp lashes, the red you can feel in your cheeks. Then he lifts his hand and places two wet fingers against your tongue, an offering you take without thinking. You taste yourself and him and the copper edge of the ring he wears—a tiny cross that presses cold at the corner of your mouth.
“Don’t pretend this didn’t happen,” he says, soft and lethal. “Don’t insult me with a lie in a holy room. You will go home and you will not tell anyone, and you will come back to me when I call you.”
Your body is a bell that has already learned his strike.
“Yes, Father.”
He studies you one beat longer and then steps away. The absence of him is a cliff. He wipes his hand on a linen that is not meant for that use, and you almost laugh because if you start you won’t stop.
“Penance,” he says, all priest again as if your legs aren’t trembling. “You will say a decade of the rosary for the souls of the dead. You will not touch yourself tonight. You will not say my name while you try not to.”
“What if I fail?” Your voice is hoarse, and he looks devastatingly satisfied by it.
“Then you will come to me and confess. And I will decide how to save you.”
You walk home like your bones are borrowed. The streets are cold and ordinary and full of people who will never know what a sacrament feels like when it’s defiled in your name. In your room, you stare at the ceiling and try to be obedient. You repeat Hail Marys until they blur into James, until every blessed art thou among women sounds like open your mouth, let me in. You are not a liar. You are a failure.
You fail.
You don’t touch yourself. You don’t have to. Your body hums with the echo of his hands, your mouth is still sweet with it. You dream with your eyes open and your knees pressed together like a last defense, and the defense doesn’t hold.
Sunday dawns clean. You take more care with your hair than is strictly pious. You choose a dress whose hemline would be unremarkable in any room but this one and feel like you might as well be naked in the pew. He doesn’t look at you during the homily. He looks at you during the elevation, and the heat in his gaze makes you want to kneel until your knees break.
Deacon Steve reads the Gospel with a voice that is nothing like Father Barnes’s—clear, bright, carved from light instead of smoke. He is broad too, but in a different way; his smile for the old widow is real and soft. When Mass ends, he catches your eye as if he’s caught people all his life, a habit, a kindness.
“Good morning,” he says when you pass. His hand is warm when he offers it for the sign of peace. “I don’t think we’ve met.”
You tell him your name. He says it like he’s tucking it away.
“Father James tells me you’ve got a fine voice,” he says. You swing your head toward the priest involuntarily; he is at the back of the nave, speaking to a mother with a toddler tugging at her skirt, his gaze not on you. Not looking is sometimes its own kind of look. “Choir practice is Wednesdays.”
“I don’t—” you begin, and Deacon Steve’s smile presses something gentle into the sharp place inside you that Father Barnes sharpened.
“Think on it,” he says. “We’re always in need of devotion around here.”
After the last hymn, you stay again until the church thins out. You wait until the candles on the side altar have burned to stubs, until the gold in the monstrance is a tired sun. When you go to kneel near the confessional, the door on his side is already shut.
You kneel. You do not pretend this time. You let your hunger be a prayer, and the slip of wood under your hands is warm as skin.
The little door slides.
“Bless me, Father,” you whisper, and it doesn’t sound like begging until the end. “For I have sinned.”
“How long has it been since your last confession?” he asks, the ritual as soft as a kiss on your forehead. His voice is calm; you can hear the edge under it like a knife under cloth.
“Two days.” Your mouth is almost smiling. It shouldn’t be. “I failed, Father.”
“How many times?”
“All night,” you say, and there’s no penance large enough to hold the way he inhales. “All night I thought of your mouth and your hands and the way you held me open. I tried not to touch myself. I did not touch myself. But I failed anyway.”
He is silent for a count of three Hail Marys. Then, very softly: “Good girl.”
You press your forehead to the wood. “Save me,” you say, naked in the mouth. “Please.”
“Tomorrow,” he says, deciding your life the way he decides when Mass begins and ends, what scripture is for you and what is not. “After evening prayers. The chapel will be locked. You will knock once and wait.”
“And now?” You hate your own desperation. You love it, a little.
“Now you will go home.” The smile in his voice is a sin you would die for. “And you will keep failing until I teach you how to do it right.”The screen slides shut. You kneel in the dim and let the sound of it become your new liturgy, a door in your chest opening and closing on his command. Outside, the bells of St. Thaddeus ring the hour. They sound like amen.
---
taglist: @iamthatonefangirl @houseofhyde @superbassbuck @54nboo @blowingbarnes @firingstars @chateaubarnes @its-in-the-woods @bckyslover @earthsmightiestbenders @barnesonly @colettebarnes @slutforsr @herejustforbuckybarnes @buckyfmd @sheriff-bodecker
want to be added? drop a "🩶" below or shoot me a message :)
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 4,313
Summary: You’re plagued by nightmares after Franco’s gruesome death and find relief from an unlikely source.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mob elements. Soft!dark!Curtis. Nightmares. Brief knife play/threat (in a nightmare). Reader is anxious and likely suffering from PTSD and probably a bit of Stockholm Syndrome too tbh. Dub con exhibitionism. Oral sex (f receiving). Crying kink. Fear kink. Unprotected sex. Rough sex. Chase kink. Praise kink. Prone bone. Breeding kink if you squint.
A/N: Heh. So. This happened. I swear, this man possesses me like no other. Enjoy 😘
PRIZED POSSESSION MASTERLIST
It wasn’t Franco in the chair this time, it was you.
Your wrists were secured to the wooden arms, so you could only writhe and cry as Curtis slowly stalked closer, looking every bit the deadly predator–the unapologetic murderer–that he was.
In the blink of an eye, he loomed over you–tall, towering, and terrifying. Slowly, he reached behind his back, and a moment later, he brandished the same knife he had used to murder Franco.
You sobbed as he leaned closer to you, gently tracing the sharp blade’s edge along your throat. Up and up, until the point rested just beneath your chin.
“Such a pretty, pretty prize,” Curtis husked, his eyes flashing dark and deadly as his hand jerked up, the knife going with it and–
You awoke with a terrified whimper, crying as you trembled in the darkness of Curtis’ bedroom. You clawed at the underside of your chin to make sure it was unmarred still, intact and unharmed–unlike in your dream.
Curtis remained asleep beside you, so close you could feel the heat of him, and it was an invitation that you couldn’t refuse, especially right now.
When you were feeling out of your mind with terror.
When all you wanted was to feel safe.
When you remembered, for a fleeting moment, the way your older brother used to comfort you in the middle of the night when you’d sneak into his room after a rare nightmare and shake him awake.
But your brother was gone now. They were all gone now.
All you had, in this moment, was Curtis.
Sniffling back your tears, and feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on you, you shifted closer to him. Reclining beside him, you curled into Curtis’ side, instantly soothed by his presence, by not being alone right now, when you felt so scared and off balance.
You listened to the steady sound of his breathing, focused on it with all of your waning energy and attention, and after a little while, it finally–thankfully–lulled you back to sleep.
When Curtis awoke hours later, just as the sun began to rise and chase the shadows of nighttime away, it was to find you fast asleep and barnacled to him.
Your arm was draped over his chest, your hand clutching his side and keeping him close. Your nose was tucked against Curtis’ bare shoulder, like you were seeking his scent, even in sleep.
If he was anyone else, he’d be charmed by this sweet observation of you, maybe even a little touched.
But he wasn’t anyone else, and he wasn’t any of those things.
What he was in this moment was pleased. Pleased to witness your attachment to him, especially when you were at your least guarded and most vulnerable.
It was a testament to how much he thoroughly owned you now, the way in which he had so fully conquered you–body and mind–that you would cling so sweetly and so desperately to your own tormentor.
A small smile curled Curtis’ lips as he watched you. It wasn’t quite fondness that had him reaching for you–consumed by the need to touch you–it was possession.
Because you were his, in every way, and this moment just proved it.
Curtis was gentle as he drew his knuckles down your cheek, watching the way your brows furrowed in response. Even asleep, you looked exhausted and scared, and it had Curtis’ cock twitching as he gently traced your features.
He laid that way for longer than he should have, gently caressing you and enjoying his possession of you entirely, before finally slipping from bed to start his day.
You couldn’t stop yawning as you made your way to Curtis’ office.
Sleeping and lazing were available to you at almost any time. It wasn't like you had much to do unless Curtis demanded your company, or much, much more than that.
Despite being utterly exhausted because your sleep quality seemed to diminish more and more with each passing day, you were so afraid to sleep and experience the horrors that awaited you in your nightmares.
So you persevered through the long–and often lonely–days, dreading the approach of evening with every fiber of your being.
Which is why you were actually grateful that Curtis had summoned you to his office. You needed the distraction–something to do that would keep you awake–even if you were sure that whatever he had planned for you wasn’t much better than your nightmares.
After knocking on the office door, you waited for Curtis’ invitation inside before entering, then pulling up short.
Because your pedestal wasn’t empty and awaiting you as usual.
Today, your favorite curved chaise lounge from the sitting room you frequented sat on the center of the pedestal, angled toward Curtis’ desk.
“Thought we’d try something a little different today,” he murmured as he rose from his seat.
He waited for you beside the pedestal, watching your nervous, tentative approach in amusement. Once you stood before him, anxious and unsure, Curtis held out a hand to you, helping you up onto the pedestal and then down onto the chaise lounge.
You were tense and trying to prepare for what came next as you perched on the edge of the seat.
This seemed to amuse Curtis further as he crouched beside you, setting his large hands on your thighs before shifting them to frame your waist and urging you further back on the lounge.
“Get comfortable,” he husked, his hands lingering as you did as you were told and reclined against the lounge.
Curtis adjusted you how he wanted, so you were laid back and facing his desk. His gaze smoldered at you as he removed your panties without asking before guiding one of your legs over the edge of the lounge chair, spreading you wide.
He shifted the long, flowing folds of your dress next, so that by the time he was done arranging you, your pussy was on full display, just for him.
Curtis’ lips twitched as you squirmed and shyly dropped your gaze at being so lewdly exposed.
Your breath caught as he leaned in and gently kissed your pouting lips, and then he shifted much lower to just as softly kiss your cunt.
You gasped as Curtis’ tongue darted out to give your slit a quick, teasing lick, your hips arching up for more without your permission.
That got a husky chuckle out of Curtis before he straightened and then pulled away. He rose to his full height, watching you for a moment with laughter in his lust-darkened gaze as you stared up at him, lips parted, and body as tense as a bowstring.
“Relax, pretty prize, that’s the whole point of this. You look tired.” Curtis petted your head, his touch so gentle that you couldn’t suppress the urge to lean into it, just a little.
It was instant, the way tears welled in your eyes, because it occurred to you just then, how it was a rarity for you now, to be touched in such a gentle, innocent way, and that you craved it–yearned for it–so desperately.
Sniffling, you tried your best to blink the moisture from your eyes and get more comfortable, urging your body to go as pliant as possible as you warily watched Curtis return to his desk and take his seat.
You didn’t trust that the whole point of this was for you to relax. That he didn’t have something diabolical or demeaning up his sleeve.
That that mean, devious switch in him wouldn’t flip at any moment, and then you’d really be in for it.
But all Curtis did was focus back on his computer and type away on his keyboard for a bit.
You were still on edge when his phone buzzed with an incoming call, and you jerked at the sound of it, your heart hammering as your startled gaze met Curtis’.
“Relax,” he reminded you with a quiet hum, and then he answered the call–which was clearly business related–and ignored you entirely.
The longer you laid there, begrudgingly comfortable as Curtis spoke softly on the phone, the harder it was to fight the exhaustion that lapped at you constantly, trying to pull you closer and closer to the treacherous depths of sleep.
It was that very exhaustion teamed with the soft baritone of Curtis’ voice that did just that–lulled you to sleep in just mere moments.
And then it was happening again.
The same nightmare, but in a different way.
Now it was your father in the chair, and you knew what came next as you watched Curtis advance on him.
Watched him reach for the leather-bound hilt resting at the small of his back.
Watched him pull the knife free, raise it high, and plunge it into the back of your father’s hand.
Watched the way your father screamed in agony and writhed in pain, begging and pleading for his life.
Watched as Curtis wrenched the bloody knife from your father’s hand and aimed it just beneath his chin before driving it upward with a brutal thrust.
When you jolted awake, you were screaming just the way you had been screaming in your dream as Curtis murdered your father right in front of you.
You were so hysterical as you sobbed and trembled, that it took you a moment to realize that real life Curtis was crouching beside the chaise lounge, his brows furrowed as he watched you.
Logically, you knew that he was the very reason for these nightmares in the first place–for your constant state of terror and distress–but you weren’t thinking logically as you collapsed against him, sobbing into his chest.
You weren’t thinking at all, you were desperately seeking comfort, and Curtis was the only source available to you.
“Shhh, calm down, pretty prize,” his voice was soft as his hand spanned down length of your back in one smooth stroke before ascending to start the journey all over again. “It was just a dream, you’re okay.”
You whimpered as you gripped the soft material of his button up, your body lethargic still as you sank against him even further, straddling his thighs, and so very desperate for his warmth and comfort. You couldn’t stop trembling as you squeezed your eyes shut against the horrifying remnants of your dream.
After a few moments, your crying died down to stray hiccups and sniffles, and by the time you shifted against him again, you were aware enough to realize that Curtis was now hard.
Your breath hitched at the realization as you slowly pulled away from his chest. Curtis’ gaze was so dark, it had you trembling for a different reason now.
Because he looked like he wanted to eat you whole.
He remained gentle though as he wiped away your tears. His thumbs brushed away the most recent wash of them, and then he leaned in and slowly kissed along the wet trails shining on your cheeks.
Curtis groaned at the salty taste of your sweet terror, and then he shifted so quickly, it made you squeal as he turned and laid you out on the soft throw rug across from the pedestal.
You didn’t resist as he shoved your legs apart and slotted himself between them. You just watched with wide, still wet eyes as he loomed above you on his knees and undid his pants. He fished his hard cock free and gave himself a few strokes until he was at full mast and lunging closer.
Again, you didn’t resist, in fact, you welcomed Curtis’ onslaught, spreading your legs wider and shifting your dress to give him better access.
Because this, this was the best way to chase the dregs of your nightmare away.
When Curtis shoved into you hard, you choked on a keen, clinging to him, digging your nails into his flesh through his shirt as he started to fuck you in a feral frenzy.
Your eyes rolled, and then closed, as he filled you up over and over again, each eager thrust of his cock driving you closer and closer to euphoria and further and further away from the dreams that haunted you without relent.
It shouldn’t feel good, it shouldn’t. You knew that. You knew everything about this was fucked up–was wrong–but it was all you had. This was all you had.
Curtis was all you had.
And as he pounded into you in a way that had you whining and mewling and begging for more, you couldn’t help the fleeting thought in the back of your mind…
That in a strange way, it was like your waking nightmare kept the sleep ones at bay.
Later that night, as you curled close to Curtis’ side in bed, resting your cheek on his thigh as he sat against the headboard and read a book, you were on edge all over again.
It was nearly bedtime now, inching closer and closer to midnight, and you were weary down to your very bones, but you couldn’t fall asleep again.
You wouldn’t.
As if he could read your mind, Curtis spoke from above you, his free hand touching the crown of your head as he asked, “You’ve had chronic nightmares before?”
“No,” you whispered, part of you feeling ashamed for being plagued by something so stupid.
To someone like him, you must have seemed ridiculous–so terribly, laughably weak.
“I suppose it’s not surprising given your…circumstances,” Curtis hummed. “Tell me, pretty prize, what are you most afraid of?”
You frowned as you glanced up at him. He had set his book aside now, his full attention on you. And once again, he looked amused by you.
I’m his favorite form of entertainment, you thought.
And really that was your sole purpose for existing now–to entertain Curtis, whatever it took, whatever he commanded.
Shaking yourself from your sullen and self-loathing thoughts, you finally answered his question: “I’m most afraid of you.”
Curtis seemed pleased by this, but also, there was something else that flashed in his watchful gaze at your answer, something you couldn’t place, but it was gone just as quickly as it had appeared.
“What about me scares you so much?”
“Everything,” you replied without thinking. Your gaze fell away from him then, your eyes fluttering as his fingers began to gently skim along your temple, then your hairline next. “That you’ll kill me like you killed my family.”
Curtis’ touch on you stilled, then shifted. He cradled the side of your face and tipped your head back up his way, until your vulnerable gaze met his unwavering one.
“If I wanted to kill you,” he spoke slowly, intentionally. “You’d be dead already.”
It was ridiculous, given your circumstances, that a soft exhale of relief fell from your lips, but it did, and along with it, the ever-present tension inside of you loosened up, just a tiny bit.
“Then,” your voice quavered, and you took a beat before continuing, “Then what do you want from me?”
A slow, wicked smile unfurled across Curtis’ lips, like the devil’s trademark appearing right before your very eyes. He touched you more firmly now, lifting you up until you were sat beside him, and then tugged you against him entirely.
“This is a good start…” he rumbled before gripping your chin and pulling you in for a kiss.
It was easy to give in to the talented press of Curtis’ lips against yours. To the way he deepened the kiss without reserve and invaded your mouth with his tongue. He hummed in satisfaction as you gasped and then sank against him–both in surrender but exhaustion, too.
It was that exhaustion that made it difficult for you to keep up with Curtis’ kisses, made him pull away from you and watch you with a sparkle in his eye.
His tone was teasing as he asked, “You’re not gonna fall asleep on me, are you?”
“No,” you shook your head quickly, emphatically. “I don’t want to sleep, I don’t want any more nightmares.”
Your face crumpled suddenly, because of how truthful that statement was, how hard all of this was. It was like no matter what you did, or where you turned, there was some horror or another awaiting you, and you just couldn’t escape.
You could never escape.
You’d always be a prisoner–and suffering–in some way.
“I’m so tired,” you quavered, your voice breaking as you dropped your face into your hands. “I just want to rest. I just want to be okay.”
Before you could get too swept away by your grief and despair, Curtis was throwing his legs over the side of the bed and rising to his feet.
“Come on,” he gestured for you to follow suit before striding into the walk-in closet and disappearing from sight.
Confused, you sniffed back more tears, slowly climbing from bed. By the time you were swaying on your feet, Curtis had reappeared with a long, white nightgown in his hands.
“Change into this,” he directed, giving your short, lacy sleep dress an appreciative look before pressing the thin, gauzy nightgown into your hands. “Go on.”
You did as you were told, quickly swapping one garment for the other. The nightgown fluttered down to your ankles, fitting you in a way that surprisingly emphasized your body for one of the few conservative pieces of clothing that Curtis had ever given you.
You shivered as the cool air of the room easily penetrated the nearly sheer fabric, making your nipples pebble, and Curtis’ gaze drop and linger for a long, tense moment.
He hummed his wordless approval, licking his lips before taking your hand and leading you out of the bedroom, then downstairs.
You side eyed him, still dressed in just his black pajama pants, his broad, toned chest as bare as his feet as he led you through the kitchen, then out the sliding glass doors to the back patio.
You had to jog to keep up with his quick strides as Curtis led you across the back lawn of the manor, which was perfectly manicured and nearly as soft as the indoor carpet beneath your feet.
He took a sharp right that you had never taken before, and you gasped to suddenly find yourself at the entrance of the elaborate hedge maze you had only ever seen from the bedroom window and had assumed was another method he used to torment and scare his enemies.
Is that why he brought you here?
Before your frantic thoughts could spiral beyond that, Curtis dropped your hand, his voice a commanding husk as you told you to, “Run.”
Startled, you turned and stared at him, uncomprehending. “W-what?”
“I’ll give you a one minute head start,” Curtis murmured, eyeing you up like you were a prime cut of meat and he hadn’t eaten in a long, long time.
“I…I don’t understand,” you whispered as you took a nervous step away from him.
“I’m in the mood for a chase, pretty prize, so run.”
You swallowed hard, your heart fluttering wildly in your chest as you glanced over your shoulder at the dark path before you, then back at Curtis.
“You’ll just need to wait and see what happens when I catch you,” Curtis said, his nostrils flaring as he gave you the kind of slow onceover that instantly ruined your panties. “And I will catch you.”
When his gaze realigned with yours, it was so feral and predatory that it had you turning on your heel and darting away from him on pure instinct.
You rushed into the maze and took a quick left, then a right, another right, then a left, and it wasn’t long before you were deep within the tall, lush greenery, frantic and all turned around.
Despite your flustered state and fear, you were strangely excited, too.
For some reason, you didn’t get a sense that Curtis was doing this to hurt or punish you. He had seemed almost…playful. And you had given up trying to predict his moods and motivation a long time ago.
Speaking of, the sound of rustling close by had you taking off down a new path, your bare feet pounding against the ridiculously soft grass beneath you as you ran.
You were nearly winded when you took another turn and then pulled up short when you found yourself entering a courtyard.
The sight of the large stone fountain before you and stray benches was so out of place, so unexpected, that you were taken aback and struck dumb. For a split second, you also forgot that you were being chased.
So of course, that was when Curtis caught you.
He surprised you as he tackled you from behind, but as you both landed on the ground together, he rolled your bodies in a way that cushioned your fall and left you completely unharmed.
The impressive move–and his desire to protect you in some way–had you dumbstruck all over again and you couldn’t school your features at all, staring up at Curtis completely O_O
He grinned at you, still panting from the chase, then he swooped low, took a moment to meet your startled gaze, and then kissed you in a way so filthy, it had you whining as your pussy fluttered and clenched around nothing.
Curtis pulled back just as quickly as he had pounced, rolling you over onto your belly and blanketing his warm, heavy body over yours.
You felt him shift against you, then gasped as he tore your panties off before the spongy head of his cock was prodding between your legs. He filled you in one slow, savoring plunge, groaning as he buried himself to the hilt and settled into your tight, hot cunt balls deep.
“Fuck, I love this cunt.”
Moaning as you felt him throb inside of you, you dropped your head to the ground, fingers digging into the grass and fragrant earth on either side of you as Curtis slowly began to fuck you.
You didn’t resist as Curtis tugged up your nightgown, whipping it off of you and tossing it aside. Almost instantly, his lips were at your bare shoulder, and he took his time trailing a path of kisses all the way across your skin to the other shoulder before his lips moved up to tease along your ear.
“Do you know how good you feel?” he husked against the shell of your ear. “Gripping my cock so hard, so perfectly?”
You moaned in response, an embarrassed kind of heat flooding your cheeks as your pussy fluttered and clenched in response to his praise.
“Mmm, such a good girl, so fucking responsive for me.”
Curtis went at you harder then, fucking you in quick, deep strokes that lingered each time you whined his name or pleaded with him on a thready keen.
It was the way he dug his hand beneath you to rub at your clit just as he gently sank his teeth into the meat of your nape that had you cumming with a sharp cry.
Curtis hissed as you clamped around him so hard, he could barely move, so hard that you had him unexpectedly following you over the edge. You trembled and writhed beneath him as you rode out your own pleasure, your carnal euphoria heightened by the warm flood of Curtis cum flooding your insides.
“Mmm, love pumping you full of me, pretty prize. Take it all. Every. Last. Drop.” He punctuated his final few words with forceful thrusts that had him fucking his cum deep inside you.
Until you were panting and shivering as you sagged beneath him at last, completely spent.
Curtis sank against you for a beat, gently kissing the imprint of his teeth on the back of his neck, and only when he slowly started to move again did you realize that he was still hard.
And he wasn’t quite done with you yet.
By the time he worked you up to another orgasm, you were nearly delirious from being so well and thoroughly fucked.
You were mindless too, uncaring as you keened and screamed and reveled in the way Curtis ruined you with his cock until you couldn’t move, could barely breathe, and were thanking him just like he told you to as he spilled another creamy load deep inside your pussy.
When Curtis finally pulled out of you, you could hardly keep your eyes open, let alone move. You went without resistance as he turned you onto your back, shifted down your body, and sank between your thighs.
You were so fucked out and head empty, you literally couldn’t string together a sentence, let alone tell Curtis to stop as he cleaned your messy, overstimulated pussy with his mouth and worked you up to another orgasm while he was at it.
Crying as your exhausted body arched with your final climax of the evening, you whimpered as you sank back against the grass, sprawled and splayed, and covered in sweat.
“Good girl,” Curtis cooed at you, pressing a gentle kiss to your swollen clit and laughing as you twitched and whined as a result.
You were so sleepy and discombobulated that Curtis had to hold you upright once he helped you to your feet. You swayed and leaned against him as he dressed you in your nightgown once more, and you didn’t even remember the trek back to the manor.
It was like you were in the maze courtyard one moment, and being tucked into bed the next.
As Curtis tugged you against him, and urged you to get some rest, you had the most wild and fleeting thought…
That maybe all of this–going out to the hedge maze, the impromptu chase, and the very thorough fucking–was less about entertaining Curtis and more about tiring you out so that you could finally fall asleep and have a nightmare-free rest.
And you did.
🥺 I don’t even know what’s happening. This unpredictable fictional man is ruining my liiiife in the best way 😭
—
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Siri, I've been thinking about mob Curtis (yours, the awful but we still want him to ruin us Curtis). All these threats of showing you off to others, including actually taking you in front of his men. He does it to humiliate you and break you and because for him it's hot. But what if some of his men take it as a sort of invitation. A sign that they can humiliate you as if you were a free for all slut. Of course none dares to do it in front of Curtis. But when you're alone?
Maybe you've been walking from your bedroom to the dining room for dinner with Curtis, or to his office where he summoned you. On your way, one of his goons checks you out, makes some nasty comment and slaps your ass.
You're too scared to react, so you just quicken your pace to get to Curtis fast before the man does more. You don't tell Curtis of it either, thinking he would blame you for it, or that he wouldn't even react at all.
But Curtis reads your body language like an open book. He notices something is off. It's not just your usual tension and shyness. You will tell him what the fuck happened.
And what will he do after learning the truth?
Ramifications
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 5,895
Summary: It was only a matter of time before Curtis’ treatment of you inspired others to treat you the same way, but he’s sure to nip that in the bud immediately, and in a brutal and unforgettable way.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mob elements. Implied captivity. Non con groping (not by Curtis). Degradation and being called a whore and slut (not by Curtis). Knife violence (not on Reader). Death of a minor character. Brief mentions of blood and gore. Vaginal fingering. Oral sex (f receiving). Face riding. Unprotected sex. Dirty talk. Overstimulation. General angsty vibes and possessiveness.
A/N: @biteofcherry your ask was amazing and I instantly had this idea when I read it but knew that I needed to establish some things before we got here, so thank you for being patient with me and for fostering my obsession with this Curtis 🥴
PRIZED POSSESSION MASTERLIST
It wasn’t unusual for you to be summoned to Curtis’ home office, or for one of his men to escort you there.
What was unusual was how closely Franco Jr.–Curtis’ head of security–was following you. How you could feel the way he was leering at you the entire journey across the manor.
Another thing that wasn’t unusual for you was feeling a constant sense of fear. You were in enemy territory after all–Curtis’ prized possession to do with as he pleased–and there was nothing you could do about it.
But right now, as you turned down another long hallway and realized it was only you and Franco in the vicinity, and that he was so close now that you could feel his hot breath along the back of your neck, all of your internal alarm bells started ringing.
You hugged yourself tightly, tucking your chin against the top of your chest and keeping your gaze fixed on the floor in front of you as you picked up your pace until you were practically speed walking the familiar path to Curtis’ office.
You didn’t get very far before you were being grabbed from behind and shoved into the wall hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs as you sank back against it in a frightened daze.
“It’s cute that you think you can play hard to get,” Franco laughed as he sneered down at you. He was pressed so close that you could feel the bulk of his body through his expensive suit, and it felt wrong.
It still seemed like a betrayal each and every time your body gave in–and eagerly responded–to Curtis and his frequent ruin of you. Perhaps it was a symptom of his complete ownership over you, the way that it felt so abundantly, terrifyingly clear right now that Franco in your personal space was wrong, wrong, wrong.
Suddenly one of his big hands shot out, painfully gripping your face and tilting your fearful gaze up to meet his. His nostrils flared when you choked on a scared whine, trying to recoil from his hold.
“You really think any of us are buying this innocent act anymore? We can all hear the way you like being fucked like a whore all day, every day. You act so sweet and innocent, but you sure do keen so pretty when you’re filled with cock. I bet you beg for it too, you fucking slut.”
Your insides curdled at the truth to Franco’s words.
Because he was right. Your days were spent being fucked and flaunted by Curtis. He reveled in it. Putting you on display, using you, and sometimes in front of his men. You really were his prized possession–his human trophy–and there was nothing you could do about it.
What made it even worse was that there were so many times that he made you like it, made you beg for him and then thank him afterward for using you in such filthy, degrading ways.
So there really was truth to Franco’s words. You knew this was your reality now, you lived it day after day, but to have someone so callously speak it aloud, to rub your face in it, it made you want to shrink into nothing and disappear forever.
It made you feel so dirty and ashamed. It made you hate yourself, that this is what you had become.
Franco scoffed when your tears brimmed over, streaking down your hot cheeks and wetting his fingers that were still digging into your skin.
He leaned in close enough that his lips hovered over yours and made you cower against the wall even further. “Maybe once the boss is done with you,” he husked, “He’ll let the rest of us have a turn before we get rid of you, permanently.”
Your heart lurched at the very idea, but then Franco’s free hand was shoving its way between your legs, beneath your dress, and groping your cunt through your panties hard enough to make you squeal in pain.
It was over just as quickly as it started. Franco’s grip on your face retreated, and he tugged you away from the wall, pushing you toward Curtis’ office and slapping your ass hard enough to make you stumble.
He sniggered behind you as you regained your footing, hugging yourself tighter than before as you sniffed back your tears and tried to stop shaking so hard.
From the glimpse you had gotten of him and his mood this morning, you knew that Curtis wouldn’t want to deal with any tears today, so you made sure to wipe your face dry as you arrived outside of his office. You kept your gaze down as Franco opened the door and stood back, waiting for you to step inside.
Keeping as much distance from him as you could, you timidly stepped into Curtis’ office, flinching as the door closed behind you, leaving you alone with the man himself.
You should have immediately gone to stand before Curtis’ desk to wait to see what he wanted from you today, but you were still a little shell shocked from your encounter with Franco, and you weren’t able to shake it off before Curtis could notice.
He was nothing if not a shark able to smell vulnerability like blood in the water, and he rose from his seat and stalked toward you before you could even comprehend his approach.
Curtis loomed over you, his stoic face giving away nothing as he watched you, took inventory of your evident distress and the tears that still lingered in your eyes that you tried to keep anywhere but on him.
Having none of it, Curtis gripped your chin–his touch much gentler than Franco’s had been–and tipped your face up so he could meet your gaze. You weren’t sure what he saw reflected back at him, but it was enough to have him frowning as his brows drew together.
“What happened?”
“N-nothing–” you started to lie, terrified of what his reaction might be to the truth.
Would he blame you for Franco’s behavior? Would he follow through on his minion’s wish to have a go with you before disposing of you altogether?
Would this be the thing that finally set Curtis off in a way that you’d never recover from?
“Don’t. Lie. To. Me,” Curtis enunciated slowly, dangerously, as he ducked closer, his blue eyes flashing in a way that made terror skitter up your spine.
The truth spilled out of you without reserve then, your voice quaking and tearful as you told him what had happened out in the hallway with his head of security.
Just as before, Curtis’ face was mostly impassive, but there was the most minute clench of his jaw as you finished speaking that had panic prickling all along your skin and a wobbly apology spilling from your lips like your assault had been your fault, “I’m so sorry–”
Curtis cut off your apology with a quiet murmur of, “I’ll take care of it.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel, strode back to his desk, and pointed at the pedestal as he went before taking his seat.
Knowing better than to question the wordless demand, you scurried across the room and up onto the pedestal. Resisting the urge to hug yourself more–hide yourself away as much as you could–you forced your arms down to your sides and tilted your chin up ever so slightly, angling yourself toward Curtis to give him the best view of your still trembling body and the outfit he had picked out for you today.
The entire time you stood there as Curtis resumed his work, stealing lingering glances at you every so often, you stewed in anxiety, your stomach churning as you fretted over all the ways that what happened with Franco could be blamed on you.
And how, as a result, Curtis would undoubtedly punish you for everything.
You didn’t have too long to stew in your dread, because just the next day, you found yourself seated in a chair in the middle of the large meeting room Curtis often used for mob business.
You couldn’t stop trembling as all of his men filed into the room, one after another. The security team, his own personal bodyguard, and a bunch of others that you knew helped keep his outfit running on a daily basis.
Despite the way you kept your tearful gaze downward, you could feel all of the men leering at you. A few of them actually jeered, too. It took you right back to that first night–when Curtis had murdered your family before brutally assaulting you as his men watched.
Your insides roiled and quaked at the memory, and your dread was slowly morphing into terror the longer you awaited whatever was already set into motion. You curled in on yourself as you spiraled about what was going to happen next.
Would Curtis punish you in front of all of his men?
It certainly seemed likely, because why else would he have brought you in here and sat you smack dab in the center of them all?
Would he fuck you again as they all watched?
Your chest tightened on an aborted sob at the very thought. You didn’t think you could endure that kind of brutal, demeaning desecration again. Truly, you didn’t think you had the mental capacity to survive it.
And maybe that was the whole point–the final dose of punishment–to break you for good.
You closed your eyes and shuddered, quickly swiping away a stray tear that escaped, and then gasped as a warm hand suddenly touched your shoulder.
Your head snapped up to find Curtis standing over you, his handsome face somehow indifferent and stormy at the same time. The urge to cry increased tenfold as he watched you for a long moment, panic clawing at you from the inside out as you tried to predict and brace for what would happen next, what directive would come out of his mouth.
The longer he stared at you–and everyone else watched–the more frantic you grew, until you were reaching for Curtis’ hand that was on your shoulder and clinging to him as you whispered, “Please, I’m sorry–”
“Hush,” he murmured, his hand slipping from your shoulder. He held it out to you, an unspoken cue for you to rise to your feet.
Scared and confused, you accepted his proffered hand and stood. Swallowing hard as your eyes flickered between his, you desperately tried to read the secrets within those stormy, blue depths, the wicked intentions that you knew were always brewing just beneath the surface.
Curtis’ intent became no clearer as he led you across the room toward the long meeting table, then the head seat where he usually sat during business sessions. Once you were sitting in the unfamiliar chair and anxiously gripping the sides of your dress like a lifeline, you stared up at him, still clearly confused.
He didn’t give you an explanation or any further directive, just gently pet your head before turning away–and toward his men–his body tensing as he stalked back to the center of the room to stand before the now empty chair you had just vacated.
You could feel a wave of tension wash over the room, Curtis’ men instantly going silent and many of them looking as outwardly confused and concerned as you yourself felt.
“To my extreme disappointment,” Curtis began, his voice so strong and steely it had everyone around him standing at attention, “It seems as if you all need a reminder that you’re not to touch, or even look at, what’s mine.”
He turned to Franco suddenly, pointing to the empty chair before him. “Sit,” he commanded his head of security, his tone edged with something that had all of your hair standing on end as you tensed in your own seat.
The ever present smirk instantly dropped from Franco’s face. He swallowed nervously as he glanced around the room, but no one else–not one of his other peers or direct reports–would meet his gaze.
Straightening, Franco smoothed his now trembling hands down the front of his suit jacket before he slowly made his way to the empty chair and sat down. He anxiously gripped the chair arms on either side of him as his cautious gaze lifted to meet Curtis’.
Curtis sauntered closer, until he was looming over the other man. “I heard you touched my prized possession, Franco. That you’re real eager to get a go with her.”
“No,” Franco immediately scoffed, shaking his head. “That’s not—“
Just a raise of Curtis’ hand had Franco going silent. “Did you touch what’s mine?” Curtis asked softly.
“Y-yes, but I was just scaring her a little—“
Moving faster than you had ever seen anyone move in your life, Curtis pulled a long serrated knife from behind his back–the handle of which you hadn’t even noticed tucked into his belt–and stabbed it through the back of Franco’s hand.
The hand he had used yesterday to forcefully grope you.
Franco screamed and writhed in pain as you whimpered and covered your face with your hands to block out the terrifying sight.
“Please, boss! I’m sorry—“ Franco’s plea turned into a scream so agonized and inhuman, that you felt your stomach lurch.
Even with your hands covering your eyes, you squeezed them tightly shut, desperate to block out everything that was unfolding before you. Even though you couldn’t see what was happening, you could hear it, and it was horrifying.
You heard the sounds of a struggle, a grunt of effort, and then a strange, sickly wet sound that had your insides turning over. A beat later, there was a quiet sound of impact followed by a wet gurgle, and then…
Complete and utter silence.
It was so silent, it was unnatural, and only emphasized the way your heart thundered in your ears. It took you a moment to comprehend that you could hear something else too–Curtis panting–and then his rough voice loudly snarled, “I hope I’ve made myself perfectly fucking clear.”
After another beat of excruciating silence, Curtis shouted, “Everyone get the fuck out!”
You were trembling so hard, you weren’t sure that you could actually stand, but Curtis’ directive was loud and clear, and if ever there was a moment to obey him, it was now.
Slowly, you dropped your hands from your face, your breath shallow and difficult to catch, coming in quick, frantic gulps as your body was overcome by fear.
First, you saw all of Curtis’ men filing out of the conference room in a quick, hurried line.
Then, you saw Curtis himself, looming a few feet away, staring right at you. His big body seemed even tenser than before–his broad chest still heaving with exertion–and when he shifted slightly, you saw Franco just behind him.
Slumped back in the chair, dead.
Franco’s face was covered in blood. What used to be his eyes were now two sockets of gore that had bile instantly rising to the back of your throat. The long, jagged knife that had been pierced through his hand the last you saw, was now shoved through the underside of his chin to the hilt.
You started shaking harder, your face twisting in horror at the grisly sight. And then suddenly it was blocked from your view as Curtis stalked toward you, making you feel like helpless prey now more than ever.
But once you got a good look at him, you noticed that Curtis’ eyes weren’t wild or unhinged like you had expected. As he crouched before you, his gaze was calm. Placid.
Pleased.
When he cupped your chin, you felt Franco’s warm, sticky blood that coated Curtis’ hands smear along your skin now and the sharp smell of copper fill your nose.
“See, I told you that I’d take care of it,” Curtis hummed. “No one touches what’s mine.”
You just nodded dumbly, because what else could you do? Curtis had just violently murdered a man twice his size, in the most gruesome and unhinged way, simply for touching you.
And for some reason, in that moment, with the way Curtis was watching you expectedly, you knew that he had done this for you, in his own fucked up way.
“T-thank you,” you trembled, your breath hitching as you tried not to cry, tried so hard to stave off your terror and desire to flee so as not to have Curtis’ ire aimed your way next.
He smiled at your gratitude, and the beautiful sight seemed absurd paired with the scene that surrounded you both. The bloody aftermath of deranged violence and unapologetic retribution.
But you really were grateful in a sense–so, so thankful that all of this hadn’t been directed at you.
“You’re welcome,” Curtis replied. He watched you for a long moment, something familiar sparking to life in his gaze. “Now, why don’t you help me get cleaned up?” He drew his thumb along your bottom lip, his eyes flickering there and lingering as his nostrils flared. “And then you can give me a more thorough thank you for taking such good care of you.”
You didn’t resist as he stood tall and tugged you from your seat along with him. As Curtis turned and led you from the room, you were sure to keep your gaze fixed on the floor and far, far away from Franco’s dead body.
You were pretty sure that you were in shock.
The journey from the meeting room to the master bedroom was a complete blank in your frazzled mind. You were having trouble focusing on anything other than your paralyzing fear, and each time you closed your eyes, all you could see was the gory aftermath that had once been Franco slumped in that chair.
As you stood in the shower with Curtis now, naked and trembling, the one functioning brain cell you had left was screaming at you to get it together, to be good, to not make him angry.
Because you didn’t want to end up like Franco.
You tried so hard to focus on that one goal–to be good for Curtis–but it seemed impossible to get your body to align with your mind.
You just couldn’t stop shaking or suppress your tears of terror.
And to add to your complete shock and disorientation–Curtis was being surprisingly gentle with you as he finished rinsing Franco’s blood from both your bodies before tugging you flush against him.
As he hummed in content and nuzzled along your neck, it had a memory from your childhood surfacing out of nowhere, of the aloof guard dog your father had lethally trained as a method of defense that would viciously tear apart other small animals, then seek you out for love and affection after.
That’s what Curtis reminded you of now, as he dragged his lips along your hairline, his big hands gently cupping your bare ass as his hips rocked and pressed the hard steel of his cock against your belly.
You couldn’t help but think that in some weird way, he was using intimacy with you to recalibrate after murdering Franco.
It didn’t really matter one way or another, all you knew for sure was that you were trying your best to keep your terror at bay and be as compliant as possible as not to incur Curtis’ wrath.
Despite your efforts, Curtis was smart and observant, and he obviously picked up on your fear and overwhelm.
“You’re trembling so hard, pretty prize,” he husked as he cradled the side of your face and made you meet his gaze. As a few tears finally escaped and streaked down your cheeks, Curtis groaned, licking his lips as he leaned in to murmur, “I can tell by the way you so sweetly hid your face back there, that you’re probably not used to witnessing that kind of violence, huh?”
You shook your head quickly, an involuntary whimper spilling past your lips as the grisly remains of Franco flashed through your mind.
“Your father never read you into any of his business dealings?”
“No, never,” you whispered.
“Mmm, he probably wanted to preserve that soft heart of yours.” Curtis’ grip on your face shifted, his head moving closer as his thumb tugged down your bottom lip. “My prized possession isn’t just pretty, she’s so fucking innocent too, isn’t she?”
He didn’t give you a chance to answer before he kissed you. It was as possessive as ever, but there was also a…not hesitance, but curiosity to it, like Curtis was holding back to see how you would respond to him, especially in this moment.
It’s a test, your frantic mind screamed, and you knew you needed to pass it–to please Curtis–to keep yourself unharmed, to keep yourself alive.
You never really resisted Curtis’ kisses–or general advances–you weren’t stupid. But you never initiated anything with him either, and you just couldn’t shake the feeling that that’s what he wanted right now. Maybe it was his way of seeing how grateful you really were, that he had so brutally murdered your assaulter.
That he had “taken care of you.”
He had mentioned before wanting a thorough thank you after all, and now you knew he meant it.
So the next time Curtis’ lips left yours for a brief second, you chased his retreat, kissing him now as you pressed closer and clung to his shoulders, offering yourself up to him in this new way.
He groaned at the small show of supplication–of desire for him–kissing you more fiercely as he framed your face between his hands and licked his way into your mouth.
You knew that Curtis Everett was a bad man. You, better than anyone, knew what he was capable of.
But as he all but devoured you now, you had never felt such an intensely feral need directed your way. Something about his shameless, ardent desire for you made it easy to pretend that you wanted this.
When Curtis' hand found its way between your legs and his fingers started to trace soft circles against your clit, you didn’t need to pretend anymore, because it felt so good, and that–feeling good–felt so much better than being terrified and constantly on edge.
So you chased that feeling now, your body finally syncing up with your mind and spreading your legs enough to give Curtis’ hand more room to work. You gasped as he did just that, rocking your hips against his touch and meeting his dark, lustful gaze for a beat.
And then he was rearing close and once again kissing you with the kind of passion that genuinely stole your breath away. That had your knees buckling and your hands clinging to his shoulders to remain upright. That had you mewling into his mouth and tasting his primal groan as his tongue danced with yours.
Maybe it made you a terrible person, but this–this desperate kind of intimacy with Curtis–was such a welcomed reprieve from the horrors of a little while ago, that you gave into it completely.
You gave into Curtis completely.
And your sweet compliancy only seemed to rile him up even more.
He had you out of the shower and into the bedroom so quickly your head spun. But you just melted under his touch–surrendering to him even more–as he guided you onto the bed, then rolled you over onto your belly.
With each new press of Curtis’ lips against your back, you gasped, fingers curling into the blankets as you squirmed beneath the heavy weight of his body on top of yours.
You had a wild thought as his lips planted against your bare shoulder, that this felt close to worship, but you knew that Curtis wasn’t capable of that, especially with you.
That didn’t seem to stem his onslaught though, it was like he was determined to kiss and taste every inch of your skin—like it was a territory for him solely to claim—and all you could do was endure his passion.
Until you were as worked up as he was—the two of you feeding off of each other’s desperate, needy energy and responsiveness to one another—and you were whining into the mattress when his fingers teased along your slit before quickly moving away.
Curtis huffed a quiet laugh before rumbling, “On your knees, pretty prize.”
When you just blinked at him over your shoulder, so obviously dazed and uncomprehending, he grinned. It was a wolfish flash of white teeth before he himself urged your knees beneath you, allowing you to keep your shoulders and head down as he nudged your legs wide open.
You shivered as the cool air of the room touched the warm, weepy place between your thighs, and then you keened in surprise when Curtis suddenly leaned in and licked a broad stripe up your slit.
He groaned his own delight into your folds, his fingers digging into your ass cheeks and holding you spread open for his devouring of you. And devour you he did. He went at you relentlessly, his tongue lapping and laving, his lips teasing and sucking, until you were eagerly shoving back against his face and panting his name, begging for more in a way so sweet and desperate that he let you cum on his tongue with hardly any pleading at all.
“Yesss,” you breathed, writhing in ecstasy as you rode out the wave of your pleasure, before moaning in appreciation as Curtis shoved his tongue into your fluttering hole as his fingers rubbed your clit to another quick orgasm.
“You always taste so good,” he groaned once he pulled away, his voice low and smoky in a way that made your insides swoop. “I want more of you, get over here.”
Your boneless body was easy for Curtis to maneuver how he wanted, and soon he had you perched over his bearded face and gripping the headboard as you watched him return to enthusiastically eating out your cunt.
Something about this position had you burning up from the inside out, a kind of mindless want and need you had never felt before taking over as you gripped the headboard with one hand and tentatively reached for Curtis’ buzzed head with the other.
Your soft touch had his blazing eyes lifting to meet yours from between your thighs, and he held your gaze–shameless and challenging you to do the same–as he filled your cunt with three of his fingers and fucked you with them as he sucked at your clit without relent.
The sound that spilled from your lips was pornographic, but you couldn’t even be embarrassed, because it felt so good. You gripped Curtis’ head harder, your own falling back in ecstasy as you rocked against him. Gasping his name, you encouraged the exploration of his tongue as that twine of need inside of you pulled tauter and tauter with every masterful flick and thrust, every lap and stroke.
Curtis didn’t stop feasting on your pussy until you came for him again, nearly purring at the creamy mess you left all over his face as a result of your pleasure before you collapsed beside him, still gasping and panting for breath.
“I need to be inside you,” he breathed, rolling you onto your side and pressing his font along your back.
By the time his cock caught along your wet, messy hole, you were nearly on your belly again, but you didn’t care, you wanted to be filled as much as Curtis wanted to fill you.
“Please,” you whispered shamelessly, fingers curling against the headboard as you pressed back against him, your body desperately seeking more.
“Such a good girl, begging for my cock,” Curtis groaned. He sounded truly pleased, and it had your belly fluttering before the feel of his cock slowly sliding into you stole all of your attention and had your brain short circuiting more and more with each hard, thick inch that filled you.
You gave a broken cry of ecstasy when Curtis bottomed out with a hard rut, panting into the pillows as your cunt strained and fluttered, gripping his length hard enough to make him grunt.
“Fuck, you want it so bad, don’t you?”
You whined in response, your head spinning as your body went haywire at all of the sensations overwhelming you. Your cunt felt so full but you still needed more. Your nipples were hard and aching, your clit puffy and throbbing, and you swore your body was a livewire, waiting to catch and burn up entirely at any moment.
All of that only intensified tenfold when Curtis started to move. The slow drag of his cock retreating from the deep depths of your cunt had you moaning without reserve. When he thrusted back into you hard and fast, rocking your body up the bed, you keened. He paused then, and you mewled, grinding back against him, desperate for more of him, making Curtis laugh quietly before he gave you what you so obviously wanted.
You relished in another hard, deep stroke, before squealing as Curtis grabbed you and set you on your hands and knees properly.
And then he went to town.
All you could do was take it as he fucked you hard and fast, the sound of skin slapping echoing loudly around the room. Soon the wet, squelching sounds of your pussy eagerly swallowing Curtis hard cock over and over again joined the sinful symphony rising up around you, and you couldn’t even be embarrassed, because you were so lost to your pleasure, and so close to cumming again.
When your orgasm finally crested, your arms gave out, and you collapsed onto the bed, distantly aware of Curtis’ big, strong hands gripping your hips to keep your ass up so he could continue to pound into you, chasing his own release now.
He came with a shout not long after, and you gasped as you felt the warm bloom of his cum inside of you, felt his cock twitching and jumping as he pumped your pussy full of his cream until your greedy body milked him of every last drop.
Still dazed and boneless, you moaned as Curtis slowly pulled out of you, feeling the gush of his seed trickle out of your pussy, and squirming as you felt his gaze watching the sinful sight.
He gave a quiet, boyish laugh before panting, “I’m still fucking hard for you,” and before you knew it, you were being flipped onto your back, and Curtis was sinking between your sprawled legs, slowly filling you with his cock once more as his big body pinned you beneath him.
You whimpered, so beyond overstimulated at this point. A few tears escaped and streaked down your temples as you pressed a hand to Curtis’ firm stomach as if to hold him and his endless passion for you at bay.
Gasping as he grinded against you, you quavered out a pitiful, “Please, too much.”
Curtis just tutted at you, but it was more playful than anything as he bracketed your head between his muscled forearms and gave another shallow thrust. “Don’t be that way, pretty prize. I gave you what you wanted, took care of you and this greedy pussy so good, didn’t I?”
You blinked owlishly, nodding in agreement at his sinful, teasing words.
Smile growing wicked, Curtis sank against you fully, his lips hovering over yours as he murmured, “Then be good and let me take care of myself now.” He nipped at your jaw, laughing when you squeaked. “Cause I’m not done with you yet.”
He started to fuck you again, keeping his thrusts shallow, his cock barely leaving your body but moving just enough to give him the kind of friction that had him groaning his pleasure.
“God, this cunt is always so fucking tight,” he moaned, dropping his sweaty forehead to yours and groaning as you clenched around him hard. “Yeah, that’s it, squeeze my cock, fuck.”
Your eyes fluttered, your body writhing beneath him without your permission, somehow needy and wanting once more. All you could do was cling to Curtis, your body his now to use as he wanted, while you were just along for the ride.
But part of you didn’t even care, and another part of you reveled in it.
Especially once Curtis snuck one of his hands between your bodies and began to strum at your clit with his thumb.
You squealed and jerked at the added stimulation, whining as more tears fell because now it really was too much. Your body was so oversensitive, every thrust of his cock and strum of his thumb making you tremble and writhe as your eyes rolled back into your head.
“Look at me,” Curtis demanded suddenly, his free hand framing your jaw so you couldn’t escape his piercing gaze once your glassy eyes aligned with his.
And that was just another dose of too much. Curtis’ constant, avid gaze. The way it felt like he could see right through you, right down to the deepest depths of your soul. The way it felt like he wanted to.
He wanted to see you at your most vulnerable, stripped down to the basest part of you, undone in a way you never had been before, and all because of him.
His next words just confirmed that.
“Let go for me,” he husked your name–your actual name. “Give me all of you. I want all of you.”
Something about the exchange–perhaps the intensity of it all–unraveled you completely. Your body arched up against his as you came hard, making Curtis grunt as your cunt clenched around his cock, desperately gripping him like it never wanted to let him go.
Curtis scraped his teeth along the curve of your jaw before his thrusts grew harder and more intentional. Soon, he followed you over the edge with a groan so primal as he filled you with his cum that it had your body fluttering with another wave of aftershocks.
Still gasping for breath, you clung to him, floaty and dazed, as if your mind had gone offline entirely. And maybe it had.
You were exhausted too. As your boneless body sank back against the bed, it finally registered just how utterly tired you were–completely wrung out–and you struggled to keep your eyes open as Curtis laid beside you and arranged your pliant body over his.
For a few long moments, it was quiet. You had lost the battle of staying awake, your eyes closed as you drifted closer and closer to sleep while Curtis’ fingers gently stroked along your back. But before you could descend entirely, his quiet voice drew you back to the surface of consciousness.
“No one but me will ever touch you again.”
In your exhausted haze, as you slowly processed Curtis’ words, you couldn’t help but think that it almost seemed like an apology after what had happened with Franco, but you knew it wasn’t that.
It could never be that.
Not from Curtis, and not to you.
It’s a steely promise, you reasoned silently before your mind finally surrendered to sleep.
And you were completely unaware of the way that Curtis stayed up for a good long while after you, his fingers gently, possessively tracing along your bare skin the entire time.
UMMM. I AM NOT OKAY. IN FACT, I AM VERY MUCH UNWELL. 🥴
NEXT PART
—
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3,136
Summary: When it comes to belonging to Curtis, there’s no such thing as the lesser of two evils.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Mob elements. Implied captivity. Dub con. Groping. Breast play. Fear kink. Crying kink. Soft degradation. Anxiety & an almost panic attack. Sexual bartering. Coercion. Manipulative & gleeful about it!Curtis. Butt plug usage. Angst. Reference to murder of minor characters and grief. Unprotected anal sex.
A/N: I just…have descended into the deepest depths of sin, and I’m taking you all with me lolllll.
PRIZED POSSESSION MASTERLIST
You were drawn to the surface of consciousness by a gentle caress along your cheek.
Another soft touch had your eyes sleepily fluttering open, and you winced against the onslaught of bright sunlight flooding the room.
It took your exhausted, sluggish brain a moment to realize where you were and why.
One of the stray guest rooms in Curtis’ manor, where you had hidden yourself away and curled up on the chaise lounge to read for a little while.
You weren’t surprised that you had fallen asleep instead. Between the way Curtis had kept you up until the wee morning hours–using your body in ways that made the traitorous vessel come alive like you had never experienced before–and the nightmares that awaited you when you did finally fall asleep…you were tired down to your very bones.
Maybe that’s why you didn’t immediately perk up in alarm when you found Curtis sitting on the edge of the lounger beside you–you were too tired to spiral into yet another bout of anxiety and terror.
You were so very tired.
Luckily today, Curtis seemed to be in a softer mood. His eyes were warmer than usual as he watched you blink at him like a sleepy kitten, his lips tilted into the shadow of a smile as his gentle touch drifted from your face to your shoulder.
His fingers slid the delicate straps of your dress and bra down your arm, before tugging your dress and bra down as well, until your breast was bared and you shivered as his soft touch moved there now.
Curtis seemed pleased that you didn’t shy away from him and his wicked touch, his darkened gaze flickering between your face and the way your nipple grew hard beneath the stroke of his thumb.
When he circled the sensitive little nub and you gasped and arched into his touch, he hummed his approval, leaning over you and dipping his head low so he could drag his tongue over your nipple in reward.
Instead of stripping you naked and fucking you right there, like you expected, Curtis gave your nipple a sinful suck, his teeth grazing your bud just enough to make you whimper before he placed the gentlest of kisses to your tit before straightening and putting your bra and dress back into place.
The two of you watched each other for a long moment. Curtis’ gaze was curious and calculating, and yours was still hazy with exhaustion and the hint of defeat, but you felt your heart skip a beat when you saw it–the spark of deviance ignite in his eyes.
“You’re gonna warm my cock with that pretty mouth of yours while I take my next meeting,” Curtis told you with a smirk. “My associate should be here shortly, so you might as well come to my office and get comfortable.”
And there it was–the anxiety and horror that you had somehow managed to evade until now.
If there was one thing that you hated enduring most of all–dreaded more than anything–it was being sexually used by Curtis in front of others.
You could only assume this fear was compounded by a number of things.
The way Curtis had so brutally and shamelessly taken you in front of his men that first night.
The utter shame and disgust you had felt when Franco had stood there as you were forced to cockwarm Curtis with your mouth.
The fact that prior to Curtis, you hadn’t had much sexual experience to begin with, so on top of the run-of-the-mill fear and vulnerability caused by such intimate acts–many of which you were experiencing for the first time with Curtis–to be forced to have an audience while doing them just filled you with horror like nothing else.
It was bad enough that this was your life now, but the thought of Curtis broadcasting the depravity forced upon you daily to a stranger was enough to have you on the edge of a panic attack.
And Curtis knew it.
So not only was he unsurprised when you instantly jolted up in alarm as your eyes filled with tears, you could tell this was exactly the response he had been hoping for.
“No, please!” Your voice was tinged with hysteria at his demand, and perhaps it was the panic flooding your senses–the fact that you had no one else but him–that had you reaching for Curtis in your distress.
You pressed against him, dropping your forehead to his chest as you curled your fingers against the sleeves of his shirt and continued to plead with him.
“Please don't make me,” you trembled, your frame wracked by a full-body shudder as you pictured being put on such lewd display to whomever Curtis’ associate was. “Please.”
Your sudden panic merged with the utter exhaustion that had already been plaguing you, making you more sensitive than usual, making it more difficult to just be complacent and docile and go along with whatever he wanted.
You started to cry in earnest as your overwhelm and dread got the best of you, and rather than threaten you or punish you, Curtis cooed at your distress. He pulled you against him and “soothed” you with gentle strokes along your back as he pressed his lips to the crown of your head.
After a moment of enjoying you weeping and trembling against him, Curtis pulled back and tipped your face up until your tear-filled eyes met his. His fingers tickled beneath your chin as he caressed your skin before thumbing away your tears.
“You know, if you really don’t want to,” he started slowly, his lips quirking at the glimmer of hope that flashed across your features, “Then I suppose you’ll just need to trade me for something better.”
You knew by the challenge glinting in Curtis’ eyes–the cunning way in which he watched you–that this here, this moment, this “offer” to barter was exactly what he had wanted all along.
Your stomach sank as more tears rose to the surface and your lower lip wobbled.
It was as cruel as it was demeaning, him pretending like you really had a choice in the matter. Like you would ever want either of the two options presented.
But at least the second unspoken option—a different form of shameful ruin and defilement altogether—would be done in private.
So you gave a stiff nod, your body heavy with defeat and a different kind of dread as Curtis corralled you closer with a wicked grin.
For a moment, he held your chin to tilt your teary eyes to his, drinking in the reluctant supplication in your woeful gaze with a satisfaction so evident that it made his own eyes gleam. Then he kissed you slowly, faux pouting at you as he pulled back and wiped away a few more of your fresh tears before speaking again.
“Come on then,” he said as he stood and tugged you up along with him. “Let’s get you all set up and prepped for tonight before my associate arrives.”
Getting a glimpse of Curtis’ wolfish grin, you dropped your eyes to the floor, stiffening only slightly as his hand found your ass before giving it a squeeze and leaving his touch to linger there for the entire trek to the bedroom.
About an hour later, you were curled up in one of the outdoor loungers on the back patio, trying to focus on the beauty of nature around you, and how good the warm sunshine felt on your skin instead of the way you couldn’t stop squirming in discomfort.
You sniffled as you shifted and felt the unnatural fullness of the plug stretching and filling your back entrance.
Curtis had insisted that you wear it all day long to get you good and ready for “your” naughty offer that he couldn’t wait to fulfill later tonight.
Swiping away an errant tear at the thought of what was in store for you, you closed your eyes and tipped your face up to the sky, once against trying to distract yourself from your reality.
And that was how Tanya found you a few moments later.
You straightened as she stepped out from the sliding glass doors that led into the kitchen. Wariness settled over you as she met your gaze for a moment before glancing out at the gorgeous, sprawling property with an almost smile curling her lips.
You had only encountered Tanya a few times so far since being here. From what you had gathered, she was a sort of Operations Director for Curtis, managing a number of his businesses and dealings, and even the operation of his home and staff.
This was the first time you had ever been alone with her–someone so thoroughly enmeshed in Curtis’ inner circle, completely loyal to him–and you felt anxiety begin to buzz within you as Tanya made her way over and sat down beside you.
She was quiet for so long, that when she finally spoke, you jumped, startled by the soft sound of her voice.
“Curtis has come a long way in a short period of time,” she murmured, leaning back against the cushion behind her. She kept her gaze forward and away from you as she continued, “After our former leader, Gilliam, died, Curtis was the only one to step up and protect us–protect our territory–once the wolves came knocking to try to claim what wasn’t theirs.”
She was quiet for another beat before she finally turned to you, meeting your untrusting gaze.
“Your father was one of those wolves. The most ruthless. When Curtis wouldn’t bend to his will, he tried to take out our syndicate in one fell swoop and wound up killing Curtis’ younger brother, Edgar–and a bunch of others–in the process. The hit on your family wasn’t just a random act of violence, it was retaliation.”
You stared at Tanya, silent for a long moment.
Her admission aligned with the conclusion you yourself had come to about why all of this had happened in the first place. Why Curtis had murdered your entire family and had taken you as some kind of trophy to be used and abused at his deviant whim.
For the first time ever, it hit you that your father had been similar to Curtis. Despite the way he had always treated you like his cherished princess, he had ruthlessly and unapologetically attacked and killed others in a bid to claim a larger territory. In a bid for more power.
And that realization made you sick.
It made you confused, too, because knowing that your father had murdered Curtis’ younger brother, that that action alone was what had spawned all of this–including the life you were now living–you couldn’t help but feel a flicker of sympathy for your captor and tormenter.
Because you, better than anybody, knew what it was like to lose someone you love.
You had lost all of them, everyone you loved–your entire family–and it had all been in retaliation to your father’s actions.
And yet…
“I had nothing to do with my father’s actions,” you whispered, hugging yourself tightly as Tanya continued to watch you. “I doubt my mother and brother did either.”
“Your brother’s hands weren’t as clean as you’d like to believe.”
You closed your eyes at her words, a glimmer of your brother’s visage appearing in your mind’s eye. He had always treated you well, been kind to you, playful, protective, too. And now he was gone.
They were all gone, because of Curtis.
“Why are you telling me this?” you quavered as you blinked your eyes open and looked back at Tanya. “Why does it even matter? You think I deserve this? What he’s done to me? What he continues to do to me?”
“No, quite the opposite, I feel sorry for you,” she admitted. “And maybe I thought this could help you better understand him. I just want you to know that there’s more to Curtis than what you’ve seen.”
“Than what he’s shown me,” you corrected her. When you met Tanya’s gaze, she was the one to look away this time, shrugging at the uncomfortable truth to your words. “How lucky for you that you get to experience a different side to him.”
“Fair enough,” Tanya murmured, watching the birds flutter about and chatter nearby.
After a few moments, she rose to her feet, remaining quiet as she disappeared back into the house and left you alone to your muddled thoughts, heart-wrenching grief, and constant discomfort.
Hours later, as Curtis had you on all fours in the center of his bed, you had a resentful, fleeting thought of whether or not Tanya would try to explain away this, too—Curtis’ latest act of deviance.
The thought was gone as quickly as it had come as you fisted the sheets, whining pathetically as Curtis finished sinking into your virgin asshole with his long, thick cock, until he was flush to your ass and voicing his pleasure with a primal, throaty groan.
As he reveled in his victory over you–and your body–yet again.
Smoothing a big, rough hand up your bare back, Curtis curled over you, until his lips touched the shell of your ear as he purred, “Mmm I’m so glad you talked me into this instead. Admit it, naughty girl, this is what you wanted all along, isn’t it?”
You immediately shook your head no, trembling and whining once more as you struggled to acclimate to the feeling of being stretched and so full, there of all places.
“Liar,” Curtis laughed, but his touch was gentle as his big hands found your hips and he held you in place as he slowly retreated from your tight hole before carefully thrusting into you once more.
You gave a broken cry at the wicked intrusion, clawing at the bedsheets, both confused by and thankful for the way Curtis seemed to be proceeding with caution instead of being rough and painfully fucking you without restraint.
A new well of shame opened within you when you realized that this didn’t hurt as much as you thought it would, that–on some level–your body seemed to be enjoying this new and debauched unchartered territory.
As if he could somehow read your mind, Curtis’ touch strayed, his fingers dancing around your hip and down your belly until his fingers were zeroing in on your clit. When you rewarded him with a choked sound of pleasure at the added stimulation, he gave a responding hum of approval.
The tips of his fingers circled and swirled, rubbed and flicked until you were moaning and unconsciously shoving back against him, mindlessly encouraging the unfolding of your own ruin.
“Look at you, so desperate for it, huh?” Curtis husked, his hips starting to move in earnest now, his caution melting away more and more with each eager, needy cry that fell from your lips. “Who would have thought that a good girl would enjoy being so bad?”
You could only keen in response as Curtis’ hips slapped against the curve of your ass, his meaty cock filling your tight hole over and over again, until you were no more than a babbling, boneless heap crumpled before him on the bed, cumming with a broken wail as your body writhed and clenched under a deluge of sinfully exquisite bliss.
“Yeah, look at how much you’re not enjoying this,” Curtis taunted from behind you, but there was no real malice to his words, if anything, you could hear the tinge of smug satisfaction coloring his voice.
He went still long enough to revel in the feel of your tight channel clamping and fluttering all around him, and then he resumed his thorough fucking of your ass, drawing it out in a way he never did with your pussy–like he was savoring this moment as much as possible.
Curtis even managed to pull another orgasm from you, dark eyes gleaming with possessive admiration as he watched your sweaty form collapse completely against the bed as your body trembled with stray aftershocks and you gasped and panted into the sheets.
Hips picking up their pace, Curtis pounded into you at a frantic pace, chasing his own release now, and throwing his head back with a loud groan once his own orgasm finally hit. His fingers dug into your hips painfully as he rutted against you, filling you with his warm, creamy seed.
You shivered as you felt last of Curtis’ pleasure bloom inside of you, warming and claiming a place you never thought would be filled or fucked in this way. That thought–what you had become–had shameful tears blurring your vision even as your pussy fluttered in treacherous surrender.
Hating the way that Curtis somehow made your body respond so eagerly to this of all things, you tried to crawl away from him, but Curtis just laughed and yanked you back against him with a tsk.
You felt him shift, still inside of you, and heard the sound of the bedside drawer opening and closing, and then a moment later, Curtis finally pulled out.
You didn’t even get to sigh your relief before you felt a familiar hard, cold pressure against your sensitive rosebud, and you whimpered as Curtis shoved the butt plug inside of you before any of his cum could leak out.
“Might as well get used to it now, pretty prize,” he hummed, sounding like a man who had achieved exactly what he wanted as he gave your bare ass a possessive grope. “Because this is just another needy hole of yours that belongs to me now.”
He stretched out over you, touching a finger to your sweaty cheek and turning your face his way. Curtis took a moment to drink in your tired, teary features, before he spoke in a low, throaty rumble that had your insides clenching, “Say ‘thank you’ for making it so good for you, for taking such good care of you when I could have been selfish and just taken what I wanted without a care for you, your pleasure, or your pain.”
Curtis’ words echoed your own thoughts from earlier, and you did as he commanded without a moment’s hesitation, wisping out a shaky, “Thank you.”
“Good girl,” Curtis purred, kissing the tip of your nose and giving your head a pet before he pulled away.
He flopped back against his pillows, taking you with him and arranging you until you were sprawled over his chest, too tired and cowed to do anything more than sink against him, boneless and completely ruined.
Smirking, Curtis sighed his content, his hand smoothing up your spine until he was loosely gripping the back of your neck, not put off in the least as you silently cried, your tears a steady, hot stream against his bare skin.
AHHHHHHHHHHHH! I JUST…DON’T EVEN…KNOW. BRAIN BROKEY 🥴
NEXT PART
—
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 2,884
Summary: Curtis isn’t shy about possessing you completely, in fact, he revels in it.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Soft!dark mob!Curtis. Shy!scared!Reader. Manipulation & coercion. Possessiveness. Fear kink. Crying kink. Intimidation. Dub con. Thigh riding if you squint. Vaginal fingering. Manhandling. Soft degradation. Forced cockwarming. Spanking. Unprotected, rough sex. Slight anal play. Forced exhibitionism.
A/N: All of you who kept fawning and sweating over Prized Possession!Curtis are to blame for this, so thank you and you’re welcome 😌
Each day spent as Curtis’ captive made you more and more his–possessed by him completely–even in small, subtle ways.
For instance, despite having an obscenely long dining table, Curtis made you sit in the seat right next to him at the head of the table. That way, he could rest his free hand on your thigh or caress along your shoulder and arm throughout the entirety of your meal, like he was doing right now.
After weeks and weeks spent living as his pretty prize, you were no less fearful of him. If anything, you were even more afraid, constantly on edge and trying your best to navigate Curtis and his yet-to-flag interest in you.
It was like living with constant emotional whiplash, the way he could go from being soft and playful with you to terrifying and rough in his handling–and often fucking–of you.
You never knew what the day would bring, what type of mood he would be in, if he would hurt you or exhibit you in ways that made you wither and die on the inside just a little bit more with each occurrence.
So as you sat beside him for dinner, you couldn’t help but tremble as you stared down at your plate.
And even worse, you could feel Curtis’ ever watchful gaze on you the entire time.
When his fingers trailed up your free arm before his large hand gently cradled the side of your throat, and you flinched so violently that you dropped your fork–wincing at the loud clatter–his lips twitched in dark amusement.
It was like he was a shark and he could smell blood in the water, so naturally, he attacked.
Curtis shoved his seat out and patted his thigh, wordlessly directing you where he wanted you, because he didn’t even need to speak for you to hop to, even if you obviously didn’t want to.
In fact, you couldn’t hold back a wave of tears as you rose from your own seat and moved toward him. When you went to reach up to swipe away an errant tear, Curtis caught your wrist to stop you.
“Leave it. You’re so fucking pretty when you cry,” he husked, tugging you down into his lap.
He arranged you so your back was to his chest and you were straddling the thick muscle of his thigh. He even rocked it a little, humming in approval as he felt the warmth of your cunt through your barely there panties plant more fully against his leg.
You squirmed at the pressure between your legs that you knew was just a prelude to whatever sinful whims were sparking to life in Curtis’ diabolical mind. More tears brimmed and spilled over as you watched his large, calloused hands so gently tug up the delicate hem of your dress so that he could get a peek at your panties below, uncaring of the way he put you on display, yet again.
“Since you’d obviously rather play than eat,” he teased, his fingers ever so gently petting up your cunt through your underwear, “Maybe I should indulge you, huh?”
“I’m sorry,” you whispered, struggling to catch your breath between Curtis’ wicked touch and the way your chest was so tight with anxiety, you could barely breathe. “I’ll eat.”
“Mmm, I’m not sure that’s what you really want, pretty prize,” Curtis smirked, nuzzling along your tear-stained cheek as he felt your panties grow damper and damper by the second. “But if you’re so eager to have something in your mouth…”
He shifted subtly, but it was enough that you could suddenly feel the hard, hot press of his erection along your lower back.
You started to shake your head in denial–in resistance–but squeaked as Curtis’ free hand caught your face by your jaw and held you still with a grip so firm, it bordered on painful and had you choking down a sob of fear.
“On your knees,” his voice was low and tinged with steel in a way that had your body following his cue before your brain caught up to the conversation.
You slid from his lap to your knees, feeling your stomach churn as Curtis pet your head and cooed at you.
“Such a good girl, doing what she’s told.”
He waited for you to turn toward him before sinking back in his seat, reaching for his fork with a satisfied curl to his lips as your shaking fingers undid his pants.
Just as your fingers touched Curtis’ bare cock, you heard footsteps approach. You instantly froze, your face flooding with such a humiliated type of heat, that you swore you were on fire from the inside out as Curtis’ head of security, Franco Jr., appeared beside him.
His gaze flickered to you and lingered, something in them sparking warm and mean, making your own eyes instantly fall to the floor as more tears spilled over and you trembled and drowned in shame at Curtis’ feet.
“Sir, sorry to interrupt, but you said to update you as soon as I heard back on the issue we discussed this morning.”
“Then update me,” Curtis replied, lifting his fork to his mouth but pausing as his glittering eyes landed on you. He held up a finger to Franco, delaying his update as Curtis spoke again, his words now directed at you. “There’s a reason why you’re on your knees, sweetheart, and it’s not to sit there looking pretty, as much as I appreciate the view.”
Your lower lip wobbled as you met Curtis’ demanding gaze. For a second, your eyes flickered to Franco–who very much seemed to be enjoying the show–before returning to Curtis. “But–”
That single word alone was enough to have Curtis’ nostrils flaring, his lips turning down into a displeased glower as he suddenly shot forward and gripped you hard by the throat.
“When I tell you to do something, you do it, you don’t whine about it, do you understand?”
You whimpered as he snarled in your face, nodding as much as you could around his grip on your neck. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be fucking sorry, be obedient. It’s why you’re here…and still alive.”
You shuddered at Curtis’ not so veiled threat, trying to ignore both watchful gazes searing into you as you retrieved Curtis’ hard cock from his pants and guided it to your mouth. You sank down on him as far as you could, suppressing a heave as Curtis’ hand found the back of your neck and pushed you down just a little bit further before keeping you there to warm his cock, just as he wanted.
And then Franco gave his report as directed, like it was the most normal thing in the world to do so as you knelt at Curtis’ feet with his cock filling your mouth and throat, tears streaming down your face.
Thankfully, white noise began to blare loudly in your mind. It drown out the two voices speaking business as usual–like you and your current predicament didn’t matter at all–as you surrendered to a soul-splintering kind of shame and tried your best to breathe through your nose until this round of humiliation was finally over.
A few days later, it was business as usual as Curtis summoned you to his home office early in the day.
As you tentatively stepped inside, you tried your best to avoid looking at the homebase of your constant shame and defilement.
The place where it was always put on display most.
The pedestal.
Curtis had made good on his word and made the pedestal a fixture in the room. He’d even hired contractors to come in and build it out and into the wall adjacent to his desk.
The pedestal itself was a perfectly polished circle of walnut wood, about four feet in diameter, set before a black wall that curved up into an arch and made the space a little alcove for your defilement.
Now, instead of an accent wall or a beautiful piece of art or furniture, the highlight of the room was you–usually on obscene display–for the man who now owned you.
“Put this on,” Curtis demanded without preamble, plucking up the sheer lace bra and panties set that was set out on one of the shelves beside the pedestal wall. “I want something pretty to look at while working.”
Today, numbness won out over shame as you did what you were told and began to strip. Once you were donning the bra and panties, Curtis handed off a pair of stilettos for you to put on next.
You tried not to grimace as you eyed the spiked heels, wondering how in the world you were supposed to wear these and remain standing for a long period of time.
As if he could read your mind, Curtis smirked at you, offering you a hand up from your spot perched on the edge of the pedestal as you finished putting on the stilettos.
“Go on, I want you right in the center and facing me,” he told you, watching as you teetered into place. “If you move or make a sound to disturb me, you’ll be punished, do you understand?”
“Yes, I understand,” you whispered, shivering slightly before you assumed the position Curtis wanted and watched him saunter back to his desk chair.
It only took a few moments for you to realize that you had been set up to fail.
That Curtis must have cranked up the air conditioning to purposefully make the room absolutely freezing, so you had literally no chance of remaining still as a statue, especially in your current getup, when you were so very cold.
You were able to resist rubbing your arms to try to warm up, but what you weren’t able to do was prevent your body from shivering the longer you stood there freezing.
In no time at all, Curtis gave a melodramatic sigh of disappointment, jaw clenching as he set down his pen and aimed his displeased gaze your way. He straightened in his seat, lounging back in his chair for a beat as he tapped his fingers atop his desk and watched you with a mean smirk curling his lips.
It had never been more apparent that you were in trouble, and there was literally nothing you could do about it.
When Curtis rose to his feet and moved toward you, you cowered, trembling out a soft, “Please, I’m sorry,” as you hugged yourself tightly and tried not to cry.
Curtis just faux pouted at you, holding out a hand until you hesitantly placed your own in his. He helped you down from the pedestal, his smirk growing more pronounced at how you struggled in the ridiculous heels, before he led you over to the leather sofa in the seating area of the room.
He dropped your hand before sitting and reclining back like a king, now aiming his smirk up at you.
You watched him nervously, your eyes big and wary as you continued to shiver.
“Come on,” he said at last, patting one of his thick thighs.
You went to perch on his thigh, but he laughed, holding up a hand to stop you. “Nice try, sweetheart.”
You only had a second to be confused before you were yelping as Curtis suddenly grabbed you. Your world went topsy turvy, until you found yourself bent over Curtis’ lap as he held you in place with one big hand gripping the nape of your neck.
Your eyes immediately filled with tears as he yanked down your panties, and you realized you were yet again in for another round of being exposed and humiliated, demeaned and “put in your place.”
You’d never been struck before–not even spanked as a child–so the first harsh slap of Curtis’ hand against your bare ass had you shrieking in pain and flailing in his lap.
“I told you if you didn’t do as you were told, if you disturbed my work, you’d be punished, so here we are,” Curtis hummed, giving your neck a painful squeeze that had you trying your best to go lax and stop struggling so much.
As he landed another agonizing spank, you gripped the bottom of his pants leg, trying to focus on remaining balanced in his lap, on breathing, on not crying so hard–anything to try to distract yourself from the onslaught of undeserving pain being rained down upon you.
Curtis was only half a dozen hard spanks in before you had dissolved into a sobbing, hysterical mess, your ass on fire as you begged him to stop and apologized over and over again for what felt like nothing more than simply existing.
“You don’t have a very high tolerance for pain, huh?” Curtis cooed at you, sounding delighted by this discovery. “No, you’re far too sweet to have been treated so roughly in the past, but you need to learn that there are consequences for defying me. This is what happens when you don’t listen, honey,” Curtis sighed, caressing over your abused flesh and grinning as you whined and tried to flinch away.
“Please,” you struggled to speak between your crying and sniffles. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll do better, I swear.”
You heard a soft chuckle from above you, and then Curtis’ hands started to wander. You were so relieved by the gentle touch, that it took you a moment to realize the way Curtis was rocking against you, obviously hard and turned on by your “punishment.”
When his fingers teased between your thighs and you immediately spread them to give him access to your cunt, he laughed. “You learn quickly, pretty prize, I’ll give you that.”
A different type of mortification warmed your face as Curtis’ fingers danced and swirled all along your bare cunt. You still couldn’t believe the way your body responded to him, how wet you got for him, and how quickly.
Even after he hurt you, even as you roiled in self-loathing, your body was pressing back into the questing touch of Curtis’ fingers, eager for more.
“Mmm, look at that, I’ve got you crying from both ends now, huh?”
Before you could even completely absorb his words, Curtis moved, with you in tow. You barely got your hands under you to perch on all fours on the floor before he was shoving into you so hard, you keened long and loud as he began to pummel your insides with his cock.
For the first time since the night you had met and he had ravished you in front ot his men and the cooling corpses of your family, you tried to move away from Curtis as he fucked you.
Because it was like a flash of agony each and every time his hips snapped against your raw, still burning ass.
“Please, it hurts!” you whined, trying to push back at him, slow his fervor, anything to stop the blistering pain.
“Hurts so good,” Curtis panted, shoving your face down into the carpet. He gathered your hands at the small of your back, grunting and groaning as your pussy clenched and fluttered, spasmed and gripped him tighter than ever before.
He came first, his talented fingers playing with your clit to drive you over the edge just after him.
“Fuck, that’s it, milk my fucking cock,” he groaned as he unloaded inside of you, hips rutting as he pumped you full of him, until your sensitive cunt had milked him of every last drop, just like he wanted.
Just like you were made for.
You sniffled, trembling and spent beneath him, whining softly as Curtis gripped your ass in both hands and gave it a harsh grope. He tugged your cheeks apart, pulling his cock from you slowly and watching in smug satisfaction as his cream trickled from your quivering hole.
“Don’t waste a drop, pretty prize,” Curtis’ voice was smoky as his fingers caught the mess and shoved it back inside of you. He gave your inner walls a few strokes, laughing as you squealed in overstimulation and clenched around his fingers. “One day, I’m gonna go at you and make you cum so many times you pass out, but not today, sweetheart. Not when you’ve been so bad for me. You don’t deserve all that pleasure right now.”
He swiftly rose to his feet before pulling you up to yours, not bothering to tuck his spent cock away as he marched you back over to the pedestal.
“Let’s see if you can actually listen this time,” he taunted as he shoved you to the center of the wooden perch.
He arranged you so that you were face down and ass up, spreading your legs obscenely wide to give him the perfect view of your well spanked ass and cum leaking pussy at the same time.
“You move a muscle and the next hole leaking my cream is gonna be this one,” Curtis murmured, thumbing along your virgin rosebud and laughing at your miserable wail.
Giving your ass a final smack, Curtis sauntered back to his desk. He took a moment to put himself back together before he sank into his seat and enjoyed the view of you on pretty, perfect display for him for a long moment before finally getting back to work.
NEXT PART
---
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3,378
Summary: Your new life as Curtis’ prized possession begins, and it brings to light a number of revelations about the ruthless mobster, including his proclivity for having you on intimate display.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Implied mob elements and captivity. Soft!dark mean!Curtis who can be soft sometimes. Angst. Reference to murdered family/a mob hit. Mindgames, coercion, & gaslighting. Dub con. Oral sex (f receiving). Unprotected sex. Non-con choking/breath play. Cockwarming. Voyeurism. Forced exhibitionism & humiliation. Fear kink. Vulnerability kink. Dom/sub tones. Breeding kink if you squint.
A/N: Welp, Prized Possession is currently taking over my hoe brain, so enjoy the next installment!
You watched from beside Curtis as his men rounded up your family, shoving them into a line a few feet away from you.
One by one, your father, mother, then brother were forced to their knees.
All three of them were crying as they begged for mercy, begged for their lives, and for some reason, all of their pleas were directed at you.
You blinked owlishly, their words drifting into the garbled murmur of background noise as you felt Curtis shift beside you, his words like a dark caress against your ear as he encouraged, “Go on, one at a time, show me what you’re made of, pretty prize.”
That’s when you realized there was a gun in your hand.
The sleek, black weapon was heavy and completely foreign in your grip. You needed to cradle it with both your hands to try to keep it steady, and even then, you were visibly trembling as Curtis ushered you closer to your family, until you were standing just before your father as he gazed up at you in desperate terror.
“Do it,” Curtis breathed against your ear, shifting until he was pressed flush to your back and holding you loosely captive against him. “Shoot him.”
Despite the agonized wailing in your mind, you did as you were told–as if you were in a trance–your hands shaking harder as you aimed the gun at your father’s head and pulled the trigger.
You jerked awake with a broken, “No!”
Your quiet shout reverberated in the large room as you slowly realized you were drenched in sweat as you trembled in an unfamiliar bed. Your wild eyes flickered around the just as unfamiliar bedroom as your heart hammered in your chest.
“Easy there, pretty prize.”
You shuddered hard at the sound of the deep, husky voice from beside you.
It was the voice of Curtis Everett, the one who had actually murdered your family before taking you captive like some sort of victory trophy.
The bed shifted, and you felt him move closer, unable to suppress the scared whimper that bubbled up your throat and spilled past your dry lips.
“Shhh,” he shushed you, pressing a kiss to your warm, tear-stained cheek as he tugged the blanket away and exposed your naked body to the chilly, early morning air.
He was just as naked as you since you had ended the night before the same way you had ended your time in your family home a few hours before that - thoroughly fucked and leaking his cum.
“Don’t be scared,” he cooed, his warm palm resting on your belly before slowly gliding up your torso. “I can make you feel so good,” he hummed, his lips finding the curve of your jaw next. “Don’t you want to feel good?”
Despite the softness of his words and the promise of pleasure, you remembered the night before, when Curtis brutally fucked you without any warning or preparation, and in front of his men, no less.
He had been just as rough and nearly insatiable once he got you back to his manor tucked deep in the forest on the outskirts of town. Your body ached as a result of his attention, your insides, too, but if you had to choose between that kind of rough treatment again, or whatever this faux softness was now, the choice was a no brainer.
Even if it wasn’t really a choice at all.
Finally, you nodded, sniffling back your tears as you tried to make your body go pliant, tried to mask the way you were wound so tight in terror, you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to feel safety or peace again.
“Thatta girl.”
Curtis shifted until he was on top of you, his lips twitching at the way you whimpered again and fisted your hands in the sheets at either side of you, like you were trying to stop yourself from shoving him away.
And he knew that you probably were.
He was surprisingly gentle as he began to kiss his way down your body. He paused at your bare breasts, and you could feel him grin against your skin at your sharp gasp when he cupped you with his large, rough hands. He mouthed and licked at one nipple, tugging it between his teeth and huffing a laugh at your startled squeak before he moved to show your other breast the same attention.
Then once again, he descended down the length of you, pausing at your quivering stomach and pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your skin, tonguing at your belly button and lingering as his efforts were rewarded with your breathless mewl and squirming.
“I think all those tears last night were for show,” Curtis purred. “Look at how desperate you are for me.”
As he drew his knuckles up then back down your belly, his touch teasing along your bare mound, you felt something else in addition to the shocking pleasure and desire for more that he was eliciting from your body.
You felt an immense amount of shame.
It shouldn’t feel good, even if Curtis’ touches and kisses were gentle and toed the line of worship. He was a murderer–your family’s murderer–and a monster.
You couldn’t let this feel good.
But your body seemed to have a mind all its own, and your legs spread of their own accord as Curtis settled his big body lower still. You shivered as his hands landed on your inner thighs and spread your legs even wider, his gaze dark and hungry as it landed on your bare cunt.
“I think it’s time I show this pretty, needy pussy some special attention,” Curtis husked, and then he settled impossibly close, guided your legs over his shoulders, and tugged your pussy folds apart with his thumbs.
You whined at the vulnerability of it, your thighs trying to close, and when that didn’t work, your hips trying to inch away. But Curtis just shot you a wink and wicked grin before he leaned in and slowly dragged his tongue up the cut of you.
You keened as pleasure sparked within your core and rushed through the rest of you, your back arching and your hips rutting as Curtis tugged back the hood of your clit and drew his tongue over that next.
When you gifted him a ragged sob, he aimed all of his attention and focus on that spot for a moment, his tongue flicking and dragging until you were barely able to catch your breath and unconsciously rutting against his face in a silent plea for more.
You felt him chuckle against your slick folds, his fingers tugging them apart once more so he could lap at your quivering hole. He did so until he tore another desperate cry from between your lips before shoving his tongue inside your cunt and earning a startled squeal from you in response.
From there, the pleasure overwhelmed your shame, your mind going foggy as your body sank back into the mattress and you focused on how good Curtis was making you feel. Soon, you were cradling his buzzed head between your hands, eagerly rocking against his face as you tried to keep him in place as you desperately chased your release.
The talent of Curtis’ mouth and fingers pushed you over the edge twice before you were begging him to stop and trying to twist away in overstimulation.
He hummed his satisfaction, dragging his bearded cheek along your inner thigh, burning you up with his dark stubble and marking you in the process before he finally rose up from between your legs.
“Beg for my cock now, pretty prize,” he murmured, fisting his hard, weeping cock and giving himself a few strokes.
It took you a moment to even realize he had spoken, let alone comprehend his words. You were so dazed and overwhelmed, your body boneless yet still throbbing with a kind of need you had never felt before as you laid splayed out before Curtis.
His for the taking.
Curtis actually cracked a grin at your ruined state, sinking close and gripping your face in his large hand as he aimed your glossy eyes at his. “Beg for my cock, honey. Go on, I know you want it, and I wanna hear you admit it.”
“Please,” you whispered, your voice ragged from all your keening and crying. “I…” You trailed off as something inside of you wilted at this coerced confession, even as your pussy clenched around nothing, eager for more. “I want your cock,” you whispered as another bout of shame enveloped you.
“Yeah, I know you do,” Curtis snorted. He guided his cock between your legs, dragging the head along your messy pussy, his lips tilting into a smirk as you moaned and squirmed beneath him at the sensation.
Your breath hitched when you felt the head of him catching along your entrance, and you couldn’t help it as your wide eyes found Curtis’ in that moment.
He seemed pleased by that, and he surprised you yet again by shoving into you slowly versus the brutal way he had taken you all the other times before now.
“You feel me filling you up?” he rasped, his jaw clenching as he took his time splitting you open on his cock. “You feel how fucking hard I am for you, pretty prize?”
“Yes,” you whimpered. Your hand shot out to press against his firm, flat stomach, because even though he wasn’t being rough, he was the biggest and thickest you had ever had, and you felt so full, straining in a way that felt entirely unnatural.
He groaned once he bottomed out, rutting against you before stilling for a moment. “Squeeze me tight,” he commanded as he settled his body against yours. “I wanna feel you.”
Breath catching, you did what he asked, watching as his nostrils flared in response, his tongue sneaking out to wet his bottom lip. And then he began to move. The retreat of his hips was as slow as his invasion of you, and you knew he was delighting in the feel of your tight cunt around him as he pulled out nearly all the way before plunging back into you hard and deep.
You gasped, your lashes fluttering as he did it again, and again, settling into a slow, hard rhythm of fucking you, watching avidly as your expressive face belied your pleasure and your soft body jerked and bounced beneath him with each eager rut of his hips.
When he scooped your left leg up with the crook of his arm, spreading you wider and changing the angle of penetration, you keened on the next deep plunge of his cock, your back arching and your head tilting back as pleasure streaked up your spine and trickled through the rest of you.
“You’re so pretty when you let yourself go, when you give in to me,” Curtis panted, pulling your glassy eyes back to his handsome face.
And he really was handsome, unjustly so all things considered. You wished you didn’t think so, but you were helpless to think otherwise as your gaze flickered from his beautiful ice blue eyes, to his sharp, god-like features.
Curtis groaned as you clenched around him hard, the pace of his hips picking up as his hand shoved its way between your bodies so he could strum at your clit.
Your pleasure crested as your orgasm finally broke over you. You cried out wordlessly as you came hard, desperately clinging to Curtis as ecstasy wreaked havoc on your body as he fucked you through your climax.
“So gorgeous,” he breathed, his eyes fixated on you as you sagged back against the bed and continued to cling to him in the aftermath of your release without realizing it.
“But still…” something in his gaze shifted, a deviant spark flickering to life as he said, “There’s just something about seeing fear shining in those big, pretty eyes that really gets me going.”
Curtis smirked as your brow furrowed in confusion, and it was all the warning you got before he gripped your neck with his free hand and began to squeeze.
Your eyes went wide with panic as he cut off your airway, and your clinging turned to clawing at his hand as you writhed beneath him in terror.
Grunting, Curtis just fucked you harder, his grip on your throat tightening as he snarled, “God, you’re so fucking tight like this.”
Just as your struggles died down and your body began to go slack from lack of oxygen, Curtis came with a shout. His grip on your throat fell away, and despite your coughing and crying, you could feel the way his cock twitched and jumped deep inside of you, his warm, sticky cum flooding your insides as you cried beneath him and he loved every second of it.
Humming as he rutted into you a few final times, fucking his seed as deep as it could go, Curtis watched you with a dark, lust-filled gaze, his cheeks ruddy from exertion and his powerful release.
He reached for you again, eyes dancing as you flinched and tried to recoil, your gaze still foggy and frightened as he did no more than gently draw his knuckles up the length of your throat.
As your eyes met his, you could see it clear as day, the way Curtis was reveling in your fear, in your ruin. He was enjoying the way you trembled hard beneath him, still stuffed full of his cock and his cum as he ducked low and gently pressed a kiss to your forehead.
Then he rolled off of you and collapsed beside you in bed. A quiet purr of content rumbled Curtis’ chest as he tossed an arm over his head, settling in for a doze as you laid beside him, still shaking and afraid to move a muscle and risk drawing his attention once more.
As your days in captivity increased, it became apparent that in addition to reveling in how terrified you were of him, Curtis got an immense amount of pleasure from spending as much time with you as possible in ways that always seemed to have you on display for him.
Ways that made you extremely vulnerable, specifically for his enjoyment.
This realization struck when a few days after bringing you to his home, Curtis had a stylist named Yona come over to fit you for a new wardrobe.
He set up you and Yona in his home office–where he spent most of his time–so that he could watch between working as you were fitted for your new clothing and tried on various pieces so Yona could take note of what Curtis liked.
“I want a mix for her,” he instructed Yona as he watched you squirm on the round, wooden pedestal he’d had placed parallel to his executive desk, just for you.
You knew it was so he could put you on display for him–expose you completely and in different ways–and have a front row seat to your vulnerability and discomfort.
“Play on how sweet and conservative she is,” he continued, “But also make it sexy. Work in some sheer, feminine fabrics and pieces. I want to see what’s mine.”
“Yes, sir,” Yona murmured.
The other woman didn’t speak to you at all, let alone ask what you wanted. She wouldn’t meet your gaze either. She seemed as on edge as you felt, and you didn’t blame her one bit. You felt sorry for her, that she had to be here, enduring Curtis and his behavior, too.
Your sympathy for her diminished once she shoved a sheer, lacy bra and thong set at you.
“Mmmm, I’ve been waiting for this part of the fitting,” Curtis’ smile was wolfish as he watched Yona rifle through a few more sets of lingerie before setting aside some more options for you.
Feeling an unbearable heat flood your face, you blinked back your tears, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor as you shakily undressed. Once you were changed into the sheer bra and thong, you shivered, because you might as well be wearing nothing at all.
The tiny flowers sewn into the lacy fabric scratched against your arms as you hugged yourself tightly, curling in on yourself–trying to hide–as your vision blurred with another onslaught of tears. You painfully swallowed down a sob at how revealing and humiliating this entire experience was, and you had never wanted to disappear more than in that moment.
You were so caught up in your own distress, that you didn’t hear the subtle creak of leather that accompanied Curtis rising from his desk chair. Nor did you observe the way Yona turned on her heel as she caught the look in his eye before hurrying from the office as he stalked toward you like a feral predator.
Before your mind could catch up with reality, you found yourself roughly bent over Curtis’ desk, squeaking in alarm as he roughly kicked your feet apart.
“I thought I’d last longer than this,” he laughed, his big hands groping your bare ass and giving it a slap that had you squealing.
He fingered the barely there strings on your hips that held together the scrap of fabric covering your pussy before he yanked the panties aside and shifted closer.
You heard the quiet whirr of his zipper descend, felt the warm brush of his cock against the curve of your ass, and then Curtis lined himself up and was balls deep in your sweet, straining pussy before you could even process what was happening.
He was rough as he fucked you–feral and overcome by his desire–and you just laid there and took it, because that’s all you could do. Squeezing your eyes shut, you felt a few tears escape once you realized your body had started to respond to his assault.
When Curtis’ teeth found your bare shoulder and bit down, teething at your skin, you clenched around him hard in surprise. He groaned, fucking into you wildly now, uncaring of your soft pained sounds as he slammed your hips into the hard, unforgiving edge of his desk over and over again in his fervor.
“Don’t be shy, honey, show me how much you’re enjoying my cock,” Curtis rumbled against your ear, his hand rounding your belly and descending.
You shuddered as his fingers dipped into the front of your panties and began to swirl around your clit. He coaxed a soft moan, then a ragged mewl from your lips as he rutted into you faster, harder, relentless in his quest for release.
“Cum for me, pretty prize,” Curtis breathed against your ear, grunting as he shoved into you hard and lingered, his fingers relentlessly rubbing at your clit now. “Milk my cock and take my seed. Take every last drop. I want you leaking me for days.”
You weren’t sure if your cry was one of relief or misery–likely a combination of both–but it rang off the walls of Curtis’ office as you came for him, just like he wanted.
He hissed as your pussy clamped around him hard, fluttering wildly and making him groan in pleasure as he followed you over the edge.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he panted, rocking against you as he pumped you full of his cum and enjoyed the way your cunt continued to grip and squeeze him, until you had drained him dry, and your combined cum was leaking out of you and staining the root of his cock.
Purring in satisfaction, Curtis’ big body sank against you, pinning your trembling frame to the cold surface of his desk.
And you could only lay there, trapped beneath him, forced to endure the way his hands began to wander and possessively caress along your body. The way you could feel more of his cum seeping out of you despite how his soft cock still filled you up.
The way he gave a sigh of content–of victory–against the crown of your head, nuzzling against you as he said, “The pedestal is staying and I’ll have it expanded and built out, ‘cause my pretty prize needs a proper place to be put on display, just for me.”
After this, I am sending myself to horny jail 👋🏻
Please take a moment to screech at me! I’m having a lot of fun with this new verse, and I’d love to share it with you 🤗
NEXT PART
—
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
Pairing: Curtis Everett x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,208
Summary: You're the scary mobster's sweet, pretty prize.
Warnings: Mob AU. Explicit language. Explicit sexual content. Dark!Curtis. Reference to violence and death but nothing is shown. Non con. Unprotected sex. Allusions to kidnapping and captivity. Angst.
A/N: This is all @krirebr 's fault lol.
It was payback.
That’s all your brain–which was spinning out in a way you had never experienced before–could comprehend in the moment.
As you were roughly shoved into the living room of your family home, your chest hitching painfully with a sob of sorrow as you spied the dead bodies of your family strewn around the room.
Your father, his eyes still wide with terror, and a bullet wound in the center of his forehead.
The bodies of your mother and older brother were curled close, laying together–motionless–in a growing pool of blood.
It was the aftermath of violence and havoc, of payback, because you knew enough about your father’s world, or what had been his world–the deep depths of organized crime–to know payback when you saw it.
Your brain hadn’t even processed the full extent of what was happening, and the danger you were in, before you were suddenly trembling before the tall, looming presence of a stranger.
By the way the other men in the room–armed to the teeth–deferred to him respectfully, you were certain this man was the leader.
He was the one in charge of what had happened here tonight.
And what was about to happen to you.
He cut an imposing figure in his dark, perfectly tailored suit, minus the jacket. The crisp, white sleeves of his button up were rolled up to his elbows, the muscles of his forearm flexing as he tucked his own gun away in the holder at his side.
Intricate tattoos wove along his skin, all the way down to his long, thick fingers. And when he reached out, curling one of those fingers beneath your chin to gently tilt your frightened gaze up to his, you flinched.
It was a fleeting thought in your scattered mind that he was beautiful, and that someone so violent–so cruel–shouldn’t be blessed with the face of an angel.
Smooth, pale skin shadowed with a beard. The prettiest ice blue eyes you had ever seen. You swore that intent gaze glinting with malice–and something more–could see right through you, down to the deepest depths of your soul.
You hadn’t realized you were silently crying until he shushed you, his touch moving from your chin so he could gently catch the tear streaking down your cheek along his knuckle.
“You’re even pretty when you cry,” he cooed, and you shuddered at the dark mirth in his eyes, the teasing lilt to his deep baritone of a voice.
He was enjoying this.
Murdering your entire family.
You standing before him, helpless and terrified.
He was getting off on it.
He’s a monster, you thought before he spoke again and garnered your full attention.
“I could kill you as easily as I killed your family,” he murmured. He caressed your cheek so softly and in a way that didn’t match his words at all that it had your mind reeling.
He stepped closer, his free arm circling your waist to prevent your retreat. You had no choice but to endure the bold press of his body against yours, feeling the firm muscles beneath the dark vest that stretched over his chest, a stark contrast to your own soft curves.
An icy shiver of awareness zipped up your spine as his gaze descended from your face, lingering on the curve of your chest as the warmth of his palm pressed along the small of your back. His fingers strayed lower, splaying over and gripping the curve of your ass as he gave a hum of admiration at the feel of you.
“Killing you would be such a waste,” he decided. “I think you’ll be the perfect memento of this night, a reminder to myself what I’m capable of–what I deserve–and a warning to others of what happens to them and those they love when they cross me.”
He gripped your chin hard–and so suddenly–that you whimpered and tried to jerk away. The sweet, startled sound falling from your lips, and the way your eyes widened in fright had him smirking at you as he leaned in close.
“You’re gonna be my prized possession.”
When you mewled in terror and trembled against him, trying to shake your head to denounce his claim, his smirk morphed into a wolfish grin.
“I see my new prize needs to be shown who she belongs to, huh?”
“No, please–” was as far as you got before you were being spun around and shoved over the plush arm of the living room sofa.
And as your father’s cooling corpse laid a few feet away, the monster at your back rucked up your nightgown, tore your panties off, and shoved into you hard and deep enough to take you off of your toes.
You squealed in pain at his invasion, a distant part of you aware of the way his men watched–loitiered and leered–at your defilement in real time.
But it hurt so much, and you were so shocked by what was happening, all you could do was whine at every deep thrust, and squeeze your eyes shut as your family’s murderer claimed your body in a way you’d never overcome.
“Yeah, there you go, give in to me,” he panted against your ear, and you realized your body had gone slack beneath him–frozen and surrendering completely–your insides slicking to ease the plunge of his thick cock within you.
“I don’t think I’ve ever had a cunt so tight,” he hummed against your tear-stained cheek, the rut of his hips growing faster as he groaned. “I wanna feel you squeeze me tight, pretty prize, wanna feel this pretty pussy cum around my cock.”
You shook your head, and then sobbed as his hand wedged itself beneath your body, his long fingers finding your clit and swirling and rubbing, until you felt the kind of sparks deep within you that had shame consuming you entirely.
Just a few more deep drives of his cock combined with the talent of his fingers, and your traitorous body was clenching up tight as your orgasm rocked through you.
“Fuck, such a good girl doing what you’re told,” he snarled, driving into you relentlessly now as he fucked you through your orgasm before reaching his own.
A fresh wave of tears spilled from your eyes as you felt the warm bloom of his release inside of you, filling you up, being fucked deeper and deeper within you as he continued to groan and pump his hips against your ass, marking you as his now–from the inside out.
You were crying again once he finally finished and pulled away from you. Your stomach curdled as you felt the warm, sticky gush from your cunt as his spend leaked from you and stained your thigh.
Just as your knees buckled and your body sank toward the floor, he caught you, pulling you to your feet, right against him, admiring your mussed state and tearful devastation with a satisfied, possessive gleam in his eyes.
“My name’s Curtis Everett, and you belong to me now.”
Without waiting for your reply, he curled an arm around your waist and swept you from your family’s home, that place–and the life that you had onced lived there–soon becoming nothing more than a distant memory.
Why are the mean ones so intriguing to play with?!?!?
NEXT PART
—
Please take a moment to drop a comment or reblog. Engagement is the fuel that keeps writers writing and sharing their work for your enjoyment, so do your part to keep our fandom alive. Serial likers will be blocked.
I no longer do tag lists, but if you'd like to be notified when I post new writing, follow my side blog @sirisshamelesshoelibrary and turn on notifications to get pinged when I drop some new hoe fuel 😘
Please note that I do not give permission for my work to be translated, reposted, or published anywhere other than my Tumblr. I also do not give permission for my work to be fed into AI platforms. Reblogs are most welcome and encouraged though! ❤️
ROBERT PRONGE X READER / ROBERT PRONGE X READER X CLAY APPUZZO
WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS WARNINGS
NON-CON / DRUG USE / VIOLENCE / GORE / VAGINAL, ORAL AND ANAL SEX / NON-CON / BLOOD USE DURING SEX / MENTIONS OF DEATH / NON-CON / USE OF FORCE FOR SEX / ANAL SEX / THIS IS DARK AF / DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THE ABOVE OFFENDS YOU / I’M NOT KIDDING THIS IS SUPER DARK / NON-CON/ THREESOME
18+ ONLY
THIS IS FOR MY QUEEN @jtargaryen18 HAUNTED HOUSE CHALLENGE. I HAVEN’T FINISHED WRITING ANYTHING IN MONTHS SO HOPEFULLY THIS ISN’T MULE PUKE. I KINDA PROOFREAD IT SO PLEASE EXCUSE THE MISTAKES. I WANTED TO GET IT POSTED BEFORE I CHANGED MY MIND.
I ALSO HAVE TO GIVE A BIG SHOUT OUT TO @jtargaryen18 AGAIN. WITHOUT HER SERIES PRETTY BABY THIS WOUDN’T EXIST. (I spent 20 minutes trying to figure out how to link it but I’m an idiot. You can find it in her MASTERLIST.)
“FUCK! Move it you goddamn moron. It’s the little skinny pedal on the right!”
You punctuated the tirade by smacking your hands on the steering wheel.
If you were late because this fucking asshole couldn’t figure out how to fucking drive your wrath would blanket the Earth in pain and fire.
“Ok,” you thought to yourself, “that’s a bit much. Calm your ass down.”
Pulling in a deep breath you tried to relax but a quick check of your phone destroyed whatever miniscule inner peace you had found.
WARNINGS: DUB-CON (JUST IN CASE BUT YOU’LL HAVE TO CROSS BOTH EYES AND SQUINT)/VAGINAL SEX/ORAL SEX/BLOOD AND GORE/VIOLENCE
This is for @little-red-83 Red’s Spooky Writing Challenge. My prompts were: Demon, Foggy Night and In the Library. Thank you so much for hosting the challenge. Happy Halloween!!!!
You loved this time of year. Summer’s hold had finally broken making way for Autumn. There was a distinct bite of cold to the air. The Oak, Sycamore and Poplar trees lining the river were in the end stages of their fiery glory, their skeletal remains reflected in the ever moving water. A full moon traced across the sky.
demon!Ari Levinson x female reader x lousy husband!Pete Brenner
summary: Your husband makes a deal with a demon and you pay the price.
warnings: Dub-con. Your husband is shitty which is why it's Pete. Monsterfucking (no bestiality). Cuckolding. Size kink. Multiple positions. Bareback. Voyeurism (not by choice). Oral (f receiving). Light degradation. Light humiliation. Forced bonding (through magical cum).
word count: 1.6k
Author's Note: When I got the prompt cuckolding I knew right away I'm gonna torment Pete 😎🤣 And who is a better choice to humiliate the sleazy douchebag than the walking sin that is Ari Levinson 🥵 A bonus second Author's Note at the end of the fic to answer a question I think some of you may have after reading 🤭
this is day 29 of the Kinky Monster Cocktober
Your husband’s ambitions weren’t a novelty to you. Despite not working with him in the same field, you knew how voracious he was at work. Always aiming high, broadening the span of his influence, as well the influx of money.
You thought you knew the lengths to which Pete was ready to go.
But as the monstrous being from the depths of hell formed in the middle of your bedroom, you found out your husband’s limitless greed for power.
Pete had made a pact with a demon.
A beast straight from hell - both terrifying and hauntingly beautiful.
He was so big, his hand could easily crush your head. Skin in the shade of reddish golden, illuminated from within with unknown symbols that seemed to pulse with life. Dark curls of hair spanned his wide chest and led down his belly toward the thatch of hair at the bay of the sculpted V-line.
Where the biggest cock you’ve ever seen was proudly standing, already more than half-hard.
The demon’s smile was sinfully charming as he introduced himself as Ari. His low chuckle dripped straight into your core as he mocked that his full demon name would be too hard for you to scream when he splits your pretty cunt on his dick.
Stunned, you merely shook your head, fingers clenching on the bedsheets as you stared up at the naked monster. He didn’t have horns, or a tail, but still there was nothing human about him. Even his luscious looking hair held flickers of hellfire sparking between the strands. And his eyes, so inhumanly blue, melted to black tar when he used his power.
With a flick of a wrist, Ari had Pete drop into a chair, unable to get up or move any way. The chair was positioned right in front of the bed.
“Witness your own deal, mortal.” Ari sneered at Pete, careless of the disgust that suddenly appeared on your husband’s face.
No grimace fractured your own face, but a look of pure shock that seemed to please the demon as he pinned your body to the mattress and ripped away your silk nightie.
Your fingernails needled his heated skin when he crushed you with his full weight, kicking your legs apart and settling between them with shameless self-righteousness. Ari didn’t mind the tiny bite of pain from your fingernails, or maybe you didn’t even nick his demonic skin at all.
You couldn’t help the tremble at the swipe of his large hand across your body. His palm alone swallowed your full breast and spanned to your ribcage. By some kind of spell, or demonic trick, the slide of his hand down your belly ignited tingles in your clit.
Your body primed itself for the demon within a few stuttered heartbeats.
Ari’s grin was sinister when your eyes widened and a cry ripped from your mouth at the ruthless stretch of his massive cock.
Wet and warmed, your pussy struggled to accommodate his girth - a painful type of pleasure he loved causing you.
“Either you don’t take proper care of this snug pussy, or your dick’s a tiny disappointment.” Ari taunted Pete, laughing at your husband’s offended scowl. “She’s so fucking tight as if I was taking a virgin.”
“Don’t worry, sweet crumb,” his gaze returned to you, “I’ll stretch you nicely. You’re gonna be cockdrunk dumb when I’m done with you. But, just so you know-” he leaned to whisper in your ear- “I won’t be done for a long, long time.”
There was no limit to your moans and screams as the demon fucked you. No amount of tears, begging, or broken cries satisfied him. Quite the opposite, he seemed to grow hungrier for your break the longer he toyed with your body.
Ari fucked you on all fours, yanking your hair up so Pete saw the glow of pleasure on your face when you came around demon’s cock for the first time.
Then on your back, legs spread wide and hooked over his arms. Your head hung over the edge of the mattress, your husband’s face a blurred, upside-down picture. Ari pushed your knees to your chest, angling your ass up so Pete had the view of the thick reddish cock spearing into your cunt.
He manhandled your body to sit in his lap, handling you like a rag doll he moved himself. Up and down his dick. On full display in front of your husband.
Your thighs were glistening with your own slick. Ari’s cock was sticky creamy with it, his heavy balls as well.
He took you on your knees again, face buried in the sheets as you came on the demon's cock for the fourth time. Or was it fifth? The pleasure turned maddening, blurring into one ongoing orgasm when Ari pressed you down fully, mounting you prone bone.
His low, triumphant laugh combined with your whimpers as each thrust forced out a small squirt.
“Time for my end of the bargain,” Ari grunted, lowering most of his weight on you.
He cupped your chin with one hand, forcing your head to lift up. Long fingers hooked into your open mouth, prying it wider. You had to present the most lewd sight - fucked incoherent, pinned by the massive demon, gushing around his cock and drooling over his fingers.
Eyes rolled to the back of your skull when Ari’s thrust turned wilder. Harsher. Then he was roaring his release and your body seized as a hot flood of cum defiled your used cunt.
Everything around you melted into a watercolored haze. You didn’t even remember you had a husband who witnessed it all. Who still looked as Ari pulled out, proudly presenting his twitching cock that still spurted cum over your ass.
With a heavy tongue, you merely whimpered when Ari flipped you onto your back at the edge of the bed. He spread your thighs apart, showing Pete the mess he turned you into.
“To always succeed in any project you take on, in exchange for the demon’s one-night pleasure with your wife.”
Ari’s voice took on a booming tone as he gripped the back of Pete’s neck.
“This is your part.” Ari pointed at your dripping pussy. “Lick all of my pleasure and your wish will be granted.”
“What?!” Pete shuddered in revulsion. “What the fuck? That wasn’t-”
“Come on, Brenner.” The demon snickered. “You make shifty deals daily, always catching your clients and the fine print and loopholes. You should expect tricks in a pact with a demon.”
Yanking him forward, Ari forced Pete off the chair and onto his knees between your spread legs.
“To always succeed in any project you take on, you have to take all of the demon's pleasure. So get to work and eat all of my cum.”
Words reached you, some of their meaning managed to flicker awareness in your fried brain. But you were too exhausted, too boneless and ruined to voice your dismay.
As Pete’s tongue licked one side of your puffy folds, your body twitched in an oversensitive reaction.
“Shh.” Ari stroked your head gently, laying on his side across the bed. “I know he’s frustratingly disappointing after you’ve tasted how pleasure can feel like, but it’s only fair we let him try to score his deal. So be a good girl, sweet crumb, and let your hubby eat your messy cunt.”
A few of Pete’s tongue swipes were close to reigniting your arousal, but the sensation fell flat within seconds.
“Ahh, poor crumb.” Ari cooed. He moved so his head rested next to yours, lips brushing the shell of your ear while he watched Pete eagerly suck and lick at you.
“There’s this little thing about being filled by a demon. Sometimes- well, most of the time… okay, always, it just so happens that cum bonds the human to the demon.”
This time, your attention snapped to him instantly. Your eyes met the blue swallowed by black.
“You can compare it to addiction. You can definitely try fighting it off. But-” Ari’s mouth curved in a wicked smirk. “No mouth, dick, or toy will ever satisfy you. You’ll be dreaming of this night. Of my cock. Until those dreams spill into the day, tease your pussy with memories of pleasure. You’ll become a constantly dripping, horny demon slut. Praying for my return and for the defilement of your holes.”
You already felt that pull as Ari was painting your cursed future. A fleeting thought of the hand stroking your head moving to your mouth so you could suck on his fingers and earn the right to choke on his cock.
Faintly, you shook your head, but Ari only grinned. He already marked his triumph.
Which culminated when he hovered his hand over your abdomen after Pete declared he was done and boldly demanded his reward.
A tiny splash of hellfire ignited on your skin, slowly reshaping into a symbol similar to those covering Ari’s body.
“You failed.” Ari announced dispassionately. “Some of my cum is still inside your wife. Maybe if you weren’t so lousy, you’d get her to come so hard she squirts it out of her slutty pussy.”
In a swift, powerful move Ari was back on his feet, towering over all and swallowing the light within the room.
At the snap of his fingers your body floated up and dropped at his feet; your knees hitting the floor, and your cheek resting against his muscled thigh.
“No deal for you, mortal.” He sneered at Pete. “As a price for bothering me, I’m taking your wife. It’s been a while since I had a pretty toy to defile and break. She’ll be more amusing than your ugly, corrupt soul.”
Author's Note 2: If you caught that part about demon cum bonding human to the demon, which is why Reader will be Ari's devoted slut, you might also notice that Pete licked/ate Ari's cum out of Reader...
Yes, he will become a little addicted and desperate, and Ari will never ease his suffering 😈😈😈
Summary: Unwanted. Rejected. But desired, nonetheless.
Pairing: Alpha!Steve Rogers x Alpha!Bucky Barnes, Alpha!Steve Rogers x Omega!Reader x Alpha!Bucky Barnes
Warnings: angst, past unrequited feelings, established mm relationship, a/b/o, a/b/o dynamics, possessive Steve, scenting
Catch up here: Unwanted mate & Unwanted mate (2)
Trope: Triad
Flufftober vs Kinktober 2025
“A triad? "Have you completely lost your mind?" George Barnes rarely loses control. He’s not very emotional, nor does he yell at people for no reason.
Today, though, he’s about to rip his son and lover apart. “You cannot share her! Y/N is your omega. Do you have the slightest idea what the organization will do if they find out what the degenerated monsters did to Y/N?”
“They can’t do shit,” Bucky bites back. “I did my homework. They cannot take her away from me unless I abandon her or refuse to mate her.” The alpha proudly puffs his chest. “I mated her more than once. She’s filled with my heir. Law says, "I can have lovers, but I must treat my Omega with respect and love."
“We,” Steve clears his throat. “We will treat her with respect and love, sir. I know Bucky did not act like a trustworthy alpha. I’ll take half of the blame for distracting him. I’ll do better from now on.”
“Son, she is not a doll you can share. Y/N is a living, breathing woman with feelings. She’s vulnerable and hurt because of the two of you. I won’t sit and wait for you to become better alphas!”
“Father, with all due respect, this is my omega and wife. I will not let anyone lay hands on her.” Bucky raises his voice, no growling and snarling at his father. “We are looking for a home for all of us.”
“So, you want to drag her somewhere and lock her in a basement until you need her for your rut!” George barks at his son, eyes glowing orbs now. “I will not allow you to ruin this omega!”
“Basement?” Steve stares at George in disbelief. “Sir, we would never do such a thing to her. Y/N is…” His eyes become glassy the moment you walk toward the alphas. “Y/N…”
Bucky huffs when his lover immediately rushes toward you. Steve looks you all over, checking on the hidden second claiming mark he left on your neck. “How are you? Do you need anything? Does the mark still hurt?”
“Steve!” Bucky grunts. “Let her breathe for once.” Your alpha joins you and Steve. He carefully checks the mark he left on your neck. “It’s healing, Y/N. Do you want me to clean the wound again?”
You narrow your eyes at Bucky before slapping his hand away. “Don’t,” you hiss, “you think for one second that I’ll forget what you did to me.”
George grins. He can see the fire in your eyes as you ball your hands into fists.
“Omega?” Steve whines, hearing a low growl leave your lips. “We are sorry. Bucky and I will do better from now on. Do you want to come with us and search for a home? We want you to choose your new home.”
Cocking your head, you look at George for confirmation, a jab in Bucky’s direction. Your alpha growls, wanting to draw attention toward him and away from his father.
“What is it, son? Do you not like it when your omega asks another alpha for confirmation? Maybe you should’ve thought about leaving her alone after using your alpha command twice in the future.”
“I want a garden and floor-to-ceiling windows to see the city lights and stars.” You confidentially say. “Flowers—I want them in the garden to grow vegetables and fruits.”
If the alphas want to share their life, you will not let them walk all over you ever again. Your omega is still whimpering in distress because of what George had to do to save you. He only tried to help you, but the alpha broke something that will take a long time to heal.
“A garden would be nice, that’s true,” Steve beams at you. “Do you like vegetables more than fruits? What about tomatoes? Do you like them?”
“Ahem…can we go back to buying a house and not talk about becoming farmers?” Bucky grumbles. He hates that you seek confirmation from his father and talk about nonsense with his lover. “We all love tomatoes, but we should find a house before growing them.”
“We are not done here.” George tries to stop his son and Steve from bringing you out of the mansion. If you are within his reach, he can protect you. “Son.”
“Father, I love and respect you, but,” Bucky bares his teeth, his orbs glowing now, “do not interfere with my bond with my mates. I know we made a lot of mistakes, but I will try to make things up to Y/N for the rest of my life.”
“I want your jacket,” you whine, and tug at Steve’s jacket. Bucky played games with you, making you jealous of Steve’s scent on his clothes. Now it’s your turn to rile him up.
Steve strips his jacket off, handing it to you. He watches you put it on, a smile on his face. Bucky is not happy. Not at all. He grunts but doesn’t say a word. In his opinion, Bucky deserves much worse than his lover’s scent covering your body.
“House number five,” Bucky is less enthusiastic than when you looked around the first house. “What do you hate about it this time?” He sighs deeply. Your alpha had hoped to make you at least a little happy with a new house.
While both alphas slowly despair, fearing you don’t want to find a house because you never intended to move in with them.
“I like the windows in the bedroom and the size of the bedroom. It’d be big enough for all of us. We’ll need a big bed…like huge.” You cocked your head to look at Steve. “What sizes of beds exist?”
“Uh—I don’t really know. Queen-size and king-size are a thing, I think,” Steve shrugs. He moves closer to sniff at Bucky’s neck, licking his lips. He can already see the three of you ruin every room in this house.
“We will order a custom-made one,” Bucky possessively wraps his arm around your waistline. “I want to have my way with both of you on it and make you cream the sheets.”
You shudder at the memories of your night together with the alphas. “You will have to make up a lot to me before I’ll share a bed with you again.”
“I take the couch too,” he winces at his words. “Sorry, that was stupid.” Bucky shakes his head. It seems he cannot do anything right when it comes to you. “Sorry…”
“The garden is nice too, and I like the walk-in wardrobe.” You glance out of the window. “What do you think about the bathroom?”
“We need to replace the bathtub. I want a bigger one,” Bucky murmurs in your ear. “I want to scrub your back in it while Steve massages your feet.”
“Hmm…” you nod thoughtfully. “I will consider moving into this house with you under one condition.”
“Which one?” The alphas ask in unison.
“You will have to make up for every single time you hurt me…”
(Image is a manip using an original work from quirkybyte.com)
Part 1
Series Masterlist
Words: 616
Pairing: Hydra Supreme aka Commander Steve Rogers x Civilian Reader
Warnings: Hydra, references to violence, references to the Asset (aka James Buchanan Barnes), references to kidnapping, references to nonconsensual sexual situations, references to hostage killing and gore.
Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site. If you are seeing this fanfiction anywhere but archiveofourown and tumblr, it has been reposted without my permission.
Summary: Immediately following the Battle of New York in May 2012, the world is about to learn that Hydra is very much alive, a parasite that’s infiltrated both SHIELD and the US Govt. The world is about to meet the Hydra Supreme… Will the Avengers be able to stop Hydra before it’s too late? Will they be able to stop its Dark Commander?
~~~
May 20, 2012, 11:33 PM
Undisclosed location, New York
“Commander,” Alexander Pierce smiled at him on the screen. “Looks like you had a rough evening.”
The World Security Council Secretary sat there in his pressed black suit, in the tranquility of his huge modern office. The man’s hands were on the desk before him, fingers laced.
He could sense the older gentleman’s tension from the other side of the screen. It was obvious in the slight elevation of his shoulders, the white of his knuckles.
“It didn’t go as smoothly as we’d hoped,” he told him, not caring how rough he looked at the moment. Pierce isn’t out here busting his ass for Hydra’s agenda. “But we have a solid lead.”
Pierce’s blue eyes widened behind his glasses. “On Loki’s scepter?”
Murders, thieves, and people who were set on destruction broke out of their prison and were let loose to take over one of the few cities left running on tracks across the wasteland. The Snowpiercer Train.
Omegas are in constant danger now. They are considered weak among the people and only good for one thing in this new life: to be kept or sold. Every day more and more omega's go missing whenever they wander out of hiding and the numbers are dwindling.
Something must be done and an act of desperation drives you to do the unthinkable, go to the Alpha who had taken over the train.
All Warnings will be at the beginning of each chapter. This will be considered a dark series for this blog so read at your own risk.
A/N- What can I say, I love any chance to write for Curtis Everett, so here we are.
Summary: Rick Grimes daughter was a sweet soul to everyone but Shane- she knew him her whole life but when Shane changed into a mean hothead of a man she turned into the brat who made his life hell because she had enough.
But so did Shane.
Characters: Dark!ShaneWalsh x Reader
Word count: 2.3k
WARNINGS: age gap (reader is 18+) / explicit sexual content as in deep throat, oral (M receiving), swearing, Sir kink (kinda)
Trigger warning: non-con | 18+
🔞 MINORS DNI below the cut! 🔞
➻ Part 2 [M]❤️🔥‼️
Rick and Lori Grimes were way to young when they found out that they would become parents. Barely finishing High School and shortly after graduation they held you in their arms for the first time.
Your friends always envied you for having such cool and young parents; you heard sentences like “Oh, your mom must be like your best friend and not like a mother!”
Truth was- Lori Grimes was neither for you. Yeah, she was your mother but that didn’t automatically make her a good one. You two were too different, all your personality traits coming from your father. When she fell pregnant again, this time with your younger brother Carl, she swore to do everything different! She would be a real mom with real responsibility and raise him right! She didn’t.
But she tried; you had to give her that. She tried to be around and connect to her kids as soon as the apocalypse started- way to late but nonetheless.
But your father- oh you loved your father and worshipped the ground he walked on. He was a gentle and friendly soul, trying to please everyone and looking for solutions that would fit for the whole group. Sure, he too changed when the world went to shit but he still tried his hardest and darn best.
And that was just something your mother didn’t.
Bad enough she fucked his best friend when she believed to be a widow and had the nerve to not even tell your dad when he returned to your family.
Of course, her and Shane believed they were sooo sneaky and careful- as if walkers made some sexy noises while they stumbled through the woods. When you caught them in the middle of their act your first reaction was to scream, slap the stupid out of them or puke. But you just stood here, flabbergasted and hurt before you turned around without saying a thing.
They didn’t know that you knew but your mother noticed that something was off when you distanced yourself even more from her and starting to make snarly remarks towards Shane, losing all respect you had for the former family friend.
You grew up with Shane being around; he held you when you were a baby and spent every Friday afternoon at your house watching sports with your father. That’s why you couldn’t wrap your head around why he would go after your mother, the wife of his best friend, doesn’t matter if they believed Rick was dead or not.
Shane noticed your changed behavior as well but you were young and probably had some things and hormones to go through so he mostly ignored it, trying to remain his composure in front of the group. You turned worse with every day that passed; getting cheekier with your remarks, rolling your eyes whenever he said something or ordered you to do. “You’re not my dad” or “You can’t tell me what to do” were some of your favorite sentences, making Shane’s blood boil under the surface.
Lori tried to calm him down: “She’s only a teenager, it will pass.”
He knew it but would be lying if he pretended that it didn’t bother him and, on some days, he wanted to spank the everlasting shit out of you. Of course, he would never touch you but still; a guy can dream.
The moment Rick returned and your family was reunited again was also the moment you became your old self again or so Shane thought. In front of the group and your parents you were just the sweetest girl; always ready to help with chores, being polite and well mannered. But as soon as they turned their back and you were alone with Shane your whole demeanor changed into a little devil, determined to make his life a living hell.
He tried talking to you, asking what he did wrong, what he could do to make you like him again but you waved him off, not even interested in his lies of bullshit he’d feed you.
The tension grew when the group reached the farm, trying to build a partly normal life for themselves but Shane had to go full crazy psycho bonkers, ruining everybody’s days.
After the hospital run with Otis he was changed- the good guy was gone and a new and aggressive Shane took place.
You started to keep out of his way, leaving as soon as he arrived somewhere and he didn’t mind as long as you kept your mouth shut.
Rick noticed the silence between you two and asked what was wrong but you just shrugged your shoulders and said in the sweetest tone possible: “Nothing, daddy.”
Your father didn’t push the matter anymore, as long as there was no fighting or dispute going on, you two could continue your weird silence.
And so it was; Shane ignoring you and you ignoring him as well until a few weeks later when the group sat around a bonfire, talking, keeping watch, trying to have somewhat of a good time. You sat next to your dad, your head on his shoulder and staring into the crackling fire.
“Fucking can’t believe this, are y’all kidding me?!” Shane suddenly yelled when he crawled out of his tent. “Y’all sitting on your asses and grilling marshmallows when we should do something about that damn barn?!”
A few rolled their eyes but remained silent, your dad tried to calm him down but Shane only grew louder. That’s when you had enough.
“Shut up, Shane.” You mumbled and your dad gave you a soft nudge. “Hey!” he scolded playfully but wasn’t really angry.
“What did ‘ya just say to me?!” Shane asked and took another step in your direction. You gave him a lazy stare in return, how pathetic.
“You heard me, Walsh. We’re trying to have a good time and you always have to ruin it with your shitty mood swings. Get that stick out of ya ass and relax.”
Glenn’s eyebrows raised and some tried to keep their laughter to themselves but failed making Shane almost explode with anger.
“Y/N-“ your mother said but you threw her a disgusted side glance.
“Mom, don’t even start-“ you warned and she knew what you meant, swallowing before she pressed her lips into a thin line remaining silent.
Rick sighed. “Okay, enough! Shane, we’ll talk tomorrow, alright? I know you’re concerned but the barn is secure for now and we’re safe.” He gave a quick look to the group “We should go to sleep, it’s getting late.”
Days passed and no one thought about it anymore. No one but Shane. He was still upset and would not tolerate being humiliated in front of the others, especially not by a silly teenager.
On your way to the house, you walked by the RV but didn’t notice Shane standing there; watching. When you turned around the corner you ran straight into his chest, a small yelp escaping you.
“Ow! What the hell, Walsh?” you took a step back but he came closer till your back was against the RV.
“I swear to god Y/N- If I keep hearing you calling me by my last time one more time, I’ll-“
“You will what? Huh?” you taunted and gave him a small push to keep some distance. “You know you talk really loud when all you should do is keep your mouth shut or else, I tell my dad that you fucked my mom while he was fighting for his live, desperately trying to find us.”
Shane took a step back as if you had hit him. “That’s what this is all about? You’re being a little bitch because I slept with your mother?”
It all started to make sense now- of course you knew! All those side glances and cheeky remarks; you knew the whole time.
“You two disgust me.” you snarled and Shane let out a small laugh.
"My, my. And here I was breaking my head over why you suddenly hated me. My sweet little Y/N.”
“Don’t call me that! You lost that right as soon as you betrayed my dad, your best friend if I might add!”
“Y/N-“ he still had a smile on his face and all you wanted was to slap it right off. “You will understand when you get older, for now just focus on growing up, these are adult problems.”
“Excuse me?” you responded, completely offended. “I am a grown up! I don’t need to get older to understand that you fucked a married woman!”
“Or what? You can’t tell me shit, Shane! You better keep your distance and stay the hell away from my mother or I will tell my dad. God knows what he’ll do to you.”
Shane took a quick look but no one was around, leaving you two alone before he wrapped his hand around your throat dragging you inside the RV. You clawed at his arm, desperately trying to free yourself. Inside he closed the door, releasing the breathtaking grip while pushing you away. You landed on your ass, gasping for air.
“What the-“ you started but fell silent when you saw the look in his eyes; pure anger.
“I am so done with you, sweetheart. This attitude problem stops right now, ya hear me?” Shane’s nostrils were blown wide, a visible vein pulsating at his temple. His large figure hovered over you, giving you a feeling of helplessness.
“What is your problem?” you tried to yell but it was only a squeak. “You can’t treat me like that!”
“Why?” he grinned cheekily “Because your Ricks daughter? I don’t fucking care, darling. Your daddy missed to teach you some manners and we’re going to fix that. Right now.”
You watched in fear as he opened his belt; the noise from the zipper rang in your ears. He wouldn’t...?
“Shane-“ you started and he shook his head.
“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. You lost that privilege- from now on it’s Sir to you.”
“I-I’m sorry…” your voice was a mere whisper but he didn’t care.
“No. But you will be.”
You tried to back away when he positioned himself in front of you; your face was now the same height as his crotch. Shane’s large hand grabbed your hair, painfully holding you in place.
“We’re done playing. You wanna be treated as an adult?” When you remained silent, he gave your hair another yank and you yelped in pain. “Answer me.”
“Yes…” you hissed trough gritted teeth but his grip didn’t loosen. “Yes what?” “Yes, Sir!” tears filled your eyes and he finally released your burning scalp.
“Good girl.” He praised and softly caressed your jawline with his fingers. “Now, we’re going to have to do something about that mouth- Open up.”
You pressed your lips together, shaking your head. “No…”
“Oh, sweetheart…” he cooed “You’re only going to make it worse for yourself. Now open.that.mouth.” When he pulled out his already hardened member you were on the edge of crying; desperately begging him to stop. Shane raised his eyebrows looking at you with fake concern. “Poor thing, never had a man handle you, huh? Am I your first?”
You didn’t need to answer him- your flushed cheeks was what he needed to know. His hand stroked his erection and a bit of precum dripped down. The sudden yank on your hair made you yelp in pain, your mouth open in a silent cry when he pushed himself into you.
“If you bite me-“ he warned softly but the grip on your hair was painfully tight “I’m gonna break your jaw. Understood?” You nodded your head; trying to relax your jaw, finding a comfortable position to relieve the pain. But Shane wasn’t a patient person, he literally couldn’t care less about your comfort. The first time his tip hit the back of your throat you started gagging, trying to push him away but his speed increased, barely giving you enough time to breathe.
“Look at me.” he demanded in a low growl and you looked up through your lashes. “Fuck, almost regretting screwing your mom if I could have had that mouth a long time ago. I bet you dreamed about this, huh? Didn’t think I noticed the way you look at me? Strolling around in them tiny shorts, almost presenting yourself on a silver plate for me.”
He let out a deep moan when you released his dick with a loud Pop-sound. Your lips were red and swollen, your knees sore. But you never looked more beautiful to him than right now. He gave you only a few seconds before he shoved himself down your throat again, setting a harsh pace while grabbing a fistful of your hair.
“Fuck, so close.” he grunted and your eyes widened in shock but Shane laughed when he saw your expression “Oh, you’re gonna swallow, babygirl.”
There wasn’t anything that you could have done; you were just grateful that you were still able to breathe. Your eyes were shut, tears streaming over the heated cheeks when his warm load filled your mouth, running down the back of your throat.
Shane let out a long and deep moan- his eyes were closed and finally he released his grip making you fall back, coughing and gasping for air again.
„Damn, baby, that mouth was heaven.“ His voice was soft but the look in his eyes still dark; his pupils blown full wide with lust. „You did so well, maybe I‘ll make it up to you one day.“
You wiped away the tears with your arm- small and pathetic in Shane‘s eyes and he fucking loved it.
He put away his already softening member and started to exit the RV but not before he turned around one last time, giving you a warning glance:
„If ‘ya ever run that mouth again or behave like a brat, I‘m gonna come for that sweet ass of yours and believe me- I won‘t be as gentle as today.“
You’ll only find my work posted here and and on my AO3 blog. I don’t give consent for my work to be re-posted (in any language) onto any other platform, even if it is with credit. Thank you.
Summary: You learned your lesson to never run your mouth again.
Or so Shane thought.
A/N: This is literally pure filth ok? And I love it. Also anal sex isn't as easy as it's portrayed in smut, pls don't forget that. This is purely fictional. Never ever have anal sex without proper preparation. also the lovely @angel-litter inspired me to write a third part so yeah, there’s more Shane coming ya way!
Characters: Dark!ShaneWalsh x Reader
Word count: 4k (sorry not sorry)
WARNINGS: age gap (reader is 18+) /
explicit sexual content as in anal, oral (F receiving), swearing
Trigger warning: dub-con | 18+ 🔞 MINORS DNI below the cut! 🔞
➻ Part 1 [M] Part 3 [M]
Weeks had passed and Shane couldn’t have been happier: Rick finally agreed to clean the barn from the walkers, everyone learned how to handle their guns properly and some of them, like Andrea, were actually pretty good shooters. It was good to have trained people around in case of an emergency.
And, of course, there where you; currently the most well-behaved angel there could have been. After the lesson Shane taught you a few weeks ago you barely looked in his direction, did everything when someone asked you to do it and remained quiet. Not one snarly remark or side-glance. So yeah, life’s been pretty good lately, or as good as it could be in this shitshow of world they lived in.
“Y/N?” your mother called and you turned around to see her standing at the porch of the white farmhouse. She just found out that she was pregnant and now her and your dad slept inside the house instead of the tent. You stayed back, happy to have some privacy for yourself as your mother got on your nerves more than ever. You were sure it was Shane’s child, everyone probably knew, even Rick.
Lori waved her hand to get your attention and you yelled a quick “Be right there” before she disappeared inside the house again.
When she was out of your sight you let out an annoyed groan and rolled your eyes but as soon as you turned your head you saw Shane leaning against the RV, his arms crossed in front of his broad chest and he cocked an eyebrow when he noticed your disrespectful behavior. You gulped and quickly finished your chore before sprinting towards the house.
You did a good job avoiding him, too afraid he would keep his promise of teaching you another lesson. Even though you never experienced Shane like that before and the whole incidence was disturbing, to say the least, there was something that had changed; the way you looked at him from now on.
Was he always that well-built? Did the veins on his arms and hands always pop out as soon as they were physically strained? And whenever he spoke, didn’t matter the words, you felt a slight tingle in your stomach area.
Disgusted with yourself you shook your head to organize your thoughts before facing your mom in the kitchen. “Yes, mom?” you asked and she turned around. “Baby, could you please gather everyone for dinner? Your father and Glenn are still on their supply run but I figured you could go with Shane to look for them, it’s getting dark.”
You stepped from one foot to another and rubbed the back of your head. “Why can’t Daryl go?” Lori noticed the reluctance in your voice but she just figured you were in a bad mood, typical for a young person.
“Because-“ she continued to chop the vegetables “Daryl’s still recovering from his wound and shouldn’t strain himself for another few days.”
Oh yeah, you forgot… He fell from a horse and put an arrow through his shoulder. A snort escaped you as you remembered when he told you what happened, you felt bad for him, you really did, it was still kinda funny to imagining the Daryl Dixon falling off a horse.
“Okay but I don’t think Shane’s going to like the idea of another two people going out after dark…” you tried once again and saw as she stopped in her motion. “It’s your father, Y/N.”
She couldn’t see it so you rolled your eyes once again. Sure, the man you cheated on and got pregnant by his best friend. Mother and wife of the year…
“Fine-“ you sighed “I’ll ask Shane.”
The mere thought of being alone with him again made your stomach turn. He acted like nothing ever happened except giving you here and there a warning glance before returning to his old self. Asshole…
“Shane?” you said when you walked towards the open RV and heard a grunt from within. You stopped in front of the open door not wanting to be alone with him in such small space once again. “You in there?”
“Yeah.” Seconds later he appeared in front of you, his blue shirt unbuttoned and you quickly licked your lips when you stared at his exposed abs. “What is it?” he asked impatiently when he noticed your stare. Your eyes fluttered shut before looking up to meet his. “Uhm… Lori wants us to go look for dad and Glenn.”
“Thought I told ya not to call her Lori, didn’t I? She’s your mother.”
You withheld the urge to roll your eyes at him and gulped to suppress the anger pooling in your stomach. You’re not my fucking father and I also fucking hate you, you thought to yourself but none of those words went over your lips. You just nodded and asked a small “So?” instead.
“Yeah, lets go.” He sighed before grabbing his gun and walking towards the car. ”Got ya gun?” you replied with a bored “Hmmm” but flinched when Shane suddenly stopped to face you.
“Use your damn words, girl. What are ya, five?” he grunted and grabbed the gun from behind your pants. “And I fricking told ya to put it in the holster, not your goddamn pants, you know what could happen if it goes off?”
“As if you cared…” you mumbled but bit your lips when you saw his annoyed expression. “Shut it, I don’t have time for your hormonal whining, this is grown up business. If ya can’t handle it then go back inside and chop some veggies with the others and I’ll go alone.”
Shane studied your face and saw the tears forming in your eyes but he simply couldn’t care, this was life and death and not prom and Friday-pizza-nights or whatever shit ran through your mind. He need to keep you safe and alive; he didn’t matter if you hated him for it.
“I got it.” You answered through clenched teeth and he stared another five second at your before finally giving the gun back and getting into the car. You took a deep breath and tried to remain as calm as possible but the truth was, your blood was boiling.
You drove only for about ten minutes before you ran into your father and Glenn as they were on their way home. Rick gave Shane a small nod and Shane turned the car to drive back to the farm. You let out a small sigh and were glad when Shane didn’t notice it but your eyes kept staring at his fingers around the steering wheel; the same fingers which painfully grabbed your hair and kept your head in place as he fucked your face.
Shane noticed your glance and turned his head to meet your eyes; you didn’t look away but continued to stare at him like a doe that got caught in spotlight. He couldn’t make sense of your behavior towards him; some days you seemed almost scared and avoided him completely (just as he thought you would react after what he did) and other days you practically couldn’t get enough of him, always staring or biting your lip whenever he caught you. Only thing missing was the drool coming from your mouth.
“Want a picture? It last’s longer, princess.” He snorted and as soon as you saw the smirk around his lips you quickly looked away. “Shut up-“ you mumbled embarrassed and tried to hide your reddened cheek from his sight.
“Aw come on, ‘was just joking, don’t be like that.” He laughed and tried to poke your side. “Stop!” you squeaked and swatted his hand away which made him chuckle even more.
“You’re actually pretty cute when you’re not a bitch, ya know.” Your head snapped towards him and he grinned when he saw your angered expression. “You have no idea what I’m like when I decide to be a bitch.” You spat and made him snort in return.
“Actually, I caught a glimpse of her a few weeks back but strangely she’d never appeared again. Hm, don’t know why.”
You felt the heat in your face and ears as he nonchalantly hinted on the incident in the RV and held back from striking the back of his head, he probably would have killed you right then and there. Shane notice the way you clenched your fist in a pathetic attempt to hide your anger.
“I think you should stop or else I’m going to tell my dad.” You said calmly before quickly exiting the car as soon as he stopped at the farm. Shane watched as you slammed the door shut and took fast and long strides towards the house, probably too afraid of his reaction. Coward, he thought and got out of the car as well.
“What happened?” Rick asked and turned to look after his daughter who seemed aggravated.
“Ah, you know. Probably that time of the month.” Shane answered calmly and his best friend nodded in return. “I heard that women adjust their cycles if they live together long enough.” Glenn mumbled and earned himself some looks from the older men. “What?”
“Ya know, boy-“ Shane spoke and put an arm around the younger one “You’re so lucky that you’re one of the last fellows around and Maggie likes you.”
Glenn raised his eyebrows and Rick laughed in return as the walked towards the house to finally eat dinner.
Everyone sat around the huge table and chattered to their hearts content except you who only picked in the food on your plate.
Shane sat across from you and gave your knee a soft kick under the table. You looked up and he mouthed a silent “Stop that” signaling you to behave and to eat your food like a normal person.
“Bite me.” You whispered back but it was loud enough for your mother to hear. “Y/N! I don’t want you to talk to anyone like that. Apologize.”
“I’m not a kid anymore, mom. I apologize if I want to.” You answered and an uneasy silence spread in the room.
“Y/N…” Rick spoke softly and your expression turned soft. “But dad, it’s true. I’m so sick and tired of her treating me like a child!”
“Yes, I know, honey but-“ your fathers soft spoken words were cut off by Shane’s harsh ones: “Then maybe act like your age instead of a bratty and whiny little kid.”
You turned around and gave him an infuriated look.
“Excuse me but this is family business and you are not family, okay? Just because you fucked and impregnated my mother doesn’t make you family so back off!” The last words came out louder than you intended to but it felt so good to finally acknowledge the elephant in the room. You saw the hurt in your fathers eyes but it was time for him to learn that literally everybody knew. “Don’t gimme that look, dad. Everyone knows. We all knew way before you came back to us… I caught them in the woods a few times.”
“That’s enough, Y/N!” Lori suddenly yelled and you cocked an eyebrow. “That’s something we can agree on, mom.” You spat back before slamming the fork on the table and walking out the door, towards your tent.
You set up your camp inside the barn, it would be your retreat for the night, also it had a good outlook in case of some unwelcome guests. You were a pretty good sniper and were sure you could handle some walkers wandering around in the open field if they decided to come to close to the farm. Neither one of your parents tried talking to you after what happened at the dinner table and you were glad to be alone; all the rage still inside your guts.
You nestled inside the hay and closed your eyes after checking your surroundings one last time soon afterwards falling into a deep slumbers.
Your precious sleep was disturbed as soon as you heard rustling noises outside the barn and the hand that grabbed the gun was immediately in position to put a bullet between two walker eyes if necessary. “Daryl?” you whispered because you remembered that he sometimes wandered around to check the areal but there was no answer. “Hello?” you asked once again and looked outside but everything was quiet. Maybe it was just the wind or some animal you thought and as soon as you turned around a giant hand grabbed you from behind, firmly pressed against your mouth to silence the scream inside your throat. You frantically tried to free yourself and remembered the gun in your hand but it was quickly taken from you.
“Sh-“ you suddenly heard and relaxed a little bit as you recognized Shane’s voice. The relaxation wasn’t long-lasting when you stared into dark pupils, his lips slightly agape and his right hand still grabbed the back of your head as his other hand kept your mouth shut. Shane saw the shift in your eyes; first there was the relief to recognize a familiar face but when your brain finally processed it, he could see the sheer fear in your eyes and honestly? He lived for it.
“Just came to talk-“ he mumbled softly. Too softly.
You gulped and blinked a few times, trying to come up with a plan; a way out of here but Shane knew exactly what you were thinking about and smirked. “Oh, princess, don’t be afraid-“ he spoke with false concern, his voice still as soft and smooth as butter but the grip of his fingers told you otherwise. Shane slightly moved his hand over you mouth when you started mumbling. “Hm, what was that?”
“I-I’m going to scream, Shane, if you’re-“ your words were cut off by his huge hand, once again firmly pressed over your mouth. There was a glimmer in his eyes and it made your stomach turn as he bend down, his lips softly hovering over your ear as he said:
“Oh, I know you will.”
Shane turned you around so your back was against his stone hard chest; while the hand over your mouth never left its spot his other arm wrapped around your frame like a boa constrictor pulling you harshly against him. A small whimper escaped your throat and Shane stopped in his tracks. “Was that a fucking moan I heard?”
You reluctantly shook your head but he knew better, your body reacting almost on its own as it melted against his own. “Look at you, pressing your little ass against my dick, you fucking want this, huh? Where you a little bitch because you wanted me to fuck you?”
This time you didn’t shook your head nor nodded; truth was, you were confused on what you wanted. Your feelings for Shane were mostly pure hate but his body was to die for.
“Fucking answer me-“ he growled next to your ear and you immediately shook your head; no, you didn’t do it on purpose, he was the one that went too far meddling in your family business. You just told him, simply as that.
“Bet you thought I wouldn’t repeat what I did to you before, bet you thought you were safe…” you felt his lips against your neck and closed your eyes. “But I also bet you liked sucking my dick. Tell me, how many nights were you lying awake playing with yourself wishing it was me?”
You remained quiet as you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction that he was absolutely right.
Shane removed the hand over your mouth but grabbed your hips instead. You slightly turned your head to look towards the big barn door, trying to calculate if you could be fast enough to run but he just chuckled. “Come on, try running. I’m just going to fuck you in the grass so everyone in their tents can hear you.”
That was something you definitely didn’t want, inside the barn there was at least some privacy. Your thoughts were interrupted as you felt Shane’s hand reaching inside your jeans, slipping inside your panties and your breath hitched. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, you were hot for him after all and something told you that Shane wanted you as well, not only to teach you a lesson but because he had it as bad for you as you had it for him.
Shane felt your body relax as his fingers dipped into your already wet folds, giving your clit a lazy swirl making you moan in the process.
“Shit, you’re such a little whore for me.” Your head nodded on its own as you rocked your hips against his fingers, relishing in the fact that Shane actually touched you.
Your breath was suddenly squeezed from your lungs as he harshly pushed you onto a nearby table, bending you over. “Shane-“ you gasped and heard him hum in return.
Shane quickly pulled your jeans and panties down and stared at your small ass; it was pure perfection to his eyes. Art.
Your eyes fluttered shut as you felt the rough skin of his fingertips on your sensitive skin, softly caressing and kneading the flesh in is hands. “So perfect.” He leaned over you and gave you a small kiss in your cheek making your heart melt in return; it wasn’t only hate you felt for the older man, the butterflies in your stomach made that pretty obvious.
The first slap on your ass took you completely by surprise and you let out a small shriek. There was a short pause before his hand curled around your neck, pushing your face deeper into the surface while he gave one harsh slap after another. You tried to scream but could barely breath, your fingers clawing into the wood beneath you desperately trying to hold onto something for support.
Tears formed in your eyes and ran over your heated cheeks as Shane continued to abuse your already sore behind; one slap harder than the other till you were a sobbing mess underneath him.
“Shane, please-“ you managed to breath out but he didn’t care.
“Fucking told you what happens if you run that mouth again, told ya I would come for that sweet ass of yours.” He chuckled and finally stopped the abuse of your behind. He softly caressed the reddened and swollen skin, helping you relax a little bit. Your eyes were shut with tears still escaping as you silently cried. You were sure he would continue any moment but instead Shane kneeled down, spreading your cheeks and buried his face against your dripping cunt.
You gasped once again as you felt his tongue down there, turning you into a writhing mess. Shane licked, sucked and tongue-fucked your sex as he continued to merciless eat you out.
“Fuck, Shane…” you moaned and felt him hum, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. It was almost too much; your ass that hurt like hell, his stubbly chin against your sex but his tongue that felt like heaven giving you a bittersweet experience you never felt before.
Shane could tell you were close as your hips began to quiver and your moans became more intense. His lips found your clit and gave it a strong suck as you came all over his face. He continued to eat you out even when you tried to get away from him but his fingers dug into your hips holding you into place.
You let out a relieved sigh when he finally let go. You couldn’t see it but Shane’s face was covered in your juices, making him lick his lips.
“You taste so good, princess, almost came into my pants.” You tried to get up but Shane pushed you down, his hand resting on your back. “Oh, baby… we’re not done.”
“Shane?” you asked as you heard rustling noises as if he undressed himself all while holding you into place against the wooden table. Was he still going to fuck you? Was this really the night you’d lose your virginity?
You felt as he pulled his rock-hard member out of its fabric prison before poking it against your entrance but he didn’t enter yet, not before sliding it a few times through your throbbing pussy to gather enough slick. “Shane-“ you whined once again and heard him grunt in return. “Please-“
Just as your body started to relax his cock was suddenly gone from your throbbing entrance and positioned at your asshole. Your eyes widened in shock as realization hit you; he would fuck your ass.
“Shane, what are you doing?!” You asked panicked and felt the weight of his body on your own. “Teaching you another lesson. But this time you’ll remember for sure…”
You wanted to protest, to push him away as you were definitely not ready to take it there.
“Shane, wait, I never-“
His member slowly pushed into the tight ring of muscle as he covered your moth once again, this time to mask your screams for sure. His fingers found your clit as he drew circles over the still sensitive nub from your previous orgasm. “Fucking shit, so tight-“ he growled and your nails dug into the wood once again, this time you were sure it made you bleed. It took a few soft thrusts before the pain turned tolerable. Shane pulled slightly back before delivering a harsh thrust that knocked the air out of your lungs.
His cock entered you with such a force it literally threw your forward and your feet lost contact with the floor. You tried to grab something but your body just didn’t obey, your brain in a foggy haze as he kept fucking in you from behind.
“Shit; how can it be so fucking tight?” he groaned and his fingers dug into the soft skin at your hips. It would leave marks; you were sure but couldn’t care less for now. With every harsh thrust his balls slapped against your throbbing clit making you close your eyes in pure bliss. You weren’t even sure how it was possible for him to be this deep inside you; his length made it seem impossible but your body proved you wrong as your hungry hole swallowed him; the grip around his dick so intense Shane felt his own release approaching.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth hung open for a silent cry, drool dripping down your chin and neck and for Shane it was the most beautiful sight; there you were, a drooling, moaning and writhing mess as he fucked your tight virgin hole. Your orgasm washed over you in intense waves; blood rushing in your ears as you came all over his dick.
“Fuck!” Shane closed his eyes as well before his grip on your waist increased, threatening to break you in half as he fucked you through both of your highs. He gave one final thrust before he came hot and heavy, painting your insides white.
You didn’t know how long you stayed like this; heavy panting as Shane’s fingers still dug into your skin, his cock turning slowly soft. Shane pulled out and licked his lips as he saw his own cum dripping out of your ass and down your legs. Your legs felt like Jello and if it wasn’t for Shane, you surely would have collapsed. Shane bend down to give you an intense kiss, his teeth colliding with your own as his tongue dominated your mouth. You let it happen while your hands rested against his chest.
As he pulled away you let out a small whine and he smirked.
“Hope ya learned your lesson.”
“Well…” you cleared your throat, voice all raspy. “Just because I made you cum doesn’t mean it wasn’t a lesson, ya know.” He spoke firmly but there was a hint of a smirk around his lips.
“Besides… you won’t be sitting for at least a week.”
You’ll only find my work posted here and and on my AO3 blog. I don’t give consent for my work to be re-posted (in any language) onto any other platform, even if it is with credit. Thank you.
Summary: Y/N has to think about what she wants: a rather safe life with Shane but she‘ll lose her sanity and might explore parts of her own mind she must sacrifice or will she put a bullet, between his perfect brown eyes, as the rational side of her brain tries to advise her.
A/N: soo uhm, i‘m sorry (no i‘m not lol) this is filth. HAVE FUN also thanks to my lovely @angel-litter who inspired me to write a third part
Characters: Dark!ShaneWalsh x Reader
WARNINGS: age gap (reader is 18+) / explicit sexual content, swearing - I can’t stress enough that this is a dark fic: Shane is a mean motherfucker and just takes what he wants. Don’t like, don’t read. You’ve been warned.
Trigger warning: dub-con | 18+
🔞 MINORS DNI below the cut! 🔞
➻ Part 2 [M]
The sun was setting over the horizon, casting long shadows over the prison walls. The world was quiet, save for the distant groans of walkers and the occasional rustle of leaves.
The group had settled for the evening, a small fire crackling in the front yard, warming the people who stood guard for the night. Shane Walsh sat on the outskirts, cleaning his gun with practiced ease. He glanced up, his eyes narrowing as you approached.
"Something you need, princess?" Shane drawled, his voice tinged with mockery.
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "Just checking to make sure you’re not planning to run off again. Wouldn’t want the group’s supposed protector to abandon us."
Shane smirked, his eyes glinting with mischief. He knew exactly what you were getting at: On last week’s supply run he disappeared for hours, nobody knew where he went and Rick got nervous as the hours passed by. When the sun began to set Shane casually walked towards the prison, not even batting an eye that almost everyone was looking for him.
Everyone but you. You kept telling yourself to stay away from him, not getting pulled into the dark abyss that surrounded Shane Walsh. He was a hothead and dangerous as he preferred to work alone instead of teams.
Your father worried a lot about the future; your mom’s pregnancy wasn’t helping at all. Thankfully you found the prison and its large protective walls that kept you save; as long as everyone was willing to do their part.
Except Shane fucking Walsh.
Shane’s eyes shamelessly wandered over your body, relishing the memories when you were a whimpering hot mess. His whimpering and hot mess. The older man knew exactly what chokehold he had over you and he so wished to make that chokehold a reality.
“Don’t worry about grown men business, little girl. Get your sexy ass back to the others, I’m sure your daddy needs you to count all the peas in the kitchen.”
Rage boiled inside your stomach and you stepped closer, heart pounding in your chest as its been months since you’ve been this close to him. “You know, Shane, it’s a wonder you keep others and yourself safe with that big ego of yours. Must be hard to fit through the doorways.”
It wasn’t your best comeback but something in his eyes flickered; a tiny hint of anger that washed over his face, giving you a feeling of satisfaction.
Shane chuckled, leaning back and taking in the sight in front of him. "My ego ain’t the only thing big but you already know that, don’t you baby?”
Heat rose to your cheeks, but you refused to back down. "Don't flatter yourself. You're just a big fish in a small pond."
"Oh, is that so?" Shane stood up, his towering presence making your heart race even more. He stepped closer, bodies almost touching. "You seem pretty interested in this big fish even though you try so hard to stay away from me."
You gulped and put a hand on his chest to keep some distance between, afraid someone might be watching you. “Sh-shut up, Shane.” His large hand wrapped around your wrist, giving it a harsh tug to close the distance between your bodies. You let out a small whimper; music to his ears and it made him contemplate the idea of fucking you right here right now.
“Careful, lamb, or I might need to remind you of your past lessons… but you’re not entirely hating the idea of that, do you?”
Your pulse quickened at his words, a mixture of anger and desire swirling within you. You turned your face to escape his intense stare, but Shane was relentless. His grip on your chin was firm, forcing you to face him again.
“Look at me when I’m talking to you. You wan’t me on your side, ya listen? Don’t push me away or ya won’t like the outcome.”
His voice was low and dangerous, each word sending shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched as you met his gaze, the raw power and emotion in his eyes both thrilling and terrifying.
“Shane-“ you whimpered “You’re hurting me.”
His dark eyes glistening with excitement. “Good. I know you like it.”
You swallowed hard, heart pounding in your chest. You hated how he made you feel, how he could so easily break through your defenses. But beneath the anger, there was something else—something that scared you even more than Shane’s crazy look. You were falling for him. Falling hard.
Shane's hand moved from your chin to your neck, his thumb brushing against your pulse point. "You feel that?" he asked, his voice softer now, almost tender. "That's your heart racing because of me.” His thumb continued to caress the soft skin until he positioned it under your chin, chocking you in a harsh grip.
“And I bet that’s your sweet lil' pussy, all flustered and dripping, begging for my cock. Ain’t that right, girl?”
As fast as his grip appeared on your neck it also disappeared as your father turned around the corner.
“There you are, sweetheart!” he spoke, voice soft and filled with love as he laid eyes on you. “Your mom needs you in the infirmary. Hershel’s already with her.”
Rick’s eyes wandered between you. “Everything alright here?”
“Well, I found Y/N wandering all alone out here. She should be inside after curfew.” Shane clicked his tongue as you threw him a spiteful glance. A smirk played around his lips as your father agreed.
“He’s right, Y/N. You know the rules; only the designated guards are allowed outside after 10 pm.”
“But, dad-“
“Zip it, honey. Go help your mother, she’s having another nauseous episode.”
“Great…” you whispered under your breath but softened your gaze when you noticed your father’s look. He was tired. “Okay, I’ll look after her.”
“That’s my baby girl.” he gave you a kiss on your forehead before starting to walk away. Shane waited for him to disappear around the corner before giving your ass a harsh slap.
“Ouch! What the fu-“
“Think of me when you bury your fingers in that sweet cunt tonight. As you do every night.” He whispered in your ear before giving you a slight push. “Now go.”
Almost two weeks passed and you managed to stay out of Shanes way, he was more impulsive than ever. Running around, barking commands and undermining your father as the leader of the group. You despised it, truly hated him and his behaviour but still you lied awake at night, thinking about his fingers and the way they would feel inside y-
“Y/N? Are you listening?”
You teared your mind away from the sinful fantasies it fabricated and turned your head towards your father. The group was sitting around a big table, eating dinner and discussing plans for the oncoming days.
“Huh?” you raised your eyebrows and saw as Shane frowned at you.
“Hell naw, she’s not even listening. Damn, Rick! She’s not fucking ready!” Your father sighed, rubbing his forehead in annoyment.
“No! I listened, I’m ready!” you quickly lied and Shanes eye twitched. He knew you were lying but of course Rick didn’t notice it.
“Really?” he asked and you quickly nodded, a tad to enthusiastic.
“Fine. Then it’s settled; you and Shane go on the supply run for this week.” You nodded once again, way less excited now and looked at Shane who had his arms crossed in front of his broad chest. “You listen to everything he says, is that clear, Y/N?”
Shane smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, she will, Rick. She will.”
The next day the afternoon sun was setting, casting a dim, ominous light over the abandoned neighborhood. You and Shane moved cautiously through the empty streets, listening for any signs of movement.
"Stay close," Shane ordered, his voice gruff.
"I can take care of myself," you shot back but he ignored your sassiness as leaves rustled in distance.
As you approached an old, dilapidated house, the distant groans of walkers grew louder.
"Great," you muttered. "Just what we needed."
"Inside," Shane barked, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the house.
Shane pushed you through the door, slamming it shut behind you. He quickly pushed a heavy piece of furniture against it, barricading you in. The walkers outside pounded against the walls, their growls echoing through the house.
You anxiously paced the room, nerves on edge. "This is just perfect. We’re trapped."
Shane ignored you, his focus on securing the surroundings. "We’ll be fine. Just stay quiet."
You stopped and glared at him. "You always think you know best, don’t you?"
Shane turned to face you, his eyes cold and hard. "Someone has to keep their head on straight. You’re too busy playing daddies little girl."
"Playing what?!" your voice rose. "I'm trying to survive, just like you!"
Shane stepped closer, his presence intimidating. "You think you can survive without me? You’d be dead if it wasn’t for me."
Your heart pounded, a mix of fear and anger flooding your veins. "I don’t need you, Shane. I can handle myself." He laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "You keep telling yourself that, princess. But we both know the truth: your little crush isn’t that little anymore. You’re pathetic trying to deny it.”
You took a step back, but Shane followed, his eyes dark with a dangerous intensity. "Why are you doing this?" you demanded but your voice gave away. "Why do you have to be so… mean?"
"Mean?" Shane’s voice was low and menacing. "You think this is mean? You haven’t seen anything yet. I’ve been holding back, but maybe it’s time you learned just how serious I am."
Your breath hitched as Shane backed you against the wall, his body towering over you. "Shane, stop," you said, voice trembling.
"Stop? Why would I stop? You need to understand something, Y/N. You’re mine. You belong to me. And I’m not letting anyone, or anything, take you away."
Shane studied your eyes; they were filled with a mix of fear and defiance. "You don’t own me, Shane. I’m not yours to control."
He leaned in, his face inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. "You think you have a choice? You think you can just walk away? You can’t, I won’t let you, ever.”
His lips crashed onto your own, fierce and demanding, his hands roaming possessively over your body. You tried to push him away, your brain telling you to get away from him but the wetness between your legs mocked you. Your own body betrayed you.
Shane’s hands gripping your waist, pulling you against his hard chest, his touch a mixture of possessiveness and arousal. You let out a moan as his knee pushed against your clothed sex, roughly rubbing you through your jeans. You needed more, more of him.
“Shane-“
“Shut up.” He spit back, his fingers ripping the button off your pants. “All I want to hear are those pretty moans, you understand?” You wanted to protest but the look in his eyes made you change your mind so you just nodded. “Good girl.”
You sighed when his fingers finally touched you, he stroked them over the drenched material of your panties. “Of course.” he mocked and shoved a finger inside your entrance.
He set a fast and rough rhythm but you didn’t mind, all that mattered was the pure bliss that slowly spread through your system. “M-more.” you begged and it made him snort.
“Needy little whore. You can’t handle more but I’ll give it to you anyways.” A second finger entered you, spreading the tight walls to his liking.
Shane watched your face, your hooded eyes and slightly parted lips with a small whimper escaping here and there. But he needed you to understand that you were his, there was no escape from him. He needed you to scream his name.
“Fuck, darling, your little cunt is tight. This I will enjoy-“ You opened your eyes and glanced at his hardened cock, his tip red and angry and glistening with precum. Shane knew you were a virgin and it almost made him lose his mind as he imagined taking your innocence away for the first time. He saw the fear in your eyes and he loved it.
He lifted you up, slowly pushing inside you, watching all the emotions washing over your face and you never looked more beautiful to him.
“I c-can’t-“ you whimpered and he came to a stop, waiting for your eyes to open. When you did you saw his eyes soften, almost tenderly. But just a moment later you noticed the smirk around his lips. “You will.”
His cock suddenly entered you with such a force it squeezed all air out of your lungs, leaving you gasping between his chest and the wall he had caged you in. The sharp pain made your brain panic but your body, oh your body welcomed him with such ease it was almost embarrassing.
“Shit, you’re so fucking tight-“ he groaned and his fingers dug into the soft skin at your hips. It would leave marks, you were sure, but couldn’t care less.
The pain slowly faded into a completely unique and new feeling, a feeling deep inside you. Something your fingers never managed to even scratch the surface of it. You bit your lips till you tasted blood, his length filling you up at a relentlessly pace. Shanes hand circled around your delicate neck, the grip of his fingers began to tighten leaving you chocking around them. The lack of air left your brain in a hazy state.
You weren’t even sure how it was possible for him to be this deep inside you; his length made it seem impossible but your body proved you wrong as your hungry cunt swallowed him whole. Shane felt his release approaching the more he watched your face and listening to your sloppy moans.
Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your mouth hung open for a silent cry but nothing came out as your orgasm washed over you in intense waves; your blood rushing in your ears as you came all over his dick.
Shane roughly claimed your lips once again, dominating the kiss as it left you literally breathless. His grip on your waist increased, threatening to break you in half as he fucked you through both of your highs. He gave one final thrust before he came hot and heavy, painting your insides white.
The euphoria from your first time quickly vanished as you felt the warm liquid dripping down your legs. Shane noticed the panic in your eyes and let out a hoarse chuckle.
“Thought I was joking when I said I’ll never let ya go, huh? You’re fucking mine forever, princess.”
The rational part inside you was ready to run, to grab the nearest object and bash it over his head but the other part, the part that was hopelessly in love with this psychopath of a man, stayed still.
Accepting your new fate as you felt his lips on your ear:
