livecrow

[livecrow]

Okay. Wth. Why did I like the little fic you just posted??? I'm like the girliest girl out there, like straight up barbie at times, and it was incredibly hot to me??? I'm genuinely confused right now.

glad i'm not the only one omg

lol, i'm not sure there's a masculine bone in my body, but that type of shit does it for me. i wish i could explain, but i'm just as clueless as you are. glad you liked it!!

i wanted the reader to be able to kind interpret it the way they wanted based on their own preference, ya know?

like, if you are the cis-est cis to ever cis you could think of it as just a kink thing, like a subversive take on form fem humiliation.

OR, as some others have pointed out based on the "cis(?)", you could think of reader as a bit of an egg.

[livecrow]

Unconventional dom!John Price and "forced masculinization" and gender fuckery and topping from the bottom and—

cw: non-negotiated kink, kink discovery, humiliation, misgendering, cis(?) fem's clitoris called a cock and vagina "hole"

John says he wants to "try something", and you agree. That's as simple as it starts.

He's tying you up; that isn't anything new. After all, you both love bondage. You have no idea what he has in mind, but the anticipation is making you buzz.

Something about his touches, how he maneuvers your body—it feels different somehow—odd.

The way he pushes you into the chair, kicks your feet apart so your knees are spread wide. Ankles strapped to the chair legs. Wrists tied in back. The way he claps you firmly on the shoulder. Palms the nape of your neck in his big hand. Ruffles your hair affectionately after cramming the open-mouth gag between your teeth.

Not a second after you're gagged, he's rumbling "good lad".

...Your brain takes a moment to catch up.

You didn't mishear him. No, he said it right in your ear, close enough that you felt his warm breath on your cheek.

Your face heats, flustered. You're actually thankful for the gag; what sort of rebuttal could you say to that? Not that any words you’d utter would have been exactly comprehensible. He’s completely thrown you off guard, feels like you've been tripped you. You've never had someone refer to you that way. Never even considered it—

Your insides squirm with embarrassment at the way the word immediately sent a zippy feeling directly into your crotch. John's praise never fails to short-circuit you, and this is no exception.

John's casual as he strips down, deftly shucking off his shirt. Unzips his pants, kicking them off into some corner.

There's no soft touches, no caresses this time when he rounds on you, oh no. You’re further confused when he squats down—eyes filled with a steely resolve that you don’t normally get to witness. A sort of focus you'd imagine would be relegated to the field. It’s like he’s on a mission. Tactical.

Suddenly, his hand darts forward, going right for your nethers, gripping your poor clit between calloused fingers. He snatches it likes it's gonna try to fucking run away from him, like it owes him money, making you let out a garbled squawk.

He—he pumps it between two fingers—a sort of crude facsimile of the motion of fisting his own cock. Pulling at it. You keen and writhe uselessly under the harsh stimulation. After a moment John finally acknowledges you again.

"You want me to fuck you, don't you, boy?" he asks, nonchalant like he's asking you if you want to go out for lunch later.

He's not put off by your lack of response while he kneads your helpless bud, his fingerprint ridges, every whorl and arch in those two digits are gonna be engraved there. Others trace down, searching beyond even the root, grasping at where the rest of it lies, internal and protected from his prying grasp.

He lets the "question" hang, then sighs, shaking his head with a faux chagrin that deepens the lines running across his brow.

"I'm always taking care of you, aren't I? Always doin' all the work. Have to spend all this time petting you just right, to even get your cock to show his face? For the lazy thing to even peek out?"

John has a tendency to do that. Ask questions that aren’t real questions. Traps. 

"All the thing's good for is to look pretty, isn't it?"

He finally gives your battered bud a tiny reprieve, but continues scrutinizing your groin.

"Can't even see your prick without spreading you open." He laments half to himself, as he tugs at your lips crudely, spreading you wide and exposed, between a thumb and forefinger.

"But then you have to see that hole too, begging.” he rumbles low and deep from somewhere in the column of this throat. “Open like the mouth of a baby bird crying for food. Whining." He sounds annoyed and his nose wrinkles, and it makes you squirm uncomfortably in your seat, flinch, when you feel the blunt edge of the nail on his pointer finger dig a bit into your lip.

"My little pillow prince", he dubs you, when he finally looks up to your face again. He smiles up at you, but it’s so fucking mean. "That's what you are.” 

“It’s a silly, fussy thing, really. Decorative.” he groans as he straightens, getting back to his feet, knees creaking in complaint. He continues, “How are you gonna fuck anyone with that?" He asks, like this time that one really was a question, like he's somehow concerned about the prospects of your fucking love life.

You can't help drinking him in even as he continues his tirade.

“Have half a mind to give you something to grow out your cock.” he muses. “Would you like that? Maybe a pump would help. Oh, I think you would. We could see how big you'd get.” his eyes glittered.

Even now, you hadn’t predicted exactly where he was going. No, not at all. 

The gag, you completely misinterpreted.

No, you didn’t get to taste him today. Didn’t earn it, he said, as he slotted a silicone toy into your mouth, clicking it into the gag somehow. You stare a it cross-eyed, brows knotted at your forehead. It’s length is left mostly protruding from your face, rather than down your throat—

…The heat coming from your cheeks rivals the heat coming from John as he bounces on your face. 

Hairy, impossibly thick muscled thighs flexing with exertion as he straddles you, grinds the silicone further into himself, presses your nose into the cleft of his ass.

It's not fair. You don't think anyone's ever so smug, so in control, naked with a fucking dildo stretching his rim. You could only stare up at him, moon-eyed. He kept his boots on and that somehow made all the difference, you both had the same amount of fabric on you, but somehow you might as well have been the only one that was naked.

He'd found an additional way to use your face as his sex toy and you are just soaking your seat.

Your "extra" hole, as John dubbed it, oozed messily, slicking your thighs, practically puddling under your ass. You were almost too wet. You positively ached for something, any friction. But in this position there wasn't any, you couldn't find the right angle.

John's low groan spilled into the air as he fucked himself on your face. It's an overwhelming sensory experience. The sound. The sounds you could hear his rim. It's obscene.

Your head's foggy, musky and humid. Strange thoughts coming to you unbidden, ones that you didn’t recognize. 

Damn, you wished you had a cock.

Please, John, if you could you would! You'd grow own immediately if you were able to, for him, if he asked. Even if he made you wear a cock ring and didn't let you come—

Even if he never wanted to touch it! If it simply amused him, you'd do it, even if you had a big, useless cock between your legs and he still insisted he wanted it to just "sit there and look pretty".

Even if he leashed it and made you "learn how to fuck properly". Fuck him until you're exhausted. Hips stuttering with weak thrusts as you run out of steam. Coaching you on technique, critique your form. Tisking, telling you your endurance was rubbish—

John simultaneously interrupted and continued for you. “Even now, I'm still doing all the work". As if you could do anything else!

Says next time he'll make you thrust. If he's feeling nice he'll even give you a strap you can practice with, the type that you can tuck into your spare hole you're so attached to. The one you favour so much, words laden with derision. So the length bumps against your little cock. John grins down at you as your cheeks kiss his cheeks, fuzz tickling your nose.

John sighs above you contentedly, the one you recognized from when he enjoyed a cigar. “Don't worry, boy. You'll cum. I'll rub your little prick for you.” he assures as he picks up his speed. Pap-pwap-pap coming even faster as he strokes himself with the hand that isn't nearly splintering the wood white-knuckling the chair's top rail.

But this time, he wants to see if you can come like he can. “You’re gonna give me the real thing." he growls, like he's caught you out. "Prick just needs the proper motivation. A firmer hand. None of that weak, dribbling nonsense—"

"No”, he pants, “This time, you’re gonna spray, like a good boy.”

[livecrow]

I may be a fat bitch but according to shifter bear!Price fandom I'm in perfect shape to have his chubby little cubs so suck on that haters!!!

[livecrow]

bear shifter Price who wakes mid hibernation and takes a cute little hiker back to the den with him to go back to sleep :\\

[livecrow]

werewolf!soap cannot stand hearing you doing baby talk with your cat. it's not just the fact that he never got along with your cat in the first place, it's hearing you going "hello, my love" and "how's my baby doing today, hm?" and "does my little angel want treats?" and immediately perking up and going over to you, only to find you smiling at your cat like nobody else is in the house.

so like the true dog that he is, he's going to pout and sit on the couch with his burly arms crossed or he's going to pry your cat out of your hands and plaster himself to you for the entire day because he's so upset that your cat (that you've had longer than you've known him, mind you🙄) is getting more affection than he is.

[livecrow]

pricexghostxreader is just thee dynamic to me. ghost only trusting price to be any level of vulnerable around, needing price to 'vet' any pretty bird they think could help temper their combined fire with her softness. he has a hard time trusting good things, needs price to reassure him that the pretty soft thing waiting in their shared bed really does just want simon as much as she wants john.

price, who wants the traditional wife waiting at home with a baby on her hip, but isn't willing to give up his right hand, his best lieutenant, his good boy. simon is his long-term project, a soldier he saved from himself and molded into the perfect attack dog. his loyal pet. the bond they have goes deep, and price will not, under any circumstances, give up that heady sense of power he gets when simon just submits, all

both of them requiring an 'anchor' to the civilian world, a reminder of what they do the work for- because they know that when a soldier's whole life is absolutely nothing but the job, that's how you create weirdos like nikto and kreuger.

that's what sets john off hunting for their fat little wife, someone who can keep a home ready for them, who can keep one busy while the other's deployed separately. someone who will give them a soft, warm respite from the hard lives they've been leading.

the dynamic between price and simon is rigid, with price calling the shots always... but ghost isn't a lieutenant for nothing. he needs someone to train, to lead, to mold to his wants the same way price molded him. (and if he's honest with himself, he'll realize his wants and prices wants are damn near the same).

their soft little plaything may not be at the top of the pecking order, but she's so vitally important to keeping them grounded that she may as well be on top. they both need her tenderness and devotion in order to feel like they have worth beyond being killing machines, that what they do in the field has real meaning beyond fulfilling orders from on high.

and their sweet, soft girl who has no clue how vitally important she is, who assumes she's the needy one, living off their combined wages in a house whose deed doesn't have her name on it (yet). who loves and dotes on sir and daddy, who's desperately afraid one or both might not come home and she'll be left alone, forced to leave the house she's worked so hard to make a home for them.

ahhhhhhhhhhh fuck i love this dynamic

[livecrow]

An extra special FUCK YOU to whoever stole Early's stuff and anyone being fucking rude in their asks.

If you use AI, don't fucking interact with me.

You fucking people are the reason writers/artists stop posting.

You're gonna destroy fandom until there's nothing real left. Human centipede-ing the same stolen, mutated AI slop into each others gaping mouths.

A shit fueled ouroboros.

[livecrow]

If you use generative AI, don't fucking interact with me.

You fucking people are the reason writers/artists stop posting.

You're gonna destroy fandom until there's nothing real left. Human centipede-ing the same stolen, mutated AI slop into each others gaping mouths.

A shit fueled ouroboros.

[livecrow]

Are you going to do more with ghost x housekeeper? Love what you’ve written about them so far your writing is so good!!

Thank you!!! ❤️

Actually, yes! I have some stuff with housekeeper!reader from Ghost's perspective in the works.

When is the question, lol.

[livecrow]

if I were a bee I'd fetishize the idea of a beekeeper clipping my tiny wings so I can't escape (remembers you're not supposed to say shit like that) I mean yesterday I ate two yogurts normally

[livecrow]

Woe is the plight of a "big and tall" sub/bottom/omega.

You're invisible prey; lumbering megafauna who's natural predator's are all but extinct.

You'd swear you're bigger than almost everyone around you. Both wider and taller. It must be something in the water—in public you tower. Maybe some of the men reach your eye level.

Now, you wouldn't actually mind a smaller partner. You'd absolutely happily bend over for them! It's just—they don't even try to approach you, don't even give you a second glance—

You're pretty sure a wolf will at least look at a moose with some interest, even if he knew his eyes were too big for his stomach. But it's as if no one sees you that way. Or at all.

All of it leaves you feeling dejected and dumpy. Completely undesirable to everyone.

It's almost worse when you aren't just invisible. When you accidentally startle someone and they look up at you for half a second like they've stumbled across a fucking kaiju.

One day though, you bump into someone who doesn't flinch. For once, you have to look up.

Your pulse pounds in your ears. An unfamiliar sense of alarm tickles something base and primal in the back of your mind as you stare up at the shit-brickhouse and his large friends sharing some smokes and blocking the sidewalk. Apex predators leering down at you.

"Someone's in a 'urry. Where y' off to, sweet'eart?"

[livecrow]

not quite a fic, not a ficlet, and not a blurb, but more like

cw: implied noncon, stalking, primal play (kinda), yet another dog metaphor, unedited, incomplete and with an abrupt ending, posted only so i can exorcise this thought from my mind and move on with my other wips

something something house-sitting at some mansion that happens to have one of those state of the art safehouses. unbeknownst to you, the owner of the house, your employer, has made his money via less than legal/ethical means, which means he's being hunted like a dog by none other than the 141.

as soon as the perimeter alarms go off and the night vision cctv's pick up the armored vehicles, you're hunkered down in the safe room, locked down tight, staring with wide eyes as the green-tinged images of heavily armed men in all-black tactical gear fill every perimeter camera.

the power goes off to the majority of the house, but your lights and systems only flicker for a moment before the backup generators kick in. on green tinted screens, you watch as they break into the house, methodically clearing every room with weapons drawn, silent as the grave.

you feel pretty confident that you can wait behind your impenetrable door (which also hides behind a false wall) and that at some point they'll leave and you can escape, no harm, no foul. it's not until you watch the biggest one- a man who's nearly as broad at the shoulder as he is tall, with a skull stitched onto his balaclava- pick up something from off the couch.

you squint at the screen, trying to figure out what's in his hand, and when you finally get a good look, you pat yourself down just to be sure you're not mistaken- it's your phone. it must've slid out of your pocket when you jolted off the couch and hauled ass to the safe room. you look over his shoulder as he guesses your lockscreen code (damn, how many people do the z on the swipe screen?) and starts rifling through your texts, social media, and pictures.

"what you got?" the second-largest man says to the skull, nodding at your phone.

"someone's left a cell phone. last message sent about five minutes before breach." skull flips through your selfies. "still in the house, probably."

"you're thinking there's a safe room."

"wouldn't surprise me." skull turns, looks directly into the security camera, and nods. the air in your lungs is stolen from you, sucked into the void that is the skull faced man's impossibly dark eyes.

his companion also looks over, huffing out a laugh and clapping the skull on the shoulder.

"ah. good. the lad'll enjoy this." the second man says, before leaning out of the doorframe. "soap! got a job for you!"

you see a man on the far east wing immediately 180* and march towards the voice as a leaner, taller man from just a few rooms down the hall also turned to respond to the call. it's hard to tell who's who with the masks, but the problem begins to solve itself when not skull face pulls his balaclava off, lighting a cigar in the middle of the living room. your frantic, terrified mind just hopes your boss won't be too mad about the smell, or try to blame it on you.

"have a job that needs doing, sir?" the man from a few rooms over asks.

the man in the skull mask is still staring into the camera, unmoving. it's unnerving, really. and hard not to be distracted by him while the others talk.

"need soap, i'm afraid. seems some girl is hiding from us, might be squirreled away in a safe room somewhere." the man, 'sir', takes a deep inhale, cherry glowing red in the dark.

"ah, and who better to ferret out a hiding girl than the pussyhound himself." the slender man says.

"too right, gaz. he'll sniff her out" sir says, grinning as soon as the man from the east wing appears. "ah, speak of the devil. ghost, show soap what we've got."

that inscrutable stare drops as the skull (ghost?) presumably flips through your photos as soap watches.

"lookit here." he taps the screen, and you watch soap's eyes go wide. "we think she's hidin' in a safe room somewhere. dunno if who she is yet, but i'm sure if you find her, we'll find out. pretty thing, isn't she?"

"yeah- wait, wait, scroll down a bit. right there, locked folder. ye think ye can get in?" soap asks, sounding breathlessly excited.

"probably. hang on." ghost fiddles with your phone some more, making it look tiny in his giant hands. "while i work on this, tell the girl to give herself up. look right in the camera and tell her it's in her best interest."

pale eyes washed out by night vision's borderline chartreuse coloring snap up to stare at you, gaze fixed on you so suddenly and intensely that it makes you recoil in your cheap office chair. sir pats gaz on the shoulder in the background.

"gaz and i are going to get the power back on and fetch the lorry for exfil. happy hunting, lads, and don't forget to save some for the rest of us." sir says, leading the way to the breakerbox.

something something ghost showing soap your nudes, which sends him tearing through the house trying to find the safe room, getting increasingly worked up about it the longer it takes. meanwhile, ghost slowly moves from room to room, disconnecting the security cameras and whispering to you.

"best come out now, before he gets worked up enough t' bite."

"come on, sweetheart. you're only making it worse for yourself by stayin' hidden."

"you can't hide forever. we'll find you. the more you make us work to get to you, the rougher soap's gonna be."

"soon as soap's done with ya, i reckon i'll have a go. these are nice pictures you've got in here-" he waggles your phone. "wanna see if that pretty cunt feels as good as it looks."

"reckon you could take the four of us at once, if we get creative with angles." ghost muses, huffing out a laugh. "if soap doesn't tear you apart first, that is."

right before he pulls the plug on the last camera, he makes sure you see him grab his hard cock through his trousers as he casually saunters closer and closer, leaning in close to whisper.

"ollie ollie oxenfree."

you're left staring at a sea of black icons on your computer- all your eyes have been taken offline. there's a flicker, and then the lights go off, plunging you into total darkness. ah. the two working on the breaker must've found the backup generator. your goose is well and truly cooked. terror takes over, and you can barely hear your ragged breaths over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears-

wait. shit. that sound isn't your heartbeat. it's someone crawling slowly through the air ducts, making their way closer and closer as you sit alone in the pitch black.

"heeere kitty, kitty, kitty." a scottish brogue echoes in the duct above you, right before the metal panel comes crashing down on top of you, along with a stocky scotsman who laughs triumphantly as he gropes at you in the dark, tearing at your clothes and pinning you to the floor, hands seemingly everywhere.

"got ye." the man practically snarls against your cheek as the sound of a belt buckle being undone in the dark makes you sob.

[livecrow]

happy new year! have some john price terrorizing his fat little wife via cnc intruder fantasy (with a slightly angsty aftercare scene) in the woods

Keep reading

[livecrow]

(“i want to know what love is” playing in the background)

[livecrow]

Scotland the Brave!

[livecrow]

price fucking you into the mattress, legs against your chest and his beard scratching your skin as he buries his face in the crook of your neck.

then imagine him slipping a ring onto your finger while you’re on the brink of your second or third orgasm, way too fucked out to notice <3

©️ glossysoap 2024. please do not steal, copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost any of my works without my permission. do not steal any elements of my theme without permission.

[livecrow]

18+, tw dubcon/noncon, mention of rimming

masseuse soap ; except reader accidentally makes an appointment at a strictly ‘happy ending’ massage parlor instead of a traditional one :(

you’re face down into the table, stammering out excuses and denials and “i-i didn’t think it was this kind of place—”. meanwhile, soap’s too busy ignoring you. his thick fingers already knuckle deep in your cunt with his tongue prodding your hole :(