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slytherinslut0 · 2 months ago

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SLYTHERINSLUT0’S KINKTOBER

october 1st. theodore — size kink, big dick.

KINKTOBER MASTERLIST | 2024.

summary: there’s a rumour going around that theodore nott has a big dick…..why not see it for yourself?

warnings: 18+, SMUT MDNI, hogwarts uni (obviously), big dick!theo, size difference, size kink ofc, fingering, PIV, dirty talk, slowish sex, put on your fantasy cap for this one bc it’s a little wild, also, anyone know any wheelchair providers?

How the hell did you end up here? How had a night meant for celebration, for laughter and drinks and the triumph of a Quidditch victory, lead to this—

Fevered kisses, teeth clashing—your breath catching in the dim, muted glow of Theodore Nott's dorm—spine pressed against his door as his lips attacked yours, moving to your neck with a hunger that had your knees weak. There was a party, still alive somewhere down the hall, warmth spilling into the corridors, the echo of cheers and laughter floating past—but it was all a distant memory now. All of it blurred, lost in the way Theo's hands roamed over your hips, tugging you closer like he was starved.

Oh, right—the rumours.

Rumours have always had a way of creeping into places they don't belong. A whisper here, a careless word there. Stupid little fires, barely a spark until someone fans the flames. You've seen it before—how a single rumour can grow, how it can warp a simple night into something bigger. Something chaotic.

And now, well, you're living it.

Curiosity was what pulled you into his orbit tonight, what sparked the embers that had been burning between you two for far too long. Because Pansy Parkinson—loud, exaggerative, and far-too-tipsy—couldn't resist spilling some gossip mid-party, something about Daphne, something about Theodore and nine goddamn inches.

You know, the usual Quidditch post-match talk.

And it should have been nothing. It should have got lost in all the other Slytherin boy ramblings but instead, it stuck. Gods, it fucking stuck. Pansy's little comment sparked the fire in you, a fire that led to a conversation over drinks, your hand grazing his, and before you knew it, you were leaning into Theodore Nott at the punch bowl, asking questions you had no blasted right asking, yet went ahead and did anyways.

Something about...well—

"You've heard, then," he'd replied, voice low as those blue eyes watched you over the rim of his glass.

It wasn't a question. It was a challenge. For all the audacity you had—Theodore had just as much.

"I have," you leaned closer, your voice almost teasing as you whispered against the curve of his ear. "Big rumours, Teddy...huge, even."

He tensed, just slightly, the kind of reaction you noticed only because you were watching him so closely. You're pretty sure he wasn't expecting something like that to come out of your mouth—and you couldn't blame him, because truthfully, you weren't expecting it either.

That was, what you'd like to call, the point of no return.

There was a response from him. Something cocky enough—something like; "and do you make a habit of believing everything you hear?"

"Not everything," you said with a shrug, though your heart was in your fucking throat. "But I'm open to proof."

There weren't very many words exchanged after that—maybe some slight teasing—maybe another brush of his hand—but Theo was never a man to waste time, and it was clear that whatever curiosity you held for him had bubbled up now—heady and bold—and created a mess between you that couldn’t be contained.

The party, the victory, the cheers—it all became static as his hand slipped around your waist, his lips at your ear in a whisper. "Then let's put these rumours to rest."

You barely had the chance to nod before Theodore moved—grabbing your wrist and moving you through the crowd like you were something to be expedited, the sea of students parting before him. Pansy spotted you leaving, her eyes gleaming as she threw you a wicked smile and a drunken thumbs-up. You rolled your eyes, smirking back, but everything else blurred into the background as Theodore led you out of the common room, and before you knew it, you were inside his dorm.

The door slammed shut behind you, the cold surface meeting your back before his lips found yours—urgent, consuming. His hands moved with purpose, sliding under your shirt, lifting it over your head before you even realized what was happening. His own shirt followed, discarded carelessly onto the floor as he pressed his body against yours.

The memory blurred as the urgency of the present took over. You gasped at the feel of him, his entirety—hard, aching, massive. The outline of him was impossible to ignore, the mere suggestion of what was to come already making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

The rumours had seemed absurd at first, but now...now, they felt terrifyingly real. He was huge.

"Tell me," he breathed, his voice a low rumble against your lips as his fingers worked deftly at removing your skirt. "About those rumours..."

Your head fell back against the door, exposing the line of your throat as his mouth moved lower, leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Whimpering, you caressed his shoulders, up his neck, finding his hair, fingers teasing the warm, hidden shell of his ears. At this, his back crested, and he moaned, pitching forward, hips working to fuse you with the door.

"I—I heard..." you tried to speak, but his mouth was on your neck, and the words tangled in your throat. "Gods—something about...nine inches..."

Theo hummed against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending blood pooling low. He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, his lips hovering over yours, his breath hot and heavy as he wrapped his hands around your thighs and lifted you up—carrying you toward his bed.

"What else." He muttered against your mouth.

"Daphne..." you panted, barely able to think straight with the way he was touching you, the way he was looking at you. "She...she said she couldn't take it all..."

"And if I say that's true?" He rasped, laying you down onto his comforter. "What then?"

A shiver shook you from the base of your spine, and you curled your legs around him, core clenching hard—he sprawled over you, his body massive—engulfing yours, roving his hands up and down your bare thighs as his lips left wet, warm kisses across your breasts, teeth digging into the sheer fabric of your bra—you were gasping, whimpering under him, your chest rising and falling so rapidly you'd think you'd ran a marathon.

"Gods—that's...an odd question, Teddy..." your hips bucked, seeking his touch, and he grazed your pussy over your underwear, thumb ghosting your clit through the fabric. You squeaked, and he silenced you with his mouth, tugging at the fabric until he'd fit his thick fingers under the hem. "Are you...mm..asking if I can handle it?"

"Fucking soaked already," Theo peeled away, gasping, watching you as he slid a digit through your hot slit, his breath hitching. "Yes—I'm asking if you can handle it."

"Fuck—I don't—I don't know..." he dragged a slickened finger over your clit—you quivered, biting your lip until you found your words. "Only one way to find out."

"You're right," he breathed, swirling his finger, your body pulsing underneath him—every nerve within you roaring to life. "I'll be easy on you...I'll go slow..." his thumb took over, his middle and fourth finger teasing your entrance, lips hovering over your ear. "Let's stretch you out first."

"I—" you began, and he plunged into you. "—fuck."

Theo crooked his fingers in your cunt, eyes focused on your flushing face, the flow of your moans, his breath shallow as you clenched and pulsed around him. His thumb traced rapid little lines around your swollen clit, two long fingers filling you full. He wet his lips, pressing his mouth to yours in a brief kiss as he snapped his wrist, curling and scissoring inside of you. His hips rocked with his rhythm, and you caught sight of his erection straining against his jeans—

"Tight little thing," he growled, head dipping low as he watched his fingers disappear inside your dripping cunt. "I might fucking break you."

He jutted his erection against your thigh and you moaned, clenching around him. "Mm—Theo—"

His eyes followed yours toward his crotch—you couldn't help yourself, your fingers burned to feel him—to stroke him—to feel the weight of him in your hand. He nodded, and amidst your gasps and moans you reached for him, grasping at his zipper and undoing the button, tugging his jeans and boxers down his thighs—

Theo groaned and your mouth watered. Those rumours—Gods, those fucking rumours—

"Fucking hell—" you breathed, wrapping your fingers around his thick, heavy cock—he choked, digits pumping you deep—your thighs shook, your pulse in your throat. You tightened your fist and stroked him, watching him from half-lidded eyes. "Theo—holy fuck.."

His lungs sputtered. "That enough proof for you, Bella?"

You nodded and he throbbed—twitched under your grip, blood biting his cheeks when you coated his head with the bead of his pre-cum, his breath uneven, tattered from the weight of lust—but so was yours.

You moaned. "Oh—Gods—I'm—"

Theo circled your stiff nub, pumping his fingers into your pussy, and pleasure wracked you, pouring into your pulse, your orgasm charging toward you at light speed—his lips found yours, softly, muffling your moans.

"You're close, I can feel it..." he muttered against your mouth, fingers dragging at your walls, groaning as you clenched—as your free hand gripped his hair harder. "Cum on my fingers, Bella, go on..."

You shuddered and snapped—pleasure pulsating from your core and through your limbs, your orgasm lighting up your spine. In its intensity, you bit at his bottom lip while your cunt clamped down around his fingers, a feral energy coursing—the need for more—the need for every goddamn thing he was willing to give you eating away at your sanity—all coherent thought gone, only dissipating further as Theo pulled his fingers from your soaked cunt and sucked them clean with a growl.

"As fucking delicious as I'd imagined," he cooed, drifting his other hand up your thigh, fingers kneading the trembling flesh. You swallowed, lungs still working to find their rhythm. "I don't think you have any idea how long l've wanted this...any idea what you do to me..."

Gods—you almost wanted to laugh—this felt like a fever dream. You'd been friends for years, the fact it took this to get you both here was astonishing. His blue eyes peered down at you—wide and waiting.

"Look at you," you muttered, eyes dipping down to his throbbing dick, still twitching insistently in your hand. "I think I know exactly what I do to you."

Theo snuffed a groan in his throat, but his cock twitched again, despite himself—there was no preventing that.

"Cocky as ever," he whispered, lips curling in a teasing grin. "But now's not the time, principessa..."

"I can handle you," you breathed out, though a tremor in your voice hinted at the uncertainty you felt.

"We'll see." He said. "Lay on your side."

With a flush creeping up your neck, you complied, turning to face the window. The moonlight filtered through the glass, casting a silver sheen over the rippling surface of the Black Lake. Theo moved behind you, his body flush against yours, the slickness of sweat making your skin cling together—one arm slipped beneath your head, cradling it, while the other slid under your thigh, lifting it with a deliberate, practiced motion.

His dick slid against you, the girth daunting enough if not for the sheer fucking length of it—his body was massive behind yours, dwarfing you, a solid wall of heat at your back. You'd never felt so small, so fragile in a way that screamed breakable.

Theo teased your slit, covering himself in your juices—

"Just the tip, yeah?" He whispered, and fuck—you almost moaned. His voice was ruined. "For now."

"Theo—I—I think I can handle it..." you were trying to convince yourself as much as him. You wanted him to enjoy himself, too. "Just…fuck me, please.."

"Merlin help you..." Theo groaned and it almost sounded pitying—dragging the swollen head of his cock against your clit before dipping lower, pressing against the folds of your greedy cunt— "you don't know what you're saying..."

His arm under your head curled inward, wrapping around your neck and holding you in place against him—his other hand guiding his length to your entrance and pressing in—shushing you softly as the first inch breached you and you cried out—as your mind blanked.

"Theo—" you gasped through the chokehold he had you in, his free hand holding your thigh up as it trembled. "That's—you're—fuck—"

He pulled out and rocked along you again, testing you, offering you centimeters of his length at time. Gooseflesh flooded you.

His lips pressed against your ear. "Shhh, you said you could handle me, yeah?"

His hand on your thigh shifted lower, resting on the crease. He rutted against you a few more times, dragging this out for everything it was worth until he brought the tip back to your entrance and pushed in—slowly, inexorably—spearing you open, splitting your cunt and prying you wide in a way that rid your breath.

You whimpered, hand scrambling for purchase on his hip behind you. "Ohhh—h-holy fuck.."

"Fucking hell...you're tight..." his arm around your neck tightened, holding you against him and he pressed in deeper. "That's barely half..."

You fought for air and found absolutely none, every muscle in your body tensing, your limbs trembling, your mind fizzing with staticky pleasure. You felt as though you could break in two.

"Fuck," he drew out again, and pressed back in. "You can barely take it."

He was right. You could barely fucking take it. A revelation that you weren’t surprised by—but that made all the blood in your body pool low, walls fluttering around him in protest.

"Gods, Theo—T-theo—" you grasped his wrist, nails digging into his skin, eyes squeezed shut. "Wait—"

"Little more...you're doing so good, Bella..." he was cooing now, pressing kisses to your cheek. "I'll make it fit...we'll make it fit, won't we?"

You couldn't find a fucking modicum of sense to articulate a response. All you could do was feel—take and feel—the way he slid out, only to drive into you again, slowly, with a hiss of air through his teeth—drawing out loud, shameless groans from your chest.

"Mmm—breathe, Bella..." it was soft, soothing, like he was trying to coax you open with words. "Relax for me, yeah? Let me in...let me in..."

You obeyed without even thinking, pulling in shaky breaths, forcing your body to comply, even as your muscles screamed to stay tense—to fight the overwhelming fullness of him. You felt as though he couldn't possibly get deeper, but then he did, and he continued to until he bottomed out—his cockhead kissing your cervix, forcing a sound out of your chest that was more a sob than a moan.

Your eyes were shut so tight. "That's—"

"All of me," he interrupted, satisfaction dripping from every syllable. He rolled his hips, grinding against you, barely pulling out before pushing back in, and your whole body clenched in response. "Does it hurt?"

Every movement proved indefinitely that he was as long as he was thick—your core stretching to accommodate him. You felt him in places you'd never felt before—moulding and carving you out just for him, digging out new space inside you that only he could occupy.

"A little—“ the words were a whimper, and your walls tightened around him instinctively, fighting to adjust, to accommodate the impossible size of him. “Gods—“

"Then why are you making it worse?" He hissed through his teeth, strain bleeding into his tone. You could hear the shift—wrecked, ruined, like he was barely holding onto himself. "Fuck, you're squeezing me...too tight...relax.."

He pulled out and thrust back in, harder this time, sucking in air through his teeth as he worked you wider with each plunge into your soaked cunt. Your body rebelled, clenching down around him again, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you, his hips snapping against yours in response.

"That's not going to make it easier, you know." His voice was a tight growl, but there was a grin in it, like he knew exactly what he was doing to you. "Keep that up and I'm going to leave you sore all day."

The thought made you clench again, your body betraying you as a broken apology fell from your lips—pain giving way to pleasure. "I'm—ohh—sorry-"

"Oh, you're going to be sorry." His pace quickened and you were seeing stars—bright and flashing and blurring your vision. "When you're spending all day in bed tomorrow...recovering..."

It only took seconds before he was grunting behind you—lost in your tight heat as he held you against him, hooking your thigh up toward your chest as his arm tightened around your neck, cock ramming your cunt—colliding with your cervix, pushing screams from your lungs. You couldn't think—couldn't catch your breath as he drove into you over and over.

"Fuck—so good…so fucking wet..." Theo moaned, the sound of his cock slippery and lewd, broadcasting evidence of your arousal. Face on fire, you tossed your head back against his shoulder and closed your eyes, chewing your lip, rocking with the force of his strokes. “You like that—being filled like this...greedy little thing..."

You whinged; he was boring into your stomach, delight gushing through your veins. You had never been with a man this endowed, and this fucking ruthless. It made you throb, set you aflame, whirled your brain with desire. Words eluded you.

"Ohh—yes,” you choked out between moans. "Gods—you're huge—"

"I am," he groaned in your ear, the hand on your thigh shifting to your belly, palm pressing against your pelvis—he eased his pace, offering you deep, slow strokes, letting you spasm around every goddamn inch. "That's how deep I'm in you."

At that, you moaned, shamelessly. Cocky bastard he was. You knew now that he was more than entitled to it.

"Can...fuck—can I cum in you?" His fingers slipped to your clit, slowly swirling over it—you didn't even have a second to process that question before the pleasure wracked you so hard you cried out, and he growled. "Fuck—let me cum in you...in this pretty little cunt.."

Somewhere in the blur, you registered his words—low, rough, pulling at the frayed edges of your sanity. Contraceptives. You were on them. It was the last rational thought you had left, buried deep under layers of heat and want. You knew you were fine, but the way he asked, in that voice—Gods—

His fingers increased their pace and you wailed. "Theo—holy f-fuck—yes—yes please!"

Lightning euphoria ripped up your spine with a shameless shriek, your climax shattering you. Your cunt throbbed and milked his dick, your thighs twitching, and your back reached for the wall but his arm around you kept you in place, pleasure possessing your nerves. It seemed an eternity—he was still fucking you through it, breaking you deep, and then he shattered too—breath washing over the back of your neck, chest heaving and lungs sputtering as he spilled his release into you, deep and sticky and hot.

You were still floating between realms of sensation and reality—your mind struggling to tether itself back to consciousness when Theo finally pulled out, releasing you. Both of you were heaving, chests rising and falling in tandem, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.

A moment passed, your breaths slowly steadying, when you felt his arm snake around your waist, pulling you effortlessly against his chest. You shot him a weak, lopsided smile over your shoulder, still catching your breath.

"You okay?" He murmured, his voice a quiet hum in the afterglow.

"More than," you nodded, though your body still hummed with the remnants of pleasure. A hollow ache replaced where he'd been, leaving you startlingly aware of how empty you felt without him. "That was...you are...

"I know," he purred, lips grazing the sensitive spot behind your ear, the smirk practically carved into his breath. You could feel his smugness radiating off him, a tangible thing. "Hope your curiosity was sated."

You let out a breathy laugh, the warmth of his body seeping into your skin. "That, among other things."

"Good," he whispered, "I went easy on you."

You huffed, a slow smile creeping across your face. "Is that so?"

"Extremely so," he murmured, fingers tracing lazy circles over your hip. "Took all the willpower I had."

"Sure," you teased. "You're just saying that because I took you so well."

He chuckled, low and sinful, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your spine.

"Oh, she's cocky," he drawled, lips brushing your shoulder. "We'll see about that after I put you in ten different positions."

Your heart stuttered, your muscles tensing at the sheer boldness of the statement. Heat pooled in your belly once more, that insatiable curiosity sparking again. You knew this night was far from over.

Perhaps a little more proof wouldn’t hurt...

You turned your head just slightly, voice breathy but wanting. "Please do."

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blissflowsystems · 1 year ago

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cosmic-ships · 11 months ago

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Alright here's all.... *Checks notes* 63ish ship names in the tags :' )

reblog with your selfship ship name

mine is cobweb

#glass Sharda and street art/ shards and Embers/digital hearts/would you make me number one on your playlist?/I wasn't looking for you #I'll be there for you; as the world falls down/I'll be your contradiction|| 💙/never knew I could feel like this #from underneath the willow tree/this sanctuary is only for us/transformative love/where the water covers over everything; rescue me #daggers ans dragoons/lets got fishing and take a nap/Hymn of our heartbeats/metal flower petals/comic books and snipers #you're not alone anymore; you have me/let's lose ourselves for a moment/damaged but not broken/let's take a gamble #let's steal time/dangerous games/the fox and the fixer/tainted hearts/wrong place at the right time/a wolf in sheep's clothing #wherever you go I'll follow/corrupted punishment/sound the alarm || 📢/hello operator ✖️/we're magnetic/if it means a lot to you #you're not alone in the dark/reflections of light/spider bots and smoke bombs || 💣🕷️/Listen to the cries of the planet #fly me to the moon 🎶🌙/buisness and pleasure/when we finally collide/don't go where I can't follow/hearts of gold/#a flame that burns only for them/a love that surpasses time/enlightened souls with shotguns/let's run away #a boost in morale/stealth and tv static/chems and justice/immortal heartbeats/testing fate/show me your darkness I'll show you my love #resist and rise up/you're crawling up to me and it's all I want/I've never heard silence quite this loud/sanity in chaos #you can fool others but you can't fool me/bars and demons/i became what I feared the most/fight; grieve and heal #I just pooped in to say hello/pretty and badass/agents in love

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textmel8r · 5 months ago

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[ DRABBLE ] 𝐎𝐅𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐄 𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐒 ! ( ninth installment ) in which you are forced to plan a corporate event with your office enemy .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight. nine. ten. eleven.

୨୧˚ incl; kento nanami

୨୧˚ cw; profanity , alcohol consumption , inebriation , sexual harassment , violence , vomit

୨୧˚ an; i love nami kempo (dis shit like 4k werdssss) ALSO i’ve been getting comments that my tag list isn’t working for me dumb someone help me pls tell me what im doing wrong

୨୧˚ join my discord server ! we share headcanons, fanfic recs, color roles, and more drooling emoji

“Why am I here?” Nanami thinks out loud, glaring pointedly around the unlit dive bar. It’s unglamorous, walls garbed in eclectic music paraphernalia, references that go right past him. Flurries of reds and yellows and oranges in the decor cut brightly, shining through the dim atmosphere. Seriously, would it kill them to switch a light on? It bustles with life; university kids, Nanami is subjected to think based on the… unique fashion sense present in the room. Street wear, torn jeans, crop tops way too short to be considered shirts anymore. He cringes, feeling entirely too dated to be hanging amongst this kind of crowd. His leg bounces restlessly under the ledge of the bar, and he turns to look at you. “Why are we here?”

You’re smiling—actually smiling—flagging down the bartender. “You knew we were coming to a bar,” you cut yourself short, holding up a single finger to him whilst you relayed your order to the older gentleman behind the bar. A rum and coke, you asked politely before glancing toward Nanami. It took a moment for him to realize what that look meant.

“I’ll have scotch, neat. Thanks.”

“As I was saying,” you steal back his attention, “I made it clear we were coming to a bar. What’s the problem?”

There was a hint of an attitude catching at your words, and Nanami felt his brow twitch in frustration. “You failed to tell me that we’d be in…” He grimaces, peeking back over his shoulder to the sea of youthful patrons slinging over nearly every stool and booth. “ . . . Mixed company.” God awful pop music fizzles through the speakers, twisting and crackling with pops of static; fuel to the billowing flames of Nanami’s overstimulation. “I was expecting something a bit more sophisticated.”

“I can tell,” you’re laughing as you give him a once over, and he gets a shiver of Deja Vu from the coffee shop where you pulled the same exact move. You tweeze at the expensive cotton button down, plucking the bunched fabric of a sleeve at the crease of his elbow. “Thought we said no more fancy clothes?”

Tonight he threw together a plain white shirt and a pair of slim fit khaki pants; the quintessential dad outfit, sure, but fancy? Nanami didn’t think so. “I’m dressed down.”

“Nixing the suit jacket and tie didn’t do much. You still look stiff, man.” Two glasses are brought over, one placed before either of you respectively. Nanami stares down into the glass, a foggy, brown abyss. His alcohol looks watered down and piss cheap. “You stick out, it’s kind of embarrassing.”

“Oh please, you’re too kind.” Nanami rolls his eyes, hunching over the bar and downing a swig from the scotch. Yeah, It was definitely watered down. Fuck this place.

Your hand slaps his back. “So dramatic. I was kidding Nanami, you look fine.” A cheeky laugh reaches his ears before you tack on, “very handsome.”

Now he knows you’re messing with him.

You grin into your cup. “Stop sulking. It’s not so bad here.” Nanami would beg to differ. A debate that isn’t worth having because frankly, it’s a Saturday night and he doesn’t have nearly enough energy to draft a list of all the cons that this joint has to offer. “We got booze,” you raise your glass. “Booze makes everything better.”

His forehead wrinkles. “That’s a horrible mindset to have, Y/n.”

Your boisterous laugh outweighs the ambient chatter, and you take a hearty gulp. Nanami follows suit, albeit a bit awkwardly, tipping more spirits down his throat. You look surprisingly comfortable, slinking against the bar counter with a hazy smile that welcomes strangers in. This time, you weren’t wearing a flowery dress; instead, a low cut shirt and jeans, both equal parts dark and tight. The neckline plummeted deep, exposing slivers of your bra cups and entirely too much cleavage. By God, was his self restraint something to write home about.

It was easy to fall into comfortable conversation. All in all, Nanami enjoys talking to you now, even if once upon a time the thought of engaging with you evoked such dread that he’d outwardly avoid your presence around the office. Passing along orders specifically meant for you to other colleagues and entrusting them to deliver the message, lengthening the conveyor belt of relation simply because you got him in a tizzy. Back then, all Nanami could see when he looked at you was that cowardly girl in the bathroom with smeared lipstick and a trembling pout. How shameful, he thinks, that it took him this long to see past that terrible first impression.

“So there I was, balancing ten cups of coffee, shaking like a little bitch,” you laughed as you shared an anecdote from an internship in your university years. Nanami listened intently, head propped up on his fist as he watched your theatrics. Your cheeks flushed with the evidence of alcohol, eyes lidded, smile wobbly. Nanami was feeling the edge of his buzz coming on too, an amazing revelation considering the diluted alcohol this place served. “And I’m walking up ten flights of stairs–”

“Ten flights?” He gawks, feeling looser and matching you with melodrama. “What, did your office not have an elevator?”

You laughed. “It was out of order.”

“Your luck astounds me.”

You flip him off playfully. “I finally get to the last stair and my heel catches on the floor and I eat total shit in front of the entire room!” Nanami can’t stop his own tittering, cupping a palm over his grin. “Spilled the coffee everywhere, twisted my ankle, too. I probably laid in that puddle for ten minutes.”

“That’s why you don’t wear high heels anymore?”

There’s a grimace on your face when you nod, topping off the rest of your glass. “Mm.”

Nanami swaps his own story, of a time when he was in his third year of college and his work laptop got stolen. “I think I cried,” and you guffawed at his misery. “I’m serious, I really think I cried. Alone, on the floor of my dormitory. It was finals week, and I had written my dissertation on that laptop.”

“So what did you do?”

“I pulled an all-nighter in the library on campus and rewrote my entire thesis.” Merely remembering that chaotically stressful night had Nanami huffing a sigh of anguish and dragging an exasperated hand down his face.

The bartender slides you another drink. Gosh, he was lagging behind. “I would’ve dropped out.” You spoke over the rim of the glass.

“Trust me, I was really close.” Nanami’s eyes narrow, gaging the swell of your throat as you knock back a few swigs. “How many have you had?”

“A few.” Your answer was blunt, and from that Nanami could gather that his question had rendered you the slightest bit irritated. He understood why; you were a grown woman, who was he to regulate how many rounds you decide to have? But even with this understanding, the man couldn’t shake his concern. “More than you, old timer. Keep up.”

He shakes his head, scratching at his cheek. “This is my last for the night.” Any more, and Nanami would wake up the next morning nauseous with a pounding headache. He took precautions to avoid breaching his limits, he really disliked that hungover feeling.

You gawk at the declaration. “How lame.” Then you hiccup.

“You can call me lame now, but which one of us will wake up tomorrow not in pain?”

You wave a hand through the air, brushing off his very astute observation. “Hush, that’s for future me to deal with. Present me doesn’t have a care in the world.”

You’re immature, but it’s amusing, so he doesn’t offer any rebuttals. The way you are so insistent on living in the moment is fascinating, almost inspiring even. Nanami feels as though he’s ever crushed by the impending future, always so concerned with what the next day, next week, next month, next year brings. He thinks ahead to a fault, and because of that, forgets to enjoy the little things. But you always stop and smell the roses. It’s admirable.

“Bartender!” You wag a finger in the air, slamming down your empty glass. Fiending for yet another drink.

Okay, maybe your ability to live in the now is to a fault as well. Nanami holds a hand up, signaling the barkeep to halt. “Sorry,” he apologizes politely, “she’s all good for now, thanks.” Ain’t that the truth. Your face looked tacky with sweat, pupils scarily dilated. Your words come out dimly slurred, and your gestures uncoordinated. As your business associate, he feels obligated to intervene at this point.

A hand slaps his down. Your hand. “Hey what gives?” You’re upset with him. “Just because you’re done doesn’t mean I am.”

“You’re three sips away from throwing up on yourself,” Nanami deadpans, unphased by your drunken outburst. Unbeknownst to the two of you, another patron had taken up the stool opposite of you. To be expected; the bar was decently crowded, that being said neither of you paid much mind to the man. He was younger than Nanami for sure, his hair unkempt and shaggy, swept back by sweat and something that looked like grease. He was smiling, probably on some brand of dope that Nanami was unfamiliar with. The stranger interrupts, leaning over with his elbow planted on the countertop.

“You her father or some shit?” He speaks without any warning, catching both you and Nanami’s attention.

Father? Nanami internally grimaces, jaw tightening. Just how old does he think I am? Trying not to be offended by the inquiry, he corrects the man. “Just a concerned friend, that’s all.” You have yet to speak, still a tad caught off guard by the unexpected company.

The stranger’s grin widens, reaching shit-eating status. “Then hop the fuck off her case, man.” He shoots a pair of lidded, droopy eyes toward you, eyebrows jumping in a manner that is entirely too suggestive for Nanami’s liking. “If the lady wants another drink, then let her have another drink.”

Nanami feels the awkward tension thicken the air between this interaction. For all the shit you talked about getting hit on in bars, he would have never expected you to act so timid when put in a position like this. Nanami fully expected you to side with the latter party, to order another round of vodka-whatever and then leave with your newfound knight in shining armor. What actually happened: “No, er, my friend might be right actually,” followed by an incredibly strained chuckle. Your shoulders stiffen, Nanami can practically feel the way you harden up beside him. “I should probably take it easy.”

The man feigns grief. “Aw, c’mon. You seemed so eager before. Let me buy you another?”

“She just said—”

“I was talking to her, not you.”

Nanami was utterly shocked by the sheer gall this young man possessed. Was he trying to intimidate him? It was painfully ineffective. “I don’t want one,” you said with a little more oomph this time, fiercely hanging on the urge to defend Nanami. It made him feel strangely prideful.

The stranger’s smile never retreated, but something sinister glinted in the ocean of his dark eyes. He gave a sniff, brushing the point of his nose with the pad of his thumb before hurling yet another unwanted flirtation your way. “Baby, hey, what’s one more drink? I saw you from across the room, I’ve been dyin’ to chat you up.” Under the table, his hand slips into your personal space. Nanami sees it unfold in his peripherals; the pallor hand slithering over your lap, grabbing a handful of your denim-clad thigh. You yelped in surprise, wincing. Nanami saw it all.

He was not a violent man. In fact, he could count the number of times he’s thrown a punch in his life on one hand. Physical fights were pointless, a waste of time and energy because Nanami wholeheartedly believed that altercations were best settled with words. But the moment your nervous squeak found his ears, Nanami couldn’t control the urge to beat this guy’s face in. So that’s what he did; sliding out of his seat to round you and pull the stranger off his stool by the collar of his faux leather jacket. The material felt cheap and mingy, not something Nanami would ever be caught dead wearing. Without so much as a second thought, Nanami sends a heavy fist barreling into the meat of his cheek. One good, solid punch, and the sinewy gentleman was tumbling to the ground, walking the thin line between consciousness. “Shit…” Nanami breathes, chest heaving with barely concealed rage, knuckles throbbing to the beat of his racing heart. The bar went dead, too many pairs of eyes locked onto him to count, but the only ones he could care about were yours.

You looked at Nanami with such astonishment, with your eyes pried wide as dinner plates and your mouth ajar. He was ready for you to yell at him, to curse him for embarrassing you in a pub you frequented, but nothing came. Well, almost nothing.

“Security!” The bartender hollered thick and deep, slapping a damp rag onto the counter with a wet plap.

“Shit!” Nanami repeated, cuffing a hand around the thinnest part of your wrist, tugging you into his side as you both raced toward the exit. “Let’s go.”

You’re gurgling and grumbling, latching onto the material of his shirt as little bouts of complaining bubbled past your lips. “Not so fast!” and “Oh God, my stomach” and “I don’t feel good.” Nanami had been reduced to your crutch at this point; he bore the entirety of your weight without batting an eye because your own legs were too wobbly to do it yourself.

“I know,” he murmured, maneuvering through the crowd. “Hold it together, we’re almost there.”

The first step outside felt like entering Heaven. Nanami basked in the cleanliness of the chilly night air, gulping down a big breath of fresh oxygen that hadn’t been tainted by marijuana smoke. But suddenly, you’re detaching yourself from his hip and he’s bewildered by your sudden need for proximity. “Y/n—”

He turns to face you, only to be met with the crown of your head. Doubled over at the waist, hands on the lower fraction of your thighs, you vomit onto the dewy pavement… and his shoes. Nanami’s cursing once more, drawing closer despite how much you obviously don’t want him to. “Alright,” he coos in exasperation, gathering your hair into a bundle and holding it away from the splash zone. “It’s alright, get it out.”

“You’re… Did I just puke on y-your feet?” Your voice is croaky, something of a mixture of embarrassment and illness. You can’t even look at him.

“Stand up,” Nanami tells you. He’s unbending you, straightening your body upright with a hand pressing your back in from his bowed shape. “Can you look at me?”

You pout, childlike. “No.” You’re looking at his shoes, the toes slick with remnants of your stomach acid.

“They’re just shoes, I have a million pairs.” His head cocks to a tilt. “Would you look at me, please?”

You’re sighing, but looking up to him nonetheless. Gazing up with big, glossy eyes and wet lashes that clumped together through tears. Eyeliner diluted and cradling your undereyes in a dark embrace. You wipe your mouth with the back of a palm, smearing shimmery gloss out of the confines of your lip line. It’s all so nauseatingly familiar, this pitiful display. Nanami decides he hates seeing you like this.

“I’m sorry,” you chirp.

“Don’t apologize.”

“I’ll pay for them.”

Nanami puts a hand on your shoulder when he notices the slant in your posture. “Cut it out, that’s entirely unnecessary.” He looks around the parking lot, full of vehicles. They catch the glint from the yellowish street lamps. “Did you drive here?” He thinks it’s unlikely, seeing as you let yourself fall under such intoxication. You weren’t so irresponsible; if you drove here, you would’ve made sure you’d be able to drive home too, like he did.

You’re shaking your head. “Caught a train.”

Nanami nods, pleased. “Good. That’s good.” With all the grace and gentleness in the world, the man loops your limp arm back around his nape, securing you against his oblique with a sturdy arm snaked around your waist. Everything is ginger, lest he upset your stomach again. “Are you good to walk?”

“Yeah, I think I’m alright.”

“Then let me take you to my car.”

That pulls a frown from you. “You don’t need—need to drive me there, Nana’. The station—” Hiccup “It’s just down the road.”

The blonde glowers. “You can barely stand on your own, public transportation is out of the question.” Like Hell he’s going to let an obviously inebriated, attractive young woman such as yourself ride the subway alone. Please, don’t make him laugh. “I’m driving you home.”

“It’s out of your way.”

“I don’t care.”

It’s a slow race, but Nanami eventually hauls you to his car parked at the entrance of the lot. A midnight shade Maserati; he doesn’t miss the way you gawk at his luxurious ride. “If I had a car like this, I’d never leave it.” He laughs. You smack his bicep. “I’m not kidding, I’d sleep in this thing. She’s gorgeous.”

“She says thank you,” he huffs his response. Nanami leans you up against the side of his car, pinning you between its door and his thigh while he opens the passenger door. “Watch your head.” His hand curls around the roof’s ledge, a makeshift cushion to protect your skull as you duck into the car seat. Immediately, you’re slumping back into the comfortable leather interior, moaning out quiet mewls of exhaustion.

“Yeah, I’d definitely sleep in here.”

“Keep those eyes open.” The door swings shut, and Nanami makes haste when rounding the rear of his car to the driver’s side. He had barely toed the line of sobriety anyways, but knocking a stranger on his ass was definitely more than enough to woosh any semblance of haziness from his veins. Nanami wouldn’t think about driving—wouldn’t think about putting you or anyone else on the road in danger—if he felt even the slightest bit impaired by the scotch. Behind the wheel, the man leans across the center console to grab your seat’s safety belt, carefully dragging it over your chest and clipping it into the buckle. “I need your address first, then you can knock out.”

“My address…” You ponder, lips pursed and eyes blinking at a snail’s pace. Sleepiness prevails, and you fall in and out of slumber, head lolling and cheek mashed up against your shoulder.

Nanami carps, unappreciative of your inability to stay awake long enough for this much needed conversation. “Hey,” he bleats, patting the top of your thigh. “Come on, Y/n. I need to know where you live.”

You whine, rolling your eyes at his persistence. “The city.”

“You live in the city.” Nanami deadpans at the useless information you’ve just spared.

“Mm.” And then you’re drifting back to sleep.

Nanami pinches high on the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger, over the permanent divets where his glasses have drilled into his skin. The contortment of his fingers sends another spike of pain over his bruising knuckles. “Wake up and give me a proper address.” He supposes his heated seats aren’t doing much to stave off your tiredness, so he presses his knuckle into the off button. You whine.

“I don’t remember, okay?”

That’s how you ended up at Nanami’s home, tucked under his lavish sheets in his bed that’s entirely too big for one person. Your outfit had been neatly folded and piled upon his dresser, exchanged for one of his tee shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were cinched at the waist. He helped you into his clothes—with your undivided consent, of course. A completely clinical and respectful process; Nanami looked elsewhere, acting as a handle for you to hold onto as you stepped into the oversized pants he held open for you. They were far too wide, falling off your hips, so he took the time to tie a precious, little bow with the drawstrings.

“Comfy?” He asks upon his return to the bedroom, holding a glass of tap water in one hand, a bottle of pills rattling in the other. You’re exactly where he left you; swimming in his bedsheets, the comforter hoisted up to your chest. Nanami sets the water down on the bedside table, then takes a seat on the edge of his mattress, working the bottle open.

“I’ve never been more comfortable,” you sigh blissfully, taking a deep inhale. “Your blankets smell good.”

The blonde can’t help his chuckle. “I’ll give you the name of the laundry detergent I use tomorrow.” With deft fingers, he plucks two small tablets, light pain medication, and sets the pair on the table next to your water glass.

“Promise?” Your tongue pokes out from between your teeth, playful. He chides an airy yes, snapping the tylenol bottle shut. Then, your smile fades; you’re averting your eyes, fixing them somewhere over to the blank canvas of Nanami’s gray, bedroom wall. “Hey, um…” He watched the side of your face, watches the flex of your jawline and the tension in your neck. “Did I—I didn’t really throw up on you, right?”

You rub at your temple, like you’re trying to find the memory but it’s just out of reach. “No,” he replies instantly, steadily, like it’s not a complete lie. Like his bile-ridden shoes aren’t sitting outside on his front door step, waiting to be cleaned. “You don’t remember?”

“It’s fuzzy,” you grumble, frustrated with yourself. “I had too much.”

Normal circumstances permitted, Nanami would’ve totally took this opportunity to have his I told you so moment. But you already looked upset, maybe a little bit sick still, so he bit his tongue for you. “Some drunk imbecile interrupted us. We shared words, and then he got sick on us.” He was pleased with himself, his story must’ve been believable with the way you nodded along.

“And then you punched him, right?”

His face drops. “That’s what you remember?”

Your shrug. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget it, Nanami. Not for my entire life.”

“Kento.” You hum, confused, so he reiterates, “I mean, call me Kento. I just clothed you, I’d say we’re close enough.” It’s true, you guys were getting more and more comfortable together by the day. Even outside of work and the management project, Nanami and you share text conversations more frequently than he would’ve ever imagined. And these little hangouts—granted, only two have been executed thus far—have been the most fun he’s had in ages. More fun than he’d ever hope to have with his ‘friendly’ business colleagues. You’re his friend.

You, Y/n L/n, are his friend. What a strange fucking twist of events, it nearly gives Nanami whiplash.

“Ken… To…” You speak each syllable slowly, peeking up at him through your eyelashes. He nods, grinning easily. Happy. “Kento, Kento, Ken—”

“Okay, okay enough.” He rises, arms raised as he gives a hearty stretch to his back. “It’s bedtime. Over there,” Nanami points at a door, “is the bathroom if you need it. You’ve got water here, and make sure you take the medicine in the mornings. You’re going to have a terrible migraine.”

“Wait, where are you gonna go?”

“I’ll take the couch for tonight.”

“Kento…” You whine, and he really wished you wouldn’t do that. “C’mere. There’s room.”

You’re patting the expansive open space beside you, peeling back the heavy blankets. It’s an enticing offer, to slip in beside you and feed off your body heat. To hold you to him and— Stop, what are you thinking? Stupid. “I think it’s best we don’t. Sorry.” And then he’s fleeing to the door because the way in which he worded that made the depths of his soul curl with cringe. Nanami bids you a polite sleep well before leaving you to the darkness, though he has enough sense left to keep the door cracked just in case you should yell for him in the night.

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vibgyorworkwear · 2 years ago

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Ultimate Safety gears guide: gloves, boiler suites, Fire proximity Suites

Safety gear is essential to protect workers from illness and injury When it comes to working in hazardous environments. By choosing the right equipment for the specific hazards of a given work environment and by properly maintaining and caring for that gear, workers can help ensure their safety and well-being on the job. Safety gloves, fire proximity suits, and industrial boiler suits by VibgyorWorkWear are all essential safety gear for workers in hazardous environments. In this blog, let's discuss these safety gear.

· Fire Proximity Suits India is commonly used by firefighters and other emergency responders who may need to enter burning buildings or hazardous environments. They are also used in industrial settings with a fire risk, such as in chemical plants or oil refineries.

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· Safety gloves are designed to protect the hands and fingers from cuts, burns, and other injuries. Many types of safety gloves are available, each with its unique properties and features. For example, leather gloves are often used in welding applications because they provide reasonable protection against heat and sparks. Cut-resistant gloves are commonly used in the food industry to prevent injuries from sharp knives and other cutting tools.

· Industrial boiler suits, also known as coveralls or overalls, are designed to protect workers from various hazards in industrial settings. These suits are typically made from heavy-duty materials such as cotton, polyester, or nylon and are often treated with flame-retardant chemicals.

· These suits are designed by Industrial Boiler Suits Manufacturers India to cover the entire body, including the arms and legs. They often include features such as reinforced knees and elbows for added durability. They are commonly used in construction, mining, and manufacturing industries, where workers may be exposed to hazards such as chemicals, sharp objects, or extreme temperatures.

So it is crucial to choose suitable

Lightweight Anti Static Flame Retardant Coverall India

safety gloves, fire proximity suits, or industrial boiler suits as the protection they provide. Different materials and designs offer different levels of protection, so choosing the right gear for the specific hazards of a given work environment is vital. Another important consideration is comfort and mobility.

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syoddeye · 1 month ago

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kinktober - day 23 - breeding & cnc

price x f!reader | 2.6k words cw: cnc, piv, breeding, abduction, gun mention, piss mention (not depicted), spanking, aftercare, implied kink negotiation a/n: the aftercare is fairly glossed over due to the word count. jsyk. summary: welcome home, sweetheart. banner by @/cafekitsune | kinktober list

“Turn right—here. Good girl.”

The hand kneading your shoulder squeezes in approval. John mutters the next instructions so low you barely hear them over the gravel road and the radio static. You keep straightening in your seat to maintain perfect posture, pressing your skull into the headrest just to hear him. He warned you against him finding reason to doubt your compliance.

You met John roughly two hours ago, and he’s had a gun trained on you for the last hour and fifty-five minutes. Wherever he’s taking you, you assume it’s either the end of the line or for keeps. With every curve and bend you take, your heart sinks further and further.

The shape of a cabin eventually appears between the trees. He leans over the shoulder of your seat, the smile in his voice clearer than the view outside.

“Can’t wait for you to see it in the daylight. Old, old growth. Dense. Sound doesn’t carry quite right.”

Subtle, you think bitterly, fighting off the tears needling behind your eyes. You can’t afford to break down again, not with what must be your prison in the headlights.

You park, kill the engine, and hand him your keys. The drill is the same as when he stopped to piss on the side of the highway. Stand, clear the door, and do not move five feet beyond him. The sound of his stream hitting the dirt next to your foot will haunt you.

The muzzle juts into your mid-back as he marches you up a footpath. You try to commit the details to memory. If you escape and somehow navigate the forest long enough to find help, every piece of information will help catch this psycho.

All pine with burgundy trim and shutters. Hand-painted house numbers. A wooden wind chime. Picturesque if not for the circumstances.

He crowds you against the door to unlock it, bullying you through it once it opens.

“Shoes and coat, off.”

The switch flips as you toe off your boots. It’s nothing like you expected. There are no shackles on the wall. No standing cross in the corner. The table isn’t stained with blood, but covered in a gingham cloth. There’s a stack of wood waiting to be fed into the fireplace. Quilts on the couch.

Somehow, the normalcy—the coziness—is worse.

John’s hand curves around your nape, and he stoops to kiss your head. “Welcome home, sweetheart.”

He’s fucking with you.

Making you sit like this, the door ten steps away.

The fire roars, blanketing the cabin with its heat. You split time between watching the flames and the deadbolt on the entrance. Your eyes are puffy and stinging with tears. They slip out in bursts, riding the waves of panic and nausea roiling your gut. You started crying into your dinner and haven’t stopped. The spanking he gave you for refusing to eat didn’t help.

A breeze catches the chime out front. It beckons. You need to get out of here.

Behind you, another page turns.

“Face me.”

The thin, worn cushion beneath your knees is the only mercy he’s shown so far. You’re sure he thinks otherwise. You stiffly do as he says, grimacing from the dull ache of your rear and at the angle. From the ground between his spread legs, he appears even bigger. He’s relaxed, unworried by the woman kneeling at his feet. His broad chest rises and falls steadily, the cheap readers perching on his nose. His thick forearms slightly flex where they extend from his rolled sleeves, and his hands dwarf the book they hold.

He licks the pad of his thumb, staring at you over the book’s edge, and turns another page with an expectant look.

“Take it out.”

Acid blots the back of your tongue. It twists and untwists, apoplectic and souring.

You’re suddenly too aware of it, the bulge testing the tailoring of his jeans mere inches from your face. It’s in your periphery, like a shadow on the edge of the light. If you look, it gives it form. Makes it real. Makes all of this somehow more real.

“What?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Although the rational part of you knew this nightmare would eventually escalate and spiral to a point where you couldn’t strategize or disassociate your way through it, something compels you to refuse. You ignore the soreness under your skirt.

“No.”

John lowers the book, revealing the grim flat line of his mouth, then claps it shut. Disappointment rolls off him as he sets the text aside, plucks the glasses from his face, and folds them.

As he gingerly places them atop the book, he sighs, exasperated. “Maybe you need something firmer than an open palm.”

The second he reaches for his belt buckle, you bolt.

Surging up from the floor as if on springs, knees be damned, you launch toward the door. The entire couch scrapes on its feet as he propels himself after you. In an instant, hearing him laugh, you know it’s all for naught.

A hand curls in your shirt, yanking you backward. You collide into his solid chest and stumble over your feet to burst away, only for a foot to hook yours.

“No!” You barely catch yourself before John’s all over you.

The wrestling match is quick, brutal, and humiliating. You’re a mess of limbs running off of adrenaline, but every punch you throw and kick you lash out is easily deflected. From the blurred glimpses of his face in the tussle, he looks almost bored, so calm in subduing you.

“Special forces, love,” he grunts as he pins you on your belly. “You’re not gettin’ away, so save your energy for what matters.” He grinds against your ass, chuckling breathlessly at your pitiful attempts to twist away.

“Stop—stop!”

He wrangles your wrists with one big hand at the small of your back and sinks his weight into securing your legs. You yowl in pain, his kneecap digging into your thigh, and it spirals higher when he starts to rip your skirt off. The fabric gives with a few firm tugs, shredding in two over your ass. Your panties follow suit.

You sob and shake beneath him. Spit and tears commingle under your chin and cheek.

Hands as rough as sandpaper descend upon your ass once more. Gone is the perfunctory nature of his earlier discipline. Any measure of restraint. He cracks his palms over your cheeks wildly, with no pattern or predictability. “That hurt?” He asks in a low rumble, patronizing, the way you’d talk to a frightened animal that didn’t understand. His hands smoothing briefly between strikes like he’s doing you a favor by even trying to soothe.

At the sound of his belt loosening, you thrash. A thumb slides right over your puckered hole and taps the ring.

“Stay fuckin’ still, or I’ll take this dry.”

The prospect of him fucking your ass unprepped has its intended effect. You sniffle and seethe as he slips off his belt, a single distressed wail breaking through your lips when the leather touches your wrists. He mutters about your poor behavior while he fastens makeshift cuffs.

John drags you back to the fireplace, half-walking you on your knees when they catch the floor. There might as well be a scorching trail in your wake from the heat of your humiliation. He maneuvers you over the rug in front of the hearth.

Fear bubbles like an unchecked pot seconds from boiling over. You can’t keep a lid on it.

“John, please–please don’t do this! I won’t tell anyone, just–just let me go!”

Your babbled pleas bounce off him like bugs on a window. Flatten against his resolve. He sits his body weight on you again, ignoring your cries, and his shirt lands in a pile beside your head. Then the pressure lifts completely, and you watch his silhouette cast by the firelight yank his jeans and pants down. A gasp sputters out at the bobbing shape of his cock.

He chuckles, clearly amused, and shifts to better show his shadow. He fists the base of his cock. “All for you, sweetheart.”

Lowering to a knee, he lets his cock slap against you as he guides your ass into the air, deepening your arch to his liking. He hums, keeping one hand busy on himself while the other pries a cheek open. Mortification snaps your eyes shut. You practically feel his gaze drilling into you.

“Look…at…that…” His hand slides, and his thumb strokes through your lips. You barely gasp an inhale before it probes, dipping into where you’re shamefully wet. The discovery surprises the both of you, though while you freeze in terror, John moans. “Knew I picked a good one. Too pretty to not be desperate for it.”

He nudges your knees further apart and spreads your cheek wider to the point where it starts to hurt.

“Nonono–no please!” You screech.

His knuckles bump against your cunt as he guides his cock through your exposed folds, coating himself in what moisture’s there. It doesn’t feel like enough when the head of his cock notches at your hole. You know it’s not enough when he pushes in, stretching you over his length, and every inch burns. Pain and heat radiate from the inside out. Blunt and heavy like one of the iron pokers hanging out of reach on their rack.

He tuts at your crying and squeezes one of your clenched fists twice. “Hurts doesn’t it? If you had only listened, been a good girl, you could’ve wet my cock and made it easier on yourself.”

John snaps his hips forward, claiming the last few inches of space and bludgeoning your cervix. It knocks a scream from your lungs and another when he starts to move. His grip remains on your hands, forcing two of his fingers into the tight curl of your fist. “You’ll come to learn, I don’t speak to hear my own voice.” The slap of his hips on your ass hurts almost as much as the drag of his cock along your walls. A punishment twice over. “When I give an order, you fuckin’ follow it. Understood?”

“Yes, yes, I-I understa–fuck, it hurts–”

“What was that? Do you understand or not?”

He accelerates briefly, jackhammering into you so hard you’re afraid you’ll tear. Your knees scrape the rug.

“I understand! I understand!” You shriek, face mashing into the rug. Your fist reflexively pulses around his fingers, drawing a breathy chuckle from above. He slows and snakes his other hand around to play with your clit.

“Good girl. Earned yourself some comfort.”

You blubber, and one pathetic sound bleeds into the next. The ‘comfort’ he coaxes out of you gradually builds. You grow wetter and more ashamed, both relieved and horrified that the push and pull of his cock starts to feel better. Feel good. He winds your stomach tight through the title circles he draws, stealing involuntary gasps from you as he thrusts.

“Feels good, hmm? Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Just as the first sparks of an orgasm burst, his attention diverts to your swinging tits. He tries to grab them both in one hand, pinching the skin meanly before settling for one. He presses it in on itself, rolling the nipple over his damp thumb. “I’ve seen you strugglin’ for a while, love. I knew the moment I saw you that you needed someone like me. Knew I could give you somethin’ better.”

He releases your tit, slowing to grind his hips in a circle, deep and slow. A new rush of fear shoots down your spine, threatening to claw out of your chest when his hand cups your stomach. He hums the first few notes of a lullaby.

“W-What?”

“Told you to not play dumb.” He kneads your belly, then glides his palm to your waist. “Gonna knock you up. Take you just like this,” He thrusts harder, patting your flank for emphasis. “‘Til it takes. You’re gonna be stuffed by the time I’m done.”

The last pieces of your dignity grind to dust beneath your cheekbone. The new wave of tears is like vinegar in a cut.

“J-John, I can’t–w-won’t–”

You shudder and yip from another harsh and bruising snap of his hips. He speaks with chilling certainty. “Yeah, you will. If you’re on those silly pills, I’ll dump ’em. You got an implant or one of those rings?” He laughs low in his throat. “Well, I hope you don’t.”

He finds your clit again, groaning at the sopping mess of your cunt. A pinch makes you whimper, the sound seemingly fuelling him to return to that steady, unforgiving pace. “My pussy,” he declares with each punishing drive. “My lovely cunt that will bear my children.”

Deep down, you know it isn’t a conscious thing. The twinges of pleasure amidst the fear. Emotion competes with chemical. He banishes the words from your mouth and purges them entirely from your mind with a slight shift and a renewed effort from his fingers.

“Yeah, yeah–come f’me–”

The warmth that builds is insidious, a pressure demanding release. A coil tightens, winding further with every plunge until it’s unbearable, and you feel nothing but your impending unraveling.

“C’mon, make it take–”

It breaks. With a scream, a shattering orgasm tears through your body. Your walls flutter and spasm around his cock.

“Yesss, that’s a good girl–good fuckin’–” John swears loudly, squeezing your fist. He abruptly shudders, following suit so quickly you don’t realize what’s happening until it’s dribbling out from around him and down your thigh. His hips move uncontrollably, shallowly rocking into you as the last of his cum spills.

Your whimpering fades into shaky breaths as he stills.

A moment of silence passes. He wiggles the fingers locked in your fist.

“Sweetheart?”

You squeeze the digits, releasing them as you quietly slur. “‘M’okay.”

You lose time after John carefully pulls out, frees your hands, and helps you slump belly-down entirely on the rug. You were down deep, fully immersed that now it feels as though you’re surfacing from a dive. You register a shiver from a cold, damp cloth and then the sweeping warmth of a quilt. You promptly stick your feet out, given the fire burning mere steps away.

“Thought once or twice you’d end it,” John finally speaks, rolling you to your back once he’s dressed. He peers through his cheap glasses, inspecting your wrists and elbows. The faint irritation on your face from the rug. You’ll remind him of your knees later.

“I squeezed your fingers, didn’t I? I’d’ve tapped out if I wanted to.”

The smile John gives you brims with affection. He kisses the backs of your knuckles. “Yeah, you did. Good girl, checking in like that.”

“The lullaby bit was insane, though. God, you missed your calling as a horror actor.”

“Don’t encourage me.”

He helps transfer you to the couch with a couple of more questions, then sets your water and phone within reach.

“Solid? I’m going to unpack the car while your food heats up, alright?”

“Yeah, okay…” You mumble sleepily and doze. You’re dimly aware of John in the kitchen fixing you a new plate, your body and consciousness taking their time to fully come down. But your reentry is interrupted by the sudden memory of what inspired all this. You sit up, eyes wide as you glance around the cabin. John’s in the kitchen, fixing up a new plate. “John?”

He swivels.

“This place is perfect! God, I can’t believe I was upset with you for buying this place! The shutters, the house numbers…That chime has got to go, though.”

He grins. “I was wondering when you’d realize. Now stay put. I’ll take you on a tour once you’ve rested and we’ve debriefed.”

You ease back down into the cushion and languidly stretch. On the edge of sleep, you watch John bring in your things and start to unpack. Big lug’s smiling to himself, oh-so pleased. You suppose that makes two of you.

#tw rape #tw noncon #sy kinktober #kinktober #price x f!reader #price x reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader

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