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peachesofteal · 3 months

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ghoap x reader / 18+ mdni / dark themes / masterlist

Your head is throbbing.

The pain is so vibrant it nearly gives you double vision, broken pieces of memory hanging just on the cusp of consciousness.

Things come together. The soft embrace of a bed, the golden glow of the morning sun. The morning sun-

You shoot straight up. Oh fuck. What time is it? How late did you sleep? You never sleep this late... oh my god... work. The sun is up, you're late.

It takes a second for you to fully understand you're not in your own bed. You're not in your tiny rundown flat. You're in a room you don't recognize, king bed spread out beneath you, grey curtains billowing in a breeze. The windows, the walls, stretch taller than you've ever seen, deep ocean blue painted floor to ceiling, a fancy chair pulled directly to the bedside.

You're not even in your own clothes, instead a pair of ridiculously comfortable sweatpants and oversized t shirt, the dress you went out in nowhere to be found.

Where the fuck are you?

There's a pain in your arm, the inside of your elbow, and you look down in shock to see a cotton ball taped to your skin. What the fuck?

Fear floods you.

You roll, feet and calves twisted in the sheet until you kick them free. Your bladder needs attention, desperately, and you need your phone to call Galaxy's.

"Hello?" It's an odd thing to do to an empty room but... what else are you supposed to do?

There's a door to your right, wide open and revealing white tiled floors, beginning appearances of a bathroom all you need to get up and moving across the incredibly plush carpet.

You squint as you flick the lights on, blinking in disbelief at the grandiosity.

The bathroom is the size of your flat. Glass walled shower, double vanity, white tub triple your size, ends curved upwards. It's not white tile under your feet at all, but marble, rivulets of gold running through each square like rivers.

Holy shit. You navigate to the toilet in a daze, passing the back lit mirror, catching a glimpse of yourself and swallowing your wince.

You look... awful. Exhausted. Hung over. Your face is clean, at least, though you don't remember washing it. You don't remember much of anything.

The Rook. The room you didn't belong in. The men you recognized. A warm arm around your waist-

Oh god. Did you... did you leave with them?

After using the bathroom, you burst back into the bedroom in a frenzy, tearing through the pile of blankets for your phone. Under the pillows, the sheets, everywhere. You check both bedside tables, the bathroom again...

only to come up empty.

The next option is the door. The one in the middle of the wall, farthest away from you. It's different from the other doors, the ones you assume are closets, and you turn the door handle, expecting it to tug downward and grant you an exit.

It doesn't. It's stiff. Unyielding.

Locked.

Nausea tips forward in your stomach, fear drenching your spine, and your fists fly at the wood before retreating, staring back at the door in horror. Air is trapped in your lungs and you stumble, dropping to your knees in the carpet.

Footsteps echo. A lock clicks open.

"Shite." Someone curses, padding over to where you kneel, black spots forming across your vision. Hands curl over your shoulders, forcing your spine straight, though you flinch backwards, trying to get away. "Breathe, little doe, breathe."

"Wh- who-"

"Shhh, jus' breathe for now. Catch yer breath." It's slow, but it comes, eventually tugging and twisting through your chest until it flows easier, no longer stop gapped by your panic.

You see him clearly for the first time.

The man who spilled coffee on you. The one who picked you up off the floor.

"Much better." He coos, and touches your face, thumb brushing your temple. "Let's ge ye up." He guides you to your feet, back to the bed, where you sit in front of him, eyes wide. There's some sort of warmth in the way he comforted you, some sort of care you're sure you've never felt. It scares you. It warns you, cautions you. Danger.

You're in danger.

"Where am I?" Your first question bursts free, and he settles in the chair at the side of the bed.

"Ye're in our home."

"Why?"

"Ye were drugged last night, at the Rook." Oh god. Is that why you feel so awful? "Dinnae worry, sweet thing. We'll find who's responsible."

"Why am I here though?" It's still not making sense, and he gives you a strange look, like the answer is obvious.

"Ye couldnae get home on yer own." His accent is soothing, soft and melodic. Gentle. "An' we couldnae leave ye on yer own."

"My- my friend..."

"She was... indisposed." Your head snaps back.

"Where's my phone?"

"It was dead, so we plugged it in for ye. Have ye brushed your teeth?" He nods to the bathroom. "There's a new toothbrush, razor, soap in there. Shampoo and conditioner too, for ye to shower. I'll put out some fresh clothes." No. What?

"I... I have to get to work. Thank you, for... making sure I was safe but-"

"Ye're no longer expected at work today. An' if ye were, it's long past the time ye'd need to be there."

"Did you call me out?" He nods, and then gestures to the bathroom. "Get cleaned up. Door will be open for ye, when ye're finished."

The clothes provided are your size. Leggings, a shirt, even underwear. You tuck the suspicion away in the back of your mind, logging it along with everything else, before taking a deep breath and pulling the bedroom door open.

There's a man on the other side of it. His shoulder at the frame, back turned away. A big man. Broad. "Erm... hello?" He turns, and gives you a nod. He's dressed casually, jeans and a t shirt, but your mouth dries as you spot the gun tucked into his waistband.

"I'll bring you downstairs." The gun frightens you into submission, and you gulp.

"Okay."

The house is monstrous. Hallways twisting and turning, sprawling out in front of you as you pass room after room until you reach a staircase, following dutifully behind the man escorting you... somewhere.

You come to a stop in front of a panel of sliding glass doors. They stretch the length of the wall, revealing an expansive patio and a sparkling blue pool.

And two men, seated at a table.

Your escort pulls one of the glass panels wide and they both turn. The one that came to the room before gives you a warm smile, while the other regards you with keen interest, like a black cat under a full moon.

You swallow. Audibly.

They thank your escort and wave you over, and your feet carry you forward, nearly against your will.

"Sit. We'll have breakfast." The man who came to your shop to give you the cash gestures to the only empty chair, and you perch on it, straight backed, strung like a live wire.

"Who are you?" It's a multi layered question, but they take it at face value, whether they know better or not.

"Simon. And this is Johnny." You start to give yours in return, the polite custom, but Simon interrupts you. "We know your name, doe."

"Okay..." you trail off. They're both fixated on you, Simon with his head cocked, dark gaze focused like he's picking you apart.

Danger.

"Poached eggs an' bacon okay? Toast?" Poached eggs are your favorite. How are you going to turn them down?

"Uhh... sure?" Johnny smiles, and stands, disappearing back into the house. You take a deep breath.

"Why am I here? Where is my phone?" Simon leans back, broad chest and shoulders relaxed in the chair.

"It's here." He pulls it from his pocket, and you're relieved to see it fully charged. Immediately thumbing through your notifications, you see a text from your boss wishing you well with your stomach bug, and another from Case.

>Hey, idk where you went but I'm going home with someone. You good?

You grit your teeth. Some friend. Off chasing dick or pussy while you were being drugged. Simon cocks his head. "You're upset."

"No. Yes. I'm irritated she abandoned me." He smiles, feline and formidable.

"Not many can resist Kate Laswell once she sets her sights on them. Don't be too cross with her." You glower at the same time a plate is placed in front of you, poached eggs, grilled tomatoes, toast, bacon, avocado, healthy glass of orange juice by it's side. The works.

The drool reflex is nearly instantaneous, and your stomach growls. You can't remember the last time you've eaten a meal this big.

"Please." Johnny coaxes, eyes soft. "We know ye're hungry." The way he says it fills you with shame, like you're some kitten plucked off the street, small and stray.

You are, you suppose. A stray. A castaway. A sore thumb inside this wealth.

You are, unfortunately, not too proud to turn down a meal, though your hand trembles as you grip the fork.

The first bite is perfect. There's something to be said about an immaculate poached egg, whites wispy, yolk dark orange, rich from a nutrient packed diet. You finish the first without looking up, forgetting, for a second, where you are. Who you're with. What's happening.

Johnny chuckles, eyes bright and beautiful, gazing at you with that perfect shade of blue, jolting you from your enthusiasm, and when you glance over, you find Simon's expression subtly pleased.

Something akin to heat, to want, flares in your blood.

No. Stop. You do not want them.

Johnny clears his throat. "Do ye know anyone who might want to hurt ye?"

"What? No..." Hurt you? You're a nobody.

"There were drugs in your system, benzodiazepines. A heavy concentration." You blink.

"Wait... how, how do you know that?" Simon's eyes flicker to your arm, the one with the cotton ball. "Oh my god. Is that what that is? Did you take my blood or something?" He nods.

"We had to know what it was. Your breathing was slow, shallow, and you couldn't stay awake."

"Why were you were in that room? I saw you." They exchange a look.

"You did see us." Simon confirms.

"I was looking for the bathroom." You whisper, shards of memories coming back in foggy clips. "I saw... you had a gun. That man... the one who brought me downstairs, he had a gun too." It comes tumbling out, laced with fear.

"I have gun now. We both do."

"Why?"

"You know why, little doe. Don't you? You're a smart girl." The 141. It's obvious. The Rook belonging to them, the back room meeting.

"You're a part of the 141."

"Very good." He answers, praise flushing your skin hot. No. Stop.

"Eat yer breakfast." Johnny instructs, but you shake your head.

"No. I want to go home."

"We're not a threat to ye, doe. Ye're safe with us."

"I d-don't believe you. You're... you're the 141. You're-"

"Dangerous." Simon finishes for you. "But not to you." The silence is a stalemate, your pulse rocketing past resting.

"Please, eat-"

"No!" You slide the chair away from the table and jump to your feet. "No... I can't be here... with you. I'm supposed to be at work. I w-want to go home." Tears brim, trying to fall, and you wipe your eyes hastily. Johnny's brow creases in concern.

Fuck this.

They can't keep you here. They can't kidnap you, force you to stay. You glance at the fence around the pool, a gate nestled in the shadows of some butterfly bushes.

"Do not." Simon warns, coming to his feet, like he can read your mind.

You take off running. Sprinting, as fast as your legs will allow. The gate is unlocked, thank god, and you blow through it, out to a driveway curving through a forest, towering trees flanking black pavement on both sides.

You're not very fast, but you don't stop. You don't stop until your legs ache and your lungs burn, though there's still no end in sight.

When you pull up, you turn wildly, watching, expecting them to appear in the bend.

They don't, but a car does instead.

You dart left, into the woods, scrambling away from the driveway, tucking yourself behind a tree. Your heart beats in your ears, frenetic, the pace nearly making you dizzy.

You can just barely see it from your hiding spot, and inwardly curse when both Simon and Johnny get out, flanked by the man who escorted you to breakfast, and another.

They start towards the trees.

You take off.

You're spent, and loud, crashing through the brush like a herd of elephants, giving away your position. You do the only thing you can think of, crouch down behind the base of another tree, and hold your breath, scanning the forest and listening. Minutes pass, enough to convince you to move again. You sneak away, one step after another, growing bolder-

Fingers sail through the air and latch onto your wrist. You scream, trying to rip away, glancing up to see Simon's lips pressed into a grim line. Your efforts are nothing compared to his strength, and though you thrash like a wildcat, it's not long before you're pressed up against his body.

"Told you not to do that." He murmurs, free hand cradling your face. His thumb runs along your bottom lip, and you breathe through your nose, jerking backwards, still trying to escape. "An' I wouldn't do that, if I were you. I'll just catch you, and you're not ready for what would come after, little doe." You shiver. His eyes are heated, heavy lidded, dark liquid pools.

"Si?" Johnny shouts.

"Got 'er." The reality of his words sink deep. Got her. They've got you.

You burst into tears.

"None of that, sweet girl, c'mon." He wipes your cheeks furiously, trying to keep up with the pace of your waterworks as Johnny appears at your shoulder and clucks.

"Poor thing. I know, ye're scared, I know. Let's get ye back."

"P-please, please don't. I want to go home."

"Let's get her in the car." He talks to Simon like you're not even there, and then he lifts you, cradled against his chest like a baby.

They put you back in the room. Your room, they tell you, where you'll stay until you can be good.

"We're not goin' hurt ye, sweet thing. But we need ye to cooperate."

They said, again, you might be in danger, out there. At your home. Your job. That someone may be trying to hurt you.

"You were drugged. At the Rook. Neutral territory. Only someone with broad connections and of importance could get drugs inside."

You scream at them to let you leave. You'll call the police, you protest, you'll call someone. They only shake their heads, and lock the door behind you, leaving you to your heaving sobs, ones that zap the life from your body and leave you crumpled on the floor in a wrung out heap.

Hours, minutes, days later, there are arms beneath you. You wake, barely, blinking blearily in the night. They carry you to the bed where you're tucked beneath the covers, warm, deft fingers smoothing over your forehead and your hair, humming something soft until you start to slip back into the darkness of sleep.

"Rest, little doe."

#peaches writes #mafia au #ghoap x reader

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fafnir19 · 4 months

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The lingerie boutique

Leif stood at the threshold of the lingerie boutique, an unfamiliar nervousness pricking at him. His girlfriend's incessant chatter about her friends' partners embarking on risqué escapades for special occasions echoed in his mind. "Sexy photos, Leif. Sexy surprises! That's what other guys do," she had pouted, twirling a lock of her hair in that alluring way that always made his heart race.

Leif, a man in his early thirties with a burgeoning beer belly that spoke of late-night pizza indulgences, found it absurd. Despite his skepticism about the "sexy" trends of middle-aged men in lace and leather, Leif decided to take the plunge. His mind echoed with her words, urging him to step out of his comfort zone. So here he was, on a mission to find something "sexy" for her birthday.

Pushing his doubts aside, Leif entered the shop, greeted by a universe of lace and silk. He couldn't help but feel out of place amidst the sea of women browsing the intimate garments. His eyes darted around the shop, trying to avoid the judging gazes of the ladies as he tentatively made his way towards the men's section tucked discreetly in the corner. Among the crowd of women, he noticed only one other male in the shop, who exuded a confidence Leif could only dream of.

"Maybe he's buying something for his girlfriend," Leif thought, feeling a pang of insecurity as he fingered a delicate lace brief. This man was a stark contrast to Leif's own self-image, muscular and undeniably handsome. This type of guy seemed to belong in the sensuous garments adorning the displays - not Leif.

Gathering his resolve, Leif made his way to the changing rooms, his mind swirling with thoughts of how ridiculous he must look with his chubby frame and hairy chest. Once inside the changing room, Leif stripped down and reluctantly put on the lace briefs. Looking at himself in the mirror, he couldn't help but cringe at the sight. "I look ridiculous," he muttered to himself.

Tugging at the fabric, he realized it clung to him stubbornly, refusing to budge. Panic welled up inside him, and he made desperate attempts to free himself from the unforgiving lace. Frantic now, Leif made a decision born out of frustration. With a sudden burst of strength, he tried to tear the briefs off, only to be met with excruciating pain that shot through his body like a lightning bolt. The room seemed to spin as agony consumed him, and he closed his eyes against the relentless torment. It was as if tendrils of magic seeped into his being, reshaping him from the inside out.

Moments later, as the pain ebbed away, Leif cautiously opened his eyes and glanced at his reflection once more. What he saw left him speechless. Staring back at him was a young man in his twenties, chiseled features and a physique that seemed sculpted by a divine hand.

A mixture of shock and disbelief coursed through him as he whispered, "What happened to me?" In a daze, Leif hastily donning his old, oversized clothing over the lace briefs. However, to his horror, his t-shirt began to tighten around him and the fabric of his t-shirt transformed before his eyes, changing from drab cotton to elegant white lace. The cut of the shirt reshaped itself into a stylish button-down shirt, and as if by magic, the sleeves rolled up on its own. Buttons of his button-down shirt slowly unfurled, unveiling a smooth, hairless chest that bore no resemblance to the man he once was. The transformation didn't stop there. His jeans shimmered and turned into tight luxurious silk pants. The silky texture against his now slender thighs and sculpted buttocks elicited an unexpected sensation of arousal, causing a soft moan to escape his lips involuntarily and shocking Leif to his core. "That's not me. I need to get out of here," he whispered to himself, a sense of urgency driving him to leave the changing room. Finally his worn-out trainers transformed into stylish loafers, completing his new look, showcasing his now naked ankles and leaving him feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Overwhelmed and confused, Leif stormed out of the changing room, intent on escaping the eerie enchantment of the shop.

In a twist of serendipity—or perhaps cruel irony—Leif collided with the other male customer in the shop, a man named Brandon. Brandon smirked at Leif, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Leaving so soon, my handsome boy?" his smooth voice resonated in the small space, sending shivers down Leif's spine. Startled and unsure how to react, Leif stammered, "I-I... I need to go." But Brandon's hand reached out, gently touching Leif's arm. "How about we grab a coffee? It's the least I can do after causing such a commotion." His grin was playful, enticing.

Leif was taken aback, unsure of how to respond to such an unexpected proposition. His initial reaction was a mix of alarm, disgust and discomfort at the suggestive undertones in Brandon's words. “This imposing man sees my young and delicate silk- and lace-clad form only as an invitation to bring me to suck his cock," Leif mentally recoiled, trying to find a way out of the situation.

As Leif crushed his mind about an non-offensive response and gazed incidentally at Brandon's muscular frame, a wave of envy washed over him. Brandon exuded confidence and power, a stark contrast to Leif's own insecurities. He couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy at Brandon's commanding presence, his own sense of self-doubt magnified in comparison.

Leif felt a rush of conflicting emotions flood his mind – despite a tinge of jealousy at Brandon's apparent confidence he also felt admiration for the man's muscular physique and his intense green eyes.

Thoughts raced through Leif's mind like a wild stallion, each one more scandalous than the last. He couldn't help but notice how impeccably dressed Brandon was and how good he was looking. His tailored suit hugging his muscular frame in all the right places. The younger version of Leif felt a tingle of attraction towards this dominant man standing before him. But then, a scent caught Leif's attention - the pleasant, manly smell of Brandon's cologne. It enveloped him like a warm embrace, stirring up desires he never knew he had. Images flashed through his mind like lightning, each one more erotic than the last. He imagined what it would be like to kiss Brandon, to feel the roughness of his stubble against his skin.

And then, like a bolt from the blue, a shocking confession slipped past Leif's lips before he could even process it. "Yes, I want to suck your cock, Brandon!" he blurted out, his cheeks flaming with embarrassment as soon as the words left his mouth.

Brandon's lips curled into a sly smile, a predatory glint shining in his eyes as he seized the opportunity presented to him. Without a word, he guided Leif into a secluded changing room, the air thick with anticipation.

The small confines of the room felt suffocating yet thrilling, the quiet rustle of fabric the only sound between them. Leif's heart pounded in his chest, his body responding to the primal call of desire. Kneeling before the man whose dominance seemed to awaken a submissive side within him, Leif delved into uncharted waters, his actions guided by a primal urge he had never acknowledged before.

The taste of danger lingered on his lips as he took Brandon in, exploring a side of himself he never dared to acknowledge. Brandon's fingers tangled in Leif's hair, guiding him with a firm yet gentle touch. Leif's breath ghosted over Brandon's skin, each whispered touch sending shivers down his spine. Pleasure mingled with trepidation as Leif traced his tongue along the length of Brandon's cock, savoring the salty sweetness that teased his senses. With each passing moment, Leif found himself consumed by a heady mix of apprehension and exhilaration as he pleasured Brandon.

After the storm of passion subsided, Brandon's fingers threaded through Leif's hair, a silent gesture of approval and satisfaction. With a whispered "Thanks, boy," Brandon left the changing room without a backward glance.

Leif was confused and still kneeling there, as a sense of unease settled in the pit of his stomach. Despite the raw intensity of the moment, he couldn't shake the feeling of being used, of being reduced to a mere object of desire. Nevertheless, his relationship with his girlfriend, once a cornerstone of his existence, now seemed like a distant memory.

#male tf #male transformation #personality change #straight to gay #age regression

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parth0238u · 9 months

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sofikartin · 1 year

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