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seraphxcx · 2 years ago

Note

Sooo… feel free to deny my request but, maybe Price is !f reader’s dad and she finds herself dreaming of spending the night with Ghost and he tries his best to deny that he wants her just as bad? (They totally give in ;)) I understand if this isn’t something you’re comfortable with, but I adore the idea, and I love the way you write 🥰🥰🥰

RANCID AND DELICATE

simon "ghost" riley + f!reader

synopsis: falling victim to your dad's best friend was never your concept of a first relationship. (also known as: a mature lieutenant simon "ghost" riley of a cold nature can't help but have himself captivated with his best friend's, captain john price’s, daughter.)

content warnings: age gap, loss of virginity, dad's best friend trope, naive!reader, light dumbification, possessive sex, posessive!ghost, love confessions, ghost is a little mean, loss of virgnity.

author's note: thank you so much for the request ! i'm sorry this took so long with how busy i've been but i hope you like this little drabble :-)

ao3 version.

Possessing the mentality of a pacifist was caustic. Considering that you were the daughter — the only daughter — of the notable task force captain, John Price. Gone for days on end, coming home wounded and bloody, the slightest mentions of war and pure violence left some sort of mark on you throughout your lifetime — it was too depressing, violent to hold a conversation about.

But there was something about the way your father's second in command, his best friend, reflecting a strand of gentle malevolence in the dark pools of his eyes behind a blood-smeared balaclava, customized with a hard shell of a skull over the upper-half. He was numb, kept to himself a lot — which really shined through whenever you took the chance to visit the task force's base from time-to-time in your free-time. Through the touch of his broad shoulder pushing at yours out of the way, the peeks at you between the holes of his mask — you had to admit, you were conclusively a little terrified of the man, but held some strange obsession with him for a while in the margins of your heart.

Whether it was following your dad around base like some kind of lost puppy or forced to stay and watch combat drills for hours at a time, you were growing disgustingly fond of being around constant reminders of military — old, sweaty, muscular men with their ability to tower over and tease you.

Though you didn't have be present at the base all of the time just to be around your dad's best friend; invitations to dinner at home, some guy-to-guy meet-up, meetings to discuss the latest missions — you were near damn thanking your dad on your knees for being friends with a man as handsome as Simon. Ghost was his professional title.

He was intelligent, not a people-pleaser but easily did so. A defeatist and a personification of tranquility all into one bulky, tattooed man. While kept restrained to himself, he did banter with you — teasing words, an arm sliding around your shoulders every now and then. You couldn't deny every interaction would bring heat to your face, heartbeat increasing to be felt throbbing in your head. Whatever. He was attractive enough to like, grew fond of you, and you shared that fondness right back.

It had been relatively obvious that you could never start a relationship with him. Middle-aged, twice your age, too full of trust with your father — none of it could be attainable, but fuck it.

You found yourself drunk on him, stupefied, weak in the knees. Daydreaming about Ghost was a habit you had grown into; conscious or not. He was like a drug — a strong, addictive, sour drug on your tongue which swallowed you and your emotions up. You were longing for him to visit every week, yearning for that doorbell to press and noise, clinging to him for practically the duration of his visit.

Convincing yourself you were in the middle of a considered love-situation was hard. You didn't want to, but deep down — you knew it. You admitted it. With thoughts so extensive surrounding one, singular man; impossibility was the right word for it. You were crushing on your father's best friend like some adolescent school-girl, kicking your legs around and giggling; all of it was so filmesque and hard to believe it was the real-life. Whatever.

You've never experienced the complete privilege of having a high-school sweetheart, a boyfriend who showered you with fields of affection and physical remarks of love to your flesh due to your dad's overprotectiveness. There were no late-night dates or boning in the back of some guy's trashy car in an empty parking lot — you've only seen in films. The closest thing to the actual thing. Saturated, projecting pictures on a rectangular screen with some imitation of what you truly longed for. (And you wonder why you have that gnawing sensation of touch-starvation.)

So it was understandable why you would bind yourself to a guy who was within reach, easy to obtain somehow, leeching off of him with a desperation to be loved. It was unknown if he had shared the same sensations too, probably not — you were too young and only half-mature, feeling as if you were actually an adolescent school-girl still in an adult body, and even if he did you wouldn't really know how to act. Too shy and timid. Almost as reserved and kept-to-yourself as he was — but your inner self was a whole other story.

The thoughts were too consuming and sour — like salt to a fresh gorey wound — so you distracted yourself. Ghost was coming around later so you had enough time to doll yourself up, prepare mentally for his physical show-up at the front door.

God, who knew your first love would be your dad's best friend.

The day had started off tensed. When it was reaching dusk, the sun lowering itself below the horizon line, you had realized that tension went along with you until now. You were waiting. Decent. Ghost had been edging you on with showing-up anytime now.

Screw sexual edging, this was a much more worse punishment to undergo. For the minutes you counted and the hours you practically prayed with two hands pressed together to pass by faster, it had been a kind of forbearing torture — suppressed feelings forced to be imprisoned in your head with no acting on it. Besides, you couldn't risk it. Distractions could only save you now — and that's what you've being doing for just about the whole day; distracting yourself from the inevitable.

Your house was of the average suburban household — sturdy walls and lumpy walls — in a most average neighborhood, with carbon copies of the same structures and all. It was bland in all of the right places — not even a couple of decades old to the bone. Green movie-sets of flowers and shrubs crowded the front lawn, some dying of color and dried from the sun. None of it seemed to stick out from the other houses, just the people.

Inside, there was furniture from some corner shop store, said to be new but looked more like hand-me-downs more than anything —

— And there you sat on a hand-me-down couch. Cotton poking at the undersides of your thighs, itchy but soft. You gowned yourself in a white sundress, lace and fleecy material, comfortable enough to get around the house in — to meet-up with Ghost. An ample supply to show off to him, legs and a satisfactory amount of cleavage exposed. I mean, you weren't necessarily trying to be seductive but if it came off in that way, so be it. Regardless, the dress was the only cleaned bunch of fabric that was stuffed on a hanger; catching your eye the first time you searched for something to wear.

You tugged the skirt of lace to the your knees, no doubt stretching the fabric and possibly even damaging it — seductiveness was scaring to think about, maybe unnerving, although it seeped through the cracks of your brain and inscribed deep enough to reach your thoughts. To feel so insecure so fast by one passing impression was incredibly staggering.

Your father was home, some place in the kitchen sorting through recruiting letters — military-related papers you couldn't care less about. Every now and then he would mumble a curse or move a chair causing a muted ear-piercing squealing against the wooden ground. He wasn't refusing to talk to you, he was just busy, as always with his advantage of a captain rank. You had thought he was just as silent as you were because he was awaiting the arrival of his dear-old friend — or if just needed the concentration and the moments of peace to knock in some time to work before slacking off with a shared drink and a couple of guy-talk with Ghost.

The undying stench of your perfume rested at your collarbones dizzied-up your head. It reminded you of rain, and some store-bought fabric softener, and the jolt of your body when the doorbell had pierced your earholes and out the other, and the immediate sweat that soaked the backside of your dress —

"Can you get that for me?" Price's voice rings out from the kitchen, confirmed location of where he was, "It's probably just Ghost, let him in, will you?"

You do exactly what he says without responding — dragging yourself to the front door and resting your fingers on the doorknob while your free hand turns to unfasten the lock of the door. Your throat suddenly feels heavier, hard to breathe once you widen up the door to cast in the air of the outside — and the morbid, towering figure of a balaclava man blocking your way of view into the rest of the outside from where he stood. He peers down at you with those same morose pupils of nearly pitch-black — faintly softening once resting on the delicate lace of your dress, on your figure.

"Hey there sweetie, Price home?" was the first thing muttered from behind the veiling obscurity.

"He almost always is, " you said, phased by his pet-name, "In the kitchen."

Ghost nods, inviting himself in and sliding an arm around you like always. "So, how have you been? It's been a while."

"Same as always."

"Gloomy and isolated?"

"If you consider me that way, then yes."

"I've always taken you as a more bright-girly enthusiastic kind-of girl."

You let out a dry breath. "And I've always seen you as a quiet and violent man — look where you are now."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"You're acting all sweet with me — gentleman-ish." you said. It's not like you hated all the sweetness though, not enough to give you a cavity, "All of your nicknames for me too."

"Just showing off the proper manners in front of a lady."

"As if you have those manners on the battlefield."

'That's a different story." he chuckles, almost raspy.

For some reason, some unknown reason; he was behaving more abnormally — more like some relationship-committed man. A boyfriend returning from war, submerging you in gallons of his affectionate devotions. The thing was he wasn't your boyfriend, but it sure did feel like it, almost too much — you enjoyed every second of it, shamelessly yet indisputably. A heavy arm of tattoos slung around your shoulders while he hauls you with him to the kitchen causing your breaths to be more ragged, a weight crashing on your chest as if there were a bodily significance laying there.

All you could really do was look at him through heavy eyelids — a clear vision of him through your lashes, his masculine scent of cologne and faint cigarette smoke essentially drowning you. Cologne, cigarette smoke, natural musk. Your lone perspective

"There you are, Ghost," your father speaks up once you and Ghost find the way into the kitchen together, "Listen, this is a little last minute but you mind looking after the house?"

"What came up?" his voice grates out.

"Combat drills. They're asking me to lead them last minute."

"So no beer?"

"I'm afraid not, but you've got my daughter to spend time with."

Your face arouses up a heat at the overheard conversation.

"Really? All my time spent with this pretty little thing?" Ghost asks, half-joking.

"Hey," Price uttered — his eyes squinted and his shoulders tense, "Don't do that."

"Just joking, and besides," he breathes, "I'm not wrong, am I? You've definitely got yourself a beautiful girl here."

"I guess you are right, my girl is quite a beauty."

"Dad," you drag out a groan, "You're embarrassing."

Price slips out a laugh. "Nothing to be ashamed of, honey."

"Right — okay, bye."

"I'll be a couple of hours, probably around ten-ish," your father said, tipping on his hat and trudging over to the front door, "Food's in the fridge, lock the doors, and for fucks sake — don't let her have any boys over."

"Don't worry about it, I got everything under control."

You weren't sure if it was really intentional but the arm on your shoulder trickles down to your back, then halts at your lower back — calloused fingers inducing shivers sent through your body as he rub circles at the cloth of your dress. (though, you could feel it at the skin of your back past the lace, and you had no remorse in soaking in the enjoyment of it.)

The front door transmits once more as a reminder that Price's presence was no longer there; it was simple. You and Ghost, that's all that was left in the trails — and his fingers finding amusement in leaving circles drawn into your dress. The both of you stand in front of the door for a few minutes, kept within some sort of lock-hold, your gaze entranced into his more melancholy, dull ones. He grunts once without warning as you breathe out a loud sigh, knees bucking inwards, thighs pressed together to meet the skin.

He then drags you over to the living room with the same hold he's had you in upon arriving, in front of your father. Ghost first hauls himself down on the couch, guiding you down with him as you settle on his lap, his arms abandoning your shoulders to inside slide around your waist.

"Mr. Riley," you breathe out, "What are you doing?"

"Doing what I've been wanted to do for weeks, sweetheart." he replies, "God, you're gorgeous."

"I don't think we should... be doing this."

"Why not?"

"What about my dad?" you whisper, raking your fingers through the head of his clothed head, "He could catch us."

"Oh, he's long gone. and besides," he uses the arms around your waist to pull you closer, leaned against his chest and left you to only stare up at him, "He did say doors locked, right?"

Your breath, voice squeaked. "Yeah."

"Right. So we're okay. It's just you and me, doll, we've got the whole afternoon to ourselves."

The attraction was mutual — if it wasn't already out in plain sight, crystal clear for the both of you to process, but it was so wrong. So wrong, yet so erotic. You didn't mind fucking your dad's best friend, having relations with an older guy that treated you like his own significant gun; cautious but delicately, violent when needed. However, you felt more like a doll to him rather than a gun — not one for violence but more for the beauty aspect of it.

You had both legs bent and at both sides of his spread legs. Fingers caressed the skin of the mask, his eyes studying as you carefully picked at him — sort of awkwardly, but something you've fantasized for weeks.

"You have no idea how badly I've wanted you," Ghost said, pressing his hands into your sides, "How I've denied how I've felt about you, punching walls to get the feelings out."

Having some sort of untouched, unspecified relationship with Ghost is exhilarating. You tell yourself it's just because he's more mature, more older — but that's what's so special about it, what makes your heart beat increase with every pulse knowing that it's him you're with — him that you aimlessly love and daydream about.

You like how he holds you in his big arms, using selected pet-names on you for the sake of it, and that's how he's been showing his own affection behind the closed doors of your father's knowings, even to your own knowings as well. You like how he doesn't act like the boys you've observed at school; they're all too mean, too boy-ish. They teased you for the purpose of mocking and bullying — but with Ghost, he was just so much better than them, more mature, he was actually a man. He was older and more respectful with more propriety, patient and observant when it came to you. Though patience was impractical in the moment with you on his lap.

He didn't hold that patience when speaking up to tell you to lay down against the couch cushion, telling you to spread your legs while he adjusted himself between them, his arms caging you in over his shadowing form of hovering.

"Ghost," you attempt to question him about his doings as of now but a moan is drawn from your lips as he inclines himself, pressing his head to the bare and exposed space of your neck, feeling his naked lips trace and brand marks into the canvas of skin. He must've adjusted his mask enough to do so.

You're out of touch. Disconnected with the faults of reality while he's on top of you, marking you with the bites of his wet, warm mouth. Saliva often is left along with these streaks of love, along with his tongue blurting out and running up the fresh marks, knowing how sensitive you were.

He was surely right about spending all of his time with you — his pretty little thing.

Nails dig into the fabric of his shirt and pants contaminate the air around, with how he grinds himself at your panties under the dress of your skirt and kissing your neck and lips, you determined he craved after you as much as you've been; passing weeks by without the touch of each other.

"Sir, please—" You're weak, he's deprived you of all of your urge to fight back. To use the strength of your words to build and form some kind of sentence.

"You're already so wet for me, sweetie, — and just from a couple of hickeys." He talks under his breath, failing to acknowledge your lack of strength to form words. He presses one last kiss to your lips before kissing down the column of your neck, your cleavage and stomach, then finally to your inner thighs. "Dressing so slutty for me, pretty little sundress and all, were you trying to get me to fuck you?"

He spits out the words so cruelly, a side of him you've never gotten the chance to see, so you're astounded — wide-eyed and a little touched with confusion.

"Slutty?" Your voice quivers, shrinking to a whisper. He almost immediately takes notice in your change of body language, how you refuse to look him in the eyes.

Ghost lost control, he would never say something with so much meaning such as that to you. He holds a deep and acclaimed intelligence to know that you're a sweet, innocent girl. A girl who was a daughter to his best friend, who he's known for some while to know you never had the gut to act in such a way.

But he was the exact opposite of what you were. Violent, cruel, cold — whatever was muttered under the soldier's breaths behind his back. He's taken bullets to the chest, knives to the back, and bruises to the limb. To him, he had guts, risking his life for absolutely nothing. He supposed he could be risking his life for you. When he had picked up the blatant fact you developed a crush on him, had you right at the palm of his hand, he had one duty, and that was to protect you. Your father's protectiveness was poor and had an absence of proper securing you from the harsh realities of the real world, real men.

Rebelled against your father's security and now look where he was now. He carries you from the couch all the way to your bedroom so bright of feminine themes, lace decorating your sheets and plastered floral walls around, laying you right in the center of your bed as he towers over you once again — now ripping away your sundress from your body to leave you in nothing but a bra, he thinks; He's just as bad as the real men out in the harsh reality, but at least he had some configuration of a heart to have some factual feelings for you.

Ghost has your legs at his shoulders, leaning down to your cunt, and pressing a gentle kiss to your clit. He makes you nearly drop the grudge you held from his sudden, bitter remark.

"You're not slutty, baby, I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything like that."

You tilt your head to the side as if it were your way of forgiving him of his actions, but he’s too occupied. He’s too occupied with burying himself between your thighs, bringing down kisses on the flesh, bruising you of the same hickeys on your thighs before he really rewards you with the finale of pleasure. At this point, you don’t really care if he’s calling you a slut. As long as he has his tongue plunged into your desperate cunt, slurping up your juices like a starved man, you forgive him. You love him like nobody can.

Your fingers grasp at the lace of your sheets underneath which was similar to the material of your dress, your slutty little sundress — from Ghost’s own words. Some part of you wished you really wish you broke out of that state of timidness sooner, having him eat you out sooner, even if you were still easily modest and self-conscious to having another person so close to a closed-off section of your body. A section of your body that was so confidential, never ruined. If it had been anyone to be the first, you appreciated it the most if it were to be Ghost, which had been fulfilled as of now.

Only him, always him.

If it were to be some other man, you wouldn’t appreciate it as much. It wouldn’t be that memorable of an event to you. Even if they had did it the same way Ghost did, none of it would be the same. Something about how he moves his tongue, how both the tip of his nose and his tongue stimulate you at the same time once in a while, sent you into a territory of ecstasy. Perhaps it was because you've never done this, or if he put his all into pleasuring you, or if it were because you were just flat-out sensitive. A sensitive girl. It might've been all of those things in one line. Not a bit of it mattered now that you came to the realization Ghost maintained a skill of eating someone out until their brains were all fogged up from the pleasure.

Beneath him, you're gasping and whimpering. Some noises were of his name, both his professional and un-professional. Others were strings of curses you thought would never leave your mouth until he basically compelled them out of you — your hand weakly using poor endeavors to grip at the top of his balaclava-covered head once his ministrations are climbing to that certain level of overwhelming. To your disappointment, he tugs himself away, leaving your now walls that were loose to a slight extent to clench around nothing.

Your hopes of succumbing to an orgasm were unfulfilled, a sadness flooding your system. You separate your lips to whine about it, but he then rams his middle and ring finger in replacement of his tongue in an attempt to stretch you out more.

"Such a tight, little pussy for me." He grunts, his exposed plump lips and light stubble drenched with your arousal, eyes swallowed more in a darkness of not only lifeless passions but some sex-related hunger. "All for me, such a sweet girl, yeah?"

He alters your head so much with pleasure that it's hard to understand him, his words only a brief muffle to your ears. You can raise your eyebrow, face contorting slightly in puzzlement. Only a few minutes have passed since the both of you have acted on your sexual-wants, and you're already struck with a sensation of being fucked-out. He adores you this way, like the many other ways he does, but he finds himself chuckling. You're delightful, a loveable girl.

Ghost wants to be yours forever, and for you to be his forever. Even if Price somehow finds out, and makes an effort to throw him out of your life.

"You're being so good for me doll, I think I might just reward you with something better than my fingers." he said, keeping his fingers at that composed pace but making the decision to add in his pointer, a loud whimper is yanked from you at the contact.

His lips collide with yours as he continues his treatments on your cunt. The kiss is sloppy, careless to the mess but focusing on his taste. You can taste your left-over arousal on the muscle of his tongue and some pale cigarette smoke, all of the taste at once obliging a moan to escape into his mouth. You've never felt so filthy and dirty at once, corrupted at the hands of a man that was never expected to be touching you so intimately but still so violently with remnants of war still in him.

"I'll give you that reward," his voice raspy and rough, his fingers soaring in speed which causes a heat to boil in your stomach, "You want to know what it is?"

You can only help but nod and focus on the satisfaction that's right at the comfort of between your thighs and lower stomach, eyes blurred and difficult to meet him straight in the eyes.

"I'm going to fuck this little pussy, cum inside and keep you as my own — fuck your brains out and all that, how does that sound? You want me inside of you? Just like how you've dreamed of?"

If it weren't going to be the increasing speed of his fingers fucking inside of you, then it would've been you gushing around them — his words sending you off the border of your orgasm.

"You love hearing that, don't you, honey?" he said pumping his fingers right into your pre-orgasm, sensitive cunt, "So young yet such a slut for me, you want me that bad?"

Your nods are harsh, concussion-like.

"Yes, ple—please — only your slut, want you inside of me, I'm yours." you sound too desperate, too porngraphic-like. Though if it meant he would finally fuck you dumb into the mattress, then there was no shame there.

His fingers are removed from you and now edging at the waist-band of his cargo pants by your words, tugging them down with his briefs, his cock laid bare. He positions himself amid your legs, hands traveling from your thighs to your hips, holding them in such a grasp that could be considered sacred. It was stupid of him to promise to fuck you raw, without a condom and on your first time, but it didn't seem to cross his mind while right at it — he couldn't break that promise now. No turning back, cowardly. Ghost is teases the head of his cock at your wet, tainted entrance of your cunt.

There's no consequences of fucking you raw, realistically, at least not as of now.

"You want this, babydoll?" he asks, eyes flickering up to your dazed face. It was a known fact that he already stripped you of your oblivions of sex, exploiting your naivety to his own will; if you're hesitant about the whole situation, he won't carry on with it.

At this point, he's already ruined you. There's nothing pure or innocence that could be searched out and discovered in the hollow frame of your body, only complete love and worship to be discovered instead. You're already so enamored with him, just like how he wants, how he expected. As of himself, there's nothing but a single control; to push on, get it done and wrap up. Lust is corrupting his mind with wonders, just like it's already hit you.

"I do." you mumbled phrase trembles with the tone of your voice. It sounds more like a wedding-vow than an agreement, a marriage to sex.

"That's an angel, good girl."

His eyes collapse down your body to take pride in what he leaves on your delicate flesh. All of the red-ish marks of hickeys compliment you well, but the one that sticks out the most from the rest is the most complimenting. Your cunt is pretty, adorning with slick that had been wasted from his mouth and fingers. Without the use of words, the message comes across evident; you need him, you desire him —he'll satisfy those needs as much as you long for it.

He should've been repenting for doing such a thing but the thing was—

— Repenting could do nothing to save Ghost.

Ghost gives one last final squeeze to your hips, pounding himself right into your virginal cunt. The movement was subtle, vicious, and complex all at the same time. He was the gentlest that he could ever cave into but there was still some act of violence in it. Your moves were limited, so all you could help yourself to do is lengthen out a moan; one that is of both pleasure and acidic-like pain. You feel yourself stretch more than when on his fingers, his bulk and length adapting to the walls of your cunt.

And so, this is what sex was like for the first time. It was a mixture of emotions pursuing you all at once — lust, haunting, agonizing. In some way, it was just like a film, excluding all the fake moaning and fake bodily-liquids that were sprayed on set-furnishings to mimic the down-to-earth atmosphere of a sexual situation. This time — you're experiencing it for yourself. There would be no more sitting in front of a television screen, wishing that you had your own partner like movie characters. No more daydreaming about your father's best friend when you had him right where you wanted him to be; right inside of you on your bed.

He makes you feel full — similar to how a sink overflows once reaching the brim metal-cut edge of the top — and you savor every second of it, even if there had been a stinging pain posing there. You had wanted for the sting to somehow be reduced down by a bit but without warning, he's already slowly moving thrusting, and there wasn't anything you could really do to get him to stop with your brain all turned to a pile of gooey matter.

"Fuck, sweetheart—" he groans out into the air, relishing the tightness in which surrounds him, "Your pussy's so good to me, like it was made for me."

"Harder."

Ghost peers down at you, hesitantly. "Are you sure, love? I don't want to hurt you so soon."

"Please," you whimper, "I need it."

The thrusting of his hips follows your command, fastening, as he moves his palms from your sides to the fabric of your bra — clawing it down to display your breasts in all their pure, naked form. He gently palms your breasts for leverage while his movements are growing more aggressive — really letting his side of violence show once in a comfortable state of mind. Through the violence of his thrusts, the pleasure is fortunately on a rise, cancelling out the full-on sting when he first sheathed himself in you. No matter what you did, all you felt was him.

With his expertise of knowing how to keep a rhythm steady, lively thrusts, you had to assume he developed the whole thing from sleeping with other women — or if he had a past wife. The thought of it rises some kind of jealousy but once he reminds you of his being inside your cunt, you let the envy fall out of its roots and allow your mind to focus on something more substantial; an older man making love to you right on your very mattress.

"Say it, honey," he rasps out, breathing as if he were on a low of oxygen, "Tell me who you belong to — who this pussy belongs to,"

You struggle to shape a coherent sentence, sniffles and tears down your soft cheeks were all that were managed. But throughout all the limb-holding, sex, and tenderness — you use stutters to form words.

"Y—you!" was what you came up with, half-screaming, pleasing him to his core.

"That's right, baby," he groans out, kissing at your forehead; an act of vulnerability and inflamed emotions, "And don't you let your pretty little head forget that."

Some type of mental note is written down once he said that. In some way, he was correct. You weren't going to forget this day — full of intercourse, natural confessions, betrayal. Who knew how long you would last with him, so, why not make it into something of a core memory?

"You so look so pretty right now," he said, "So pretty — my girl getting her brains all fucked out."

You hum, a rather dopey grin on your lips, one with no bare teeth.

"And she loves it doesn't she?"

A nod of your dizzied-up head.

"Yeah, I know she does — being pounded into the mattress in her very bedroom by her father's best friend, what would he think of that, huh?" he comments, his words as a taunt on your end, "Answer me, sweetheart."

"He would despise it." you near-whisper through whimpers.

"And so he would," the skin-on-skin contact with his hips to yours is at the roughest it can go, brain fogging up more than normal, "He'd be fuming that he catches his little girl with an older man."

You moan, remorse stirring in your chest but was soon overthrown with the sensation of him ramming into you. Price would be furious; it would be shameful. It would be a complexity to explain.

"At least he knows the guy, not like I'm some stranger. Aren't I, doll?"

"No."

"You're damn right."

Ghost's hands are back at your waist, letting your breasts punctuate with every thrust. You can only do three of the things that are available which are to whimper, moan, or cry. And so you alternate between all three, or combine all of them together as you take him inside of you, a dedicated affair that you would cherish for your entire lifetime. Something holy, worth dedicating to.

"I'm all yours, Ghost," you cry out, nailing your hands to his back and stringing down red marks of your nails down the pale-ish flesh, "I always was, always will be."

"I know, sweetheart, I know."

You elaborate on your revelation — and you really did. You do so by staining his cock of your blood, proof of your virginity taken by him. With this sight in perspective, the last finishing touch was to release that burning churn in your stomach, a gush of cum spilling all over his cock. This had been one of the first orgasms you've endured; and you were grateful Ghost had been the one to do it — the man who pledges to make you come as many times until you're pleased to your depths.

"Such a good baby, my sweetheart." he grunts, drilling himself into your sore cunt. "You behave so well for me."

At this point you're born to be frail, fucked weak and too stuck in some out-of-body rapturous paradise. He's still using you — pursuing after his own pinnacle as you mumble soft whimpers with every thrust, still rough with his motions. Ghost is diligent, precise with a minor instinct of animalistic-gratification, gruff commotions surging from his mouth.

It's stupid, and he knew. He shouldn't have fucked you without a condom, or some class of preventing any potential pregnancy afterwards. Out of all the things so stupid and incautious accomplished in a soldier's life, this had to be one of the worst, screwing a girl out of a carnal and brutal love — which could be believed as some kind of joke but, no, it wasn't; it was literal.

But it's not like he hated it — being with a girl as tender-hearted as you, mellow and downright heavenly. Cause he knew, he just knew even if he had a knife to your throat; in loving him, you would tell him exactly where to cut — that's how much he knew you adored him, and so, he did ration that adoration to you in that specific way. That specific, identical way. He can almost see into the future with no doubts and see a prospective life with you.

You're still in those cloths of lace, pretty skirts and dresses all for him. You're in that same facade of a humane, loving girl who bears the same face of beauty. The only difference in his future, you're married to him; not just a pretty girl, but his pretty wife. He would do anything for said wife — keep you a stabilized life, indulging in sex and giving himself to you as many times needed, protect you from rabid harms.

Daydreams of his own crowd his vision as they aid him of bringing himself over an anticipated climax, deep inside and tucked in your walls, he spills his warm seed into you. He's crammed inside still and refusing to lose the caress of your body heat, so, why should he pull out? You mumble for him to stay lodged in you for a few more minutes, and he's almost relieved at the news. He strokes your face with the back of his palm, praising you of your afterglow.

"You were so good for me, honey," he utters into your hair while he kisses your scalp, your forehead, "So good."

You had felt safe, sheltered with his one of his brawny arms wrapped around you while the other is stroking your face. He has you on his lap, upwards with a side of exhaustion, himself still inside your walls.

Out of the consumption, the weariness of the sex — you're shocked at yourself you can hold a conversation with him. But it's slurred, hard to understand and identify.

"My dad's going to kill you if he finds out."

"So let him."

You hum, resting your head on his sweat-sheeted shoulder.

"You're brave. I like that about you, Simon."

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seraphxcx · 2 years ago

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Animals (Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader)

Summary: Ghost hates you. But he's also slightly obsessed with you. This duality leads to an encounter that satisfies his needs, but only releases the beast inside.

Note: Based on this poll and Maroon 5's song Animals. I hope you'll like this. Tell me what you think.

Warnings: toxic!Ghost, afab!reader, p in v, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroat, unprotected sex, etc. MINORS DNI!!!

You ending up in the 141 was a punishment. Well, at least it felt like it. Every time you moved, you felt Ghost's darkened eyes following you suspiciously, making sure you didn't do anything stupid, anything that could compromise the task force.

You had worked together in the past, before this team was even assembled, and you went against his order on that mission. He was fucking pissed, refusing to talk to you because otherwise he would have yelled at you without stopping. He didn't tell you why exactly he was mad, after all the mission was a success despite your disobedience.

And now he held a grudge, making you uncomfortable with the heavy silence whenever you were left alone somewhere. You tried to avoid him, desperately clinging to the other members of the team to be saved, but somehow he always found a way to make you feel like shit.

"Behave out there," he once barked as he looked over at you gearing up before leaving the base.

That was all he said. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Price give him a disapproving look, but that didn't seem to bother him. He just returned his attention to his vest, checking if everything was in place. Soap asked him why he was so mad, but Ghost ignored him.

Under the quiet surface the lieutenant was fuming from anger, feeling desperate now that he had to babysit you on the field. He had tried to convince Price to let you work with him and Gaz, hoping this way he would have to spend as little time with you as it was absolutely necessary. But it didn't work and he was stuck with you.

You were annoying, and reckless, and disobedient, but god damn it, you were so hard to resist. A deeply hidden part of his brain was craving you, flashing images of you being naked in his bed, whimpering pathetically as he fucked you.

It was excruciating, having these opposite feelings for you. One half hated you and would have given everything to be able to cut you out of his life entirely, while his other half wanted to own every inch of you.

When the mission was over, things returned to normal. You went home, relieved to be able to spend some time away from his judging eyes. You went to a beauty salon to have your hair done, you did some grocery shopping, and once you got back to your apartment, you cooked yourself a delicious meal.

It was such a nice change, just sitting at the dining table with the plate in front of you, a glass of wine waiting for you to drink it, and your favorite playlist playing in the background. Nights like this you considered quitting, giving up your current lifestyle to have a relatively normal life. Maybe you could finally have a stable relationship, something more meaningful than a string of one-night stands.

Later you poured yourself another glass of wine and went to the living room, getting lost in the rhythm of the music your body swayed to without thinking. You were having fun on your own, for the first time in months feeling good in your skin. No evil glares, no rude comments. Only the safety of your home.

What you couldn't know was that you weren't completely alone. From down the street, Ghost was watching you, his phone's camera focusing on you before snapping some photos. Photos he would store on a safe drive at home, hidden in secret folders along with the hundreds if not thousands of pictures he had taken of you in secret.

He wondered if you knew everyone could see you in nothing but your lingerie, a piece of clothing that wrapped around your skin so perfectly that the sight made his mouth water under the mask.

Ghost was the predator and you were his prey, the innocent little animal having no idea that a beast like him was stalking her. If you knew, you would probably run and hide, but he would find you, after all he could smell your scent from miles.

When you turned off the lights and probably went to bed finally, he went home as well and spent the rest of the night lying awake in bed, thinking about you with his hand tightly wrapped around his cock, pumping slowly as he imagined finally having you the way he wanted.

The next day he was in front of your apartment again, knowing perfectly well you had only gone to a bakery across the street to get something for breakfast. While on a mission about a year ago, around the same time his twisted obsession with you had begun, he stole your phone and installed a software to keep track of your whereabouts.

He hated himself for feeling this way about you, he despised this primal need to have you pinned under his body. It was all so vulgar, so obscene that he tried not to think about it when he was on a mission. But when he was home? Then he would let his needs loose, which usually ended up with him following you around.

Today was shopping day. You went to buy some clothes apparently, and while he waited for you outside the stores, Ghost couldn't help but imagine the way you undressed in the fitting room. He wished he could see you strip for him, slowly getting rid of your clothes, taking them off one by one before throwing them into a corner.

You met a friend for lunch, the two of you chatting casually about their relationship issues, even gossiping about friends you both knew. Who dated who, who had a new job, plastic surgery, family issues, and so on. It was all so normal that you couldn't thank them enough for their time.

What you didn't talk about was work. Your job, specifically. The tiring months away from home, the constant sense of danger, the sleepless nights in uncomfortable cots and beds, and the disappointed looks you constantly got from your superior.

Because Ghost was always in the back of your mind, the look he gave you whenever his eyes landed on you engraved in your brain. It was suffocating you, giving you barely enough time to fully relax. Alcohol could help, but you didn't want to turn yourself into an alcoholic just to get through the day.

After you got home you began to binge-watch rom-coms from the early 2000s, completely forgetting about time along the way. You were only snapped out of this sweet haze when your doorbell rang, reminding you that people outside this apartment existed.

Your good mood evaporated the moment you opened the door and found yourself looking at Ghost's tall frame, his tattooed forearm resting on the doorframe as he looked down at you. You opened your mouth to say something, to find out what in the hell he was doing there, but no sound left your throat.

The lieutenant had enough of waiting and simply let himself in, pushing you out of the way to enter. As he had sat in the cafe across the street about an hour ago, keeping an eye on the main entrance of the building, Ghost thought about what to do with you.

"We need to sort things out," he announced when you closed the door and slowly dragged yourself closer to him.

You froze like a deer in the headlights, your big beautiful eyes slowly blinking at him as if you didn't understand a word he said. Then he noticed a glint in your eyes, as if you'd just woken up from a dream.

"Get the fuck out of my place. We'll sort this out when we're on a mission," you said angrily, your voice surprisingly stern as you spoke.

You were confident now, okay. He could handle that. He could sure as hell fuck this confidence out of you. Without hesitation he pushed off his mask then put a hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a messy and hungry kiss. You tried to resist, to push him away, but he only used his free hand to stop you from squirming around.

In a matter of short minutes you stopped resisting him, giving up your common sense and giving in to the need he knew you also felt. It had to end this way, there was no other ending to your story. When he gently bit your lower lip, a deep moan escaped your throat, a sound that only made it harder to behave.

"I hate you," you breathed between kisses.

It was okay. He didn't need you to love him or even like him. What he felt wasn't love. It was lust with a hint of some dangerous obsession, something he simply couldn't control. "The feeling's mutual, love. But let's be honest, you're enjoying it just as much as I do."

And damn it, he was right. His kiss, his touch was intoxicating, making you feel so good in such a short amount of time. When he asked you where the bedroom was, you immediately told him, this time obeying him without thinking.

He undressed you, taking away each piece of clothing with care, his fingers exploring the skin they had been hiding all along. When you were standing in front of him completely naked, he ordered you to lie down on the bed with your head hanging down over the edge. Deep down you knew what he wanted to do, and it made you excited.

As you got into position, he quickly undressed himself, revealing his hard, throbbing cock that made your mouth water. You were a little worried, having no idea if his length would fit into your mouth, and already knowing your jaw would hurt after this. But you wanted to do it, you wanted him to use your mouth and throat like a fleshlight.

And Ghost was more than happy to give you what you were waiting for, he also needed this to ease the excitement that was slowly killing him. He took his cock in his hand, stroking it a few times to cover it with his pre-cum before reaching out with his free hand to pry your pretty mouth open. "Open up, baby," he told you.

You obediently did what he ordered, and he slowly pushed the head between your lips, at first just warming you up with small thrusts. But then he dived in deeper, going until the tip reached your throat, making you gag a little.

That didn't stop him, though, he kept fucking your mouth without hesitation. "Fuck, you're such a good little slut, taking my cock like this," he groaned, his hand stroking your cheek. Once he knew you relaxed enough to take him so well, he reached out to tease your cunt, brushing it with his palm, enjoying the wetness that covered his hand.

You could feel the tears form in your eyes as he kept going, wondering how long you would be able to have him in you without feeling your jaw being too sore for it. But when he touched you, all of your doubt disappeared, giving space to the need to have his long fingers inside you, fucking you on both sides.

When he finally began to pump his fingers inside you, you moaned against his cock, a sound that made him groan. "You like it? I can do this all day to you, sweetheart," he said, out of breath. He was close, you could feel it, but you weren't too far behind thanks to his experienced fingers.

It was embarrassing to even think about this happening to you. It wasn't the sex that bothered you, more that it was him from all people. Ghost hated you, you knew he had been honest when he told you that, and you weren't lying either. But this was different, this was so dirty and primal, something you definitely wouldn't tell anyone.

Something that shouldn't happen again.

But now you enjoyed it. You loved to feel his cum on your face when he came, while your juices were dripping out of you, covering his fingers that kept fucking you through your orgasm.

When he was done, he went to the bathroom to get a towel so he could clean your face, an act that was surprisingly tender. He kept telling you what a good girl you'd been, how much he enjoyed having you like this. "It's probably the tension between us. Hate sex suits us," he offered a possible explanation with the hint of a smile.

It didn't take him long to get hard again, and he picked you up like a ragdoll and tossed you into the position he wanted you to be in for him. Ass in the air, resting your weight on your forearms. That's what he wanted, admiring the view of your cunt that was still glistering from the remains of your high.

He couldn't hold himself back, he simply couldn't wait to let you get used to his girth, to slowly and carefully stretch you for himself. Instead he pushed all of length inside with one thrust, the tip reaching your cervix and drawing a pathetic cry out of you. He loved this sound, it only made him go on harder, soon picking up a steady pace.

His hands were gripping your hips so tightly that you just knew it would leave a bruise behind, but you didn't mind, not as long as he made you feel this good. He was pushing you close to your limit, testing how much you could take without breaking.

Your forehead hit the mattress, teeth sinking into your hand to bite back your moans, for some reason thinking you had to be quiet because of your neighbors. But Ghost wasn't fond of the muffled noises apparently, because he reached out to pull your head away from your hand. "I wanna hear you, love," he said quietly.

His breathing suddenly changed, a telltale sign that he was close to his own climax. He put one hand on your stomach, and another arm around your neck to pull you up against his chest, his pace never slowing, his thrusts just as deep as before.

You were lost in the sensation, your brain not functioning properly anymore as you let him use you as some filthy fucktoy. Ghost knew what he was doing, and he could certainly read your body language perfectly well to know what you did and didn't like. Whenever he got too rough, the chokehold he had you in becoming too tight for you liking, he eased up.

But when he came, filling you with his cum in the company of a series of deep growls and groans, he reached down to rub your clit, making sure you climaxed as well. You threw your head back against his shoulder, looking him in the eye as you came down from your high.

Your body went limp, and if he hadn't held you tightly, you would've fallen face first into the mattress. "Are you okay?" he asked you quietly, placing a kiss on your head.

You mumbled something under your breath, but it didn't make any sense. You couldn't speak, not yet. This was more intense than anything you'd ever experienced, your brain definitely needed time to catch up with your body.

"Hey, are you listening?" When you didn't answer, he began to laugh. "Damn, I really fucked you brainless, didn't I?"

Ghost couldn't hide his smile, satisfied to see you in this state, feeling proud that he could achieve his goal. You weren't cocky or confident anymore, you were just a brainless meat sack, with no coherent thoughts in your brain.

Not long after this you fell asleep, and Ghost used this time to take a look around your apartment. He checked your clothes, surprised to find so many beautiful dresses in your closet, along with some sexy lace bras that you definitely didn't wear on missions. Then he went to the living room where he found photos on the shelves, probably ones with your family on them.

Your phone was on the coffee table so he checked that as well, glad to know your password. He went through your emails and instant messages to see who you were talking to, and he became furious when he saw your Tinder dates messaging you, asking for another meeting.

That was more than enough for him, he simply gathered his things and left without waking you or leaving a note behind. He needed time to calm down, preferably far from you. While he still hated you, still wished he could get rid of you forever, that stupid obsessed part of him was still there in the back of his mind, making him feel jealous.

When he returned home, he connected his secret drive to his laptop to go through the photos and videos he stored on it. Fucking you wasn't enough apparently, his mind kept returning to you, the need to keep an eye on you coming back without a warning.

With a sigh he checked the app on his phone the next evening, noting that you were in some bar near your apartment. You probably went there with a friend, but something told him it could just as well be some guy that was sending messages to you. He had to go there and see it for himself. If he didn't, he wouldn't be able to sleep that night.

Weeks passed without you hearing from Ghost. You still thought about him, feeling disgusted that you actually liked the way he fucked you that day. But now that you were going on another mission, you began to wonder what things would be like between you now. Would he be nicer to you finally? Would he at least give you some credit?

In the end none of this happened. When you met again, you were greeted by his cold, dead eyes, his words sounding harsher than ever before. You overheard Soap telling about this to Gaz, and the two men began to wonder how long it would be before Price stepped in. They were right. The captain wasn't fond of this kind of behavior, especially not when it was a lieutenant treating his own sergeant like this.

"You stay put," Ghost told you when you began to get out of the car.

You looked over at Soap with a questioning look, but he only shrugged in response, having no idea what was happening. "Why?" you asked your superior.

He inhaled and exhaled slowly with closed eyes to calm himself. "Because I said so. Stay in the car and don't move."

"Lt., we need all the help we can get out there," Soap tried as he walked around the car and stopped next to the other man. "Just let her come with us."

But he didn't listen, only shut the door in your face and signaled the Scot to follow him. You didn't know why he had to be like this with you. Apart from that one time you had disobeyed him, you never gave him a reason to treat you like this.

Ghost's blood pressure had to be off the charts as he walked away from the car. Soap kept talking, trying to convince him to let you join them, but he didn't give in. He couldn't give in. His mixed feelings for you couldn't cloud his judgment. He was your higher up, he had every right to tell you what to do.

Even if that need probably came from the frustration he felt whenever he followed you around outside of missions. There he couldn't talk to you, couldn't tell you what to do, where to go, who to talk to. Nothing. He had absolutely no control over your life.

Fuck. So his decision really did come from those mixed feelings. Price had noticed something was wrong between the two of you a long time ago, and he warned him before leaving the base that day. "Treat her right. I don't want unnecessary tension in the team," he said.

Letting out a sigh, he turned to the sergeant. "Soap, go back for her. I hope she won't fuck this up for us this time," he said, hoping he would pass this message on.

"Aye, sir," the Scot said with a smile. "I'll be right back with her."

Ghost truly hoped he wouldn't regret this. You were distracting him, especially since he finally had to chance to sleep with you. He had withdrawal symptoms that were getting worse by each day, reminding him that you were like a fucking drug that he couldn't get out of his mind.

No. Focus. He had to focus. Shit. Why was this so hard all of a sudden?

"What changed your mind? Suddenly remembered that I'm part of the team?" you asked when you and Soap caught up with him.

Turning to you, the lieutenant gave you a sharp look. If he ever had the chance to fuck you again, you would definitely pay for this question. Just one chance. That's all he wanted to correct your behavior.

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seraphxcx · 2 years ago

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[dilf] simon "ghost" riley + afab!reader

PART 2/2 | PART 1

synopsis: working regularly under your older neighbor serving as a babysitter for his kids, several affairs start to occur, and not just your starting relationship with him.

content warnings: domesticity, mentions of pregnancy & marriage, size difference, age difference, single dad! ghost, secretive relationship, possessive sex, gentle & rough sex, oral sex (female receiving), slight daddy kink, brief somnophilia, dirty talk, breeding kink, shower sex.

author's note: thank you all for so much love on the first part of dilf ghost, i hope you all enjoy part two!

ao3 version.

You were still asleep, but Ghost wasn't.

He couldn't doze off with you right by his side, body pressed up right against him, heat radiating off your tender self — sensitive flesh, red tainted marks made of his own love. You were practically his own canvas as of now; the cum-stained sheets, the drying sweat, the carmine splotches tinting your skin — a pure and honorable symbol of his own work.

It was one of the rare and subtle moments he could be granted with — propped and balanced on one elbow, admiring your dozing figure, Ghost couldn't help but feel fragile in the moment. Almost compassionate. He had felt compassion before, of course, but never in this sort of way. (Thank his daughters for guiding him a little through his disarranged row of emotions.) While with you, he didn't feel the need to impress. There was no obligation to sit around and put on a face of imposed perfect-father-syndrome — he could really act as himself, and himself was an apathetic man. A man of a former task force lieutenant, an expert of manslaughter by the hand.

The idea of starting a family never crossed his mind. He wasn't the one to bear the concept of losing his heart to someone, starting something with them, chained down to the restraints of fatherly responsibilities and hardships. It wasn't so bad so far, he thought, and it had taken a weight off his shoulders with your support on the side. He stroked your hair — lovingly, abstractedly, his eyes of adoration while ensuing his large palm gently petting at you in soft motions.

Awareness was a virtue, and Ghost knew that when it came to your parent's suspicions towards your relationship with him.

Your rants every so often to him about being berated for spending too much time with him nearly split a tear in his cold heart. If he wanted to, he could — move the both of you away from here, start new, start new and whole as two individuals with his kids, your kids. There was nothing to stop that from happening but he was skeptical about your opinion on it, not wanting to push that kind of agenda on you so soon.

But it had been a little over a month, or more, since you had started something with him. You were comfortable enough to treat him not only as an occasional hot-dad hook-up, but a lover, a boyfriend, a husband. Hell — you were on edge, desperate for him. You longed for him and his presence when you were away.

You’d always have Ghost. You were his, and he wasn’t intending on letting you go.

Ghost reached the edge of your face and caresses your cheek in his palm, his thumb rubbing delicate circles into the skin. You were so peaceful in the moment, so exhaustingly beautiful, so fucked-out — and most importantly, his.

He had kept an eye on you before all of this — the entire baby-sitting shift, spending uncut days at a time with him, situating yourself as a motherly figure to his daughters. Whether out in the front-yard or by an exposing window to your blind eye, he would observe you for short periods of time. Ghost wasn't stupid — he was fully aware of your little crush on him. From your little peeks at his home through a curtain, down to spying on him when you were damn sure he wasn't mindful of the girl, considered stalker, keeping a close eye on him herself.

Of course, you were both so exceptionally strange towards each other. Stalkers in love, lurking at each other, keeping tabs when given the opportunity. He especially admired your benevolent demeanor which accompanied your alluring in-the-flesh appearance. Although he knew that you were far more than that — behind the guise of smiles and looks, you needed something much more; you craved so much more, and that certain crave was him. You had just been waiting for him, longing for that hopelessness to be taken away from you.

Why else would you have purposefully strive to catch his attention if it were not for wanting?

And last night — it was a whole new affair for you. An episode of heavenly bliss, he recalled you being so obedient, so pliant, so depraved, all of those things at once. He was a tad sympathetic for not giving more time into preparation, but he needed to be inside of you so badly. He needed to fulfill that hungering ache — and apparently, you did too; with how you gave into his touch so suddenly, allowing him to pound into you, backed with rabid pants and sweet moans. Ghost had wished the two of you could stay like that forever, making love out of refined affection by all means.

You were just irresistible and he had done so well keeping his poise. He had a right to have you. After all the planning from the moment he saw you, the insomniac nights where he planned ahead of time so you could grow close to his children — to him. After all the torturous days spent in sheer agony keeping you under close observation, paying regard to how your genuine personality was, how your breath caught on itself if he brushed against you in the smallest portions of physical contact. He deserved to have you.

It wasn't entirely wrong — the relationship, but you had corrupted him with your natural appeal — drawing him in like some bait to a wild animal.

He gently shoved himself closer to the warmth of you, a small sigh parting from your lips, taking into realization that a bulge in his sweatpants was plunged up right against the cloth of your panties. Your back arched up, just slightly, but enough to bring satisfaction and to tell that you were still asleep.

Ghost budged himself off, keeping sights of your soothed face before he props himself at your lower half — you scented of a sex-like smell, sweat and complete combined lust. His loose pants expanded tightly as his face met between your spread legs with the guidance of his hands grasping them apart. He wanted to fuck you right now — he could've — but he wanted to save it for later; save both you and him for later, when it wasn't deemed as unmoral. His fingers tucked around the waistband of your poorly thrown-on panties, sliding them down your legs with ease, trashing them to the side.

Your blooming scent sent him over the edge. His eyes squinted, lips parted in an intense awe. His fingertips grace over your thighs, lightly grunting at how a trail of goosebumps were left in the wake. You were so perfect in his viewpoint — all laid out for him, ready, waiting. He linked your sore legs in a locked hold much like last night, lowering his head closer to the puffy entrance of your cunt. The bottom of his balaclava was thrown up suitably to the freed expanse to his mouth and nose.

His tongue licked a slowly, yet sensible swipe up your lips. A small moan escaped your throat as your legs twitched in his hold, pants drawn from you with every increasing lick of his tongue. You were quick to stain his face with slick, the bump of his nose meeting your clit everytime he savored your taste with his lips clamped around your cunt.

You felt feverish, though maybe it was a real fever with a growing heat in your body. The heat was overwhelming, it needed to be rid of somehow. You were dousing in it. It was piling on top of each other, growing to extensive lengths as it invaded every inch and limb of your body. Your hands hauled themselves down to the source of the invading warmth, struggling to get a hold of what it exactly was. The temperatures were growing fast, too fast.

Fingers wrapped and caught a hold of something — or better yet, someone. Though not an actual army of heat and flames, it was a physical being, and it reverberated waves of sickly pleasure as it grew abnormally in position. Whimpers were forced out of you as it got too much.

Too immense for someone like you to handle.

Dazed, your eyelashes flickered open. Heavy and blinking away languid after effects. You were sober enough to be conscious of your surroundings — you were in a bed, a bedroom. It wasn't your bedroom back at home, clearly, with the distinct softness of the sheets and a window's silhouette that allowed you to bask in the dawn's light. The mattress was larger and was preferably more a fit for two people — a scent of masculine cologne breached over the air of the room as well, combining with a bitter smell of sweat. Astray in a temporary confusion, a shot of heat travelled through you, another moan cried out from you; it was more responsive and awake.

"Morning." Ghost rasped out from below you, voice vibrating from between your wet thighs.

Your eyes fell to the heavy weight from underneath, wearily assembling eye contact with the man — his voice alone couldn't help but light a small contentment in your chest. His calloused fingers tightly pressed into the flesh of your thighs, spreading them, leaving himself as a surprise for when you had finally chose to wake up. He lifts himself slightly and keeps the eye contact between you and him, his tongue fully pursed at your folds and meeting at your clit, sucking at the skin nub.

All you could do was sigh and pin your head to the pillows — the distinguishable scent of Ghost all around you in the material. Your back arched, hips rising and close to his face as he proceeded with his blissful ministrations.

"Fuck," you softly breathed, "Please, more..."

A deep chuckle resonated from his chest as he felt your wanting fingers brush at his wrists, dancing around his palms, petting at the skin.

His hand, in which you were fighting to grab a hold of, snatched onto your own — intertwining his massive fingers with your smaller ones in a delicate hold. Ghost's thumb strokes over your knuckles as he continues to eat you out, savoring the taste, and driving sounds of sexual want out of you. His opposite hand is raised to your entrance, teasing with every touch, prodding at your sensitivity.

"Ghost, your fingers," you panted, "I need them — need you."

He hummed, hauling himself away slightly from you — much to your foggy desperation — and steadily pushed one finger through, your body aching for more as you swallowed and clenched around him, section by section until his knuckle was pressed against your folds.

“Such a good girl, sweetheart.” he whispered.

Ghost mounted himself up your frame, his face inches away from yours, eyes scorching at yours through half-lidded eyes as he watched you writhe beneath him. You sunk your teeth into the skin of your lower lip that had grown chapped from constantly parting your mouth; followed moans and whimpers of airy breaths coming through it. He cocked his head to the side, flattening his lips to your own, yourself steadying on wobbling elbows to catch the kiss at a better angle.

The faint taste of you resided on his tongue — all around the tissue of his cheeks and teeth. He made you dizzy, faint, and you wanted more of it; he was nauseating, in a good way. You moaned against him, his other hand resting at your thigh raising to cradle the back of your head. His palm gave you some sort of support and comfort, and as he did, his sole finger occupying up inside of you was occupied with another, ripping a loud whimper from your throat.

He cradled you against the bed as he pressured his tongue into your mouth, lapping at nearly every crevice of your mouth. His fingers had curled in you, gasps slipping from your occupied mouth, pleasure pervading your body. They had pistoned in-and-out of you, escalating in speed with such intensity but also fragility.

"Want you to come for me," Ghost slurred between kisses, "You think you can do that for me, sweet girl? I know you can."

You managed to respond with a quivery nod, lips parted and eyes growing heavy as your vision began to blur at the borders from a suffocating pleasure. Ghost sped up his thrusting fingers the farthest he could, making certain they curled with each push, reaching the base of his knuckles as he caressed against that sweet spot he had pounded last night.

He had wanted the best for you, and that's why he focused his work on that spot, causing you to fully throw your head back to watch the ceiling through euphoric lenses. He caught on about that, gripping your chin firmly and forcing your fogged gaze to his. “On me, my love.”

With a few more purposeful curls of his large fingers at your sensitive walls and an applied pressure of his thumb over your throbbing clit, you had gushed around fingers; practically screaming his name. His lips form a smirk at the result of his creation, withdrawing his fingers as he exhibits them to you. They glisten under the light drawn amid the curtains, only able to watch as he raises the digits to his mouth, slurping up your essence — effectively cleaning it, never once breaking his eye contact with you.

"You're always so good for me," Ghost mutters, collecting his shirt from off the floor and cleaning at your thighs. "You want to stay for breakfast?"

"Hm," you hum, still basking in the afterglow of your orgasm, skepticism hitting you like a brick. "Fuck, wait — oh my god."

"What?"

In the present time, you were adrift, all memories of the previous day vanished over the course of your sleep — a great majority of it coming back to you.

"Fuck, did we sleep together?" you sit up, hands propping the weight of your head. "God — my parents are going to kill me — finding out I'm fucking you, you're so much older than me and you're my neighbor,"

"Honey, honey, calm down." he sits up with you, a hand resting at your bare lower back. "Listen."

Your rambles were interrupted with a peck of his lips. Ghost clasped the wrists that were at your head, pulling them down and rubbing gently into them. All of it was confusing, flustering as he crept closer to and kept his sight on you .

“We’re both adults,” he said, “and there's nothing wrong with making our own decisions.”

“But — I feel like a disgrace. To my parents, to everyone."

"You're not a disgrace, sweetie. It's just sex." Ghost releases your wrists and instead brings you to his chest, arms wrapping around you, eyes closing as you enveloped into him. He presses a kiss to the top of your head. "So, why don't you get yourself fixed in the bathroom over there, wake up the kids, and I'll make all of us breakfast. How does that sound?"

You stare up at him, blankly and in astonishment, only able to establish a single nod as he chuckles and gives you one last departing kiss — to your lips this time. Eyeing as he moved to gather the same duplications as what he casually wears from a cabinet; a black v-neck and a pair of dad jeans, put together with that same balaclava. He undeniably is well-built, tattoos lining up his left forearm, back muscles flexing as he fit the shirt over his head.

He shoots you one last stare, soft eyes and all, as he left the room — leaving you to get dressed.

Nothing had felt real — well, at least from last night up until now. You slept with the neighbor that kept you up at night with dozens of fantasies and received the affection reserved for a married woman — like you were his legitimate wife. With his requests to wake up the kids and to get dressed, you felt as if this were your absolute and authentic life, no parents across the street or reminiscences of only being a babysitter to his kids. Your head was stupefied, body trembling.

Gathering enough strength to balance yourself on the ground, you found the bathroom and locked the door behind, stumbling over to the sink. Your breathing was, hard, uneven — fingers gripping the edges of the sink before running water from the leaky faucet and splattering your face with cold water to bring you out of the trance of sleepiness and doubt. Your head throbbed as you grabbed a spare toothbrush, wetting and squirting toothpaste on the bristles, shoving it into your mouth.

Your affair with Ghost couldn't be considered home-wrecking. Taking into consideration that his wife was long-gone from the picture, his kids were to understand that their father would soon have to find someone replace her, but with someone younger — more like some kind of older sister instead of a mother or a wife to their dad. Though they would have to take it in anyways, their father had found love in his youthful neighbor from across the street and they would just have to stand it. His daughters had warmed up to you quickly anyways — still young and capable to see you as a mother. At least now you didn't have to completely fantasize about him on a daily basis, having the real physical thing for yourself and yourself only.

Snatching your dress off the bedroom's grounds and esteeming yourself as presentable, you left his room and sneaked out into the hushed hallways, making your way over to his daughter's bedroom door — pushing it open with a flat palm and fingers around the doorknob. You wake them up with gentle strokes to their strands of hair, assisting them with getting ready, masking your previous worries with a big grin every-time they had announced an achievement as simple as dressing up or making their beds. They were as equally ecstatic to see you much like last night, but questioned why you were still here — and with your own reply, you obviously couldn't say you had fucked their father so the easiest way out was to say that you'd had a sleepover of some sorts in the living room.

You indulged in their child-like conversations as they both kept a hold of your hand in theirs, leading them down the stairs and into the kitchen where you had told them to have a seat. You're met with Ghost leaned up a counter, now-gloved hands around the handle of a cup as breakfast had already been made out in plates on the table. It was something strangely straight out a movie, like some kind of set instead of an actual room — an actual house where you stood.

The tension was certainly there but with the kids present, it had grown more ill at ease.

Sitting on the wood of the chairs, Ghost followed in pursuit as he took a seat right next to you — right at the end of the table. You weren't as hungry as you anticipated, taking a few bites of your breakfast food before offering the rest to be shared between the two. You and Ghost had met eyes a few times before brushing it off with not a single word on it until that tension had thankfully been broke off.

One of his daughters spoke up, more specifically — the one sat directly at your left hand-side. With a simple, "Are you staying with us? Forever and forever?" of her words, you were left dumbstruck, gazing over at Ghost who had a look in his eyes of the same emotion.

"Maybe I will, hon," you said, "I'm not sure."

Visibly, she pouts — leaping off her seat and pushing herself into you, small arms wrapped around your stomach in an embrace. You stutter on breaths, only bringing a hand to her hair and smoothing over it repeatedly, eyes heavy with some sort of guilt with her beg to get you to stay. Ghost can only bring himself to lightly laugh despite himself also having some guilt at his daughter's words.

"Don't go and crush her heart now, sweetie." he said, indicating to her. "I'm sure she would love to stay with us if she could."

You hurtle a widened stare to him with raised eyebrows, unaware he was going to touch on the brought-up topic. The thing is; you didn't know how you were going to make that come true, abandoning all remnants of your old life to birth a brand new one right here in this very house. He could only shoot you a stare back — sort of scolding, commanding.

"Well, it's about time you girls get on with the day." Ghost lifts his head to a clock on the wall, straightening his posture and hoisting himself up. "You all have your fun, I'll be out back if you need me."

"You're just going to be out all day?" you ask.

"I practice with my old firearms." he said. "Right in the backyard with a couple of targets, just to gain the skill back."

"Ah."

"It's quite relieving, you should try it out sometime."

"I don't think I'm that trusting with a weapon, sir."

He chuckles coarsely.

"Then I guess I'll just have to teach you sometime," Ghost said, that bit of familiar knowing persona brought back now that it was only you and him — sole in the kitchen. "Different finger placements, methods, positions."

"I guess you should."

"That's my girl," he stretches an arm across the tract of both your shoulders. "And I'm thinking the girls will be fine for a little bit on their own, so we can kill a little bit of time."

“With shooting bullets all day?” you question.

“Not only that, doll,” Ghost’s face is close enough to feel his breaths through the texture of his veiling face-cover. “Something way different, I think you’ll love it even more.”

It was an excruciating, long session of firing and teasing.

You didn't really possess the strength to fight him back on it. You surrendered completely, because you weren't genuinely one to argue with others — so you approved the way he slid ever so close to you, both arms surrounding you so his bigger hands lead your own to the trigger of a handgun, his frame vast over. You spoke in a small and terrified voice in your head, fuck me, take me as your own, touch me. It had been the only understanding in that moment, his veined arms locked with yours and trapping you in some hold. Sex and gunfire.

Ghost was obviously oblivious to this — or maybe not as entirely as you interpreted, but either way he was bad at pretending. A small flame ignited within him (because of how hard he was around you, as if he isn't always) but it had been drenched with your unintentional grind-backs into his body, lightly sighing and squirming around as he positioned himself behind you each time.

The late afternoon had a douse of heat to it. Sweat leaked beneath his mask, your dress sticky to your skin. Every so often, his daughters would come out and ask an innocent request out of either of you or observe the ammunitions laid out before running back inside. Ghost had been heated from the outside conditions, helping himself to strip off his shirt, chiseled chest exposed and glistening with sweat.

It was more difficult to focus on keeping a finger on the trigger, his chest rubbing against your back — thighs clenching and eyes glossy. You didn't want to cry, or even felt the need to, but it was out of some persistent plead that retraced back to the voice that spoke through the innards of your head. Why would you bother crying, anyways?

You definitely held some regret in sleeping with him, but you were in love — apparently. As Ghost pressed into your sweat-soaked-fabric back, crotch carelessly pushed against you and your hips, he wondered if you had ever been in such love like this, freed and enigmatic, as the one you held with him now.

Enigmatic love. The term pushed aside.

"Place your finger right here, on top of this ledge," Ghost instructs, guiding you with his own commands. "Now keep a steady grip, and press down."

The bullet through the head of the gun rings out through your ears — painfully, gutting your ear-organs out one way and the other. It clanged out a couple of more times till the ammo wasted out, gun lowering to your stomach, a huff of air puffing from your mouth. Ghost had you in a tight clutch, tighter than usual, seeming that you would break and run away from him.

"Perfect as always, love." he said, pressing a kiss full of cloth to the back of your head.

"I don't know how you do this for hours at a time," you confess, "Rings my ears out a little, I might go deaf, you know?"

"I'm used to it."

"It's getting dark, should we head back inside?"

"Shit. You're right, come on."

He wraps a bare arm around you, pressing you to him, his naked chest heaves unevenly at your backside. The inside of the house holds more moisture than outside, stuffy and hellish to breathe in, natural air banished. His kids had left small clutters of toys on the living room's table, television running some low-budget children's show, their only guessed presence was upstairs — maybe asleep, maybe not, it would some kind of miracle for them to put themselves to sleep without the assistance of an adult.

You look to him with some sort of pray to your eyes, an absence in your chest as if you longed something from him.

"Simon," you whispered. "Carry me."

"Carry you?"

"My feet are killing me, your trainings wore me out."

For a second, he hesitates, but rolls his eyes and gives in.

"Alright, give it here," Ghost unwraps himself from you and bends his knees to hoist you up. "You owe me for this one, sweetheart."

"Owe you for such a simple request?"

"I'm messing with you, dollface," he said, "You don't owe me a single thing except all that love of yours, and that body."

You smack him on the nose of his mask, playfully, wearing it away with a kiss pressed to it.

A kitchen wasn't good enough — it was too open, with windows all around for bystanders to see what the two of you were up to. Every room in the home was too polluted, so there was nowhere else but his bathroom to fuck in. His bedroom was too easily accessible, but the bathroom had more security to it, oddly enough.

"We should freshen up," you implore, "You smell like shit, I smell like shit, we're both sticky."

"Guess you're right."

"Is that a yes, then?"

"Well, we're not going on with the night all sweaty and reeking." Ghost replied.

His bathroom was spacious, a fit for two people, which was admittedly ideal for you and him. Locks on both the bedroom and bathroom door had been fastened, an excuse to his daughters of not interfering, to which they effortlessly agreed to. Two sinks, a single toilet, and a tub with a curtain for more provided privacy.

"Can you get that?" you ask of him, pointing to the zipper of your dress.

Ghost idly fidgets with the iron of your zipper before his fingertips brush at your exposed skin, dragging it down and unveiling the skin of your back. You finish it off by pooling your dress at your ankles, left in your set of undergarments — inspecting as he rids of his jeans and walks over to the tub, leaning over to run some water into the bowl of the porcelain thing.

For some concealed reason, he purges of every article of clothing plastering his build except that mask. That same mask of a skull and balaclava. It was unusual — He was unusual, he always was. Acquainted with him or not. It made you uncomfortable and turned you on at the same time, a division of yes-no, the outline of his body and the way his biceps flexed, a great mass of it came at you all at once.

You sat on the lid of his toilet, waiting. He leans at a wall as he waits for the water to fill a some perfect mark, switching the faucet off and turning to you. His boxers are peeled off with bulky fingers, the last portion of clothing on him — Ghost climbs in first, you soon following close behind, right between his spread legs that rested at each corner of the tub. It wasn't exactly quiet, just graceless and gauche, baring pure nakedness and that had been the strongest form of reliance. The overhead ceiling light reflects off the ripples of water, off the combined skin of you and him.

He only huffs, flicking droplets of water on your face before leaning further back and stretching his arms along the edge of the tub. His knuckles popped and his neck crackles as he rolled it, suppressed echoes into the dimly-lit room. You wielded a soiled cloth across your arms, water streaking over your skin in an effort to swab the sweat and gunpowder off.

"There's some on your back," he noted, eyes running along your back and spine.

"Mind getting it for me?"

"Hand it."

The cloth does wonders in his hands and on your back, scrubbing rather brutishly than you intended, between your shoulder blades and sides. Your humiliation of being naked around him had decayed away, there was nothing revolting about doing so, despite him already have seeing your body — and fucking it. He was tender and treated you like a play-thing, a pretty play-thing of his own.

You glance over your shoulder at him, not concerned about hiding a morbid interest as your eyes flickered over his obscured features. His balaclava clung to his nude neck, black eye-paint sweated off the scope around his eyes which crinkled in concentration. His broad shoulders littered with some scars, some faded and some fresh, biceps in his arms reeling as he washed away the blotches of filth from your skin that had been built-up over the course of the day.

"Don't give me that look, love, you're making my dick hard." he half-jokes.

"Your dick's already hard."

"Well maybe we can take care of that after a bath, yeah?"

"But why not do it now?" you spur him on a little, that doe look in your eyes, lips molding some sort of pout.

Ghost was beginning to appreciate this new side of you. You lacked a great deal of timidity — your improvements of confidence, libido, want. Your words cause him to pause the rag in its tracks, slithering it down.

"Little minx, aren't you?" he chuckles, shifting you around in his lap so that you were facing him — water splashing in your wake. Like previous sessions, he lifts the basis of his mask, visible of lips and nose. Kisses seep into your skin, head bowing back to give more access.

"Only for you, daddy." you pant out. "Only you."

Your words corroded over him — ashamed was nothing of existence as you watch him process the nickname. His jaw tightens, a measured breath streamed from his nose, his eyes closed for recollection as he continues with his kisses.

"Daddy, huh? Love when you use your words with me, love." he said, breathless. "Want you to call me that while I fuck you."

Hearing you use that term to describe himself was so natural, so instinctive. Your head was flooding again — foggy and blurry on nothing but the thought of sex. His hands knead at your breasts as if they are dough, fingers teasing at your nipples, whimpers falling into his mouth as you went drunk on his lips yet again — the water against your cunt dispensing some alternate method of pleasure whenever his fingers or girth weren't there to indulge you with.

Clamminess cools on your inner thighs and right at your cunt regardless of the moisture of the water all over the place. You clench around nothing in Ghost's absence. He rolls you over with his strength — having you pinned down where he once sat, thighs spread at the edge of the tub.

"So desperate for me aren't you, sweetie?" he breathes, "All you want is for me to breed this sweet cunt all the time, so fucking needy."

"Please, daddy, fuck me, need you inside me."

"You really need it that bad, doll?"

"Need it so bad, fuck, please," you whimper out.

Ghost is fond of the idea of teasing you, but not to an extreme extent. He falters to your begging and leans back, brand new rounds of whimpers knocked out of you as he smacks the tip right against your clit. You roll your hips at it, back arching, striving to chase the sensation.

"Beg for me nicely, show me your good-girl manners." Ghost said. "Show me how much you need me, long for me."

"Please fuck me, daddy." you manage between whimpers. "I want you to breed my pussy like I'm your good girl."

He succumbs to you, thrusting in slow and steady as you accommodate the stretch of him inside. The constant agitation of his stretch crowded your mind, all of him — him, him, him. Kept above you, Ghost grunts and pants, his palms massaging at your breasts as he starts off slowly pushing into the snugness of your cunt.

"Feel so fucking good," he mutters, "So tight for me, such a tight little pussy, all mine."

You can barely make out what he's saying over the ringing that stranded in your ears — ringing like the bullets forced from the muzzle of his firearms. The blunt head of his cock drills at your cervix in a pressure once he speeds his rhythm of thrusts up, your mind numbed, his thumb circling at your clit while your legs rest at his shoulders — water in vast amounts sloshing around with every movement.

"So deep," You whimper, nails digging at his forearms, nearly feeling him at your chest. "You're so fucking big, daddy."

His thrusts gain some growth, — no more short pauses in between, but constantly feeling up your warm walls which clutched around him like a fleshlight. You swear he's leaving a bulge in your lower stomach with the amount of brawn he uses to fuck you.

"You're all mine, you understand? Going to make you my pretty wife, marry you, fuck you full of my babies every night, we'll live a happy family here — to hell with all of that babysitting shit, you'll be the perfect mother to my children."

"Yes, yes — please, make me a mother, I don't care," you scream out, "I'm yours forever."

"My sweet little darling girl," he said in a half-sung sigh of some exhaustion and some sexual appetite, "I'll breed this pussy everyday, until you give me a child, day and night — nonstop."

You're whining and whimpering out for him, entire body quivering with the sustained need to be filled, twitching in a spasm. Ghost shows you what love is like — what it's meant to feel loved, to be loved; physical touch and words of praise that made you feel like his number one priority. His name embedded and chanted into the waves of the tub as his assaults on your pussy are more inconsistent but harsher, deeper, feeling every motion right at your cervix — nearly at your womb.

With a symphony of shrill moans and profound groans — his warm release is shot inside of you with his hands in a deep grasp of your hips and a grunt. Your heartbeat reaches soaring levels of speed. His cum is thick and has a tad of warmth of it, feeling as it reached up into the levels of your womb. Ghost gives a few more thrusts to your sensitive cunt, low whines falling from your mouth; he stops and lingers in position, out of breath, and collapsing over you. Some of his cum leaks out and mixes with the water, which has gone cold by now, but a huge majority is sealed within you. You're sensitive, wincing, a buzz in your lower stomach on repeat.

He lifts himself and stares into your eyes, a kiss to your lips, bringing you to his chest in a cuddle.

"Did you really mean it?" you breathe out through the loud silence, "Marrying? Starting a family here?"

"I only want the best for us, sweetheart," he said, a crush of triumph beating at your heart.

You were a picturesque of beauty in his eyes — even all fucked-out and sensitive laying in a tainted tub, you were the definition of it. Promising to be his good little housewife, to be the mother of his children, yet always his good little girl. He had given up everything for the military, wartime, so he could give up everything for a domestic life that had ran far past the atmosphere of violence; give up everything for you.

He feels as you nuzzle into his chest, his arms wrapped around your entire frame, head resting at his shoulder.

"I think... I think we fucked enough for today." you said.

"You think so?"

"We had sex in the morning, practically you edged me during that long training session, and now you fucked me in your bathtub."

"Me? Edging you? I think you mean teasing."

"Teasing, edging, whatever — you had your chest pressing up all against me — your sweaty and massive muscles."

"That wasn't my intention," he said chuckling, "But coming inside of you was definitely intentional."

tags - @ottooctaviusswife, @love4lacey.

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seraphxcx · 2 years ago

Text

[dilf] simon "ghost" riley x reader

content warnings: afab! reader, manhandling, breeding kink, pet-names, praise, oral sex (female receiving), size difference, creampies, reader is in her 20's, ghost is a single dad, touch-starved, domesticity, squirting.

synopsis: infatuations with older men were morally wrong, but never applying to him.

a/n: i'm so sorry a new fic is taking so long to be released considering it will have more chapters than usually, hopefully this lil drabble makes up for it lmao, enjoy. <3

ao3 version.

You've seen him around the neighborhood before — towering in height, bulging biceps, and a skull balaclava sheltering the structure of whatever laid under, the structure of his concealed face. It was a known fact that you bear an attraction to him, but you just couldn't own up to it, feeling a little too shamed to be conscious about a little school-girl crush on a man much older than you. A man who was a hard-working, ex-military, single father who paid no attention to girls in the same line that you found yourself in — but was it hard not to steal a view glances whenever he was seen around the neighborhood whether it was for a few minutes or seconds despite his lack of ability to communicate with others, though it was obvious he chose not to be around others for a good waste of his time excluding his children.

So when he came strolling up the slope of your driveway and a gloved fist beating at your front door, you had thought you were in another one of your trances — molded daydreams of him; minor fantasies of Simon Riley in that same balaclava giving you all of his affection, kissing you, treating you as if you were his pretty wife — a life that you could never make a single complaint about.

Ghost — his more preferred name used on other's tongues — stands eerily underneath the giving-out light of your porch, with nothing but a set of dusky eyes and a whole lot of muscle beneath the puny fabric of a black v-neck. You, stand on the opposite side of the door and impassively stare, nonetheless avoiding the eye contact when he gapes at you for longer than intended.

"I'm assuming you're the daughter." he said, reserved, dull.

"Sure am, did you need something?"

He clears his throat. "Well, this might be a strange thing to ask — and a bit sudden," He brought his hands to tuck in his pockets. "But would you mind looking after my kids for a while? I'll pay you for every hour, just a couple days of the week."

His offer was the last thing on the brink of your mind when he happened to show up, asking you for a favor — being in his house, where he lived, with his presence ghosting around. It sounded creepy. A bit stalker-ish to think of it like that — but you played it off as an innocent favor he asks of his neighbor, just a few hours of your day taken off to go kid-watching for the man who you admired the most.

"A couple days of the week?" You repeat his words back to him.

"I'm certain."

"I mean, sure, I'll take the offer, but when do you want me to start?"

"Tomorrow. Tomorrow evening is fine, around six."

You bit your lip. "Got it. Have a good-night, Mr. Riley."

"Knew I could rely on you, thanks, doll."

A single wave was managed. No verbal good-bye, just a wave from the hand that was freed from the confines of his pocket — and a pet-name taken straight to the pinpoint of your heart. You watch as he turns his back and finds himself across the street to where he coincidentally had lived — watching as he outstretched his arms and embraced a young girl with no emotion that had intentionally been shown to the public. Doll. It was unknown if his label for you was something he did purposely or had just slipped from his masked lips.

Either way, it made you feel like cherished like never before, his doll.

The day in which Ghost's favor was asked of you passed by quickly into the day the favor was actually supposed to be performed, straight at six, right in the center of where the sky was going through modifications of warmth to a bitter cold. Much like him with more anxiousness residing in your chest, you were across the street and bound to his porch, a dress shrouding your figure up to the bottoms of your thighs. Dressing and dolling yourself up made you look like you were going more on a night-out rather than a baby-sitting shift. Unintentional was the word for it. Unintentional to be all formal when in the same proximity. You half-recover from your birthing nervousness and thump on the door gently.

"Mr. Riley, it's me." you blatantly said, the door still closed.

With your words blurted out the door seemed to open on command — aggressively, as if it were going to be discharged from the hinges. Rather than a giant of a man in the doorframe there stood a girl half the size of it, lightly-shaded blonde hair up in pigtails with a cherubic face, staring right up at you as she titled her head. Honestly, you weren't good with children, but kindness was fundamental as of that. You give her a forced smile pressed up into the corners of your mouth as if held at gunpoint, whispering a small greeting and a wave. How maternal of you.

From further into the house came footsteps, blaring footsteps, and the little girl was no longer stood two feet on the surface of the ground but lifted into her father's arms with a brief giggle. You weren't going to stand here and be blamed a liar if that didn't advance an adoration for him in the moment.

"Thank you so much for coming and apologies, it's my fault for letting you in late," he said. "Make yourself at home."

"Don't worry about it." you reassure.

Ghost's house was clean and neutral, but gave off a decent interior of a past lieutenant's home well. There were a few toys littered around, a locked exhibition cabinet of ex-military trinkets, piled-up envelopes, and one other silhouette of a little girl bearing similarities to the one in his arms. Nothing in his house gave off a girlish ambience, besides two daughters, but it was masculine; like an adequate, suburban variety of a old-fashioned farmhouse with rifles and deer heads on display replaced with military collections.

There was a microscopic chance of danger with a bunch of firearms and artillery gear laying around but as someone as wise as himself, of course he kept a lock on it. Chain, even, if he wanted to get that far into territory.

"Bedtime's at eight, food is already ordered, and you have the entire house to yourself past the eight-o-clock mark." Ghost said. He provided you with a spare key, his bared fingers brushing against yours as he placed it in the middle of your hand. "So you have plenty of time to, you know, relax."

"When will you be home?"

"Around ten, but wait up on me — I'll give your pay up before you leave."

"So I stay until ten?"

"Sure do."

"You can trust me, for sure."

"I know I do." he said.

His eyes trail over you for a minute longer before bending his knees and and allowing his daughter to be freed from his grasp, legs straightening up again as he pat your shoulder. "Thanks, kid, I'll see you later."

All of these nicknames were blurted from his mouth like nothing — first it was doll, now kid, and it just left you anticipated for what he would grant you next with. That though stuck to your mind like a nail screwed by a hammer, watching as he took his jacket and folded it in his arms, swearing that he gave you one last glance before he unlatched the door and shut it behind him — leaving you to bathe in the first touch he acted on you, his effortless terms of endearment, and the two resembling daughters he relied to be cared of.

Spiraling. You had to be spiraling.

Your hours spent with the children were calm. They had warmed up to you pretty fast and had dragged you nearly to every spot of their home. Up the stairs where their shared bedroom stood at the hall, a couple of bathrooms downstairs, a storage closet, the showcase of weaponry, and even Ghost's bedroom. They declared his room was some kind of secretive hideout, only being in there a limited amount of times, but urging you to take them in there along you. It was going to be difficult to get out of the pressuring so, having your own fun, you let them explore around his room — like you were a cool older sister, or mother, to them.

The title "Mother" exclaimed from one of the girls, ultimately leading into them repeatedly a series of them calling you variations of mom, mommy, mother, throughout the night instead of the name you had given them to call you. You weren't extremely irritated with it, you actually found it slightly adorable considering that they didn't even have a mother and latched onto you as some sort of female parent never obtained, nonetheless it was practically harmless and brought no harm down on you.

Baking cookies, some sort of role-playing they convinced you to star in, doing their hair in all sorts of girly ribbons and accessories almost made you feel like you were a little girl again — it had drained them out pretty easily but gave them a sense of girlhood, giving no offense to Ghost. A vision crossed your mind, eventually spearing your mind, that you were the real mother to these girls. A female figure to look up to and issue them a full family with a packed set of two parents. It had been drilled to you the other half of the the night, you kept a close eye on them as they had gotten ready for bed and prepared themselves under the covers.

With a deportation of reading a shabby bedtime story and a few ruffles to both of their heads, you finally had his home to yourself. Anything you wanted to do was accessible, easy-to-do, but with no danger of waking up the girls. Exhaustion was present, though, with all of your lone ideas to-do in mind you ended up on the couch. Your head tilted in one palm as you legs crossed under the skirt of your dress, the illuminations of late-night talk shows on television glowing your face in shades of dissimilar hues.

Staying up and waiting for Ghost to walk right through the front door was starting to become a challenge. Blaming his daughters for putting you in a state of pure fatigue was never the right thing to do, although it was easy to admit. Your eyelids were heavy with one more glance at the clock, which read a quarter to nine, meaning that this night could come to its finale and you could see that face of his — physically, up-close, like you did three hours ago.

As you were right at your breaking point into a slumber the doorknob trembling and echoing into the room where you were buzzed you awake. Stretching over the arm of the sofa and sloping your head to where the door was visible, knob had stopped with the commotion, the door silently opening a crack before blew open. To your relief and satisfaction it's the man who've you longed for the entire day, like a depressed stay-at-home housewife. His jacket is thrown on a nearby table as he could only stare at your laid figure over the couch, eyes squinting.

"Welcome home."

"Appreciate it. Are the girls upstairs?" Ghost asked with a finger pointing to the floor above.

"All knocked out."

"Jesus, what did all of you do?"

"Just a little girl-fun, that's all, baking — stuff like that." you said with a no-teeth grin.

"I could only thank you again for that," he sighs and pulls out a couple dollar bills stuffed in the jean of his pocket. "You don't have any idea how hard it is to get those two asleep."

"Really? They're like little angels, they loved me."

"I bet they did," he said while setting your pay on the coffee table. "Here, an entire hundred stack."

"Hundred?"

"You deserve it, do you not?"

"I'm only a part-time babysitter, Mr. Riley, not a full time worker."

"Yes, but you're a good girl, are you not? Going through all the trouble to make time for me and my kids — so I can assure you this is my pay for you, think of it as a prize."

"God, well, thank you." you said, processing his terms of good girl, heat rising to your face. "You really love those girls, don't you?"

"They're my pride and soul." he said while taking a seat next to your half-laid body, dipping the cushion of the couch. "I only want the best for them, that's why I chose you to look after them."

"Me, why?"

"It's difficult to explain, and a bit strange but — you've always reminded me of my past wife, kind and loved her kids, soft spot even for the people she didn't really know."

"I didn't know I could resemble someone so much." you said, mouth going dry.

Ghost laughs. "Yeah, she was quite beautiful too, like you."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Why wouldn't it be? Hell, love, you've got the looks any man you could fall for.

His hand comes to gently rest on your thigh and you look up at him through droopy eyelids, this didn't feel real. This couldn't be real, right? It couldn't be proved as false when his calloused fingers started rubbing tender circles into your skin, eyes of his own half-lidded and crinkling around with the tar-like paint staining skin. You and him were playing a dangerous game, pent-up tension right in here in his living room, a man by all means older and more mature than you've ever been — it was so easy to give into him so fast.

"You like that, huh?" he keeps his voice low and continues the strokes on your thigh. "You ever been touched like this, dollface?"

"No, sir."

"Mm. I liked the way you called me sir, honey. Come here, sit-up."

You balance yourself on twitching elbows and Ghost moves in between your thighs, his body weight heavy compared to your smaller physique as he lifts the cloth-edge of his balaclava for you, revealing a light stubble peppering the anatomy of his face and somewhat coarse lips that pressed up against yours. Your hands hoist to caress his face, kneading into his sinking cheekbones with each move to intensify the kiss. His pink muscle of a tongue forces your lips open and laps at every crevice of your mouth — your arms linking around his head, his fingers once at your thighs now under your skirt and massaging in circular motions at your fabric-clothed cunt. Small whimpers of shame leak into the kiss, evolving into moans, his massaging enhancing with every finished motion.

Ecstasy ran through your veins, pulsing with adrenaline and contentment. Your legs are fragile, trembling, alongside your cunt flourishing a moistness in its fiber confinement. The man of your daydreams no longer is just a fragment of your delusional head, but right where you've longed for him to be, taking and compelling you to be obedient for him. Only him, always him.

The ministrations on your veiled cunt withdraws and drags a moan from the depths of your throat. One of his hands instead crawl underneath your pushed-together legs and the other supports your back. You dive into his lips with a hunger once more and he manhandles you so delicately despite the tough behavior, you're drunk on the taste of Ghost as he works through the house up the stairs, through the hallway, and brings you into his room where you once stood earlier — the click of the lock confirms your status, you're safe as long as you're with him.

His hands pressing into the flesh of your body is loosened up as he lays you gently on the mattress as if you were created of porcelain — which did have some sense in it bearing in mind that you, essentially, were his doll of a girl by his own words. Defines of his eyes stream your body up and down, towering over you in height, yourself much more reduced and small. Fingers assist you with stripping your dress, leaving you in an arrangement of panties and bra complimenting every curve and bow of your figure. He curses mutely under his breath, huge palms cupping and kneading at your breasts, his knees resting on the bed.

Your whimpers are more pristine and clear to his naked ear. Looking through your languid-like eyes, a bulge is positioned right at his jeans, and his shirt had been ripped off of him — possibly during the time where your eyes had been closed to immerse in his touch.

"Such pretty tits, love." He said with a grunt. A deep guttural grunt.

"They're all for you, mister, always have been."

"Not mister, not even Ghost — Simon to you, and it's going to be Simon when I'm pounding into this tight little cunt of yours."

His words add on to the wet arousal staining your panties, swearing a second heartbeat could be felt, a throbbing and senseless feeling.

"You like this pair?" Ghost asks, nudging at your panties.

"Not important." you reply through short, cut breaths.

With your consent, he takes both of his hands, ripping the fabric in half. A gasp delivers from your open mouth — both at the cold air's impact on your exposed entrance and the material ripping apart. He has a look in his eyes that resembles a feral animal, one that is undomesticated and always in a repetitive state of hunger. Ghost backs you up to lay against his pillows to allow more space for him to climb on the mattress with you. He wastes no time with leaning himself down and hooking your bare legs in a hold around both arms, resting right at his broad shoulders. Those same eyes of hunger peer up at you with the bottom half still exposed from the bruising make-out session.

You feel a mushy lick bumping at your click, causing your back to arch to the ceiling with a high-pitched moan, who knew such a motion could make you so submissive in a short span of time. The palm of your hand is instantly cupped around your mouth like a guard as Ghost continued his ministrations on your lips — no longer kitten licks but long, dragged out ones that had your eyes rolling into the back of your skull and struggling to muffle such sexual noises deprived from your mouth for the sake of his daughters fast-asleep down the hall.

"You taste like heaven," he grunts. "You're such an angel, making those sweet noises all for a guy like me."

"Only you, fuck, you feel so good." you whined, fisting the bedsheets at your sides.

"That's my girl."

The slant of his nose stimulates your clit while he proceeds with his longer, stroking tongue advances reaching deep inside your cunt. Your surroundings are heated with an addition of pure wetness, sweat, and mess clogging your brain up. His tongue provides you with a pleasure even your own fingers couldn't drive out of you, drool pools at a corner of your mouth while his grip on your legs hardens, strokes of his tongue becoming more aggressive — driving you quicker over an edge, your stomach in knots and oversensitivity. Your vision starts to blur out once you realize you can't control the sounds that he forces out of you, his tongue again and again savoring you as if you were his last meal on death row — he was desperate and willing to lap up your juices staining his face and your inner-thighs, Ghost was just as deprived as you were for him.

A thick sensation adjoins his tongue and nose, overwhelming sparks of emotion possessing you. The palm around your mouth is useless at this point, it lays flat and abandoned as a fist clutching at the sheets, moans chased out humiliatingly. You needed to come, come for him, for your own sake — but that was hard to think about when Ghost was mouth-fucking and finger-fucking you at the same exact time, much like some pornographic type video. A cliche one.

You were squeezing around whatever he stuck in you next — his tongue, his fingers, his tongue, or an combination, you were with no doubt tight and squeezed around any of his body parts.

"Fuck, you gonna come, sweetheart?" he asked, muffled with your clit puckered between his lips. "It's okay, come for me, just like that."

"Baby! Oh my go-"

Your back arches to an impossibly high rate when the knot in your stomach unties itself willingly, a wave of arousal gushing in streams on his face. Audible whines fall from your lips as you fall back right in contact with the plush of the bed. Sweat and the scent of sex reeks around you and Ghost, your chest rising with each hefty breath that is fished from your lungs. Your blurred vision is somewhat returned to its original shape, enough to make out Ghost — with his bare chest and your arousal at his face, tongue used to make said arousal transpire licking around at it, and his inked forearm. He was sticky and sweaty, a little tired, but obtained the right amount of stamina to be right inside you, just like he had wanted.

"Simon." you heaved out below, his fingers pressing into your hips. "Fuck me, please. I need you so bad, needed you ever since you've first moved here."

Ghost releases a low grunt and within a few seconds, he's messing with his belt — shakily unbuckling it and shrugging his pants to the floor. His boxers are no place of concealment, the prominent outline of his bulge protruding beyond the fabric, the sight provoking you to press your thighs together and rev-up that weakness present in your knees. He tugs at the waistband and slowly, painfully, lowers the border bordering item down — his cock almost immediately coming to press against his lower abs, at his lower stomach, really giving you the idea of how big he was. His balaclava is fully suited back on his face as the he leans down to give a final stream of soft kisses at your stomach through the mask, a hand pumping from the base of his cock to the tip.

"You want this, angel?" he groans with his pumps before he releases himself from his hand, positioning the tip of his cock right at the entrance of your swollen cunt as he provided a pre-fuck with only his tip. "Want my cock deep inside your pussy, pounding you into the mattress?"

"Oh god, I do, want you to fuck me as if I'm your wife, your pretty little housewife."

With one unforeseen jolt of his hips, he slams into you, your tight walls fondling him as if you were made for him. Your arms link around his torso as he moves his hips slowly, nails etching into the muscles of his back.

"Fucking hell, I can feel you squeezin' around me, love," he pants out, thrusts developing into a more faster pace. "This pussy is so good to me..."

"You're so fucking big, fuck."

Ghost jackhammers his cock into you, pressing his face into the crook of your neck, your legs squeezing around his waist. Your mouth widens with each moan and whimper he could drain you of — he pounds into you, fucking you like an animal rabid, sinking fully inside with each thrust of his hips. There's a composure and steady rhythm he keeps, allowing him to punctuate each of his plunges with his cock kissing at your cervix, his hand moving down to your clit. His thumb rolls over the bud and correlates it with how he fucks you, your nails digging at the skin of his back.

"Want to put a baby in you," he groans as his hips rock faster, nearly knocking the breath out of you, his fingers ghosting over the imprint of his cock in your lower stomach. "We'll have a perfect lil' family together, such a pretty little mother to my kids. You would let me do that, yeah?"

He's pistoning his hips in-and-out of you, your cunt naturally squeezing around him as your whines grew in pitch. His words held so much meaning — an entire family with him? Spending a lifetime with the older man you've adored from across the street? It had sounded more like paradise, anything that you've ever wished for in life. He knew he loved you so much, and you knew you loved him as equally, so much that he could imagine your cunt all full of his seed — stomach swelling with his child.

You nod as an agreement and he grunts, thrilled at the idea of you and him birthing something so intimate with each other. A family, your family, his family. It was a scheme he never thought he would be overly-obsessing, despite his disagreement with it during his time serving the army. But he dropped it, as long as he had you, and a devoted life.

"Want that so bad-" you squeal out, the sensation of a knot in your stomach on its last support heels, each of his drilling thrusts pulling you nearly to a climax. "Wanna have your baby, yours forever." Your phrase comes out slurred as the knot is broken of the last support it was on, sending you back into another session of short paradise.

"You're so beautiful. Going to breed this pussy with all my cum, honey." He sinks into you more erratic as he feels the walls of your cunt grasp abnormally tightly around him, his head going bare and distorted, the only initial thought in-tact was to keep the flow of thrusts he had fabricated — though, said flow was quickly dismembering.

His fingers of projecting veins running up his knuckles that were conveniently gripping your hips with such a pressure molded your skin into his contact easily. Your moans coming from a thrown back head against his cologne-scented pillows merged with Ghost's persistent heavier grunts — it's almost like a choir, using two valid voices, and delivering some sort of out-of-tune melody but with a hint of great profound beauty behind it.

The sensitive nipples of your breasts rub up right against his sweat-sheen chest in company with the dog tags strewn around his neck swaying in your face. He's leaning into you and has you caged in with no escape, his flow of thrusts gone, both of you desperate for a release. His muted breathing is irregular and heavy, your legs trembling and weak encircling his waist. His name is on your tongue and it leaks into the air, chanting it like your life was depending on it at the moment — depending on him. The lewd squelching of the head of his cock kissing your cervix, his noises combined with yours, the slapping of skin-on-skin — all of it was such an erotic sight to the human eye.

His head is back resting in the expanse between your head and shoulder, balaclava raised to expose the area of his lips once again, the warmth of those lips stamping sloppy, wet kisses into your neck; you squeal out as you're driven to your breaking point, a rush of arousal pressuring from your cunt and spraying onto his lower abs while he douses his cum deep into your swollen cunt. His own high-point doesn't stop him from sneaking a few more smaller thrusts for a bit, assuring all of his seed stays remains inside you.

"Fuck," he mutters, voice breaking off, his knuckles are ghosting a shade paler than white while he keeps purchase on both sides of your hips. He's stuttering over breaths as he tries to catch up with them, eyes falling to your immobile self. Your mouth is vaguely unfastened with breaths taken, eyes nearly closed, body slightly shuddering with the collisions of his cock still felt up inside of you — leaving your filled cunt fluttering around nothing.

"Too rough on you, sweetheart?" He asks, raspy.

"I think I'm okay, besides —you made my night even better."

He chuckles, a rare vision coming from a man like himself. "I'm happy to assist with that."

"Also," you imposed a dopey grin on your lips. "You should ask me for favors more often."

6K notes · View notes

seraphxcx · 2 years ago

Text

WANTED: Ghost x Reader x König [HEAVY SMUT]

Warnings: Consensual Non-Con, Threesome, Double Penetration, Stomach Bulging, AFAB Reader [AMAB Fic in Production], Forced Breeding/Pregnancy Kink, Corruption Kink, Virginity Kink, Roleplay, Size Kink, Sir Kink, Daddy Kink, Humiliation Kink, Lactation Kink, Breastfeeding Kink, Forced Petplay, Dumbification, Sadism, Bondage, Unprotected Sex, Possessive Sex, Cum Play, Creampie, Breath Play, Knife Play, Cutting, Blood, Wax Play, Masks Stay On, Beating/Spanking W/ a belt, Struggling, Resistance, Man Handling of Reader, Voyeurism, Oral (Male Receiving), Overstimulation, Forced Orgasms, Marking, Nipple Play, Attempted Forced Female Masturbation, Burning W/ a Lighter, Fingering, Male Masturbation, Forced Oral (Giving), Anal, Plugging, Plugs, Threats of Physical Violence, Degradation, Blackmail, Explicit Smut, Smut, Profanity, Pussy Slapping, Angry Fucking, Biting, Kidnapping. [EVERYTHING IS CONSENSUAL AND PRE-AGREED TO BEFORE THE FIC STARTS].

Wordcount: 14,695

They’d plucked you from your home and forced you into another, one which you hadn’t seen, even after they tore the sack from your head.

A camera sat on the dresser, its red eye blinking, gleaming, recording the silence. A candle resided next to it, rouge and unused. The room held a sickly disposition, lit by a single lamp on the bedside.The door, wooden, burst open, almost splintering and swinging off its hinges. The camera paid attention, finally having something to record.

König ignored your kicking and screaming as he threw you onto the bed, Ghost shadowing him, locking the door and throwing the key atop the dresser. You scrambled to the furthest corner, breathing heavily, eyes blown wide. Both men stood before you now, their manhoods throbbing and tearing against the fabric of their pants, tenting them. “You’ve left us no choice, girl.” Ghost said, voice heavy and raspy with what one could only describe as carnal lust. The masks they wore made it impossible to tell what they were thinking, but given how they’d handled you thus far, you could practically taste it. “No, please–” you whimpered, pressing yourself further into the corner, crossing your legs and trying to conceal the coveted prize which König and Ghost so desired above all else. But they weren’t having any of it. Ghost began sliding his belt from his trousers, the sound of leather against denim sibilant in your ear, all the while making his way round to the other side of the bed. His eyes glinted in the dim light, revealing no humanity within. Gone. Eradicated. Though that suggested he had any to begin with. You had nowhere to run. He was slow. Intentional. When he’d unsheathed his belt, he folded it in half and clapped the two sides of leather together, sending a crack of thunder resonating within the room. It made your insides ache and your flower throb, creating a continental patch of wetness on your underwear. Ghost smirked beneath his mask. König watched, guarding the door, palming himself through his trousers. “If you didn’t want this, you should’ve thought about that before talking to strangers.” His voice sent shivers down your spine. All the while, König undid his belt and slid it from his pants, his nigh-concealed gaze making his intentions all too apparent to you.

“Didn’t your parents ever teach you about that?” came König’s voice. He watched you, eyes never leaving you. “Or…perhaps we are the ones to teach you–” the belt swayed in his grip, “--to discipline you.” You could feel the shiver run down his spine as he spoke. You wanted to be sick. “I thought you needed hel–ah!” König grabbed your ankle and pulled you towards him, wrenching a gasp from your lungs and leaving you drawn and exposed. Ghost wasted nothing of the opportunity and slid his belt around your wrists, pulling it tight so you couldn’t break free. You yelped, thrashing, trying to release yourself from the two mens’ grip, but to no avail. König practically pounced on you, making sure you were squarely beneath him, slapping a hand over your mouth.

His weight was nearly too much for you to withstand, twice that of a normal man’s and sodden with years of murderous intent. He had you pinned without, at his mercy.

“Should’ve gagged her,” he said, vaguely casting Ghost a glance. Most of his attention was on you, the fear in your eyes as tears gathered there. The rest of it was on the evening’s events, all of which entailed some horrible thing done to you and you alone.

He rocked his hips against your cowering frame, icy stare dimming only when his eyes shut, the diluted pleasure he felt now nothing compared to that which he would feel at the expense of your suffering.

“Wouldn’t be able to hear her pretty little cries then, would we?” Ghost said, casual, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. König let out a scoff, or perhaps a laugh.

“Yes,” he relented, running a finger down the side of your face, streaking your tears across your skin. “You’re right.” His eyes traversed the contours of your face, stopping at your eyes. Looking into them, drinking the emotions that resided within them, he read you like the open book you’d become. You, on the other hand, saw nothing in his; void, save for the half-lidded, manic mist which descended upon his very form.

His touch trailed down your cheek, your throat, then stopped at the collar of your shirt. Only then did he look away from your face. “Need to get these off before we start.” The way König spoke felt institutional - like this was a practice rather than an attack. Ghost made a waving, dismissive gesture, reaching below the bed for something. You wondered how they’d do it, with scissors, or their bare hands–

From beneath his shirt, concealed, König withdrew a knife; thick, military and real. You gasped, tears clinging to your periphery as you did to any hope of surviving this ordeal. König’s head tilted, Ghost still rifled for something beneath you.

“Shh, sweet girl, shh - it’s okay!” König’s eyes crinkled, becoming half moons, eclipsing the malice that radiated from him, smoke. His breathing grew heavier, the bulge in his pants became ever more apparent to you the longer he spent atop you. You felt his hips rock, carefully, once. He poised the tip of the knife to your collar, and dragged it, slowly, down the expanse of your abdomen. You tried not to breathe - tried to prevent any unwanted movement that would give him reason enough to gut you right now.

It was sharp, and you knew it was only via König’s sheer resistance and will that it didn’t penetrate your clothing and leave a long slice down your front. Though the phantom pain followed, the layer of an alternate universe - an alternate you - passing over your own; one where you were not so fortunate, where your screams were heard infinities across.

König‘s eyes trailed the blade. His breath shuttered as the tip came to the waistband of your pants. He rutted again, stifling a groan. Ghost rose, his shadow resting over you, a shroud. He watched, holding something that was just out of your line of vision by his side.

The sound of cloth tearing brought your attention back to König, and it took everything in you not to jump, not to forfeit yourself to the blade. You swallowed thickly, throat drying, adrenaline and scorching ice coursing through you. You tilted your head back, narrowly avoiding the tip of Konig’s knife as it ascended the length of your shirt, exposing your middle to your captors. König’s eyes remained on your skin. He brought a hand to the thin trail exposed to him, felt the length of it, making you shiver. Then tore it from you.

The material was thrown to the dark recesses of the room, left to be feasted upon by the shadows that resided within.

Your pants were the next article to be destroyed, spared of the wrath of the knife, yet resigned to an ever more brutal fate. König ripped them apart, catching your panties in the crossfire, leaving you in only your bra. Even he seemed as shocked as you, leaning back to take in what he and Ghost had gone through so much effort for. Ghost leaned over you, drinking in your body.

“Oh, I’m going to enjoy tonight,” König said, his gaze flitting up to meet Ghost’s. He slid the knife up the bridge of your bra and freed it from you. Tore it from you.

“You’d be hard pressed not to.” At that, Ghost raised his hand, revealing what he’d been sorting through the underbed for.

A lighter.

He flipped the top open and rolled his thumb against the flint wheel, coaxing it to life. The flame erupted, dancing.

Your heart was in your mouth, your mind convulsed, your body wanted to follow. You needed to get out. Now. With a pillar of a man at either end of you and your hands bound, you scanned the room. The only entrance and exit was the (now locked) door, the key to which slept on the dresser; between which two mammoths of men - of soldiers - stood.

Yet, you saw a chance.

Taking advantage of the added weight of your hands being bound, you slammed your clasped fists down on König’s chest, taking him off-guard and making him stumble, fall back. You bucked your hips up, forcing him off you. He grunted, a noise of surprise. And you scrambled. Ran.

The phantom of Ghost’s fingers almost tangling in your hair bristled against you, his thick accent prevalent in the guttural “Grab her!” as he commanded König.

You tore the key from the dresser, fumbled it into the lock. All the while, Ghost’s rapidly advancing footsteps grew closer, as did König’s, the sound of boulders against concrete in your ears. You flinched, tensing, as you felt Ghost’s shadow cover you, his red hot anger radiating from him like steam. You turned the key, a lick away from salvation. But your efforts were all in vain. Instead of grabbing you by your hair or your arm, you felt something that made your blood run cold. A cool, snakeskin-like material slid around your throat and yanked you back. Hard.

Your hands flew to your throat, feeling a belt pressed tightly against it. You grappled, choking for air as Ghost forced you flush against his chest, his heart pounding against your back as yours did against your ribs. The sound of your stifled breath filled the room.

Ghost pulled you back, further into the room and deeper into your demise.

“You little whore,” he seethed. His eyes scorched marks into your skull. You scarcely heard him over your own struggle for survival, but his voice - his words - were unmistakable. “I have the good sense to break your fuckin’ neck right here, right now.” He pulled the belt tighter around your throat, his knuckles turning white, veins bulging in his arms and hands. He did not surrender, even as you clawed at his hands, scuffed the belt with your nails, the sound of you choking on leather a broken record. Tears sprang to your eyes; your vision was starting to darken, tendrils in your periphery. You swore you could feel your body wilting - dying - where you stood.

Yet, in all his infinite mercies, Ghost dropped the belt and threw you onto the bed, relinquishing your throat of König’s deadly wardrobe. You fell back, swallowing air as if it were your last breath, König nearby having watched the whole scene, eyes wide. Frantic.

You were granted little reprieve, however. The crack of leather against your skin, the burn, shocked you from your near-death haze, making you bolt upright and gasp.

Your eyes were wide as they fell upon Ghost’s hulking figure, shoulders heaving with every breath he took, the belt wrapped around his tattooed arm like a snake would a villain, the end practically smoking with the force with which it bit you. You watched each other, a stand-off. Though, Ghost wouldn’t call it that; a stand-off suggested that you at least had a way to defend yourself.

“Hold her down. Don’t let her get away.” Ghost addressed König, who, like lightning, struck, taking your belted wrists in his hands and hoisting you up, pulling you so far against himself that you thought your arms would tear. You writhed, trying to escape König’s grip, but his strength and Ghost’s stare discouraged you, subdued your efforts with the promise of punishment. Ghost reared up then snapped the belt against your thigh, a clap of flesh thunder filling the room. You cried out, tried to bring your knees into your chest to protect yourself, but Ghost was having none of it. He grabbed your ankle and pulled you back, striking you with the belt once he had you splayed out before him. And he kept hitting you. Over and over again, long past the point of tears soaking your face, your screams making your throat rasp, and your legs, stomach and cunt raw red with sensitivity and injury. Agony. Everything hurt, stinging and pulsing and throbbing - anguish in its most visceral form. And Ghost stood over you, chest and shoulders heaving, a mirror, the same man he’d been before.

“I wouldn’t’ve had to do this if you’d just behaved,” he said, slamming the belt against your cunt like a drum. Again. And again. An infinity, it seemed; this spiral cycle of discipline. The curve of the belt was soaked in sweat, blood staining the edge of it, dried - the only indication of any time having passed. You wailed beneath him, voice cracking as you begged him to cease - pleaded with him to spare you. König gave little comfort as he only watched, forcing you into stillness when you thrashed and jolted, no doubt smiling beneath the veil. Your voice hitched like an old radio channel as you asked - groveled - for him to stop, please, I can’t take any more - I-I’m sorry!

Ghost refused to relent. “You brought this on yourself, you little bitch.” His words rang low with absolution. Conviction. He lashed the belt across your thigh once more, then stepped - staggered - back, seemingly exhausted by his own vigour. Cold air felt like ice against your skin, and in that moment of salvation, you dared to hope that perhaps this phase of the punishment was over.

“Flip her over.” Ghost shattered your dreams without so much as a second look. Your gaze darted to his face, trying to find a hint of jest or leniency there. There were neither.

König released you, grabbed and forced you onto your front, then took your wrists hostage again. Ghost gave no time for you to adjust to the bedsheets running coarse against your raw skin, your thighs rubbing the skin of your raw pussy - before skinning you with the belt again. He went for where it’d hurt most for the next week or so; the backs of your thighs and cheeks.

“Be grateful I’m not making you count ‘em,” Ghost said. “Or we’d be here all night.” He placed the edge of the belt against your shoulder, making you flinch, and dragged it to the small of your back. “And trust me, I can do this all night.” You wept into the covers, fresh anguish flushing your body whenever Ghost’s belt tore against your body, turning it as red as the blood that ran beneath it, perhaps atop it if the liquid you felt staining your skin wasn’t sweat. Neither Ghost nor König gave any indication, either, save for König sucking a hissing breath between his teeth as he looked upon the sunset hued bruises of your backside, to transition from the palette of dusk to night within the day.

You didn’t know how much time had passed, but judging by how your ass and thighs had gone numb, you hazarded a guess of around five, ten minutes. Maybe even less given how harsh - heavy-handed - Ghost had been. Yet it felt longer. Much, much longer. And it likely would have gone on for that long, too, if König’s voice hadn’t cut through the whistling of the belt, the clapping of your skin. The distress of your cries.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he stated. Ghost ceased, his actions becoming a mystery to you. He sighed. A moment’s consideration passed. The sound of the belt being placed on something followed.

“Alright,” he said, tone tinged with a dulled sharpness that had you pricking your ears to listen for the agitation that lay within. König released you, and you’d have thanked him, kissed him silly, had it not been for the sound of him undoing his pants. His belt lay discarded nearby, the tool of your torture, far enough to be just within reach for either him or Ghost but not out of mind for you. The sound of his zipper coming undone made your stomach clench, tighten. With a shallow sigh, König freed himself of his restraints and held his length in his large, willing hand. You got to your knees, wincing as your heels dug into your cheeks and sent splintering pain through them, taking in the dim light of the room again. Your eyes stung. Your gaze drifted to König. Your heart stopped.

He was huge - long and thick and painful, veins bulging along his shaft, leading to his throbbing, leaking, bulbous tip. You could just already tell he was going to struggle fitting it all in. The image of him growing impatient and slamming into you flashed in your mind. Your heart stuttered, a simultaneously tepid and baltic feeling washed through you. Horror, amplified by the sound of Ghost’s zipper descending behind you. “Mmh, can’t wait to see you try and take me,” König said, voice thick and dark. Cruel. “M’gonna make you bleed from the inside, maus.” He gave a quick laugh. Dry. Your eyes found Ghost’s, pleading and wide. But he showed just as little mercy, even after he’d taught you his lesson, loosened himself from the shackles of his rage. “Save some of her energy for me,” he said, slipping his pants down his thighs. His cock bulged, strained against his boxers, a wet patch having formed on the front. “Don’t want her passin’ out on me.”

“Oh, don’t you?” König said. The men shared a laugh. You wanted to cry. To die.

Ghost ducked and reached beneath the bed, and your breath hitched. He already had the lighter…so what else was he retrieving?

König pumped himself once. Twice. He gave a groan. Without warning, he grasped you by your hair with one hand and pulled you back, almost tearing it from your head. You gave a shriek. König slapped you.

“Stupid fucking girl,” he growled. He slammed his hand against your cunt, roughly trawling his fingers across it, finding your entrance. You gasped, his fingers knives against your sensitive clit. “Make any noise like that again and I’ll give you something to cry about.” Your stomach dropped, your heart ached. You nodded.

“Okay, I’m sorry–” you whispered, voice merely air and nothing more. König grasped your face, held it tightly. “I’m sorry, what?”

You trembled, vision blurred by your tears. Ghost’s silhouette was still visible to you, a shadow on the corner of your vision.

“I’m sorry, Sir,”

König smirked beneath his veil. “Good girl. Finally learning her place.”

Though you hated to admit it, König’s praise gave you shallow hope that he’d be more lenient with you, in spite of all he’d said. And that was your first mistake.

König pulled your back to his chest, and his achingly long, thick fingers found your hole. With neither warning, nor ceremony, he plunged them into you - two. And you let out a silent scream. It felt like he was prodding you with medical instruments, reaching deep inside and feeling you. On the edges of your vision, Ghost re-emerged, holding something behind his back, though less out of secrecy and more of laxity. He slid his underwear down to his thighs, revealing his aching, angry, red tip. He pumped himself, groaning when you began to cry.

“Oh, shh, sweet girl,” came König, wiping a stray tear from your cheek. His fingers spasmed inside you. “You only get to cry when I say so.”

And he kept going. He slid his fingers in and out, picking up speed the wetter you became, hitting a deep, dark part of you that, much to your horror, made you feel good. His thumb pressed into your clit, forcing the beginnings of euphoria through you.

“God, so small. I’m starting to wonder how we’re going to fit inside you–” he bit his lip as fear sparked in your widened eyes, just visible to him as your head began to lol against his shoulder. ”--without tearing you.”

The image he invoked made you sick, made you want to scream and cry until you coughed up your lungs, or someone found you. Yet you resisted, for you knew which of the two possibilities was far likelier to occur than the other; and it was not the one you wanted. “So weak,” König taunted. “So pathetic.”

“So fuckin’ tiny,” Ghost chimed in, a smirk evident in his tone. “Bet she couldn’t fend off a feather.” He stroked himself, pumping harder than before as he coated his cock in his pre-cum. Your blood boiled, but you said nothing. Fear overpowered your need to correct them.

“Well, she can’t fend us off.” König pressed into you, forcing a third finger inside you, reminding you of who - what - you were dealing with. Your eyes squeezed shut, a pained moan rippling through you. Even as he grew closer to your sweet spot, the weight and length of his fingers were difficult to take, especially considering how little either of them had done to prepare you. Perhaps this was how they were warming you up. The thought made you shiver; the implication that what you’d already suffered was not the end. König’s free hand trawled your waist, dipping into its curvature and creeping up your ribs. His fingers were soft, yet a weighted intention lay upon them, lead on skin. That much could be felt in the way his hand, now flat against your chest, slithered around your breast, cupping it. All the while, König’s occupied hand continued to break into you, forcing your lips further and further apart the deeper his fingers descended, the more he added. Ghost’s breathing grew shorter the longer he watched, his movements growing faster, his dick slick with his own arousal. It glistened in the dim light of the room, glinting at you, reminding you that it was there. That he still had his turn. König encompassed your breast with his claws, kneading it, plucking at your hardened nipple. You swallowed the gasps and whines that crawled up your throat, waiting for the right moment to pounce - to make your forced arousal known. But König seemed to know regardless, his voice hot in your ear.

“You’re soaking me, Darling,” he rasped. His hips bucked into the back of you, restrained. For the moment. His breath caught in his throat as electricity shot through him, his tip catching on the small of your back, leaving a thin trail of pre between his tip and your skin, his thighs squeezing your sides and keeping you caged. He was more machine than man; a hydraulic press.

“König–” Ghost’s voice, breathy, surrounded by the squelching of his juices against his hand, was a welcomed distraction from the vague euphoria building in your core. “I’m close.” You swallowed the lump in your throat, wondering what on earth Ghost could be thinking of doing with his load. You prayed that he wasn’t going to put it in you.

König’s hand slid up from your breast up to your jaw, holding it in place before bumping you up onto your knees with his hips, forcing you forward. You winced at the impact. His cock caught between your cheeks, and he restrained himself still. Ghost approached the bedside, pumping furiously. Even with König’s fingers inside you, the sound of slick demanded your attention.

With his free hand, Ghost presented the prize he’d concealed from you. A collar and leash. You swallowed, trying to back up into König, but he held you firmly in place, his hips a deterrent, the threat of impalement.

“Don’t move.” Releasing his cock, Ghost fastened the collar around your neck, making sure it was snug and tight. He wrapped the chain round his forearm as he had done the belt. His hand returned to his member, resuming the raging pace he’d taken to earlier.

His breaths almost seemed to sync with yours; König still fucking you with his fingers, four strong and knuckle-deep, massaging your clit with his thumb, he left you breathless, left you trying to conceal the effects of his devastation upon your body.

Ghost did little to help; when he saw your eyes close or your body begin to slump, he pulled on the chain, bringing you closer to him, closer to consciousness.

His pants transitioned from light gasps to low groans. You knew he didn’t have long. He pulled at your bottom lip with his thumb. When you didn’t oblige, his stare hardened.

“Open.”

He didn’t have to ask twice before you parted your lips, allowing him into you. He fed his cock into your waiting mouth, hot and heavy on your tongue; a salty residue tingled on your taste buds. With his hand on the chain, he pulled, forced you down on his member, grip tightening when you initially resisted.

“Don’t test me, girl,” he glowered, eyes dark and intentions darker. “Bite me, and I promise you that you’ll never be able to use this mouth again.” He took your jaw in his chained hand and squeezed. You nodded.

“Good girl.”

Swallowing around him, making him rock ever closer to you, you closed your eyes and took the plunge. He allowed you to set your own pace at the very least, making your descent upon him easier. Well, ‘descent’ being a lenient use of the term; you just bobbed on the tip, and while Ghost didn’t complain, he didn’t praise you, either.

“What, you shy or somethin’?” he said, brow creasing. You looked up at him, hoped that your anger could be felt - or couldn’t. Pleasure made your gaze indeterminate. The knot in his brow dissipated, and a look of revelation crossed his features. “Hold on,” he said, slow and intentional. “Are you new to this?” König stilled behind you, fingers ceasing to coax your cunt into weeping. You could feel him watching intently from behind.

With little to lose and your head hazy with fright, you nodded.

Both men were quiet. Ghost leaned around you, glancing at König. They spoke in their invisible language, unknown to anyone but them, unteachable but learnable.

Ghost’s gaze returned back to you, and he relinquished some of the pressure he was enforcing on the leash. “Oh, Love,” he began, voice softer than it had ever been, eyes half-lidded with what one could construe as concern. “Why didn’t you tell us before?” The question sounded interrogative enough that you felt compelled to answer, but given your position, you didn’t know what to say or how - or that you could, for that matter. You just stared with those same wide, pleading eyes.

Any concern Ghost’s face may have possessed evaporated before your eyes, and before you could even register the change, his grip returned and he slammed you down on his cock. You gagged, cried, eyes stinging with tears and your throat panging with Ghost’s brute force. He refused to relent, even as you began to cry, the pain easily making your situation that much more unbearable. He peeled you off his cock before piling into you again, and again, and again. Soon, he’d established the rhythm of a symphony you didn’t want to hear, the sound of his pre wet against your lips.

König groaned behind you, his fingers gripping your cheeks.

“Fuck – I can feel you taking him,” he said, breathy. He began pumping into you again, his hand remaining iron around your jaw, giving you no choice but to to keep taking Ghost. The dying heat in your centre re-ignited, much to your despair. You tried to ignore it, tried to focus on the fiery ache in your throat, but König just hit a spot in you that made your body want more, despite your mind’s resistance to the fog trying to settle over it. Ghost gave a sharp groan, panting, his thrusts becoming less coordinated, more frantic as his release came into sight. Your heart thudded in your chest, echoing as if it were contained in a steel chamber, adrenaline replacing your blood. The thought of biting him came into your mind, but the consequences that seemed to be your birthright overshadowed it, frightened it away.

You were struggling, twitching as you fought the urge to pull away, knowing either König or Ghost would shove you right back onto Ghost’s cock. Ghost held little regard for your struggling, instead making sure to keep slamming his tip against the back of your throat as if there was a prize for doing so, for bruising your voice and making it nigh-unusable. You were certain you could see him snarling beneath the mask as he forced you to take all of him, your nose pressed against the short, dark, curling hairs above his weapon.

Ghost pulled out, taking you by surprise, leaving you whining. He may have thought that you wanted more, but he didn’t act on it if he did. With a few more breathy, panting, groaning strokes, he came on your face, coating you. You gasped, tried backing up, but König held you in place, unrelenting as he continued to pound the shape of his hand into you. You heaved deep breaths, trying to regain the air König had knocked out of you and Ghost had stolen from you.

Your chest heaved, matching the exasperation of Ghost’s shoulders. König’s pumping fingers slowed, then came to a halt. The heat in your stomach died once more. You could feel how wet your backside was, cold as air hit it. Ghost’s cum dripped down your chin, into your open mouth and onto your chest. And Ghost watched, a feral gleam in his eye as white, milk tears gleamed upon your skin like pearls.

König seemed to care little for the haze Ghost had placed you in, inspecting Ghost’s cum as it dripped across his hand like a prostitute’s mascara, before trying to wipe it off. He dragged his palm across your cheek, gathering Ghost’s load and pressing it to your lips.

“Lick.” Was all he said. And you obliged, oversaturating your mouth with Ghost for the second time that night. And you looked up into Ghost’s eyes as you did this. They were hard, like he disagreed, yet he said nothing.

This was your chance, you were sure of it: get Ghost on-side by showing your loyalty to him - make him think you were on his team.

König’s hand came up to your mouth, wiping pearls from your lip. You let your tongue slip out. “My, my,” Konig said. “Eager, are we?” When he pressed his fingers into your mouth, you acted.

Your second mistake of the evening.

You bit down. A pitbull in force. Straddled his fingers with your teeth.

König yelled, his fingers dislodging from inside you. Everything happened in a flurry of moments; an avalanche of seconds colliding upon you as one rather than consecutive moments. “You fucking bitch!” König’s voice sounded as if it were underwater as he cursed at you. Less than a moment later, his hand found your face, smacking it, leaving a streak of your juices slashed across your cheek like blood. You were on your front before you could even make a noise, and a pair of hands forced your head into the bedsheets, suffocating you, disorienting you. You could feel how tangled your hair was, how matted with sweat and cum it had become.

Ghost’s hand tangled in your hair, tore you up from the sheets. He was not pleased. His eyes told you so.

König was somewhere behind you, though exactly where was unknown to you, which somehow made you feel worse than knowing he was there at all. Your heart pounded in your ears, blood pumping through you, a red ocean within your crust. You couldn’t hear much outside of your atmosphere. The bed remained dipped behind you. König remained behind you.

Your breath caught in your throat when a hand, thrice the size of your own, came down upon your head, pulling you back by your tresses. It wasn’t Ghost’s, for he abandoned you when his successor took charge. You thought your Eve’s apple would tear through your throat as your skin was stretched so finely. König’s eyes sent ice through you, yet you couldn’t even see them.

“You arrogant wench–” he said, voice close to your ear, hot and sibilant “--I’m going to make sure this really, really hurts.”

Once again, you were slammed onto your front, König’s hands dislodging from your scalp and relinquishing you to gravity. You began preparing yourself to fight back, preparing to take a life if they planned on taking yours. That was before something cool and thick pressed against your throat. And in an instant, everything changed.

You couldn’t swallow - couldn’t even think - as this object bore into you. Someone grabbed your hair from behind, yanking you up. That same person held the object, which, by the handle in your periphery, you saw was a knife. König’s knife.

“Going to have to domesticate this little bitch, show her who she belongs to.” König’s voice dripped, venomous. You fisted the sheets, tried to keep your tears a secret even to yourself, hoping you could channel some of the mortification brewing in you into the sheets.

“Now, König, don’t be too hasty.” Ghost said. “Don’t wanna be fucking a corpse now, do you?” Ghost was less the voice of reason here than of self-interest; he didn’t want to fuck your corpse. But König’s lack of input, his silent neutrality, made you think that he did. Or would. Oh god, what have I done–

König ground his stiff member against your raw flower, grunting when he caught himself on your hole. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to keep your pained mewls from leaking out. You knew you had no right to - you knew they wouldn’t listen. Yet it came out anyway; a request, nothing more. Meek as the woman it tumbled from.

“Dont, please,”

Ghost and König stilled.

“Say that again.” König said. You couldn’t tell if it was a demand or a challenge, but you complied regardless.

“Please, please don’t. I-I’ve never–” “What? What haven’t you done?” König’s voice made you tense every time you heard it, especially now as he held your life in his hands. You swallowed shallowly around the blade. You closed your eyes, squoze them tight.

“I’ve never done this before.”

Another bout of silence. Then, an arrow of laughter pierced it.

“Aww, are you a virgin, Darling?” König’s use of the petname evoked a primal despair from within you. You were surprised you hadn’t begun to shake with fear. When you didn’t answer quickly enough, König’s hand released your hair and found your cunt and slapped it. You yelped, trying not to decapitate yourself on the blade as König’sstrength propelled you forward, your lips sensitive from his prior assault.

“We’ll take good care of you,” came Ghost, who seemed less willing to adopt König’s sarcasm; perhaps only because you hadn’t wronged him the way you had König. Even then, you had no doubt he would treat you as if you had.

“Though, nobody’s ever gonna want you after tonight,” Ghost said. “We promise you that.”

“And all because you wanted to act like an animal.” König offered no respite, a thin smile in his voice.

Your heart sank ever lower as all you could do was listen and accept what they were telling you - accept your fate. You hadn’t wanted to admit to yourself that you’d really hoped they - or at the very least Ghost - would take care of you. Perhaps before, but not now. Not after you’d resisted.

“Can’t believe no one else’s ever claimed this cunt.” A twinge of surprise, perhaps even morbid curiosity, spiked König’s tone. Yet you gave him no answer, no resolve to his curiosity. You remained a statue.

“You wanna take her?” Ghost asked. The fact they spoke of you as if you weren’t even there made you feel oddly hurt. But what were they going to do, realistically? Ask your permission?

“You chose her, you take her.” Konig handed Ghost the knife.

“You sure?” Ghost said. “After what she did to you, I thought you’d–” “Fuck her while she’s still tight, Ghost.” König’s tone was rocky, monotone with rubble anger spiking it. “Because I promise you, she won’t be worth your while after I’m done with her.”

Chose her - after I’m done with her - your stomach turned. This entire attack had been completely coincidental. It could have easily been anyone else, someone you had no idea existed. And yet the gods brought them to you.

The bed dipped as Ghost came behind you. He took your chain leash, letting it mould back against his skin as if it were an extension of his limb, and pulled it taught against your throat. On your other end, he proposed the tip of his cock to your lips, and you tensed. Your body near forced him out, refusing to take any of his length. Ghost scowled, pushed you down further into the bedsheets, keeping you still. He spread your lips with his fingers, and, within an instant, forced himself inside. You gasped, letting out a silent cry into the duvet. The knife wedged against your throat, a reminder. Ghost released a strangled groan, your cunt squeezing his tip.

“Christ,” he breathed, “so fuckin’ tight,” His grip on the handle tightened. His thighs were pressed against your own, rubbing your raw skin, making your backside erupt in agony. You only choked on a sob, begging and praying to any god that may have been listening to make it stop.

Ghost took a breath, and you braced yourself. He pressed, pushed further inside, releasing guttural grunts as he forced another inch into you. Your resolve was cracking like glass beneath a great weight; you knew it would shatter. You knew you were shattering.

“Come on, (Y/N),” he said, your voice rolling off his tongue as he’d roll it against your cunt. “You can do it - you can take me.” His voice was breathy, yet there was sincerity there. He was giving you the opportunity for you to show some initiative before he took it from you. Giving you the illusion of choice.

For your sake, you tried to relax, tried to ignore the heavy, throbbing mass your cunt was reluctantly swallowing - more so choking on. That, and the knife tucked against your neck. You willed yourself to relax as best you could. Feeling your walls loosening, Ghost slammed the rest of his length into you. And you moaned. Loudly.

You hadn’t meant to, and it was not one of pleasure, more shock. It just came out, and it hung in the air like a curse. Or a blessing.

“Looks like our pretty little pet isn’t as resistant as she thought,” König said, a mocking, sly tone to his voice. Beneath a heavy gaze, you looked at him as best you could, without slitting your throat on the blade, trying to muster as much of a scowl as you were able. You assumed that, with Ghost behind you, he would protect you from König’s wrath until his turn was finished. Your third mistake of the evening.

König’s face shifted, and the light crinkle around his eyes dropped, leaving him almost expressionless, though you could only feel this change, not see it.

“You think you can mock me, girl?” He said. He glowered over you, looking down at you.

You didn’t answer, throat rough and dry from your crying, and your fatigue slowing your cognition. That, and your complete unwillingness to give König the satisfaction of your distress. König said nothing as he took your silent answer. Instead, he neared your compromised form, bent at the waist, completely exposed. You felt the bed dip, closer now.

I’m sorry, you wanted to say - plead. You wanted to rectify your error, to undo whatever awful plan you’d just put into motion. Not that König would care, though.

His presence seemed to materialise behind you, and you felt Ghost shuffle sideways. Then, he spread your lips.

Oh no.

Before you could scream out, apologise – do anything – König was pressing the tip of his cock to your already stuffed hole, making you cower. A million ways to be injured by what König was planning to do shot through your head. Even just one of them would make a traumatising story to tell at the doctor’s office, never mind be excruciating.

“I was going to be lenient. To let you take us one at a time.” He huffed, euphoria shooting down his cock.”But seeing as you seem to have the intelligence of an animal, I’m going to treat you like one.” His hand came to grip your waist, unrelenting. “Let’s see how well you can mock this, Kitty.” Königs accented voice sent electricity shooting to your core. He spat on your cunt and pressed forward.

Both men were thick and long - enough so that you could just about take one of them. But now with two of them trying to skewer you, you were sure you’d sooner pass out. Your cunt throbbed, screaming for a moment of release as you failed to adjust to two of them. König grunted, breath shuttering, as he managed to wedge the tip in, making you ache, made you feel more exposed than you already were.

“What? Got n-nothing to say, Kitty?” König said. He stroked your lips with thick, rough fingers. You gave no indication of a response, being caught in your throat alongside your sobs. König let out a hum of a laugh.

He forced himself further inside, and you squeezed your eyes shut, tears streaming down your cheeks and into the duvet. Ghost groaned at the friction, pulling tighter on your leash.

“God, so fuckin’ small–” his voice drew thinner than before, less certain. He made an attempt at comfort, at love. He ran a hand against your backside, squeezing it. König moved, the beginnings of a thrust. Ghost gave protest, though not on your behalf. “Watch out,” he said, warning. “Don’t wanna finish in her just yet.”

König gave a hum, an underdeveloped laugh. “Hm, good thinking.”

It took a lot of effort, but, after brute forcing his way inside, König was balls-deep within you in a matter of minutes, breathing heavily and ready to burst at any second. Your walls crushed him - both of them - drawing a guttural moan that sounded too human to belong to either when they rutted into you, unable to resist the morsels of euphoria your body submitted to them.You heaved laboured breaths against the bedsheets, body ready to give out at any second.

“Ready?” König said, aiming at Ghost. Ghost, presumably, nodded, and the two began to pump into you.

When one pulled out, the other plunged. That was the system. The room filled with the grotesque symphony of skin slapping against skin, of König’s rising moans, Ghost’s groans, of your body’s liquids making their assault on you easier, almost inviting them in. Something thick and viscous rolled down your thighs, and you couldn’t have known whose body it initially came from. You couldn’t admit that they way they battered your insides, hit your cervix, made pleasure rupture in your core, made you buzz and tingle in places you didn’t want to.

Their balls smacked the sensitive skin of your flower red, almost raw. Just as unrelenting as the men you belonged to.

König was notably rougher than Ghost, his cock seeming to pummel you at twice the speed, making sure to catch you where it hurt. Whenever you sobbed, he smirked and made sure to hit that same spot again. And again. And again.

With both of their instruments inside you, you knew your stomach was bulging in one form or another. And, in a bid to satiate your curiosity, or to confirm that what was happening to you was indeed real, you slid your hand up to your stomach, pressing your palm against your skin.

They were massive. They both made a noise of mock protest. Ghost grabbed your hair.

“Do that again,” he said, breath laboured and wavering in time with him bounding you on his cock. He pressed the flat edge of the weapon to your apple, tightened his grip on your strands, letting you know it wasn’t a choice.

With little room to refuse, and Ghost’s threatening grip on your hair and the knife, you obliged, pressing your palm flat against the outline in your stomach which you recognised as Ghost’s. He gave the slightest of moans and relented, letting your hair go and trailing his hand to rest on the small of your back, as if he expected to feel the silhouette of his cock there, too.

“Good girl,” he panted. “Very good girl.”

Perhaps minutes passed, perhaps an eternity. The only mark of time having passed at all was the electric rope in your core tightening, and the inevitable undoing of your captors.

“Fuck– I– I’m close,” König said, his pace quickening, hips stuttering. They grew out of sync, pounding into you two at a time, spreading your walls wider, deeper.

“Yeah, me–e too,”

The realisation of what they were planning to do settled in.

“No, stop–” Your pleas fell on deaf ears, neither of the men even poised to discipline you, too lost in their bid for release to spare you even a glance.

“König, Ghost, please–” you gasped as Ghost hit your sweet spot, eliciting a moan from you.

“I heard that female orgasms increase the chances of impregnation,” he said between breaths. You could just feel him staring down at you. König, too, no doubt smiling that sly smile of his. He existed only to torture you. “Let’s test that theory.”

You tried pulling away - a futile effort, really. König just pulled you right back, impaling you back on his dick and drawing a moan from him, a sob from you.

With the last of their resolve, they pummeled into you. And, with a choked moan, your stomach spasmed, your muscles burning, tightening. Your orgasm tore through you, a hurricane of blood, sweat and tears on the populus of your body. You wailed into the sheets, your walls trapping your attackers inside you. Both men finished, a sirenic, low moan leaving König, and a savage, territorial growl coming from Ghost. One after the other, they burst inside you, loads thick and heavy, flooding you with a warmth you didn’t want. And because you were angled so - with your backside practically vertical to your head, you could feel it running down into the deepest areas of yourself, gravity only aiding in its aim.

You gave one last attempt to break free - to stop the inevitable - but it was of no use. Ghost had you at the mercy of the leash, releasing himself inside you, spurts of his white hot cum claiming every inch of you as his own. König’s seed ran like lava, burning you up, scorching paths into you, scarring you with his actions. You had no choice but to take it, to feel your future slipping away from you as both of these men bound you with their offspring, their cum overflowing within you and oozing from your lips, rolling down your thighs. You gasped when König scooped the remnants of Ghost and himself and plunged them back inside. “Better plug her,” he said to Ghost, who you felt liberate your throat of the knife, detach, and slip out from you, leaving you cold in his absence. König still inside you, you tried to break away, to pull yourself from him, but he gripped you by the shoulders and slammed you right back down on him. And he didn’t stop. In Ghost’s departure, he crushed his hips against your backside, making sure he hit your skin where it was most sensitive. You stifled your hisses, your moaning cries. Not only did your backside and thighs hurt, but your prize, too, ebbing and drooling with their seed. König eased up only to lean down, pressed against you. He lifted his veil, placed his lips on your shoulder.

“No better expression suits you more than pain, my dear,” he said, voice low, though it was unlikely he was keeping this a secret from Ghost. “And I will force you to wear it until you’re stuffed so full of my cum that you look pregnant.” Proving his point, he thrusted against you, thighs slapping against your own. You choked on a cry. “Understood?”

With what little will you had left, you nodded.

And then he sank his teeth into you.

You screamed into the bedsheets, König’s force being nothing near that of a love bite and rather a gouge. Only when he was satisfied, when the wound was a half inch or so deep, did he retract. His veil remained hiked above his nose, and, luckily for you, you couldn’t see the blood dripping from his teeth, staining his lips and his tongue as he licked it from the outskirts of his mouth, and, when he descended again, your shoulder. He gave low, panting moans, the taste of your metal dancing on his tongue. You felt warmth trickle from your shoulder, heard it drip onto the sheets. Ghost returned, to which König, parting from your skin, muttered a “Perfect,” before he pulled out, the sound of your drenched bodies slickened in parting making your stomach turn. Before you could even make a noise of relief or protest, something large and round and cold - unused - was slipped inside you. You grimaced at the feeling, shivering. You dared to turn and face König and Ghost, who only admired the view of you. Their eyes gleamed, primal - filled with authority and the need to breed you.

Without thought, you reached behind to feel what was inside you, wincing when shards of pain shot down your arm from your shoulder. And you were swiftly rewarded with a hand gripping your wrist, twisting it in such a way that was distinctly militarian. Utilitarian. Made to disarm. You barely contained a yelp.

“Not yet, Princess,” Ghost said. A thumb smoothed over your aching wrist, as if it didn’t belong to the hand that was causing your suffererance. Ghost’s grip on your wrist loosened. Your breath remained uneven.

Before you could say or do anything more, you felt König press his knife to your throat, a ritual you’d grown accustomed yet not comfortable to, flushing the barely-blunted edge to your Eve’s apple. You could see him smile beneath the mask, eyes crinkling. Ghost loomed over the two of you, ever the shadow he was born to be, eyes glinting as he watched you.

“Now, if you behave for us—“

“And be a good little girl—“

“We won’t be forced to use this,” König punctuated his point with a flash of the knife against your skin.

“Or this.” Ghost retrieved the lighter, catching its silver body in the light, glinting in your eyes.

You swallowed — shallowly — your throat bobbing against the blade, just shy of impaling itself upon its metal body. When you gave no sign of resistance, König lowered himself between your legs, his great arms bulging, veins carving across muscle, county lines on a country of a man.

All the while, your shoulder bled, jagged blood lines webbing down your chest, racing.

Ghost stroked himself, lacking the timidity of a man whose body admitted this was his first time doing anything like this, yet deficient of the depravity to give it his all. He was saving himself - his release - for something else.

König pressed his thighs up against the back of your own, his aching cock pulsing against your abused core. Even the mere implication of what he was going to do with it made you ache and throb, more so than you already were. His body was scorching behind you, burning you.

Though, with your cunt plugged, you wondered what they could possibly be planning on doing with you now. Unless…

Ghost resided close by, watching König manhandle you.

König brought a strong hand around your jaw and pulled you so that your back was flush against his chest, his heart, which hammered like a chisel into your back. Yet his heart did not thunder out of fear.

Saliva pooled in your throat, and you swallowed against the blade, heart spiking as your skin forfeited itself to the cold metal. König rolled against you, as if trying to fit the shape of your curvature. He grunted when his dick was caught between your soft cheeks.

“Now,” he said, breath shuttering, “do exactly as I say and I’ll let you live.”

Electricity shot down every nerve that wasn’t already fried, your throat grew drier and your heart leapt. You could feel sweat pouring from your every pore, making you feel sticky, adhesive; trying to keep König attached to you.

König yanked you, making you wince, and forced you to face Ghost. Ghost still stroked himself, though with more frevour now, staring you dead in the eyes as he did so. His unwavering gaze made your face burn, caused you to try to cover yourself - only for König to press the expanse of the knife to your throat once more.

“Don’t.”

And with that said, you let your hands drop to your sides, swaying as you relinquished control of your body to König. Your eyes rested on the bedsheets, Ghost lingering in the corners of your vision. Until he came to the forefront, steps thunderous, waves crashing together in a roaring sea. He took your jaw in his hand and made you look up at him. Your neck panged, sore.

“Rather disobedient tonight, aren’t you.” he said. Merely a fact, not a debate. The feeling of König’s knife and Ghost’s hand in such close proximity felt more dangerous than if it were either alone.

When you didn’t answer, instead staring up at Ghost glassy-eyed, he sighed. Or laughed. He released your jaw, letting you retract, and trailed his fingers to the side of your head. He took a lock of hair between his fingers and released himself with his other hand, reaching for his lighter.

“What are you doing?” You asked, tone belying the terror which resided beneath. Barely. You tried to pull back, but König’s weight made it impossible. He was a wall, no more human than a brick, yet possessing the monstrosity of a Bible’s worth of demons. And Ghost was no different.

Ghost said nothing as he flipped the lid and flicked the flame into being. When you refused to offer yourself, König forced you forward, leaning over your shoulder, your throbbing, burning bleeding shoulder, watching the spectacle.

Your eyes widened, remnant tears falling, and looked up at Ghost. There was a smirk beneath his mask, you just couldn’t see it. It existed in feeling, the rarest, most difficult universal language to learn, let alone master.

Ghost brought the flame to the tips of your hair. You shrieked, tried backing away again, but to no avail. The flame consumed the strands bunched between Ghost’s fingers, and an image that sent cold dread washing over you flashed behind your eyes. You, on fire, with nobody around to help.

You were going to die.

The flame consumed your strands, voracious in its pursuit as it left blackened, frail, curled hairs in its wake.

Before the flame reached your head, Ghost lifted his mask and wet his fingers with his tongue, putting the flame out between them. Your body remained still. Paralysed. The image remained, and you hadn’t realised it had not come to pass.

“If you talk back to us again, I’ll let the flame burn your skin next time.” Ghost’s head tilted, taking in your petrification. “Understand?”

Breaking from your haze, you looked up at Ghost, tearful. You nodded. His eyes crinkled.

“Good.”

He closed the lighter and discarded it. The knife had not been removed from the equation, however. It rested in König’s hand.

Ghost made a gesture to König, who tugged you back into his arms. Ghost joined you, coming to sit beside König, behind you.

Ghost’s length was already coated in pre and your own fluids, albeit some had crusted, making it easy for him to slip in and out, especially considering how wet you’d become, how much of a mess they’d made of you. Ghost imparted himself unto you, pressing the head of his cock against your puckered hole, nudging his way in. You braced yourself, tried to relax so he could finish and bring an end to this trial of your ordeal.

Seeing Ghost already indulging in your torture, König joined, doing away with his restraint. Dissatisfied with the prospect of merely touching himself. He brought the head of his cock to your hole. Ghost growled, but König didn’t move. In fact, slipping a hand across your stomach, he slammed into you.

You gasped, the air knocked out of your lungs. Ghost, now no longer afforded the time to take his own, laced his fingers into your hair and forced his length into you, gripping your head. “Easy, Princess,” he said, voice low, breath shuttering as the friction from your tight walls and Konig’s cock. It became a competition, one he was determined to win.

König caught his breath, still adjusting to his cock being deliciously squeezed between you and Ghost, pressing his hand to your stomach.

“I can feel myself inside you,” he breathed. He grabbed your hand and pressed it to where his had been. And you felt him.

For the second time that night, you felt König’s dick impaling you. You almost wept.

“Stop distractin’ her,” Ghost intervened, stroking your hair. You winced, cautious.

König made no protests, and Ghost began his pace. He started off slow, more for his benefit than yours, and slipped an inch or so deeper into the chasm of your asshole each time. And you could do nothing but take it - take him - and try not to cry or moan every time he hit a sensitive spot.

König, seemingly having released his earlier grudge, was slower with you, too. He fed himself into you, inch by inch, enthralled by the image of your hole stretched over both of them, bursting as your body grappled with the weight forming in your lower half.

Their pace wasn’t in time with the other as it had been earlier; it was uncoordinated, softer in one aspect and rougher in another - it was purely and unequivocally the pursuit of their own pleasure as their earlier displays had been. Yet, there was some consideration there in the way that König’s head fell to the crook of your neck, resting there as his hand smoothed over your front, over himself sheathed inside you. The way he whispered “Good girl,” into your ear, so quiet the words almost caught in the fabric of his mask. The knife remained, though. In the periphery, on the edge of the bed. Neither here nor there.

Meanwhile, Ghost’s breathing grew shallow, shorter, with every stroke of his cock and the slap of his balls against your raw backside, breath hitching when he hit a sweet spot. König aided him, digging his fingers into your stomach where Ghost’s cock pounded you, forcing Ghost to give out a surprised moan. His grip on your hair softened, only there to guide you now rather than to discipline. When you clenched around him, an involuntary tensing of your body, he gave a low moan.

Your body ached, and so did your insides.

A vague, wilted bloom of pleasure persisted below your stomach, though it wasn’t electric. Rather, your body’s exhausted, half-hearted attempt at quelling the hopelessness of your situation by trying to get something out of it. It began in your centre, the lovechild of König and Ghost’s incessant pounding and moaning, and the prospect of your future with them; the future that sloshed around inside you with every thrust, plugged, sealed. Promised.

After what was less than an eternity yet more than mere minutes, König finished, releasing a battlecry of a moan, his body seizing up as his release rippled through him. He continued to roll into you, though subdued. His cum reached deep within you, you being vertical again. He pressed a single kiss to your shoulder through his mask, his breath almost felt through the veil against your skin.

Ghost followed shortly after, throwing his head back and groaning your name into the confines of his mask, warm, thick ropes of his cum painting the inside of your ass white. You could feel how thick he was inside you, like a web. A trap.

Through half-lidded, hazy eyes, Ghost looked down at you. He perhaps smiled, having outlasted König, won, and petted your head - your hair. He pulled out. “Took us so well.” His voice was drunk, soaked in lust. “Good girl.”

You dared to wonder if that was the only name they knew for you, if they’d forgotten your true name already.

König pulled out of you, and, in a turn of events, shifted from behind you and brought you into his arms. He pressed you into the bedsheets - into the pillows - your arms raised above your head. To sleep–perchance to dream - of a reality where you remained unsullied and unused by two men who were strangers to you.

He reached beneath the bed - a cove of wonder, at this stage - and withdrew a plug. You didn’t fight him off as he plunged it into you, marveling at the bulge in your stomach, the shape of your future.

Bound by the belt and gagged by your own fear, you watched - felt - Ghost sink down on top of you, half-hard cock resting on your stomach, heavy, like a statement. He made sure not to squeeze the mound in your middle, rather taking to admiring it. Without taking his eyes off you, he reached behind him, clicked his fingers, and König brought him a candle and his discarded lighter. He lit the candle and held it over you. The flame danced in his eyes, wavered. He put it on the bedside, taking your breasts in his calloused hands as it burned in your periphery.

“Won’t be long now,” he said, and you couldn’t tell if it was directed at you or König. Königanswered, knowing infinitely more than you. He looked down at you, an uncharacteristic fondness growing in his eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. He brushed a sweat-sodden, stray lock of hair from your eyes. “Not long at all.”

“You’ll be bursting with our offspring in no time, Love.” Your heart stopped. Despite the sentiment in his eyes, you failed to feel the warmth he was trying to project - the heat radiating from his hands at either side of your head. Your blood ran cold.

“Why…” your voice caught in your throat, and you looked away. You didn’t want to speak out of turn. Not again.

Ghost and König’s head tilted. Had the situation not been so dire, you may have found it endearing.

“Go on.” Ghost’s voice was monotone, yet curiosity danced within it. The candle continued to burn.

You sniffed, swallowed, tried not to think of everything, tried not to burst out crying. You looked up into Ghost’s blackened eyes. Something initial and unreadable slumbered there.

“Why me?”

Ghost backed up, peeling his eyes off you and looking to König, who only mirrored his expression.

“Why–” you sobbed, breath hitching, “--Why did you choose me?”

“Oh, Darlin’...” Ghost sighed. He brought a hand to your cheek, and you winced. Something almost blue, sorrowful, shimmered in his eyes. He cupped your cheek, his hand a hammock for your megrim, splitting head, the thoughts that bundled and overflowed from within.

“We…we chose you because…” Ghost looked to König, who gave a shallow nod. Confirmation. “We chose you because we–”

“You’re the most beautiful girl we’ve ever seen.”

At König’s interruption, Ghost’s eyes widened fractionally, yet agreement nestled between both men, just as you were pinned beneath Ghost. Said man’s attention returned back to you and your teary eyes.

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” he said, wiping a lone tear from your cheek with his thumb. “We’ve seen how you are with your friends, your family. Strangers. You…really seem to care about them.”

Had you not been exhausted, you’d have questioned the pair (or perhaps not) about when - how - they’d seen you before this encounter. Then again, even in this state, the implication weighed heavy on you.

Yet, another bloomed inside you, one you detested; the forewarnings and warmth of flattery, the timid fluttering in your chest, a single butterfly, straying from its kaleidoscope. The snowflake before the avalanche.

Tears slipped from the outer corners of your eyes, and Ghost caught every one of them. Lifting the bottom of his mask, he kissed them away, leading salty trails from your eyes to the corners of your lips, where, upon his falterance, he pressed his lips to yours. Despite the entirety of the evening, it was chaste, concerned only with you. Ghost pressed you further into the covers, taking you deeper, his lips beginning to move against yours. You didn’t return it. But he didn’t seem to mind.

Parting, Ghost’s cheeks - or that which you could see of them - were pink, flushed with the beginnings of abashment. He panted quietly, looking down at you, regarding you as if you were the only person in all the world. And he gave you his parting word.

“I can think of no one better to bear my offspring than you.”

König watched, a flash of envy’s serpentine robe dancing behind his eyes, here one moment and gone the next. He placed a hand on Ghost’s shoulder.

“The candle,” was all he said. Ghost gave minimal response and reached for the burning length of wax on the bedside. It wavered, then flickered out of mortal existence when Ghost snuffed it out, lowering his mask and returning to anonymity after the fact.

Your stare flicked between Ghost, König, and the candle. Ghost pressed down - or rather, rested his full weight on - the bottom of your stomach, squeezing the breath out of you, making you fold. Something trickled from your plugged cunt, forced out under Ghost’s weight. Ghost placed a hand on your chest and pushed you back down.

You could smell the candle’s perfume as Ghost tipped it, hot, running wax bleeding over its lip and directly onto your nipple. Your gasped, nay, shrieked, König muffling your cry with his hand. It burned, ebbed. Throbbed. The sensitive, erect skin tingled as the wax settled, hardening. Trapping it.

“Shh, Princess,” Ghost said, smoothing a hand over your hair, looking past the tears welling in your eyes. “It’s alright.”

No it’s not! you wanted to say, to scream from the rooftops. But no-one could hear you now. You could only swallow and endure.

Ghost’s hand trailed from your hair to your breast, which he kneaded with a softness foreign to this night. His eyes glimmered with something incomprehensible as he all but bore down on you. You hated to admit it, but he seemed tender, which, combined with his gentle massaging, made the space between your legs feel warm with a subdued current, the hair raises before lightning strikes.

And that tenderness ran concurrent with his cruelty. For just a moment later, he poured hot wax onto your other nipple, now having coated both in a red, hardening shield. You cried against and into König’s hand, which he kept firmly against your lips. He ran his other hand through your hair, emulating the soothing cycle of comfort he’d only ever seen, not enacted.

Ghost discarded the candle on the bedside table and cupped your other breast with his now-free hand, leaning down to press kisses to the valley between the two. They started out as gentle, yet firm, chasing away your fresh tears and seeming to ease enough of your tension that König no longer saw the need to keep you quiet, instead resting his hands on your shoulders, rubbing them. Or keeping you pinned.

Ghost’s kisses trailed down beneath your breasts, lapping at their underside with a slow tongue. You shuddered under his touch, his watch. He veered off to one breast and, without warning, engulfed your wax-coated nipple with his mouth, peeling the wax off with his teeth. You nearly gasped as cold air rushed to the sensitive bud, repeating the process with the other nipple as Ghost peeled the wax from it, leaving you feeling more exposed - raw.

He gave you no time to adjust to this feeling - as if a layer of your skin had been shed - before he took one of your buds in his mouth and sucked. Hard.

Your body convulsed, your sensitivity making Ghost’s actions nigh-unbearable, making you mewl. In spite of that, it felt…good. It sent a shock of electricity to your clit, making you tingle and writhe. You resisted the urge to rock yourself against Ghost’s hips as he remained nestled atop your thighs. König’s hand slithered down to your chest to keep you still. Ghost stuffed his mouth with your breast, and for a second - a split moment in history - you wondered, considered, if he’d choke on it, if he’d be okay.

He erased the doubt from your mind, voice loud and clear as day.

“Can’t wait ‘til you’re pregnant,” he said. He spared you a glance, peering up from beneath the shadows of his mask. “‘Nd I get to suck you dry; milk you like the whore you are.”

König made a noise of agreement. “Pretty little bitch, only good for breeding and fucking.”

“And trust me, Darlin’,” Ghost rasped, panting lightly as he pulled away. “You’ll never go a day where you’re not full.”

Proving his point, Ghost retracted, his cock catching on your clit, trailing to your hole. The implication alone made you clench, and, for a second, you wanted to believe that it was because your body didn’t want him - want them - and was trying to keep them out. On the contrary. It was practicing to keep them in.

“No-one will ever want you when we’re done with you.” König seethed, eyes dark behind the shadow of the mask. “There won’t be another thought behind those eyes, except of us.”

You sobbed - mourned - for yourself. For the future they were both robbing from you and holding hostage, with your demise nestled snugly within the memory of that camera, and the child you were surely carrying now, stomach bulging with the makings of it; symbolic. Ghost brought the knife against your cheek, having obtained it during your distress, dragging the blunted edge across your skin.

“We’ll mark you up so good that no man will ever even look at you.” Ghost tilted you to face him with the knife, dead stare penetrating you, making you feel cold.

“Now, Princess–” König’s voice boomed, making you jump - arch - against Ghost’s chest. “Touch yourself.”

The command was foreign to you, completely alien. You almost asked him to repeat it for fear of not having heard him correctly. He looked at you - looked down at you - with a half-lidded stare. Condescending.

When you didn’t move, Ghost brought the knife to your thigh and nicked it, once, twice, making you yelp, spasm on instinct. And when you failed to answer again, in the half a second they spared you, he made a long cut along the inside of your soft thigh. The wounds were red, doubtless already bleeding. They stung, reminded you of their brutality. Reminded you of the gouge on your shoulder.

“Didn’t you fucking hear me?” König spat. You flinched, back into the bed. Again, when you made no move to act, Ghost slid from your thighs and forced you up onto your knees, slipping behind you, holding the knife to your throat. An arm slithered around your waist and held you there, his hand caressing your swollen stomach as it slithered past. You couldn’t tell if he was trying to sooth you or prevent you from fleeing.

König took a step towards you, and Ghost had to hold you down to stop you from jumping. He held up a hand to König, who stepped back. His aura strangled you, let you know that he was far from pleased. You swallowed, and Ghost leaned down and whispered in your ear. “Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll help you.”

He took your hand in his, and, like a puppet master controlling his creation, he slid your hand down to your cunt, ticklish (or just uncomfortable) with a foreign object disguised as your own trying to near it. The camera didn’t help, either, reminding you that everything was on the line.

You steeled yourself, tried thinking of anything else other than the situation. Ghost’s hardened musculature digging into your back, the feeling of his fingers encircling your clit, making you gasp and recoil, fleeing from one evil to another. Ghost sighed into you, rutted his hips against your back. Something almost sharp was beginning to dig into the dimple of your back, and despite knowing what it was, you pretended not to. Anything to make this situation less traumatic - embarrassing - for you than it already was.

Luckily, the pleasure welling in your core as Ghost pressed against your clit almost helped you forget that he was not, in fact, a heartless criminal - one of two whose only goal it seemed to rob you of your life, though not to be as merciful as to kill you, rather to hold your very existence captive.

Before you could begin to enjoy the cord tightening in your centre, Ghost’s fingers crept from your clit to the plug in your pussy. He slipped it out with a pop and grasped your hand, bringing it to your now leaking cunt. He pressed - forced - your fingers against them, slipping past your slick folds and inside you. Or, at least tried to.

Your walls clamped down, allowing nobody - not even yourself - inside. You’d have been relieved of this had this not been Ghost and König you were dealing with. Upon discovering your resistance, Ghost sighed quietly. “Relax,” he told you. “It’s okay. ‘T’s just me.”

And that’s supposed to make me feel better? You thought.

Ghost may have sensed how you tightened up even more. And he hadn’t the patience to humour you. Shedding your fingers, he spread your lips with his own, sinking one inside you, testing you. You remained firmly shut, a vault to which no one had the combination. But Simon had a bomb. And very, very little patience.

“Fine, then,” he said. “If you wanna play this the hard way, we’ll play.”

Without patience, he pried his fingers into you, painfully so, as he fought with your body’s natural response. Observing the scene, König began stroking himself, watching your eyes screw shut and your toes curl, the epitome of a pain.

“Ghost,” you breathed, “please, stop–”

“Silence.” König demanded, staring you dead in the eyes. In that moment of distraction, Ghost’s fingers ploughed their way into you. You cried out, the intrusion making your walls ache. Ghost kept you flush against his chest, caging you between his thighs, keeping you obedient with a roll against your clit and the bloodied knife to your collar, dragging it.

König’s stare did little to relax you, but Ghost’s movements against the bundle of nerves between your legs made your walls flutter, the ache recede. You leaned your weight into him, and you could feel his chest rise and fall with each breath, his scorching skin against yours, melting into you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and hesitant, shy moans escaped between your gasping lips, to which Ghost praised you, calling you his “Good girl,” and pressing a masked kiss to your injured shoulder, making you flinch and staining the teeth of his mask red. Ruby tooth, infinitely more valuable than gold. Soon enough, soft, slick sounds filled the small room. Your cheeks bloomed with embarrassment, then paled as you remembered the camera immortalising your ordeal. Your walls tightened, chest beginning to stir with panic, but Ghost only whispered reassurances into your ear.

“This is for our eyes only,” he promised, as if he could hear your thoughts. And, though you couldn’t see it, his eyes reflected truth, honesty. As to whether König would adhere to such a sentiment was beyond you, yet he didn’t rebuke Ghost’s assurances. He pumped himself harder, faster, his breaths becoming deeper, heavier, an anchor dropped into an ocean.

You didn’t want the electric anticipation blooming in your core. You didn’t want Ghost’s thick fingers bringing you to your undoing. Yet here you were, whining and whimpering for the very man who’d forced himself on you, his other half watching nearby. You thought of how unfair it was - how easy it was for those two to get off while they left you pumped full of them with little in return, save for this forced euphoria. Then, as always, logic chased your misplaced agonies away, trying to remind you of the bigger picture; the fact that these men had been inside you at all.

Your stomach clenched as Ghost, now three fingers and knuckle-deep inside you, hit your sweet spot, making you moan, your back arch. Your skin peeled from his, sweat-sodden and sticky. You wanted to hold out, to refuse König and Ghost the satisfaction of having an orgasm ripped out of you. Ghost gave a rasp of a laugh, his broad chest ever a reminder of your lack of escape.

“Nearly there, Princess,” he said. “Just a little more for Daddy.”

At that, you couldn’t hold it anymore. You gave a wanton, loud moan, the call of a dying god, core spasming, euphoria shooting to each corner of your body and rendering you spent. You lay against Ghost, eyes half-lidded, muscles tingling as you relaxed, body practically on fire as you came down from your high. All the while, Ghost kept rolling his thumb against your clit, pumping his fingers into you at a subdued pace. He was waiting, like a shark circling blood. Your hazy mind couldn’t fathom what.

Breathing heavily, you wanted sleep to overcome you, to free you of this torture - this forced ‘pleasure’. And yet, your captors had other plans.

Practically tranquilised, Ghost pushed you onto your front, flipping you over so you could see the ceiling. He slid his fingers out of you, the wetness of his hand retracting from your pussy heard by all of you. König came into view above you, watching you. Observing you.

“Gotta act quick if you want to make sure she feels it.” Ghost said to his partner, not even sparing you another glance. He was occupied with watching your slick string and drip from his hand. König nodded and, with Ghost retracted from between your legs. Your heart spiked, thrumming in your chest, as you came to realise what they were doing. You almost reached out for him, begged for him to take you instead of König.

“No–!” Your rasping voice was cut off with a sharp slap, König having taken residence between your legs, the side of your face stinging, his hand imprinted there.

Still sensitive from your orgasm, you were hyper-aware of König’s coated length prodding against your puffed lips, from which you tried to retreat. Your energy depleted, you could only crawl an inch or two from König until he grabbed your knees and dragged you right back, bumping you against his rock-hard cock and making you cry out.

He didn’t let you get away again, instead calling you a “Spoiled brat,” and, almost as punishment, shoved his entire length into you with neither ceremony, nor courtesy. You screamed. Really screamed. The tip of König’s dick hit something inside you that shouldn’t have been accessible to him, burning your walls on the way, making them sear with agony. You felt tears burn your throat, collect in your eyes. Ghost shushed you, placing a hand on your thigh and squeezing it.

He still didn’t speak to you, though.

“I warmed her up,” he said, turning to König. “I get to take her from the front.” His tone was absolute; this was not up for discussion.

König sighed, debating, then withdrew, cursing as he did so. You gasped, cold air hitting you, filling you. Not long after, Ghost settled where König had been, his associate coming to your other side. Ghost hoisted you up against his chest, your head lolling on his shoulder. König, now behind you, reached down and drew your slick down to your other hole, and it was in that second that a terror-filled epiphany hit you. And you couldn’t escape it.

Ghost wrapped your legs around his waist, your bound arms behind his head, his cock sat at your lips, the tip just barely pushing in. You choked back a sob, feeling König’s tip poking your other hole. The fact that you were sandwiched between the two - fully able to see what they were doing and how they looked doing it - made you sick. And it was in this position that you saw the blinking red light of the camera stood on the dresser, capturing all of it.

Ghost nudged the first couple of inches in, eyes squeezing shut as he did, breath wavering. Given how he took you from the front, he could feel his bulging cock in your stomach, against his front. He hit a part of you that had, miraculously, been spared thus far of much injury. Not for long, though. Ghost’s breathing shuttered, and, in his moment of stillness, König began pushing into you. His chest was broad against your back, giving you no means of escape.

This was different from before - different from when they’d both taken a single hole, filling you until you thought you’d tear. You felt middled - muddled - felt like a plug socket.

König made a sound of labour as he inched his way inside you, forcing your tight hole to take more of him. Your stomach was already swelling with half of Ghost’s length inside you, and now König’s mass only caused the mound in your stomach to grow. You dug your nails into Ghost’s hair, his scalp, the only thing you could grab onto, trying to let the pain of being stretched out so far pass.

Ghost groaned, his member twitching inside you. You could feel a prominent vein of his pulsing, almost buzzing inside you. König grunted, stabilising himself by slamming one hand on your waist. “Fuck, you’re so tight, Princess,” The name that dripped from König’s lips was oddly gentle, tender. His head was bowed, but you could feel his shoulders heave as he tried to collect his composure. Ghost, too, but he was less guarded about showing you just how good you made him feel.

He forced the rest of himself in, not as much of a gargantuan task as it had been earlier, given that you’d taken him before. But your sensitivity still made you sore, made you want to shy away from him. That, and the entire situation as a whole did little to make you want to stay.

Seeing Ghost buried to the hilt in you, König seemed to come to life, growling as any sensitivity he displayed towards you before vanished, replaced by a snarling creature. He rolled his hips, catching Ghost and sliding the rest of himself into you. Your lungs stuttered, your body stilled, tensing up. Both König and Ghost let out a groan, feeling you tighten around them.

“Fuck,” Ghost panted, “you must want us more than you’re letting on.”

The fight had left you long ago; you did not argue, nor did you corroborate Ghost’s claim. You just lay there and took it. You could feel how swollen your stomach was.

For however long after, while Ghost and König thrusted into you, you closed your eyes and tried to fight the dim pleasure growing in the cracked recesses of your core. Ghost pressed against your clit, making fragments of rapture flood through you, whether you wanted it or not.

“I’ll breed you so well,” Ghost panted, breathing heavy. His cock twitched, his hips rolled against yours. He was close. He brought your leg up beneath his arm and held you there, hitting you at a deeper angle. König grunted, pulling out and slamming back into you.

Ghost leaned into you, needing to be deeper - needing to fill you with as much of his load as your body would allow. And then some.

“We’ll raise an army of our own flesh and blood - our love.”

Love? You wanted to say. Love?!

What they were doing to you was not love. It displayed a hatred you’d never seen before - a pure selfishness as to strip you of your future, of your prospects, and all to become the mother of the children of the two monsters who held you captive in an unknown prison. ‘Home’ is what they’d convince you it was.

Ghost came inside you, a rasping moan tearing through his throat like light from a beacon. You could feel his warm cum seeping into you, binding you to him as you gasped. König followed not long after, giving his all in his last sharp thrusts, the cum leaking from your cunt only spurring him to finish, essentially fucking remnants of Ghost’s cum back into another oriphis.

Your body practically jumped against Ghost’s, the force of König’s strength propelling you against him. And he held you, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you close to him, whispering praises into your ear.

König let out one last moaning growl before he stilled. You could feel his cum pumping into you - water through a hose pipe. You almost thought that perhaps he’d given into his savage instincts and transformed into a beast entirely, knotting you. But alas, the gods seemed to grant you a sliver of mercy for the fact that König’s monstrous personality remained concealed behind human skin, hiding it from anyone looking in. Only you had experienced its brutality first hand on such a personal, intimate level.

The air was thick with an unfamiliar scent, one that was no doubt pheromonal, intertwined with tension. Yet, it did not come from you, for you were far too exhausted to even muster an emotion. You merely panted into Ghost’s chest, König resting against your back, lying on you, sandwiching you further. The tension was between Ghost and König, that much you knew, You just prayed you wouldn’t be caught in the crossfire.

“Don’t see why you get to breed her first,” König said. Ghost sighed.

“We won’t be sure which of us she’ll have borne a child for ‘til it’s here. Stop complainin’.” He panted, chest heaving. “You said I got to take her first, anyway. Change your mind?”

“That was before; this is now.”

Hearing them argue put you on edge, despite there being a laze to their tone which suggested the issue did not run as deep as it seemed.

“Oh, come off it,” Ghost said. “We’ll both get to breed her until we’re satisfied, anyway. So what’s the hurry?”

For possibly the hundredth time that night, your heart sank. Your gaze drifted from the camera to the door. You could chance it, you thought. You could at least try.

The glinting of an object on the bedside table caught your eye, and you found yourself straining to see it. The knife. The instrument they’d used to play a tune for themselves on your body like a harp. There it lay. The evidence and instigator of your capture - your captor - laying on the table like a clock or a pair of reading glasses would. It showed you the worst - made you aware of the fact that you were with them now, no longer held hostage by that very weapon, but by the creeping fondness you could taste seeping through your skin like poison. You’d taken to them, much how they’d taken you. Wanted, and used.

Bonus Ending

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Starting the year off with a literal bang ! Cover made by me :-)

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