#Palm Free Products

[ippinka]

This Exfoliating Body Scrub is certified cruelty-free, vegan, palm oil-free, and fragrance-free.

[laiiaaa]

CINNAMON SUGAR — CARMEN BERZATTO

summary Carmen comes home to you late at night. Luckily, you manage to stay awake.

length 2k

contents absolutely zero plot, literally just a sweet n cute n sappy moment existing in a vacuum, holy shit so much fluff i might die (got the idea for this while listening to margaret & let the light in by lana del rey n it's realllll obvious), too many kisses to count, this is what he'd be like after intensive therapy i reckon, not proofread so be nice

Carmen opens the door to the bedroom carefully, minding the creaky hinge in the middle of the night. Moonlight peeks through the window, caught at the right time when the city doesn’t block its path into the apartment, giving just enough glow to the room to see you fast asleep in bed. It’s late, he realizes, even later than usual. He needs to work on that.

He makes his way to the bed, stopping at your side to kneel beside you and simply adore you: the curve of your nose, the plush of your lips in that pout you wear only when you’re asleep, the eyelashes laid against your cheeks.

You stir when he presses his lips to your temple, a soft groan pulled from your lips. “…Bear?”

“Yeah, ‘s me, baby.” Even at a whisper, he thinks he’s too loud, and with his rough and tired hand he brushes over the top of your head just light enough to keep you sleepy.

A drowsy hand reaches out from under the covers to smooth over the contours of his face, tracing along shadows made hazy by a few hours’ rest. “You coming to bed soon?”

“Almost,” he murmurs, smoothing a palm up your exposed arm to hold your hand steady. He pulls ever so slightly away from your palm, only to turn to land gentle kisses against its soft skin, worshiping the pieces of you that treat him with more care than he thinks he’s worthy of. “Needa take a shower first, alright? But I’ll be right back.” 

He could’ve done that much by now—could’ve cleaned himself, rid himself of a day's work before seeing you—but truthfully, waiting any longer would’ve driven him mad. He would’ve been itchy in the shower, skin aflame knowing he could’ve felt your touch by then, arms and hands jittering to have your curves beneath them. His lips trail down to your wrist before he turns over your hand to kiss the backs of your fingers.

“Okay,” you answer, muffled by the blankets and pillow and the squeak of the floorboard as Carmen stands back up.

He makes his trip quick and quiet. He brushes his teeth and swipes up a towel while the water heats up, leaving just enough time to hang it on the hook and strip before hopping in. There’s a beat where he closes his eyes and just breathes, clears his mind of the day’s stress, lets warm water saturate his hair and cascade down his back. He lathers his hair with shampoo—the one you bought for him once to free him from the chains of 3-in-1 and that he’s been purchasing ever since to keep you happy—before cleaning the rest of his body, all while thinking about how much better it’d feel, how much more relief he’d get if it were you beside him under the stream instead of just his thoughts. But with the shampoo and soap down the drain goes that idea, much like the fleeting thought of using conditioner. You’ve yet to get to him on that one, especially at a moment like this, when time is of the essence and you’re waiting on him. Maybe another night, when you take your own product and swirl it around his curls; if it gives him an excuse to stay with you just a few minutes more, he’ll do it.

He hops out of the water like it’s acid and wraps the towel around his waist after drying himself to avoid trouble in the morning (you hate when the floor gets wet, and even if it wastes time, he’ll be sure to prevent that). Out goes the light again as he walks into the hall, sneaking back into the bedroom to get dressed into briefs and nothing more—you’ll keep him warm enough under the blankets.

It’s only then—when he peels back those final layers—that he realizes he’s been smiling the whole time.

Once he’s settled into the grooves of the mattress, chest to your back, you’re turning around to curl into his torso, like a magnetic field brought you there. 

“Hey,” he coos, “Y’don’t have to move f’me, yeah? Just sleep, baby.” Moved by your eagerness, his arms curl around you, one along your waist as the other nicely fits comfortably into the space between your neck and shoulder. 

And yet you shift a little more to cast an arm against his chest, his heart beating beneath your palm, head on his shoulder with a leg hooked onto his hip, split halfway between mattress and his body. “ ‘S more comfy this way, Carm.” You sigh and breathe deep into his skin. “You smell good, too.”

He can’t even lie well enough to convince himself his heart doesn’t run a million miles faster when you cozy up to him like this, caught in a space part fatigue and part love, with your hums ringing in his ear. “ ‘S that shampoo you got me a while ago…Sometime this week—” he yawns, and if he weren’t dying to hear your voice a few more times, he’d be a little more thankful for sleep coming so easily— “Sometime this week we can go t’the store, you can pick out another body wash f’me to try, too.”

“Mm, I’d like that.” You smooth your hand from his chest to his neck and shoulder, massaging there gently where he gets sore as a barely-there kiss lands to the skin beneath you. “How was it today?” The restaurant. His headaches. Richie’s mood lately. The flow of the kitchen. The strain in his back.

“Was alright,” he answers, as honestly as he can, soothing himself by brushing a hand up along your spine. “Real busy, so I didn’t get to leave ‘till late, ‘m sorry.”

“ ‘S alright, I stayed in and just relaxed for the night.” You snuggle into him a little deeper, and he thinks he could melt. “I was gonna ask you to bring something home, but it’s a weekend, so I didn’t wanna bother you in a rush.”

“What’d you want?”

From your lips comes a light and airy giggle, milliseconds of the best sounds he’s ever heard. “I just wanted some fries, honestly…didn’t feel like going out.”

“Heh,” he laughs, smiling while his eyes stay glued to the ceiling—as if looking at you would make the moment disappear. “I would’ve picked ‘em up for you, ‘r at least had Fak get ‘em to you.”

You yawn in tandem with the tailend of his thought, so your answer’s a bit softer. “Uh-uh, I like them better when you make ‘em.”

“Yeah? ‘ve I been pampering you too much?” He teases you, adds on a kiss to the top of your head as he squeezes you a bit tighter, but it’s all a ruse to cover up how much faster his pulse is when you say those words, like all the work he’s put in—all the love he has for you—makes its way to the table for not just anyone, but for you, the one person he’s sure matters more than the rest. More than those fucking stars, more than Chef of the Year, more than any critic’s review, more than he can wrap his head around; he feels it in his chest and that’s enough.

“Of course you have,” you agree, peeking up at him and craning your neck to plant your lips to his jaw, savoring it long enough to leave a smirk against his skin. “You’re always so sweet to me, Bear—” one more quick peck just beneath his ear— “love when you cook for me.”

He thinks he could pass out like this, with the last thing he hears being those words, but his fatigue seems to serve as an anesthetic that lets him soak it in for a bit longer, running his free hand through damp curls while a heavy, giddy sigh leaving his lips that lets you know he hears you, that he loves telling you he loves you through his art, that he lives for the smile on your face when he stays home for a few hours longer to make you breakfast. Yet with all the time spent having his shell soften for you, he can’t always find the right words, so he settles for the next best thing: “Y’know, uh…Marcus’s been playing around with recipes…”

He feels you smile against his chest, knowing what’s to come. “Yeah?”

“Mhm, an’ I’d never let ‘im serve ‘em, ‘cause, y’know…” He loses himself for a moment in the lull of your fingertips tracing mindless shapes into his chest. “They don’t fit the menu…but uh, he made these…these rolls today…”

“Mhm? ‘M listening…”

Carmen knew that, of course, from the faint kisses you peppered between breaths. He lets the fan whir through the gaps in his thoughts. “I think you’d like ‘em, he had some classic cinnamon, ‘n…a blueberry lemon goin’…”

“That sounds really good,” you whisper, the syllables lengthened from a shared lack of sleep.

“I know,” he drawls, and he’s a little too proud of himself for once when he adds, “Which is why I said I’d let ‘im fix up the lemon recipe a few more times if he made a batch for you.”

“Did you really?” The dazed smile comes through in your voice, a bubbliness to it that tells him he made the right call. 

He figures that’s why he’s so drawn to you—all the right calls come easy to him, the effort feels natural and unpracticed, unlike the tar that builds in his throat when it comes to so many other people. With you, being good is anything but demanding. “ ‘F course, baby…” 

It turns him to a puddle, the sweetness that drips from your fingertips, so he cradles your wrist carefully in his hand and lifts it to his lips to show it the love it deserves before urging the hand to busy itself with the tufts of hair behind his hear, to which you happily oblige. You twirl a lock around your finger, performing a methodical spiral, and even though he knows by the time it dries it’ll stick out from the mess like a sore thumb, he’d stop breathing before pulling your hand away. It’s soothing, that pattern. It stokes the fire in his gut that makes him feel a little less lonely when you’re not around.

“I brought…” He yawns again, his eyelids growing heavy. “I brought you some of the cinnamon rolls…Sugar liked ‘em…they’re on the counter for you tomorrow mornin'…” He’s not sure whether it’s your doing or the hours of stress endured throughout the day, but he knows this is the most relaxed he’s ever been, laying with you and doing little else other than indulging in your tender touches and shy kisses.

“Thank you, my love,” slips away with breath, sotto voce, as Carmen leaves brief kisses to your hairline. 

And he thanks God for being able to do it even with such an intense fatigue washing over him—at least part of him does, the part that’s still awake—because the movement lets you tilt your head and graze your fingertips by his jaw, bringing his lips kindly to yours for the first and last time tonight. Somewhere in that beautiful tangle there’s a mutual agreement: an unspoken Goodnight, I love you, in the mix, a finality in his offering and your gracious thanks that doesn’t warrant anything more than your head tucked neatly into his neck, left to bask in the comfort of his arms wrapped around you.

Just like any other night with you, he can sleep peacefully with the unconscious push and pull of your bodies intertwined. He knows that by morning, you’ll still be in his arms, in the bed you share, waiting on your good morning kiss from under the covers.

And he’ll still be beneath your warmth, his mind fuzzy and full of tenderness, every part of him dying to marry you.

[muntitled]

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐋𝐞𝐬𝐬, 𝐇𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐌𝐞 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞

Farleigh Start x Fem!Reader

Summary: Hating Farleigh had never stopped him from using you

Content Warnings: Language, Fwb, Forbidden Relationship, Unedited, Dark Fic, Dark Humor, Coarse Jokes, Jealousy, Possessiveness, Smoking, Weaponizing!Ollie, Smut (+18), Minors DNI, Slight CNC, Breeding, Neediness, Exhibition Kink, Grinding, Extreme Degradation, Humiliation Kink, Praise Kink, Hate Sex, Hair Pulling, Rough sex, Messy Sex, Spitting, Orgasm Control, Dirty Talk, Choking

He'd definitely bully me if he was real, and I'd be in love with him

"It's not like we're actually going to eat anything. Mother only insists we all make use of the furniture," Venetia's rambling is incessant as she walks briskly into the dining hall. You know her irritation is the by-product of the undiagnosed anxiety that comes with being forced into an uncomfortable Dior slip on such short notice.

In all fairness, you weren't doing so well either. The dress you are currently wearing is just as suffocating and Venetia's Saint Laurent heels dig into your bone. Your outfit is a velvety, laced up nightmare.

A torture chamber.

You wholeheartedly wanted to crawl into your own bed and forget about everyone and everything. In fact, the only thing keeping you mildly excited for dinner with The Henrys happens to be-

"Gentlemen!" You exclaim, before cleverly adding, "And you've brought Farleigh with you."

You all congregate at the left side of the dinner table, while the Henrys and The Henrys wives all mill about the dinner party. There are'nt any rules to things like this. It's all so self explantory.

What was not all too self explantory was your seating positions. Venetia forces you to sit in between herself and a very vexed Farleigh.

"How interesting," Farleigh barely addresses you in his tired monotonous lilt, "You're almost, nearly, just about, decently dressed." You bristle as you lower your behind to your chair, all while Farleigh shoots you a tight-lipped smile.

"Wow!" Your words drip with sarcasm, promptly halting Farleigh from flirting with the man to his immediate left - one of the Henrys closeted sons, no doubt. "That almost, nearly, just about sounded like a compliment!" You exclaim before leaning over beside him in a daring display of confidence. You place your hand tentatively on his thigh before whispering, "Am I going to have to use my rape whistle?"

Farleigh's scoff sends a string of lightning shooting down your spine.

"You're such a slut, I think you'd enjoy probably enjoy it." His breath is hot against your cheek and would be considered vile.

It should be vile.

Why can't you bring yourself to find Farleigh as vile?

With his elbows lowered underneath the table like a good little gentleman, Farleigh lets his fingers crawl tentatively over your thigh.

The games are on.

Your heart is beating at a million miles an hour with your mind reeling at not only Farleigh's large warm palm finding its home on your ample thigh but his words.

They are in complete contrast to everything you two have experienced together thus far on your stay in Saltburn.

As his fingers inch their way towards your inner thigh you're absolutely breathless. All you can think about is your escapade in the pool the evening before.

Both Catton siblings had been immersed in a very Catton argument, leaving you and Farleigh to your own devices on the banks of the stone pool.

With both your arms leaning over the ledge of the pool and Farleigh pressed to your side, no one could barely tell that Farleigh already had two digits dipped inside your weeping cunt. His hand moved slowly and deftly, so as not to cause too much of a stir in the water and give you two away. And he did it all while leaning his free hand out of the pool, cradling his copy of Jane Eyre with his eyes glued on the pages.

"F-Fuck Farleigh, can I cum?" He sighed at your agitated state.

"Not until I'm finished with Chapter 18." He mumbled almost distractedly, as if your needy voice was something akin to a pesky fly interrupting his reading.

Chapter 18, as you'd probably guessed, had never ended.

His cousins were back from their argument and his fingers left your cunt just as quickly. You had both went back to pretending to hate each other and you were left to 'rub one out' in the safety of your room like some hormonal teenager.

You truly are furious with him.

"What's this I'm hearing about a rape whistle?" Felix pipes up from the other side of Farleigh, equally dressed up all spiffy for the Henry's "You didn't rape anyone, did you?"

Farleigh's response is more of a hiss, "Of course I didn't-"

"Surely there must be more savory topics of discussion at the dinner table other than rape?" Comes the quick mediation of Elsbeth, who sits at the head of the table, clutching her string of expensive pearls as if they weilded the power to rid her of all these insolent little kids.

"Of course there is," you exclaim before turning your head to smile at the presence beside Ventia, nestled quietly in his seat like a little pauper.

Farleigh's manicured fingernails sink half moons into the skin of your thigh, peeking up from the slit of your dress as you lean away from him and say, "You must be Oliver! It's a relief to see another commoner around here." It was so undeniably petty to weaponize Farleigh's greatest foe, but the vexation of not being made to cum the night before still hangs heavily on your shoulder. And at the end of the day, you really just were a petty bitch.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ollie!" Slightly leaning over Venetia, the boy looks pale. As if he was biting down on his words. God, his tongue must be riddled in scars.

"Pleasure to meet you." Oliver cooly mirrors the warm and inviting smile stretched across your face.

"Don't lean over me," Venetia mumbles, "I'm not a child."

Meanwhile, Farleigh scoffs once again. While he injects himself in your conversation, his hands move swiftly to cup your vagina, nearly raking a gasp out of your throat in the process. "She won't sleep with you, mate." his brown eyes are trained on Oliver's. "She's a slut but not that big of a slut."

The extreme degradation laced in Farleigh's voice is enough to have you nearly moan out in front of all your friends, their family, and all the bloody Henrys.

Farleigh knew exactly which buttons to push to have you melting catastrophically against his fingers. He knew what words could have you slipping into subspace and he knew how to get your cunt weeping.

"Jesus Christ, could we not do this right now?" Venetia asks, staring pointedly at her cousin, and not at the sight of your legs parting to further accomdate his lazy rubbing against your cunt.

"I'm sorry, Cousin," Farleigh replies, "but it's not my fault your best friend is a raging bitch."

A breathless chuckle escapes your clenched teeth, "I-I'm not a-"

"Yeah, I am so completely done with this conversation," Venitia says, before strangling the stem of her wine glass and chugging it down as if it was nothing but water.

You turn back to hiss into Farleigh's ear, "You're such an a-asshole-"

"Say that again but don't sound like you're on the verge of squirting on my fingers in the middle of dinner." His grin is shadowed by the dimness of crystal chandlier and all the little candles posted along the table. "This is what you get for being a bitch," he says, socasually it makes you break your resolve by shifting in your seat, to better grind your cunt against his fingers, even for a mere second.

It's almost enough to make you cum right then and there.

"Oh-ho!" He aims a guffaw at the sky, "You really are a needy little slut-"

"This dress is shit," you suddenly push yourself out of your chair, creating the minimal noise of wood scraping against the floors. Most eyes are on you and Farleigh slyly removes his hands from in between your thigh. He leans over the table, bringing his fingers to his lips before spreading them over his gums like you would cocaine.

"I have to go change." You say to Venetia, before promptly (and very rudely) bowing out of the dinner.

A few seconds later, you hear Farleigh mumble something about needing a smoke and your heart rattles wildly in its cage. His footsteps are brisk behind yours, and you can feel his eyes sinking into your figure.

While your feet carry you to your destination and you let your brain catch on, you're already sneaking into Farleigh's room.

"Ah! Trespasser!" He exclaims excitedly behind you, with his hands stuffed in his pocket.

"You're so fucking annoying!" Your complains barely escape your throat before he's attacking you in a sloppy, open mouth kiss. He steals the air right out of your lungs, until he's breathing for the both of you. Farleigh slips out of his Abercrombie suit blazer, discarding the material as if it truly meant nothing to him.

His hands are everywhere, with special interests in your breasts compressed tightly by the uncomfortable stitching of your dress.

"This dress..." you mumble distractedly.

"Fuck this dress." He says, and you wholeheartedly agree. Perhaps it was desperate of you to turn in haste. Lifting the ends of your hair to present the zipper to him.

"You look fucking ravenous." He admits in a grave whisper, with his lips grazing the side of your neck, "I wanna fucking eat you." He says, "I wanna be inside you."

"You have such a dirty mouth, Farleigh," the groan that escapes his throat as he zips down your dress lets you know that you may have found your way in.

As the dress spills around your heeled feet, followed by your lacey underwear, Farleigh reattaches his full lips to the skin of your back. "What did you say?" His voice is like the rough gravel encircling Saltburn and you let your eyes roll to the back of your head as you arch backwards against him. His hardness presses against your ass and your fingers weave their way into his curls.

"I said youre a dirty boy, Farleigh." He ruts against you, almost as a second thought. "A dirty fucking boy,"

"Fuck," his hands dig into your hips, rubbing you against him. All as he pleases. "Fucking, fuck. I'm not gonna cum like this-" He says suddenly before spinning you back around.

It is few and sparse moments when you're reminded just how much taller Farleigh is than you and eventide it happens, the wind is knocked out of you. Farleigh advances on you like a literal predator until you're forced to fall backwards on his bed.

He barely undoes the bowtie, and only a few buttons go loose enough to showcase the beautiful expanse of his chest.

"You're absolutely soaked aren't you?" He asks, hovering on the bed above you.

"I need to cum, Farleigh, please-" You knew it was the only way to get what you wanted. You had unashamedly resorted to begging for a man who hooked his nails into your hair, forcing you to sit upright as he parted your legs.

"Look at you," he whispers before cackling maniacally. "You're so stupidly wet, you filthy fucking girl-"

"O-oh fuck, Fuck Farleigh," Your try by all means to grind your cunt into the mattress but is doesn't happen.

"When are you going to learn that I own your orgasms?" He whispers, with his other hand furiously undoing the belt of his fitted pants. "You don't cum until I say. You don't touch yourself until I say. You don't even fucking think about cumming until I say-"

"You're such a big little baby," you spit back, "A big needy, little b-"

You're once again pushed backwards and Farleigh's mounting you with his leaking cock locked tight in his fist.

You automatically lift your legs to present your cunt to him and he groans at the sight.

"I'm going to cum inside of you." He promises.

"I want you too."

Farleigh's eyes are heavy as he slides himself inside you. He looks down at you like you were the most precious thing in the world to him. A treasure trove.

"Fuck- I need you to carry on talking." Farleigh says before shutting his eyes tightly. "Fuck you feel so good-"

"You're doing so well, baby," his hips rut inside you, accidentally pushing his cock in way too deep, way too fast and you both hiss and moan. "Such a good boy," you say with your hair finding his own curls, "You're being such a good fucking boy, Farleigh-"

"Open your mouth," you comply robotically. Farleigh places his hands on the underside of your chin before tipping your head backwards. His chains dangle above you as you stick your tongue out and he spits directly into your mouth. "Such a slut," he says, "Such a filthy fucking good girl." His words have you grinding your cunt against his cock until soon, you're both on the precipice of cumming.

"F-Fuck-"

"Such a good girl," he whispers, with his breath ghosting yoir face and the sound of skin slapping against skin only grows louder and louder. "S-So fucking good-" He whispers over and over again until your cunt clenches around his cock, promting Farleigh's orgasm with a quickness.

His cum spilling inside you has you slipping unceremoniously into your own orgasm and Farleigh wails in both the pleasure of your cunt milking him dry, or your fingers still pulling his hair like crazy.

"Fuck!" He exclaims before slumping on the bed beside you, "Get your fingers out of my hair, you psycho-"

"You love it, though," there's a teasing lilt in your voice, and all Farleigh does is scoff before patting down the pockets of his pants.

"You give me endless reasons to smoke," he says, before tipping his head back, unknwongly leaning into your embrace as your fingers coil through his soft curls.

"You'd smoke anyway."

[mead-iocre]

A Girl Just Wants To Be Spoilt | Leah Williamson x Reader

synopsis: just leah handing over her gold amex card. yep.

warnings: none :)

wc: 860 words

“This is such a waste of time” You hear your girlfriend mutter to herself from behind you, but you pay her no mind. You were far too interested in choosing which lip gloss to get. Leah and you were currently in Sephora because she had to go shopping for a new outfit for an event she is invited to attend later that week. After a quick lunch, you all but dragged your reluctant girlfriend into the beauty store. 

Leah didn’t mind makeup, and lately with the media and events that she had to do, she was almost used to sitting in a makeup chair and having a makeup artist work on her face. However, outside of the events, Leah kept her face bare and makeup-free. You, on the other hand, were makeup obsessed. You spent an hour longer than your girlfriend when it came to getting ready in the morning because you had an entire skincare and makeup routine. 

“Oi! Quit it!” You playfully slap your girlfriend’s hand away when you see her reach for the open samples of eyeshadow palettes. Knowing how bored your girlfriend was getting, she was probably going to try some shit like wipe the eyeshadow on your arm or something. The blonde pouts, but follows dutifully behind you when you move over to the other section. 

“Oh this one’s quite nice” Untwisting the lipgloss sample, you glance the back of your hand only to frown when you see that there is no space to swatch the product. Checking the other hand, you see it’s already full of other lipstick and lipgloss swatches too. 

You were just about to put the lipstick down when your girlfriend practically thrusts her own hand out in front of you. “Use mine”

“Thanks, baby” Giving her a sweet smile and a kiss on the corner of her lips, you happily swipe the lipgloss wand on the back of her hand. You tilt your head, inspecting the colour before you shake your head. “That’s a nice colour…but would I wear it often?” You mutter more to yourself.

Turning back to the wide selection of lipglosses, you pick up another tube only to swatch the sample on the back of the blonde’s hand again. Leah rolls her eyes. “what, am I just your personal tester now?”

You turn to your girlfriend, patting her cheek lightly before kissing her right on her pouty lips. “you did offer, baby.”

Leah rolls her eyes at you but you can see a smile forming. “Whatever. Make it quick”

“Which one should I get, Lee?” You hold up two lipglosses. Instead of an answer, Leah only looks at you with one sharp eyebrow raised. “Is that a trick question?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What is?”

Your girlfriend gestures to the lipglosses in your hands. “They’re the same fucking colour, darling”

You wave the two very different colours of lipglosses in the air. “They are not– this one’s more peachy and this one is more pink. Now pick one for me, please! I only want to get one since it’s so bloody expensive”

The blonde groans, and runs a palm down the side of her face like this is the most tedious task in the entire world as if she doesn’t chase a ball for a living. 

Before you could say another word, Leah grabs both of the clearly different lipglosses from your hand and then turns to the selection of lip products on display. She grabs a few more of the tubes in different shades, chucking them in the basket without even a second glance, and then makes a beeline straight to the checkout counters.

You jog to catch up to her, just as she greets the lady at the counter. “Lee, I only wanted to get just one–” You reach into the basket, intending to pull out the other twenty products that weren’t the ones you came into Sephora to buy.

But Leah grabs your hand, halting your actions. She brings out her wallet from her back pocket. "Nothing to worry your pretty little head about, baby. I've got it– and since I'm paying, we’ll take it all” She smiles at the lady at checkout, nodding at her to continue scanning what was probably the ninth lip product by now. 

You didn’t even want to glance at the screen as it totals your purchases– it was probably close to half of your monthly rent. You suddenly found the floor much more interesting.

“…the lady needs your card, darling”

Your head snaps up. You stare at your girlfriend, eyes wide in bewilderment. Did her shiny gold amex card ayment not go through? Is she making you pay for— a quick glance at the screen— £400+ worth of lip products? Is she playing some sick joke by making you pay for it after realising she doesn’t want to spend four hundred pounds on lip products that weren’t even for her—?

but it’s as if your girlfriend can read your mind, because all she does is chuckle and pull you close with an arm around your waist. Leah leans in right by your ear and whispers “your Sephora rewards card, baby. wouldn’t want those points to go to waste”

(also i might’ve changed ending after posting lol so if you read the OG ending, lucky you but shhhh!)

bro leah in a suit lately got me feeling some type of way. she's definitely the type to spoil her partner in every way thanks to that dyson headphones check 💰

might start doing these shorter blurbs more often :))

-- kisses, butter.

[cutielando]

i literally love the idea of a reader that LOVES haircare and one day carlos decides to take a shower w her and she teaches him how to use the products

hair routine | c.s.

my masterlist

Everyone knew the magic that Carlos' hair held.

The fans, the F1 reporters, his family, your friends; there was nobody who knew Carlos that wasn't absolutely enamored with his hair.

You were one of those people, if not the biggest fan of his hair.

Ever since the two of you got together, your hands would always be tangling themselves in the strands of his hair, enjoying the softness of his locks and the volume it always had.

Carlos was slightly amused whenever you would lay down next to him and your hands would unconsciously gravitate towards his hair, enjoying the attention to his head. Especially the free head scratches he got at the same time.

However, you were quite annoyed at your boyfriend because he wouldn't let you use some products to maintain it.

You had so many hair masks which would help his hair be ever healthier than it already was, give it even more volume and make it even softer, yet he always denied you the satisfaction of using them on him.

"Mi amor, my hair is completely fine the way it is. I don't want any products to damage my perfectly healthy hair" he would always say.

To be honest, you didn't believe him for a second. He was just embarrassed of using feminine products in order to keep his hair soft and stylish.

Men.

However, you weren't letting it go so easily.

You were determined to get him to finally let you use your products on his hair, whether he liked it or not.

But, as it turns out, you didn't have to do much, because he came to you with the proposal all by himself.

It happened when he came back from dinner with the Ferrari team following the Spanish Grand Prix.

You had decided to stay behind at home and have a night to yourself, take a very long and fruitful shower and just enjoy a quiet night in.

Just as you were shampooing your hair, you heard the bathroom door open and Carlos' voice fill the air.

"Mi amor" he called out, leaning back against the counter.

You stuck your head out the shower and smiled at him before returning back to your shampoo routine.

"Hi, love. How was dinner?" you called out, hearing him shuffling outside the shower door but paying him no mind.

"It was good, talked a little bit about our pace and everything" he said, stripping of his clothes before stepping into the shower with you.

You leaned back against him as he wrapped his arms around your waist from behind him, enjoying his calming presence.

Carlos planted open-mouthed kisses on the side of your neck, but started coughing and spitting when he realized you were full of shampoo.

"You're such a dork sometimes" you said while laughing, stepping under the water jet to wash everything off.

Carlos glared at you but couldn't get mad, seeing you being completely at ease while taking such good care of yourself and your body.

He eyed you as you picked up bottle after bottle, putting all kinds of different colored liquids in your hair.

"What do you use all of those for?" he asked after you take the 4th bottle in your hand and squirt some liquid into your palm.

"They're all different hair masks that help keep my hair roots healthy and the texture of my hair soft" you explained, giving him a smile before getting back to work.

Carlos stood there and thought about it for a moment. Admittedly, your hair was always so soft and smelled so nice, and you had been bugging him for ages to let you take care of his hair.

And to be honest, he just needed to be dotted on after the disappointing result of his home race and the awkward dinner he had just sat through.

"Do you think you could teach me how to use those on my hair?" he asked, making you pause your actions and turn to look at him with a wide smile and sparkling eyes.

"You're really going to let me do it?" you cooed, looking up at him with the most adorable puppy eyes you could muster.

He sighed, but smiled once he realized just how excited he had made you about such a little thing.

And when he nodded, he could only sit there in silence while you explained a whole routine for him, carefully telling him about all the advantages of keeping his hair clean and healthy.

But he wouldn't have it any other way.

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[ofourlee]

I'D LOVE TO SEE ME (from your point of view) —  S. GOJO

SYNOPSIS —⠀❛ for the first time, your boyfriend finally sees your bare face. if you could see what he sees, you'd understand why he wants you so much in every setting, no matter what. ❜

♡ WORD COUNT —⠀979

you have never gone out without a full face of makeup on. even with your lover, you always wear beauty products. you say to yourself, "i can't let my boyfriend have an ugly girlfriend"

so, whether you're at his apartment, outside, or on a date, you're constantly wearing makeup. not till…

your boyfriend, satoru, offered for you to sleep at his place. a sleepover, with your boyfriend. he figured that since you're both free for tomorrow, it'd be nice for you to stay over. and you being you, you couldn't refuse such an offer.

it's 9:30 p.m., and you are seated on your vanity. yes, satoru has a vanity for you in his own home incase you come over. he is well prepared.

so you're sitting on your own vanity, removing your makeup as he rests on the bed. little did you know, he had been watching you the entire time.

satoru's lips curled into a sweet grin as he watched you take off your makeup. "she's beautiful with or without it," he thinks. however, seeing your natural face causes his heart to constrict.

he continues to observe you, his gaze following every line and feature, taking in your inherent beauty.

he admires the way the moonlight dances over your skin, creating beautiful shadows and highlights on your face. he notices the curvature of your jawline, the slope of your nose, and the fullness of your lips.

very detail is seared in his mind, a snapshot of you that he is certain he will never forget.

he watches you, a mixture of adoration and affection welling up within him. he feels honored to be able to see you like this, because you usually refuse to show him your bare face when he asks.

you appeared so vulnerable and unguarded. it's a part of you that hardly everyone sees, and he's humbled and glad that you trust him enough to share it with him.

he had a lot on his mind. he is captivated to your innate beauty. the absence of makeup shows your features even more prominently than before.

he fights against the urge to reach out and touch you, not wanting to disturb you as you finish removing the remainder of your makeup.

his glance sweeps across your face, taking in every subtle detail. the little blemishes, the small laugh lines, the natural blush of your cheeks all appear to contribute to your beauty in his opinion.

he can't help but feel a strong feeling of care and sensitivity as he watches you, falling in love repeatedly.

he wonders why you've always felt compelled to wear makeup around him. perhaps you were insecure, perhaps you were simply used to wearing it.

but now, without it, you appear to glow even more, and he can't help but believe that he is blessed to glimpse this side of you.

so, after a few seconds of silently eyeing you, he eventually talks. the sound of his voice bursts through the silence, and you startle slightly, your attention drawn to him. he smiles as you react, his words calm and soothing.

"you look beautiful without makeup."

he rises up and reaches out, his fingertips lightly stroking your cheek, almost reverently.

that sentence appears to fluster you, forcing you to glance away in embarrassment.

he chuckles softly at your reaction, his palm still resting against your cheek. he can see the blush rising up your neck and the way your gaze shifts away from his.

"now, why are you looking away? are you…embarrassed, baby?" he murmurs.

ugh, that damn nickname. it always appeared to weaken your knees, no matter what. and it doesn't help that he's calling you that when you're still recovering from his compliment.

he softly tilts your chin upwards, pushing you to meet his eyes. he grins at you, his eyes are warm and friendly. then he continues:

"don't be. there's no reason to be. you're stunning, with or without makeup. i think you look even more beautiful without it, actually."

"you are glowing."

"i love you so much"

"you're divine, i can't believe i have you all to myself."

"i have never seen a more beautiful woman."

"why were you so scared of showing your bare face to me?"

"you're so gorgeous"

"you have the prettiest eyes, but i like it when you wear contacts too"

"your beauty is so natural"

he pampers you with flattery. it makes you want to wrap yourself with a blanket. he leans closer, placing his forehead on yours.

he can feel the heat radiating from your skin and watch the fast rise and fall of your chest as your heart rate increases.

he looks at you, taking in your natural beauty. he has to acknowledge that there's something unmistakably seductive about you even without makeup - simply the essence of you.

your lips, glossed with strawberry lip oil, appear extremely inviting, and he has to fight the impulse to kiss you right there.

"I'm so lucky" he says.

his gaze sweeps over your face again, soaking in every detail. your cheeks have a little blush, your eyes sparkle and your eyelashes flutter softly when you stare at him.

"toru, don't stare so much. the more you look at me, the more ugly i become," you try to shoo him away.

he chuckles quietly, the sound deep and full in his chest. he shakes his head, smiling affectionately.

"you could never look ugly to me, baby. in fact, the more i look at you, the more beautiful you seem to get."

fuck, this man is gonna be the death of you. you can't take it anymore, the words are too endearing that you're so close to melting. 

he moves in closer, his lips just brushing over your forehead, temple, and both cheeks. he gives you delicate kisses and pecks, punctuating each touch with a quiet murmur.

he continues, "you're a goddamn vision, you know? you're a beauty, and you're all mine."

[neoiightss]

Having a separate room - NCT 127

Hii, this is my first request, so I’m really excited! Sorry for disappearing guys, I was extra busy with work, but I’m back! Please feel free to send me any requests ^ ^

pairing: y/n x johnny, taeyong, doyoung, yuta, jaehyun, jungwoo, mark, haechan. 

warnings: established relationships, pure fluff, domestic life. 

 

Johnny 

He’s understandable right off the bat. He doesn’t see a problem with it, and as soon as you mention wanting to use the extra room in your house as a personal area, he will gladly help you decorate or build the furniture. 

As you two walk through the Ikea’s aisles, picking up a desk and a chair for your space he points at a cute set of pink-colored decorative frames that would go well with the theme you wanted. 

“What do you think, babe? I could hang them right above your desk, it’ll look good, right?”

He asks excitedly, making you smile genuinely before nodding, he smiles back with your approval as he puts the products in your cart. 

Taeyong 

Another one that will be so excited, taking it as a little project of yours, helping you decorate the place (you might have to tone him down a little, or else he’ll just make it his style). 

“Look we can install a shelf right here and fill it with my Spongebob figures set” 

He points excitedly, walking around the spare room in your shared apartment, planning all the decorations and furniture’s positions as soon as you mention wanting to use it as your home office place. 

“Yeah, but that’s yours and I don’t even like Spongebob that much, maybe I can just put some candles..” 

He pouts trying to win you over with his puppy eyes. Which, unfortunately for you, it works very well, giving in as you watch him smile brightly, walking to the next wall where he wants to graffiti a cool design for you, of course. 

Doyoung 

He probably already has a room for himself, a little studio where he practices and records his songs and doubles it as storage for some of his clothes as well. So he gets it when you mention wanting to have a place for you, even though he loves living with you and enjoying your moments together he just wants some alone time to recharge and gather his thoughts. Will help you out with decoration if you ask, but mostly will just do the heavy work like bringing and building furniture, he doesn’t want to interfere much in your personal space, letting you do whatever you feel like.

“Right here?” 

He looks at you as he levels the shelf you bought, proceeding as he gets your approval, he cleans his palms in his shirt as he finishes installing the last one, internally wondering why you need so many shelves. 

“Alright I’m taking a shower, let me know if you need anything”. 

He says before leaving you to decorate the place, excited to see how it will look at the end. 

Yuta 

Will be the one to suggest you use the spare room in your apartment as he notices you working uncomfortably on the dinner table, sitting awkwardly as you type away on your laptop, he simply can’t have his baby in such situation! Will help you out with putting the place together and even suggesting you a few decorational itens he saw online to make the place more cozy. Will definitely spend an insane amount of money on an office chair just because it’s the “most comfortable on market”. 

“Are you crazy? That’s too much Yuta, besides I only work two days a week from home”. 

You scold him as soon as you see the price of the chair, watching him look unfazed as he puts it together. 

“My baby deserves the best. Besides it goes well with the new pc set I bought you, the reviews online says the keyboards are really egornomical”

“You bought me a what??”   

Jaehyun

He likes to have his alone times just as much, and even tough he’s always romantic and sweet to you he’s not the clingy type. I can see him using the dorms as his personal room, a place where he’ll work on his music or just unwind for a while, especially when he’s too tired or frustrated with life, not wanting it to affect you. He doesn’t oppose when you ask to use the spare room in your house as your little craft area, finding it so cute that you want a place for yourself as well. 

Just like Doyoung he won’t interfere, just helping with the things you ask, but will definitely want to leave one item that will remind you of him, just in case you miss him.

“It’s just missing one final touch, darling” 

He smirks, trying to contain his smile after you give him a quick tour of the room, showing the way you decorated it, you look at him confused asking what is it before he takes a small Polaroid of him blowing a kiss from his pocket, placing it on your desk. 

“So you don’t miss me too much” 

He winks watching you laugh in disbelief, later on, he’ll make you take one as well for his room. 

Jungwoo

What do you mean you want a room just for yourself? He’ll definitely whine a little as you propose it, he thought the whole idea of moving together was to be together as much as possible! It will take some explaining and pouting from you to convince him, in the end he’ll agree with you and help you organize the place, as he tries to, not so sneakily, bring his own stuff there. 

First is an extra chair in case he wants to visit, what about his music equipment? It was just laying around and won't take much space, and as soon as you realize you’re yet sharing another room with him. 

“I know what you’re doing, Woo..” 

You look at him seriously as he quietly installs his pc on the other side of the room. 

“What? You know the wifi is better here, it’s just for when I want to play with the guys, I promise baby” 

He pouts, trying to win you over this one. 

Mark 

He’ll gladly accept it with no complains, he also has his own room where he built a little studio to work on his music and have his alone time so he agrees right away when you vocalize the need to have a space of your own to work on your things and just have your alone time as well, but as soon as he has his days off at home he’ll get a little uneasy not seeing you so often around the house, doing nothing on the couch or doing your cutesy crafts on the dinner table. 

He’ll come around here and there, bringing you water or a treat, or even just to give you a kiss and when you least expect he’s laying on the little couch next to you, watching you work as he plays random songs on his guitar. 

“I thought we agreed on me having this room for just myself”

You comment after a while, your tone giving in that you weren’t even mad. More else amused to see him wanting to be there with you. 

“Ah, come on babe, I’m just giving you a little ambience song, pretend I’m not even here” 

Haechan 

Your own room? Alone time? But he barely sees you..are you mad at him? Is he annoying you? That man is going on full whiny mode as soon as you mention it. He can’t believe his baby doesn’t want to spend all their precious time together being glued into each other. 

Believe me it will take some time to convince him it’s nothing wrong with him, you just want a place to work on your hobbies in peace and have your alone times. After a while you’ll convince him, with the promise that he has a free pass to visit you whenever he’s missing you, and just like Mark he’ll make the most lame excuses to crash onto your room. 

“Seriously, what do you want now, hyuck?” 

You look back as you feel his presence, the boy looking at you with puppy eyes as he enters your room. 

“It’s just that I think I saw a spider on our room, I’m staying here just a little bit, promise”. 

You roll your eyes, not being able to contain a chuckle as he comes in, sitting next to you, snuggling onto you. 

“Baby you know the wifi is soo good in here, maybe I could bring my pc and we’ll have a cute couple’s gaming room!” 

[tragedy-of-commons]

"You're burning up" + Aventurine?

"You're burning up."

Aventurine doesn't know what else to say, so he goes with those three words. Safe bet - the doting parents in all the movies and sitcoms say it just like that; with care and worry, palm splayed out across the ill's forehead.

And holy hell are you ill.

Collapsed on his lavish sofa, you groan in response, swatting his hand away. "I'm gonna be just fine..."

He's inclined to disagree. You're sweating buckets despite how he'd mashed the thermostat down to its limit - he even had to shrug on a jacket. Perhaps Aventurine would have poked fun at you for your intolerance, but he has enough decorum to hold his tongue. He really doesn't like seeing you so put out, as much as you're welcome to crash here.

"Your poker face could use some work. Save your words, we can hang out another time," he dismisses easily, bracing himself for your incoming opposition. He reluctantly breaks away from your side to amble over to the coffee table, beginning to clean up the remnants of game night.

"No way," in the corner of his eye, he notices you shifting restlessly, "finals are coming up. Won't have time after this..."

Aventurine sighs, sweeping his very nice clay chips into one hand while using the other to click open their case. This time of year, things become almost unbearably hectic. He has exams coming up in a few weeks himself, and though he never needs to study, he always adheres to your modus operandi of 'cram now, cry later'.

"Well, you're not going back to those dorms in that state."

"You sound like a dickhead," you murmur. "You think I wanna live there? Shitty thin walls... shitty dining hall food..."

He chuckles, snapping the case shut and dusting his hands of nonexistent dust. "You're cruder than usual when you're feverish."

Aventurine almost startles when you gasp. "I have a fever?!"

...and you're loopy, too.

He gets you to sit still with the promise of retrieving a fever reducer and some water. Aventurine roots through his bathroom cabinets, combing through his own extensive collection of self-care and skin products to reach where he keeps his medication.

It takes several minutes of crouching down on the tile for him to realize he doesn't have any. He clicks his tongue - well, it seems his own lifestyle has backfired on him once again. Aventurine doesn't get sick often, doesn't spend a lot of time at home, and has enough stubborn resilience to power through any ailment that might plague him.

But for you? The only reason he spends any time at all in this stupidly expensive penthouse?

Yeah, he'll make a quick trip to the drugstore.

When he walks back into the living room with his shoes on and wallet in his pocket, his heart warms. You've somehow slipped into an upside down position, hair spilling over the edge of the cushions. You somehow make it look comfortable, eyes closed and brow free of any creases.

"Does that help your sinuses?" he asks, really only to test if you're awake.

"You smell good..."

Aventurine ignores how those words make him feel, eyeing the door (and where your shoes are lined up neatly against the wall).

"I have to restock on Tylenol," he swallows. "Will you be okay by yourself?"

"Yes," you respond coherently this time.

Before he departs, he cajoles you into another position in case you throw up like that and end up choking - not without some strangely endearing complaints that you'd normally never voice, positive thing you are.

He doesn't get to the inside mat before you pipe up again, making him stop in his tracks.

"C'mere," you cough. "Please, humor a dying star's last wish..."

He really should be going so he can get your temperature down quicker, but leaving you on the sofa while you're about to cough up a lung strikes him as cruel. Aventurine gives into your dramatics - which happen to perfectly align with his own at times - and makes his way over to you.

"What is it? Did I forget something?" he sits down on the armrest, perching there with perfect balance. When you don't respond immediately, an odd little expression on your face, he rests his chin on his fist, pensive.

You hum.

He doesn't expect much; a request for another pillow, a plea for him to turn on a movie for you while he's out. Instead, he's caught off-guard as you throw an arm around his waist and pull, effectively whisking him off the high ground and right into your grasp.

Aventurine initially tenses but settles as you nuzzle closer. You're the only person in the world that can get away with loving him so easily.

"M'sorry I got sick on game night..." you whisper, uncaring that you're spreading your sickness (and your homely oxytocin).

He finds himself not caring much either.

"Do you believe me to be that hung up on you catching a cold?"

Aventurine's heart rabbits cruelly - he's sure you can hear it, with the way you're snuggled against him and whatnot, but maybe he'll get lucky like he always has, and you'll remain oblivious and perfect and unbothered, despite what you do to him.

You sniffle, words thick with exhaustion. "I dunno. Just stay."

He can't. Not just because he has to go pick up that Tylenol, but because he feels like he might die if you keep saying things like that.

"Five minutes," he acquiesces.

Aventurine waits for your celebration of victory, but no such thing comes. You're fast asleep, clinging to him like he's worth something.

He stays for a lot longer than five minutes, only wriggling out of your arms when he's sure you won't wake up to find him gone. When he returns later with his spoils (which also just so happen to include your favorite drink), you're cradling a pillow in his place.

Before Aventurine is your boyfriend or lover, he is a liar.

He is most definitely, unequivocally, one hundred percent hung up on you.

🏷️: @akutasoda, @aviiarie, @lowkeyren

a/n: modern au because i couldn't possibly resist. just wanted to mention here that u guys absolutely killed it with these quotes. you have my gratitude! also why is he like that. soggy wet cat

event post here

[luvwestwood]

hi darling! can you write a perv! gojo smut where he likes to grope and lift your skirt? i’d love that in your writing

ੈ✩‧₊˚ SATORU JUST LOVES WHEN YOU WEAR SHORT LITTLE SKIRTS.

— 18+ twitter links included 💌

₊˚༊*·˚ warnings (18+), satoru is a pervert bf, humiliation kink, public foreplay/sex, cock warming, fingering, rough play, nsfw videos included, mildly dubious consent.

₊˚༊*·˚ notes thank u anon for ur request!! hehe it was fun writing this one, i've included multiple twitter links and surprisingly go with the two scenarios :3 hope you all enjoy!!

.. PERVY SATORU who just loves when you prance around in short little skirts— it gives him the opportunity to toy, and fuck with your mind whenever he wants, when he wants.

[LINK 💌]

although deep down, you love it. a squeeze at the plump of your ass here and there.

..those times when you two would go on an innocent date to the park, until satoru grows irritated— ending the day with you two cockwarming on a nearby bench.. oh how romantic.

satoru's hands leisurely guiding your hips back and forth- lifting your skirt up higher to take in the view of your bare ass; followed by his hand slipping between your legs to lazily rub circles over your clit as you discreetly fucked his needy cock.

"..putting this pretty skirt to good use, aren't we?" satoru teases, his hands taking your hair into his fist to put it behind your back— toying constantly at the ends.

meanwhile, your hands were holding onto either of his thighs for support as you fluctuated the pace at which your hips were moving at.

sometimes you'd glance over your shoulder just to see the same mocking smile satoru had on his face, eyes surveilling your movements, guaranteeing that you wouldn't stop.

heart threatening to leap out of your chest as the adrenaline gets the best of you— that if anyone were to peek under your skirt, they would see satoru's girthy cock stuffed balls deep inside of your pussy. only you two knew what was going on underneath.

it took a lot in him to not bend you over on the bench right there, fuck you silly as he bunched your skirt up past your hips— but he wasn't that mean.

❝ ..clean-up on aisle.. my pants! ❞

—and don't forget, the occasional, sneaky raising of your skirt in the kitchenware aisle at the back of the store where no one tends to go.

[LINK 💌]

satoru's long, slender fingers that are freezing cold to the touch; reaching under your skirt and hastily slipping a finger or two into your hole screaming with arousal. shivers being sent down your spine at the contrasting sensation.

your warm slick coating from his fingertips to his knuckles— satoru filled with content each time you squeal; the way you claw at his bicep from the way he'd curl up into you every single time.

"s-sato-r-u.. not.. not here," you whisper, almost mewl- his hand eagerly tugging at the hem of your skirt. breath hitching, you frantically look up and down both sides of the aisle, satoru handling you roughly as his palm meets the curve of your ass.

he freely roams around the soft flesh for a second, cock throbbing at the worried look on your face. he succumbed to the excitement he gets as he puts you on a tight-rope of humiliation, your flustered, panicked expression doing all sorts of things to him.

"shh.." he cooed, "if you aren't quiet enough, you'll definitely attract attention, hmm?" satoru's tone taunting, almost as if he wants you to both to get caught. he scans up and down the aisle as well, mirroring your actions- but pushes you both against a shelf displaying home furnishing products.

satoru's frame completely engulfing the distance between you, a hard tent presses against the side of your thigh; his middle and ring finger bypassing the fabric of your panties, pushing knuckles deep into your leaking hole.

his free hand wrapped around the other side of your waist, holding you close to him as possible— satoru wasting no time in jerking his fingers repeatedly inside of you, a squelching noise emitting from below. his soft palm hitting between your cheeks as he does so, your ass ripples from his movements; putting your boyfriend in a trance.

you squeal, satoru resting his chin atop your shoulder, hushing you every now and then.

you were constantly praying, hoping that no old suzie will come looking for a tartan cushion that was on the shelf beside you. manicured nails digging into his wrist, it does no use— his hand still being able to freely move about.

"n-ngh, sa..sat-oru-" words split into fragments, your mouth gapes open, face flushed with heat as he doesn't intend to stop, a sinister smile creeping onto his face as he watched you unfold before him.

your legs grow weak, his forearm that had been encircling your waist held onto you tighter, all to make sure that you stayed standing. "..want me to stop?" his breath tickles the shell of your ear, satoru's lips pressing against your jaw as you squirmed about in his embrace.

no response from you, satoru's movements come to a halt- quiet whimpers escaping your throat at the sudden empty feeling. "answer me baby, fuck- did you forget how to use your words?"

your head shaking from side to side desperately, you beg him not to, "n-no, keep- keep going.." voice trembling, your weight falls completely into his arms; teeth gritted as you felt an impending orgasm chasing after you, velvety walls clenching around his fingers.

satoru takes note of your demeanor, purring hundreds of prompts into your ear. "you wanna cum, huh? gonna cum for me?" he ushers you to the edge, grinning as you helplessly wrinkle his shirt into your fist, gripping onto it tightly as your eyes rolled shut.

in an instant, he comes to a complete stop— satoru retrieving his fingers from your hole, creamy slick glistening all over his fingers, partially covering his cherry coloured knuckles.

you suck in a deep breath, gasping; satoru's hand that was on your hip now plastered against your mouth. he wraps his lips around his fingers, licking them clean before giving your bare ass a playful spank.

"such a fucking jerk, satoru." you spit, words laced with venom, peeling his hands off you as you patted your skirt back down. turning your back against him, you scoff, walking away from your hysterical boyfriend.

satoru shrugs with a laugh, reaching for a fluffy cushion to his left before milling it at your head.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ © luvwestwood ‘24. confession/asks are open! all works originally come from my own head. I kindly ask, please do not re-post on a third party platform w/o my permission!

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ⤳ thank you for the love on all my works! i love each and every one of you!

[luvwestwood masterlist]

[meownotgood]

the neon pink rabbit dildo was aki's idea.

technically, you were the first one to mention using toys in the bedroom. you've been dating for quite a while now, and although everything with aki is always fantastic, you've been wondering if maybe the two of you should try to make things more... interesting. aki is polite. tightly-laced. pretty vanilla, to put it bluntly. you honestly weren't sure what sort of things he'd be into, if anything at all.

your coworkers had plenty of office gossip about the new fancy adult store they're opening down the block — it has two floors, they're having specials on all their products for couples. you figured it was worth mentioning to aki, just for the hell of it. you tell him as you're both relaxing in the living room after work, like you normally do.

everyone at your job has been complaining about the new surge of traffic to the nearest parking garage. it must be because of the new giant sex shop. ha ha, very funny. aki gives you an all-too serious once-over, before he gently asks, "did you want to check it out?"

you fumbled through your next words, and swiftly explained to your boyfriend that yes, sure, you wouldn't mind checking it out with him. it'd be exciting, really. honestly, you're all for experimenting, but you're unsure, you aren't very knowledgeable. the problem with the whole thing is that you don't know exactly what you'd like to try. it's a bit stressful to imagine getting lost in a huge adult store, with no idea what to purchase.

"I could try to pick something out. maybe that'd be less stressful." aki suggests, his slightly flushed face betraying his level tone. he crosses his legs and leans back into the couch. "only if you're interested, though."

you confirmed you were very, very interested.

part of you assumed aki might back out. he's been busy with work lately, so you had plenty of time to mull it over before your next date — but you honestly had no idea what sort of toy he might pick out. you know he'd put thought into it. he would choose something for a specific reason, or purposefully pick a toy he assumed you would like. perhaps he'd imagine how he might use it on you. would it be something small? large? super adventurous or overly simple?

still, despite all your thinking, when the day actually comes, aki manages to surprise you.

he comes over to your place shortly after you text him an invite. sure. I just got done with work. I'll be over soon, aki replies. he sends another string of texts shortly afterwards, while you're busy tripping over your pant leg, trying to quickly change into your lingerie. I missed you. I'm bringing a surprise.

maybe it was that text, or maybe it was because you haven't seen him in close to a week and you're practically dying to feel his touch, but once he arrives, the two of you barely last a few innocent minutes together before you're stumbling into your bedroom.

aki allows you to pull him forward and on top of you by his tie when you flop back onto your bed. your hands run through his soft hair to tug it free of its hairtie. you kiss his lips and brush your tongue against his with fervor, and you don't protest when he shifts to trail tingling, affectionate kisses down your neck.

you curl into his touches — his mouth on your collar, his palm gliding over your lower back — and you make quick work of a good third of his work uniform: his tie, his jacket, the first few buttons on his dress shirt. aki is much more efficient. he discards your clothes with careful movements, between soft kisses. he sighs when he pulls back, nervously running a hand through his hair, his eyes heavy at the sight of your pretty body held tight by the thin, perfectly fitting lingerie.

"you look beautiful," he hums, completely earnest. you shudder, your arms held around his neck and shoulders. your thighs spread wider for him as his warm palm brushes in between them.

you'd almost forgotten about the surprise, until aki reminds you of it.

he pulls himself off of you for a moment to reach into his bag. the dildo is moderately sized, a handful of inches in length at most, but it doesn't seem cheap. it's made from bright pink silicone, long and thick with two different sections. the smaller portion is adorned with two small knobs, shaped like rabbit ears.

it's meant for double stimulation, aki explains awkwardly, between a handful of uhms and stutters. you could certainly gather as much from the shape.

he places a hand on your waist ever-so gently, and when he asks, are you okay with this? you're swift to answer with a nod of your head. you're more than okay with it. what you couldn't figure out is how it might feel — until aki finally opts to show you.

he has you sprawled out beneath him, completely pliant. your arms are above your head, hands clenching tight as he glides his palm from your waist to your thigh with reassurance. he squeezes, and he fiddles with the toy for a moment, gauging the various controls. as he leans in closer, he presses a kiss to your cheek, he breathes a low instruction to relax. then, he flips the toy to press just the small, vibrating, rabbit-eared attachment to your still-clothed clit.

you can feel the faint vibrations, even through your lingerie. the toy must be on the lowest setting; it's more of a tease than anything else. still, your eyes flutter. you let go of a satisfied sound, and eagerly grind your hips up to meet the toy.

aki sighs. "you want more?" he murmurs, already sitting up and hooking his thumb around the string of your underwear. "can I take this off?"

you nod hastily, and lift your hips to allow him to pull the garment down your legs and all the way off.

aki's jaw clenches. sweat is forming at his brow and his palms, as you coo his name and spread your legs wider for him. you're so wet — he can tell without touching, but he's entirely sure once he guides the thick head of the toy over your cunt, and sees your arousal glistening on the silicone. he gives you another soft squeeze, another gentle touch on your side, a final, are you sure?

when you whimper and plead, please, aki, I want to feel it, he hardly hesitates to give you exactly what you've been hoping for.

the dildo is just the perfect size. it slides into you effortlessly, filling you perfectly and snugly. the length of it is curved slightly, and you can feel that curve as he slowly eases it in — nudging your walls, the thick tip deliciously meeting your sweet spot.

"there, that's it," aki praises. once the toy is all the way inside you, he lets go of a sigh that sounds thoroughly satisfied. "god. you take it so well."

your spine tingles at the sound of his smooth voice. he adjusts the toy slightly, and as the flexible rabbit-eared piece presses against your clit, vibrations a little stronger than before, your whole body tremors.

aki fucks you on the toy with slow, shallow thrusts, enough to keep the vibrations on your clit. and it's intense, it's so much; the toy fucks you so well and hits your sweet spot with its perfect curve on every thrust in. the vibrations are low and constant, thrumming against your sensitive, puffy clit.

wet noises fill the room as you dirty the toy's pretty pink shaft. aki keeps his pace slow, deliberate, never pressing it in too hard or too fast. all you can do is quiver and whine, your voice already becoming strained and loud.

he clicks a button on the dildo, and it begins to vibrate with strong pulses.

you're so beautiful; pleading his name, keeping your heavy, warm gaze locked on his despite the way your eyelids flutter. aki swears you're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen as he watches the way you take all he has to give you. you have no idea what this is doing to him, how his heart is pounding and his mind is racing and oh, you were made to take this toy. you're all his, he has complete control over every facet of your pleasure. and god, does he want to make you cum for him.

aki increases the strength of the vibrations. "you're irresistible," he murmurs, and you don't fail to catch the small break at the end of his voice. he's falling apart too, just from this. "say my name again, please. want to make you cum for me, beautiful."

he trails soft kisses down your jaw while the dildo pleasures your cunt and your clit — and when you cum, you cum quickly and hard.

you tremor, you hold onto him tight, you soak the toy as your legs shake and your voice gives out. aki slows while you struggle to regain your breath, a hand slowly caressing your side, guiding you to breathe again. his heart feels like it might hammer out of his own chest.

"f-fuck..." aki swears, his breath shaky, his brows pinched. "you've never- that was-" he sighs. you're so lovely, so pretty. he's definitely going to lose his mind if he hasn't lost it already. why didn't he think of something like this sooner? "god... can you take one more for me?"

for @violet-turning-violet

[sometimesanalice]

I Like Your Cinema

Synopsis: Bradley wasn’t sure why you wanted to see the movie again, especially when neither one of you had particularly liked it the first time you’d seen it together. But when you’re tugging down his zipper, things start to make a lot more sense.

Pairing: Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw X Female Reader

Length: 6K

Warnings: Unapologetic Smut (minors dni)

(author's note: this fic is set in the 'Like I Can Universe', but can be read on it's own! )

Bradley wasn’t expecting to find himself rolling up to the mostly empty movie theater parking lot at 11am on a sunny Saturday morning. But here he was.

He’d had to exercise more self-control than he knew he was capable of when you’d all but skipped out his front door wearing the tightest pair of jeans he’d ever seen. It was all he could do to follow after you to the Bronco, his eyes glued to all of your denim clad curves, instead of pulling you right back into bed with him like he wanted to.

In the passenger’s seat next to him, you’re surprisingly upbeat for someone who was only running off of two cups of coffee instead of the usual three you needed to become a semblance of a functional human being. You’d happily hummed along to the songs playing on the radio the whole ride to the theater.

The two of you had already seen the movie a few weeks ago. It had been fine, but they’d clearly used the funniest moments in the trailer as a way to get people in the seats. It wasn’t one he was particularly interested in seeing again in theaters, but he’d never been good at refusing you. Not when he was younger and certainly not now. So if you wanted to see it he’d be there seated right next to you, just the way he liked to be.

Although Bradley was still trying to remember just when last night it was that the two of you had talked about going to see a matinee showing of it again. He can only guess that it must have slipped his mind after the way you’d come on his mouth.

Less than an hour ago you were hustling him into the shower, he was thinking he was about to get lucky until you’d told him to hurry up or the two of you would be late.

“Wait, late for what, kid?” he’d asked confused. To his knowledge other than meeting up with Mav and Penny for dinner later that night, your Saturday was wonderfully free of plans.

He was getting used to having more morning of waking up with you than less. In his bed, in your bed. There was nothing he like more than feeling all your warm skin under his palm before the sun was up. After so many years on hard beds, it was your softness he was always seeking out still half asleep before getting up for the day.

He’s learned so many things about you from a lifetime of friendship, but he’s only had a couple of months learning what makes you sigh and gasp and keen and come.

It was one thing to know that you weren’t a morning person, regardless of how much you claimed you to be one, and another to see your adorably sleepy pout first thing in the morning with the pillow crease still etched on your cheek.

Bradley liked knowing what your preferred brand of toothpaste was and how many steps were in your bedtime routine. For as well as he’s always known you, there was so much more to discover and he was loving every new bit of you he got to uncover.

He liked your cozy apartment filled with all your pretty things and framed pictures on the walls. He’d never thought of getting a rug for in front of the sink in the kitchen until he was doing the dishes one night at your place, that night he’d ordered one for himself. However, he’d rather see your impressive shoe collection next to his minimal assortment of boots and sneakers in the closet of his condo.

More often than not, you were coming to his place with a tote bag full of your things, spare clothes and travel sized products. He didn’t want you to feel like a visitor passing through, he wanted to be your home. He was still working out how to ask you to move in with him, but he’ll figure it out. He always does.

He wanted more mornings, more nights, more days with you.

“For the movie,” you’d said slowly, looking at him deliberately. Tilting your head at him like his confusion was confusing you.

“Sweet girl, what movie? When did we talk about this? I literally don’t remember.”

The exasperated sigh that came out of you would have been funny if he hadn’t been wracking his brain trying to catch up with something he didn’t realize he was missing to begin with.

“Bradley, come on,” you huffed, petulantly, “We talked about it before bed last night. You said you’d come with me, I already bought the tickets for it.” You wiggle your phone at him like it’ll somehow help to jog his memory.

Well, that explains it. You’d done a number on him last night.

“Last night, huh?” he smirked, grabbing your hips and pulling you to him, “Was this before or after I coaxed you into sitting on my face?” Bradley chuckled at the bashful look that coasted over your face as you shoved at his shoulder lightly, but he’d just tugged you in closer, “Awh, c’mon, don’t get shy on me. It was hot.”

He liked being the one that gets to make you all flustered.

You just shook your head at him, not taking the bait, “It was after.”

“Well if it was after then you can’t blame me for not retaining that conversation.  You should know by now that you can’t hold me to whatever comes out of my mouth when I’m still pussy dru-”

“Don’t be crass,” you’d tutted at him, tugging at the hem of his worn Navy shirt.

He slides his thumbs under your shirt, letting them skim over the soft skin above your underwear, “We both know how much you like this mouth, especially when it’s ‘crass’.”

You’d hummed at him- admitting nothing, denying nothing - before a mischievous grin overtook your face, “That’s a good a tidbit to know though, seems like the kind of thing that could work in my favor for the future.”

Those dimples would be the end of him.

“Troublemaker,” he’d said, pulling off his shirt and dropping it onto the bathroom floor.

You weren’t subtle about the way you checked him out, “What are you going to do about it?”

The sweatpants came off next and your eyes weren’t anywhere near his face when he replied, “Come get in the shower with me and I’ll show you real quick.”

You’d sauntered up to him slowly. And for a moment he thought you were going to reach for his cock, instead you’d grabbed a fluffy white towel and pressed it into his chest, “Not going to happen, Bradshaw. We’ve got a date with seats F9 and F10 in 40 minutes. Chop-chop, pretty boy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Although, it didn’t stop him from snapping the towel at your ass when you’d spun away in your triumph.

He’s given up trying to remember the conversation from the night before or when you bought the tickets because you are happily tugging him towards the doors to the theater and he’d do just about anything to see the pretty curve of your smile.

Including seeing the action comedy that had one too many explosion sequences and a car that ends up in space for whatever reason.

The last time he made a fuss about you not letting him be the one to buy something for the two of you, you’d given him a look that had nearly pinned him to the damn wall and then said: “Don’t be a caveman. It’s not the 1950’s, I am allowed buy you things too.”

He’d hate to be called anti-feminist, so he was trying to get better about letting you pamper him in your own ways. But that didn’t stop him from trying to be the first one to reach for a credit card every chance he got. You were his girl and he couldn’t help himself.

Bradley opens the door for you and is hit with the smell of freshly popped popcorn. He looks down at you in time to watch as your nose scrunches the same way it always has in all the years that he’s known you.

Once the tickets on your phone are scanned by the yawning teen at the podium in the lobby entry, you’re lacing your fingers between his again, “Let’s get some snacks.”

“How are you even hungry right now?” He’d made the two of you a big breakfast to recoup some energy after being thoroughly worn out by you last night. So he doesn’t know how you even have junk food on the brain right now.

“We’re at the movie theater, Bradley, we’re legally required to get something with some Red Dye 40 and an obscene amount of sugar in it.”

“My bad, you’re right.”

“Of course, I am,” you preen.

He huffs an amused laugh as you lead him to concessions stand. It’s early enough that there’s only one person working the counter. The two of you get in line behind the family with three small kids who have their faces and little hands pressed against the glass display with all the colorful boxes of candies excitedly making their selections.

Bradley is watching as you mull over the choices on the flat screen TVs displaying the theaters offerings, your lips quirked to the side deep in thought. As he watches you, it dawns on him that the two of you will have plenty of time after the movie to run a few errands before they meet Mav and Penny for dinner.

“Hey, I was thinking about getting for a new dresser. I think mine might be too small now that all my things are here in San Diego now. If you’re up for it afterwards, do you want to come help me pick one out? Anything outside of IKEA is bit outside my area of expertise.”

With your help over the last few months, he’s been picking up a few new things to make his place feel more like a home and less like something temporary. Like some throw pillow for the couch, some nicer towels for the bathroom that all match. All little things but he liked that your fingerprints were all over his place even when you weren’t there with him.

“Oh yeah?” you say as you turn your face to look up at him, eyes alight with interest, “I’d be happy to, it’ll be fun! I can think of at least 5 places off the top of my head. You’re in good hands, trust me.”

“Don’t I know it,” he winks and drops a kiss on your cheek.

When it’s your turn to order you get a Cherry Coke for yourself and a Root Beer for him. Along with a bag of gummy bears, a box of Milk Duds, and a packet of Red Vines. But it’s your final request that surprises him.

“Oh, and a large popcorn, please,” you say with a smile.

He peers down at you quizzically, “But you hate popcorn.”

“What are you talking about? No, I don’t.” He just gives you a skeptical lift of his eyebrow. “Ok, maybe in the past,” you allow, with a little nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, “But today I want some, it sounds good.”

Bradley has never in his life seen you eat anything other than the homemade stuff from on a stovetop, but at the determined tip of your chin he isn’t about to press it. You’ve always been the type of girl who knows what she wants. And gets it.

“Whatever you want, kid,” he says handing over his credit card to the girl behind the counter. Feeling more than a little pleased with himself as she swipes it since you’re still trying to reach for your wallet in your purse.  

You smile and shake your head at him as you press that overly large bucket of popcorn into his chest for him to take, it’s shiny and yellow with artificial butter. You grab a stack of the thin, single-ply napkins and stuff them into your purse before grabbing the rest of the goods from off the fingerprint covered counter.

He trails after you popping a few salty buttery pieces into his mouth, admiring the curve of your ass in those jeans. His own personal preshow entertainment.

The seats you had grabbed were to the left side in the very back row of one of the smaller theaters that are usually reserved for movies about to hit on-demand and streaming services. Bradley can’t say he’s too surprised that the zoom kaboom movie isn’t going to have a long theatrical run.

It doesn’t escape his notice the way you set his drink in the cup holder on the left side of his assigned seat, your own soda going into the cup holder on your right before you settle into your own seat. It’s the little things you do for him, like putting his cup on his dominant side or stocking the fridge at your place with his favorite beer, that make him fall more and more for you every day.

The two of you get competitive when the movie trivia segment plays. You’re a split second faster than him blurting out Matt Damon in Ocean’s Twelve and securing your win against him. Your victory shimmy in your seat is cut short when a man comes walking down the aisle heading towards the front row of the theater.

Bradley plays a couple rounds of the beer pong game on his phone that you always tease him about in between eating handfuls of popcorn waiting for the lights to dim and the movie to start. He offers you the bucket, but you press it back towards him and tell him you’ll have some later.

He thinks he catches the movie app with the seating chart from the corner of his eye, but you’re probably just closing it out from using it to get the tickets scanned earlier. But you’re more fidgety than normal. It’s only after he clocks you pulling your phone for the third time that he asks, “You seem antsy, you ok?”

“I’m just excited to see the movie again,” you reply, putting your phone on airplane mode and tucking it back into your purse.

“I didn’t realize you liked it so much.”

“Well, I did. I think you’ll like it more this time too, it takes at least two watches to catch all the nuances.”

“I didn’t realize a Kevin Hart movie could have so many layers,” he jokes as the lights turn down.

“You shush, it’s starting.”

As the opening sequence plays, you push up the armrest between the two of you to lean your head on his shoulder, curling into him as much as you can. When you rest your hand on his stomach he decides this might be his new favorite way to spend a Saturday morning, with you pressed against him in a darkened room and breathing in the smell of your shampoo.

Bradley isn’t surprised in the least when you turn down his offer of popcorn again 20 minutes later when it’s revealed the best friend in the movie is actually a rogue CIA agent. He smirks to himself when you push until its resting on top of the thigh furthest away from you. He couldn’t wait to tease you about it after the movie was over.

As the movie builds to the first big action sequence, your hand slowly slides lower down his stomach. It’s all he can to do try and focus on the movie in hopes of distracting himself from getting a hard-on like some horny teenager rather than the grown ass man that he is.

But then right as the chase scene through the crowded streets of London starts, you’re popping open the button on his jeans and tugging down his zipper.

And then you’re pulling out his now very hard cock.

“Oh, shit.”

Your delicate fingers are teasing along the length of him with a featherlight touch. He couldn’t care less about the half a million-dollar car on screen that’s on its way to the junkyard with the way it’s getting destroyed, and is entirely enthralled by the way your hand looks loosely wrapped around his cock as you toy with him.

“This ok?” you ask quietly, in a way that has him wanting to flutter his eyes closed. Your thumb sweeps slowly along under the flare of his head in the way you know he likes.

He’s always been a bit adventurous, he likes the adrenaline rush both in the air and on the ground, and he was learning you were too. You’d never come so quick for him as you did the night in the parking lot of the Hard Deck when the fire alarm went off unexpectedly causing everyone to start flooding out as you were riding his cock in the driver’s seat of the Bronco.

Bradley had never been more thankful to have arrived late enough that he’d had to park on the other side of the dumpsters. The only person who was allowed to see you undone and unraveled was him.

“So fucking ok, sweet girl,” he rasps as soundlessly as he can. The one other person in the theater with them is quite a few rows ahead of them, but he wasn’t about to give away what was going on in the back row of Auditorium 17 at the AMC Chula Vista 10.

“Shh, don’t you know talking during a movie is rude, Bradley?” you whisper into the shell of his ear. And god does he want to laugh, but he has to grit his teeth together to hold back the moan he’s desperate to release when you more firmly grasp him in your hand.

He already knows that is something that’s going to keep him occupied on those nights the two of you spend apart. Something to dream about on a cramped bunk bed on a carrier in the middle of the ocean when he is thousands of miles away from you.

You and your pleased smile and your hand on his cock.

There’s no way he could have prepared himself for the way you lean over him and lick up the length of him with a broad stroke of your tongue.

You’ve got one hand at the base of him and the other braced on his thigh supporting you. He’s clutching at the rim of that damn bucket of popcorn like it’s a lifeline as you drop wet, open mouthed kisses along his cock.

His pulse is thrumming in his throat and he can’t quite remember how to push the air out of his lungs. He’s had years of learning specialized breathing techniques and it all flies out of his mind at the stroke of your hand and the bob of your head and the swirl of your tongue.

Bradley is desperate to see you face, there’s nothing he loves more than looking into your eyes when you’re treating him to your perfect mouth. It’s not possible at this angle, but he gathers your hair into his fist so that he can see your lips stretched around him. He’s not guiding your motions, he just wants a better look at you. Even in the dimly lit auditorium, he can see how spit-slicked you’ve gotten him.

You’re taking as much of him as you can, with each dip of your head more and more of him disappears into your hot mouth.

And when he hits the back of your throat he nearly loses his mind.

“Jesus,” he curses up to the ceiling, throwing his head back and trying not to pant. Thankfully in time with some explosion on screen and he knows without a doubt that you’d done it at that moment on purpose.

You pull off of him and the string of spit glinting between your lips and his cock is going to fuel his one-handed fodder for the next month. He watches in rapt until its pulled taut enough to break. Your lips are shiny and wet, there’s a satisfied smile on your face as you take him in, still pumping him with your hand.

Your teeth graze his earlobe, and goosebumps erupt along his forearms. Your words hushed so that only he could hear them. Only meant for him. “God, Bradley, you’re so good to me. You’ve always been so good to me.”

“Sweet girl,” he whispers, roughly. His chest is tight with his sheer want of you.

You kiss his cheek, “Just enjoy the movie, Bradley.” Your hand is gliding up and down his shaft easily, your thumb skimming over his sensitive head on every upstroke.

Your tongue dips out to lave at the divot at the base of his neck and you nudge him with your nose in a silent request. He leans his head back along the red velvet seat and angles himself away to give you all the access to column of his throat. With his eyes tightly squeezed closed, every touch feels that much more heightened to him. Your hot breath on his throat is at stark contrast to the air conditioning wafting through the auditorium.

The feel of your lips mouthing and sucking and licking along him is worth any shit he’d get if he goes onto base on Monday wearing your handiwork on his neck. He’d do those extra push-ups with pride.

He looks down to where your hand is working him in smooth strokes, your fingertips not touching until they reach the from ridge of the head of his cock. He knows he’s not small by any means, but in your hands he looks huge.

It feels so wrong and so right. The movie is loud enough to cover any slick sounds your hand is making and the other person is far enough away that there’s no way the two of you will be caught, not above the surround sound of screeching tires on pavement and the shattering of glass.

Your lips graze his ear, “You always know just what I need and what to say. You make feel so seen and so special.” With every generous word, his heart hammers harder and harder against his ribs. Your sweet voice and your hand working his cock have him dizzy with need. “And it’s not just me. I don’t miss the way you check to see if anyone else needs a drink before you go to get another one or the way you’re always the first to help when someone needs an extra set of hands. It’s so hot the way you take care of everyone.”

Bradley’s face feels warm, he’s sure he’s flushed pink. He’s trying to keep his breathing under control, but you’re making it difficult for him. He’s never shied away from the praise that comes with his career, he’s worked and sacrificed for that. But with you, he never wants to stop earning it from you.

“You’re so damn handsome,” you hum, your lips brushing over one of the scars on his neck, the ones he’s never told you the full story about just how he got them. “I’ve never been so desperate for someone before, I want you all the time. I didn’t know it could be like this, Bradley. I lo-like you so much.”

He breathes your name unevenly.

He didn’t realize how hungry he was for those three words from you until just now. He’s loved you his whole life, in the affectionate way that friends do, but it’s been increasingly clear to him over these last few months that he is also in love with you.

Bradley already knew he was never going to feel the same way about anyone else the way he feels about you.

He’s never felt more himself than he does with you. You know the best parts of him and the worst, you’ve been there and seen it all. He doesn’t have to just be Rooster or Lieutenant Bradshaw all the time. He can just be.

It’s never been like this for him before either. He’s always orbited around your sun, but now you’re his whole universe.

He loses himself to the sound of your voice and pretty praise, soft and low, and to the feel of your lips and tongue on his skin as you work his cock in the way that he knows is going to have him seeing stars soon.

Bradley can feel your grin against his neck right before you drag your teeth down the column of his throat, “No one has ever fucked me as good as you do. I’ve never come so hard as I do with you.” 

He has to swallow down the groan that almost escapes him as he jerks into your hand as a tidal wave of masculine pride crashes into him.

Damn right you do.

You are his girl.

He knows your body. He knows you.

His. His. His.

Yours. Yours. Yours.

A cough from the front of the auditorium startles the both of you. The tension makes his throat tight, but when it’s followed by a sniffle rather than a second more pointed noise, the two of you know you’re safe to continue.

“Bradley.” He can hear the request in the way you say his name. With no minimal effort, he cracks his eyes open and turns his head to you. Half of your pretty face is illuminated by the movie playing in front of the two of you.

Holding his gaze, you slowly stick your shiny, pink tongue out to him and he almost comes on the spot.

He can see the playful dare in your eyes and the wicked curve of the corners of your mouth around your waiting tongue.

You know exactly what you are doing to him. A menace, his favorite menace.

His favorite person.

Bradley leans over and cups your jaw in his hand, his thumb skimming along your cheek right before he spits into your open mouth.

You let him admire his handiwork for a moment and then you wink at him.

It’s in that instant that he knows he’s played right into your winning hand because you’re leaning back down over his cock and letting the combination of his spit and yours drip right on to the top of him.

The two of you watch as the thick dribble slowly slides off and down, down guided by the thick vein along the length of him.

When it reaches the base of his cock, your mouth is chasing after it as you take him right down to the hilt.

His stomach and thighs are tensing with the strain of holding himself back when you hollow your cheeks around him. He almost doesn’t want to give in just yet, but the feel of your soft lips and the firm strokes of your hand on him is just too good.

That pressure that has been steadily building behind his bellybutton is too hard to ignore. He’s so close now. You must be able to tell he’s right there too because you’re humming around him in that way that makes his lower stomach and inner thighs coil in anticipation. He reaches for your leg, driven by the overwhelming need to touch you. Bradley can feel all your soothing warmth through your painted on jeans under his palm.

And with a tricky twist of your wrist at the base of his cock as you tongue at the firm ridge of him, he spills into your perfect mouth as you finish him off.

Bradley’s mind goes blank with pleasure as it hits him like a sucker punch. 

It’s intense. It’s a rush. It’s all because of you.

Spent and sated he melts further into the comfortable movie theater seat as you clean what cum you couldn’t swallow with your tongue, laving at him until you were content before tucking him back into his boxer briefs.

He doesn’t know how he made it through that without sending that giant bucket of popcorn to the floor, but the rim of it is noticeable crumbled on one side. He balances it on his leg as he adjusts himself and rebuttons his jeans.

When he looks over at you, you’re popping a Milk Dud into your mouth like a prize for a job well done. And you grin widely at him.

“C’mere,” he murmurs, affectionately pulling you back to him. He kisses the top of your head as you tuck yourself into his chest, that box of candy clutched in your hand.

The rest of the movie passes in a hazy blur as his heartrate returns to normal while he plays with the ends of your hair.

He tries offering you the popcorn again, but once again you push it away. This time he does laugh and you tilt your head up and press a soft kiss at the base of his throat. He can’t help but smile to himself every time you hold up one of the chocolate-covered caramel candies up for him to eat, your eyes never leaving the screen.

And this time, he’s not even annoyed when they misidentify the Immelmann Turn for a Barrel Roll Attack. Although how they got a Pontiac Fiero airborne is still beyond him.  

When the man in the front row leaves as the credits start rolling he turns to you, “Well, you were right, sweet girl. I think that might be my new favorite movie.”  

Your smile is beaming, but your laugh is even brighter.

He still can’t believe that just happened, but he’s already planning to preorder the damn collector’s edition Blu-ray the second he can. “Can I ask what brought that on?”

“You keep trying to get handsy with me at the library, but you know I can’t desecrate the books. Knowledge is power, Bradley. But I figured this was something you might like too.”

“Are you telling me you brought me here for the sole purpose of getting me off in the back row, kid?

“I am and I did,” you preen.

Bradley chuckles and leans over for a kiss. It’s soft and sweet.

He pulls away and looks into your eyes, grinning he asks, “So you like me, huh?” He knows he’s probably pressing his luck, but he’s willing to take a gamble if it means he gets to hear that from you again.

You press you lips together trying to fight back your own smile, “I’m not saying those three words to you for the first time after blowing you in the back row of an AMC, Bradshaw.”

“Is it just the AMC then?” he teases, setting his bucket of popcorn to the side before pulling you into his lap. Your knees balanced on the seats to either side of him as you settle on him, “Because we could hit up a Regal if that’s more your speed. Or-”

“Bradley,” you laugh, trying to cover his mouth with your hand.

He catches it in his and presses a quick kiss to your palm, “And what if I told you I like you too? Would that change anything?”

It’s no secret what he really means. He knows what almost slipped out of your mouth. But if you’re not quite ready to say it then he can be patient. You’re more than worth the wait.

Bradley sees the way your eyes light up and the way your smile gets even wider only a sliver of a second before you’re ducking down to eagerly kiss him.

For a moment he feels like he is a teenager again, making out with his girlfriend in the back of a movie theater without anyone around. Wild and reckless and carefree.

Your hands slide up his chest and into his hair, your nails on his scalp have him sinking further into the seat. His hands grip your ass, just like the way he’s by dying to touch you since he saw you in them this morning. He takes advantage of your gasp to slide his tongue against yours. He didn’t know that happiness tasted like the Cherry Coke you had been sipping on, but it does and he can’t get enough of it.

He probably would have kept on kissing you if it were for the pointed clearly of a throat that has the two of you flying apart like you’ve both been electrocuted. The teen standing in the aisle just awkwardly lifts up the broom and dust pan.

You bite your lip to keep from giggling at getting caught as you scramble off of his lap collecting your things, hastily shoving the candy back in your purse and babbling a sorry, sorry that he personally didn’t think sounded too terribly apologetic. He’s quick to follow your lead, checking his pockets to make sure he still had his wallet and keys, not forgetting to grab that large cardboard popcorn bucket as you head for the double doors to the auditorium.

The two of you manage to keep it together until the swinging door closes behind and then you’re bursting out into a fit of laughter in the hallway.

“Oh my god, Bradley, I’m mortified,” you giggle into his chest, “We can never come back here.”

“Nah, I’m sure that’s not the first time that kid has busted people for necking in the back row. Plus this is the best reviewed AMC in the area,” he says with a grin, dropping his arm over your shoulders. “Hey, I’ve still got at least half a bucket of popcorn left should we make it a double feature? I’m more than happy to return the favor. Those jeans of yours might make it a little difficult, but I’m up for the challenge.” He gives you a playfully suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Maybe next time,” you grin, reaching up and threading your fingers through his to tug him towards the exit. “I am worried we might be arrested for public indecency if we stay here a second longer.”

He tosses the popcorn bucket into the trash as the two of you pass by the concession stand on your way out.

“Ok, kid, but I have to know, why did you order the biggest size they had if you weren’t going to eat it too? We both know you hate movie theater popcorn.”

“You’re not allowed to tease me if I tell you.”

“I promise not to tease you,” he says holding open the door for you.

“I thought it might help to block any potential wandering eyes,” you admit, blushingly, “Just in case, there was any last-minute Kevin Hart super fans who wanted to go to a matinee first thing in the morning.”

He tips his head back and laughs, “She’s smart and pretty.”

“And you like me for it,” you say, squeezing his hand in yours.

“Oh, I more than like you for it, sweet girl,” he confirms.

Any other plans he had for the day are forgotten when you press him against the Bronco for another thorough kiss.

It was a miracle the two of you weren’t late meeting Penny and Mav later that night.

He still wants to get a new dresser, he wants you to have a place to put things in his home. But if his girlfriend wants to spend the rest of their Saturday in bed together, who is he to deny you.

Not when he knows you like him.

You don’t make him wait long to hear it though.

They are the first three words he heard out of your mouth the next morning.

And it is without a doubt the best thing he’s ever heard in his life.

Nothing has ever felt as easy or as right to him as it does saying it back to you against your smiling lips.

I love you I love you I love you I love you

Shout out to the AMC Chula Vista 10! They're the real MVP here. Bradley and Sweet Girl definitely return, and the next time she wears a dress 🤗

A big thank you to Jordan (@gretagerwigsmuse) for being the ultimate hype girl, I know when the vibes are right when the ALL CAPS come out. Ames (@laracrofted) you saved the day with the color edit for the banner, thank you! And Elle (@callsignspark), you know what you did and I thank you for letting me join you on the 'spit in my mouth' agenda, haha!

If you enjoyed these two, you can read their story from the start here!

You can read my other stories here!

Tag list:

@gretagerwigsmuse @sehnsuchts-trunken @notroosterbradshaw @tongue-like-a-razor @laracrofted @bradshawsbitch @starryeyedstories @top-hhun-main @startrekfangirl2233 @callsign-viper @teacupsandtopgun @shanimallina87 @angelbabyange @oneelleandaneye @mizzzpink @cornishkat @alana4610 @20th-centu-fairy-girl @pono-pura-vida @donttouchmycarrots @eg-dr3amer3 @whaledots-blog @a-beaverhausen @hangmanscoming @mandolin22 @theweekndhistorybook @lilpeekabooze @high-bi-imgonnacry @ahintofkiwistrawberry @ruewrote @spiderman-stilinski @jayniebop @my-soulmate-is-mycroft @imaginecrushes @keyrani @chicomonks @artemissunn @mayempress @eddiemunsonreader

[folklorcore]

skincare time - v. hacker

Pairing: Vinnie Hacker x Fem!Reader

TW/Tags: Pure fluff, established relationship.

Summary: Vinnie asks you to do your skin care routine on him, starting with a nice tradition between the two of you.

Words count: 0.63 k.

You were in the bathroom inside Vinnie's room, your boyfriend.

You were mostly doing your skincare routine, when he knocked on the door.

"Baby, are you done yet? I miss you." he complained, opening the door a little to see what you were doing.

"Actually, yeah, I just need to brush my hair." You nodded looking at him in the mirror in front of you while he hugged you around the waist and hid his face in the crook of your neck.

You ran the brush through the ends of your hair and then brushed the rest.

"What's it for?" he asked taking a tube of liquid charcoal mask.

You smiled at the product in his hands and set the brush aside when you were done. "It's a mask, love."

"The kind that stick to your face and take away the blackheads or something?" he stopped hugging you to better observe the product.

"Yeah, exactly." You were going to start saving everything you used but he stopped you.

"Do you think you could… I don't know, do your skincare routine on me?" he asked biting his bottom lip looking at you. "If you don't want it doesn't matter I just—"

"Of course, sit down." You indicated to him by moving to the side so that he could sit where you were before and he did that.

You started by taking one of your hair bands, using it to keep his curls out of his face.

To say that he looked adorable was an understatement. Vinnie watched the movement of your hands where they went, waiting for what you would do next.

First you helped him wash his face with a purifying gel that you used.

You passed a towel that you used especially for your face across his face, removing excess water from his face with touches all over it.

"Your touch is too light and soothing." he mentioned with his eyes closed, making you giggle.

"Thanks, baby." you responded by choosing a Korean face mask to put on, choosing an avocado one.

You opened it up and spread it out, placing it on his face carefully. But he was startled by the sudden cold contact on his skin.

"Shit, it's cold."

When you got it fully on his face you looked down at your phone, checking the time.

"We have to wait twenty minutes."

As the said time passed you talked about your day, while he just nodded because he couldn't speak or his mask would fall off.

When you looked at the phone again, at least twenty-five minutes had passed. You went back to remove the piece of cloth from Vinnie's face and deposit it in the trash.

You took the towel again to dry him and put it aside.

You took some facial cream, putting it in the palm of your hand and with two of your fingers of the other free hand, you took the product to put dots of it on his face.

Then you gently began to spread it all over his face.

"This really is relaxing." He muttered sleepily, and you smiled looking at him.

"I know." you nodded removing your hands from his face and left a peak on his lips, removing the band from his hair. "lets go to bed."

He nodded getting up from his seat, hugging you to guide you towards the bed. Where he threw himself with you into his arms making you laugh and him smile.

"Good night, love." you said looking at your boyfriend already asleep.

"Good night, doll."

The next day at night, you came out of the bathroom when you were done with your skincare routine and he was standing by the door.

And what he said left a smile on your lips.

"It's skincare time."

REQUESTS ARE OPEN.

[luvendiary]

3 times hiccup asked you to marry him + the time you realized he meant it

hello! this was an early draft for this request: Hello!!! Imagine hiccup telling reader "I'm in love with you" / "Marry me" out of blue after a stare down (can be established relationship or not muahahaha) I like how this turned out, except for the ending. it's sort of shitty in my opinion. also, this isn't proofread. and sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language. feel free to point them out. also, there’s a slight corpse bride reference with the vows!! as always, thank you for reading. let me know what you think and if you'd like more of this. requests are always open!

1.

Snoggletog was one of your favorite festivities. The beautiful coat of snow that hugged the soil, and the way the sunlight softly reflected on it was perfect to you. You loved to see how vikings busied themselves by hanging up ornaments and mistletoe on the doors. You loved hearing the out-of-tune carols that echoed across Berk. And you loved the late cold nights as you and the dragon riders sat around a warm fire and talked about the day’s happenings.

One thing you did not love though, was the Snoggletog play, specially because it had been assigned to you all this year. It was the dragon riders’ responsibility to plan, organize and act it out the day of Snoggletog.

“What about the start of dragon races?” Snoutlout suggested.

“They did that two years ago,” Astrid replied as she sharpened her axe.

“We could do Loki-”

“We’re not doing Loki day Tuffnut,” Hiccup interrupted him.

A moment of silence passed amongst all of you.

“What if, we make a reenactment of Odin and Freya’s marriage? How they stopped the Aesir and Vanir war,” you said while nibbling on your thumb.

“That could work,” Fishlegs said.

“I like it, we could even get the dragons in on this,” Astrid suggested.

“Of course, brilliant idea (Y/N),” Snotlout said as he stood up with a cocky attitude. “Specially because I would make the perfect Odin.” He flexed his muscles and stroke a victorious pose.

You chuckled and pushed him away, “Sit down Snotlout. I was actually thinking that Astrid and Fishlegs could be Freya and Odin.”

“Oh no,” Astrid said immediately. “I’m not good at performing. Plus, you gave the idea, you should be Freya.”

“Alright,” you said. “If no one else is up for it, I’ll be Freya. Fishlegs, are you ok with being Odin?”

“Ye-” his reply was interrupted by Astrid elbowing him. “I mean, I wish I could but…I-I don’t like performing.”

“What but you love perfor-?”

“Hiccup! Why aren’t you Odin?!” Astrid chimed in as she placed her arm around your shoulder while the other went around the brunette-boy’s shoulders.

“Uh…I-I guess,” Hiccup said.

Astrid grinned while looking at you, “Great! It’s settled then!”

“Why would you do that?!” you shrieked as you pressed the palm of your hands to your eyes.

Astrid, who sat next to you overlooking Berk from a nearby cliff, shrugged, “Oh I don’t know. Maybe because I’m tired of you two beating around the bush. Why don’t you kiss already? It’s obvious you want to.”

“Shut up Astrid,” you said while sitting up. You rubbed your hands together to provide some heat to your body. “I’m not even sure if he likes me.”

“You’re as blind as Gothi is mute,” she replied.

“How can you be so sure? Has he said anything about me?”

“You’re hopeless Y/N.”

The days went by, and Snoggletog drew closer and closer. Right after training, you went to rehearsals, and while most of it went by in fits of laughter and jokes, you all managed to build a production. You often tended to practice with Hiccup, since you had the most line together, and it gave you an excuse to spend more time with him. During this period, you had managed to gain some small victories in the love department, holding his hand, dancing with him, and hearing him laugh while you acted out some of your scenes being some. However, there was something you both had been avoiding: the marriage kiss. It made your heart flutter and your stomach swarm with butterflies every time you though about the possibility of kissing him; on the other hand, it also felt like Gronkle iron swishing around your intestines. What if he didn’t want to kiss you? What if he just did it out of pity?

Your mind was plagued with questions up until the big day.

“Good luck,” Astrid said while she gave you a knowing look. She was looking forward to the kiss, and if what she had told you was true, all of the dragon riders were too.

The play started out good, Snotlout and Tuffnut played the Aesir family, while Ruffnut and Fishlegs played the Vanir.

The scene changed and the Aesir were complaining with Hiccup about how Freya’s magic and her help towards the Vanir was the reason for their shortcomings.

I was then your time to appear. After several attempts from the Aesir to try to kill Freya, you and Odin came to an agreement: you were to marry each other.

“Marry me,” said Hiccup. And as you looked into his eyes your breath hitched. He had a smile plastered on his face, and his eyes gleamed.

“I will marry you,” you replied as you offered him your hand and he put the ring on your nuptial finger.

The scene was supposed to end there, you were about to take a step backwards so that the actual marriage scene could take place, however you felt a hand wrap around your wrist, and before you knew it you were being kissed. You were being kissed by Hiccup Haddock.

Your shock was palpable, however you dissolved into the kiss once the initial incredulity had passed. Once Hiccup felt the kiss was reciprocal, he wrapped his arms around your waist and drew you closer.

2 .

Dragon racing was a hefty sport. Ever since it was created, it became a fan favorite amongst Berkians. Once every full moon, a match was held that was sure to be the talk of the town for at least a week. On summer and winter solstice, you held the dragon riding tournament, that usually lasted for about a week; except for that one time when the black sheep had wondered deep into the woods, and you weren’t able to find it for two days.

Point of the matter is, dragon racing was a serious issue for vikings. And that’s why victories where celebrated so grandly. You never particularly cared for the celebrations, however wining was important to you; your usually carefree nature was irrecognizable when it came to the sport as you became a furiously competitive rider. This change, spared no one. Not even your boyfriend.

“Incoming!” you called out before snatching the black sheep from Hiccup’s arms, as you held on with your legs to (Y/D)’s saddle while she flew in an upside down position.

“Hey!” he shouted in response with a light chuckle.

“I wish I could say I’m sorry, but I’m not!” you replied with a shit-eating grin directed his way. With the black sheep secure in your arms, you flew away, not a hint of remorse visible on your face.

You returned to your upright position and quickly flew up to your basket and threw in the black sheep. As soon as you do so, you hear the crowds cheers and applause mixed with the blow of the horn, signaling that the match has ended.

Astrid joined you on the platform, followed by Ruff, as they cheered you on and celebrated your team victory.

Hiccup watched you, still mounted on Toothless with a lovesick smile present in his features, “I’m going to marry her,” he said as he took in your beautiful smile.

“I don’t think you’re her type,” said a voice next to him. Tuffnutt flew next to him with a pissed expression -probably because of their defeat- “but go for it. I’m sure my sister would be flattered.”

3 .

“Do you think there are other people out there?” you asked as you stared blankly at the stars. “I mean, besides us dragon riders and dragon hunters. Do you think that maybe there’s another civilization that has been familiar with dragons long before us?”

You heard Hiccup chuckle, “Possibly, maybe they even know of species we have yet to discover.”

“I wonder if they maybe think the same of us. Maybe we’re some strange advanced civilization to them”, you said with a light giggle as your thoughts went wild with the idea of the unknown. “Or maybe, we’re cavemen in comparison to their civilization. Maybe…they know about our existence, and they have just decided to leave us alone because we’re not worth their time.”

“That’s a bit depressing isn’t it?” Hiccup asked, humored by your rambling.

“I don’t think so. I think it’s exciting…” you said slightly breathless as you stared at the vast abyss of twinkling lights that spread above you and beyond. “Just imagine everything we’ve yet to discover.”

You faintly heard the huffs and growls of your dragons, who were entertained by Hiccup’s prosthetic leg as they fought each other for it.

Hiccup allowed himself to steal a glance at you for a fraction of a second. He thought that the view in front of you was beautiful, but to him, the real wonder was sitting right next to him. You looked breathtaking with the starry abyss reflected in your eyes. Yet, you were so unaware of it.

“Marry me.”

He didn’t mean to actually say it. But he just couldn’t control himself when he was with you.

Your trance was broken and you stared at him wide eyed, in disbelief at what he had just said. However as soon as you saw his expression mirroring yours, you burst out laughing. You couldn’t say truthfully that you had never though about marriage, especially with Hiccup.

Hiccup’s startled expression morphed into confusion.”W-What? Why are you laughing?”

“Are you sure you want to marry me?” you asked in between giggles. “You don’t seem very sure.”

“What? Y-Yes! Of course I’m sure! Why wouldn’t I want to marry you?” his eyebrows furrowed in the way you loved. The way that told you you had successfully managed to get in his head. He had turned his body so that it was now mirroring yours, and his shoulders were raising up and down as they usually did when he was trying to explain something or defend a point.

“Fine then. I’ll marry you.”

His rambling stopped immediately. “What? Y-You will?”

You shrugged your shoulders nonchalantly. “Sure. Why not?”

You stood up then as you walked around the small island you had stumbled upon earlier that day. Leaving a very flustered and confused Hiccup behind.

“Wait! Where are you going?” he called after you as he struggled to get up. He rambled on as he chased you, asking about arrangements and other things.

“Aha!” you said victoriously as you crouched down over a patch of grass with some wildflowers sprouting out.

Hiccup peered over your shoulder, trying to see what you were doing.

Eventually you stood up and extended your hand towards him. He stared at you blankly for a moment, and muttered to himself, tryin to understand your actions. Still, an amused smile was present on his face.

“Well?” you said after a bit. “Give me your hand.”

He did as you instructed, and then you took out your other hand from behind, which gently held a blade of grass along with some small wildflowers intertwined with each other, forming a ring.

“I know it’s not the best craftsmanship, but I figured we couldn’t get married without rings,” you explained with a soft giggle.

Hiccup grinned down at you, and laughed incredulously. He wondered how he ever got you to agree to be his. “I’m afraid to tell you dearest, but I don’t have a ring for you.”

You sighed mockingly and rolled your eyes. “I know that. I assumed you would be too in your head about your future duty as chief and the dragons to think about me.”

“Hey!” he protested immediately. “I’m always thinking about you-”

“But worry not!” you said as you giggled playfully. “Since I know you well enough to be married, I know you well enough to be prepared for our wedding.” You reached into one of your pockets and puled out and identical ring, which he gently grabbed.

He stared down at you, with a skeptical expression.

“Well, go on with it. Do you want to marry me or not?” you asked as you tilted your head slightly to the side.

Hiccup sighed and then locked his eyes with yours. “I, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock, the Third, make this oath. With this hand I will lift your sorrows. Your cup will never empty, for I will be your wine. With this candle, I will light your way in darkness. With this ring, I ask you to be mine."

Once the traditional vows were finished he gently took your hand and slid the delicate ring onto your nuptial finger.

You watched with a smile as he carefully placed it, and once he was done, you repeated the vows and slid his ring onto his own finger.

With your ceremony done, your lips met in a gentle and warm dance. You felt as his hands slid down your back and rested on your hips, holding your body closer to his.

“This is the second time we’ve been married now,” he whispered as he broke apart form the kiss,

“How scandalous,” you whispered back with a soft laugh, as you remembered the Snoggletog performance and how it ended up with your first kiss.

“Maybe the next time we get to do it, you’ll actually be wearing white.”

You stared up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Is that so? Does that mean you’d like to bed me next time?” you teased.

“I’d love to bed you now,” he said with a slight chuckle. “But I’m aware you’d rather follow the traditional path.”

You laughed and patted his chest. “Well, you’ll better get me that white dress quickly then.”

4.

Hiccup had been acting weird all day. Evading you and whenever you managed to track him down he responded any question you had in a dismissive manner. You had figured you should let him alone for a while, at least until he was ready to talk about whatever was bothering him.

He did tend to get too into his own head whenever he was worried, and it took you telling him about it for him to realize he could share his burden with you. But this time it was different.

When you had asked what was bothering him he dismissed you as soon as he could and continued what he was doing.

It had hurt you. It made you think if you had done anything wrong, but you couldn’t think of anything. It was scary thinking about what this could mean for the both of you.

“And you’re sure he hasn’t ever acted like this before?” Astrid asked as she tried to make sense of the situation with you.

You where both sat in the Great Hall, as the rest of the vikings ate their dinner. You however, couldn’t seem to make anything go down past your throat, as worry consumed you.

“Yes Astrid, I am sure,” you replied rather harshly. “I don’t even know where the hell he is right now. For all I know he’s probably off in another girl’s house. Maybe he got tired of waiting for me. Maybe he realized he doesn’t want this sort of commitment…”

You knew that this was irrational thinking. Hiccup had never given you signs that he didn’t want to be with you anymore, on the contrary, he was always very reassuring on how much he liked being with you. Up until now you had never had any reason to doubt your relationship; but up until now, Hiccup had never behaved like this either.

“Don’t say that! That boy is crazy for you. He has been since we where thirteen.”

You sighed and buried your hands in your hair. “Then why is he acting like this?!”

“I think you should ask him yourself,” Astrid said as she placed a comforting hand on her friend’s back.

“I’ve already tried that…” you groaned out. Your voice muffled by your arms, on which you were resting your head.

“Give it one more try. Maybe he’ll snap out of it.”

Reluctantly, you agreed and made your way up to the watch tower. It was Hiccup’s turn to keep watch tonight, so you knew he wouldn’t be able to escape this time.

You felt the heat of the fire before you saw it, and you knew he was there.

“You need to cut the crap Haddock,” you started as you saw the faint outline of his shadow as you were nearing the end of the stairs. “If I did something wrong, just tell me right now because I can’t keep doing this. We’re not teenagers anymo-”

Your throat closed up as soon as you saw him. A gasp escaped your mouth and your hands flew to your face.

In front of you, Hiccup was down on one knee and a small wooden box sat comfortably on the palm of his hand.

“You bastard,” you whispered just to yourself.

He chuckled at that and smiled as he saw your reaction. He then opened the box to reveal a small silver ring in the shape of some intricate patterns.

“My dearest Y/N…” he started, but the lump in his throat wouldn’t let him go any further.

“Oh Hiccup…” you breathed out as you approached him slowly.

“Please marry me,” he said finally.

You crouched in front of him with tears in your eyes and held his face in your hands.

“Of course I will marry you,” you replied as a teary laugh escaped your throat.

To him, it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.

He laughed then, as he slid the ring in, and looked up at you. He cupped your cheeks with the palm of his hand and pulled you closer until your lips met. He tasted tears and relief in that kiss.

You eventually separated and you hit his chest lightly.

“Don’t ever do that to me again you bastard!” you said as the tears flowed, and you whipped them off as nervous laughter escaped your lips.

“I swear this is the last time love,” he chuckled as he crouched his head slightly to help you whipe your tears.

“Not that! Don’t ever avoid me like that again Hiccup! I was starting to think that maybe you didn’t want me anymore…”

Hiccup grabbed your chin gently and made you look up at him. “Theres no one else I’d rather want.”

You laughed nervously once again and offered him a teary smile.

“I’m sorry I scarred you love. I just…I was so nervous.”

“It’s ok…” you reassured him. “I understand.”

He smiled down at you and whipped another tear. You didn’t mean to keep doing it, but you had been so worried all day long that it was finally coming out. You didn’t want to ruin your moment like this. It was supposed to be a moment for celebration and happiness. You tried to make it stop.

“You can cry. I will lift your sorrows,” Hiccup said with a soft laugh as he whipped another tear.

You smiled then, tears still flowing out. But you knew it would be alright. He would make you feel alright. He always did.

[charliemwrites]

Part 4 of Nikto’s commandments

Content: Sexual Desire, Dissociation, Depersonalization, Codependency, Acts of Service, Masturbation

You moan his name sometimes in your sleep.

Usually just before you wake up, panting and overheated, shooting wide-eyed glances his way. Lying to you would be a sin beyond redemption so he always lets you know that he’s awake. You often apologize, sometimes you assure him you’re alright. It takes him a while to identify the look in your eyes those nights — he was unfamiliar with it even before: guilt.

You feel guilty.

Puzzling out the why of that takes longer still. You’re a mystery to him, ineffable. The way god is supposed to be. Unlike the Christian one, you almost always have a purpose behind what you do, and you’ll answer Nikto whenever he dares to ask. (He’s not going to ask about this.)

He first thought that you were calling for his help in dreamt pain. That your blown out pupils, trembling hands, and flushed face were products of fear and imagined torture.

But then you started to lean into his neck in your sleep, making soft, high noises. Would press your ass into the cradle of his hips, grind against his thigh. Alien as his body is to him now, he can recognize emotion in others. Lust, desire.

Coming to terms that you feel these things for him has been another challenge altogether. (But you are a loving god, a compassionate keeper. The sweetness and mercy and nobility found in the viscera of his world. If there is anything of him worth wanting, you would find it.) If you are attracted to this… vessel he inhabits, who is he to question you?

The guilt, though. That he is still puzzling out.

If anyone should feel guilt, it is him (though he doesn’t, isn’t even sure if he can). Now that you’ve made him more aware of his body, of his desires, there’s a constant buzz of arousal in his blood. For you. He craves you constantly. Your touch, your voice, your scent in his nose. He could suffocate on you.

It’s selfish, it’s sinful. To desire anything of you when you have given him everything and asked for nothing in return. Not even his loyalty, freely given. It is why he could not say yes when you offered to slake his desire; it would have been akin to blasphemy.

Unless.

Unless you have asked something of him.

“Whoa!” A giggle as you tilt your head back to him, amused and curious. “What was that for?”

He feels wooden as he glances down at you. His arm is around your waist, nearly crushing you to him. Hadn’t even realized he moved. You don’t seem to mind, palms light on his forearm. Still looking to him.

He does not answer. Can’t find the words past the panic clawing at his throat. Lets you go slowly, finger by finger. You don’t step away once free.

You say something else. Something about rain maybe? He’s too busy staring at the deft hands you cup around your mouth.

How soft and gentle they are on his skin, skipping over the worst scars. The first thing you always do is touch him. When he’s out of a shower, just changed, climbing into bed, waking up. You reach for him, as if you can’t bear to be parted with the same intensity he feels.

Do you crave to touch him in other ways? Has he denied you, unwitting as it may have been?

It would be one thing to ask anything of you, especially for his own sake. But to give you something… even if it’s such an unworthy offering as himself…

“Nikto?”

His eyes flick down to yours. You smile at him, point at your own temple.

“Busy up there today, huh?” It’s not even a tease, but he feels as if he’s made another misstep.

“Sorry.”

You shake your head, bump your shoulder into his arm. “I’m just checking that you’re alright.”

“Alright” being relative. He objectively understands that he is broken and damaged. That he does not operate at full capacity all — or even most — of the time.

But with your help he’s established a baseline, a “normal.” Something to measure his body, and more importantly his damaged mind by.

“I am… alright,” he decides finally. “Just thinking.”

“Okay,” you answer, easy as that. “If you want to talk, I’ll listen — but you don’t have to.”

You don’t have to is your favorite thing to say to him. He would laugh if he remembered how.

He grunts an affirmative and follows you to wherever you’re headed next.

—

That night, your ankle is hurting. Nothing serious, you assure Nikto. Just rolled it a bit. You promise it just needs rest, low level painkillers, and a bit of elevation.

Nikto is unpracticed at care. For all he practically lives in your pocket, medical care is unusual for you. He spends so much time keeping you safe, protected, alive and unharmed. He has little direction when it comes to your discomfort.

Luckily, you provide direction in spades.

“Two pills from the bottle with the red cap and a glass of water please.”

His cock twitches hard. Fills out almost dizzyingly fast in the confines of his tac pants.

He fetches both for you, holding each in turn as you pluck the pills from his hand and sip the water. You sigh gratefully and tell him to set the glass on the nightstand. Another bolt of pleasure to obey, while you like droplets from your bottom lip.

“Can you grab my computer and the charger? I want to watch something before bed.”

He brings them, stands waiting while you fiddle with it. Waiting for another request. He’s achingly hard now. Throbbing in his underwear.

“Oh! Hairbrush too, please?”

When he hands it to you this time, hand almost to the point of shaking, you give him a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry, I keep making you run around.”

“Don’t be.” His voice is gruff, but it so often is that you don’t seem to find anything amiss. “More?”

“Ah… well, if it’s not too much trouble, could you grab the extra blanket? It’s cold tonight.”

He tries to pace himself. To balance the pleasure of obeying against the speed of completing the task. You hum in delight as he drapes it over you — a fluffy monstrosity of a thing. Utterly decadent, he’d never even entertain the idea of having one. But you deserve a dozen of them if you wanted them. He’d retrieve them now for you if only you asked.

(He wishes you would ask.)

He is harder than he ever remembers being. (Granted, there are many gaps in his memory, even now. But there is enough there to know this is true.)

“Okay that should be the last thing for a bit.” You’re looking away and don’t see the minute deflation of his shoulders. He’s nearly panting. “Come snuggle in?”

“In a moment,” he says, surprising himself. You seem a bit (pleasantly) surprised too. He’s never denied you anything for even a moment. But if he sits next to you now…

“Ah, gotcha,” you say when he turns for the bathroom.

You start playing whatever tv show you have queued up to offer him privacy. He closes the door after himself and for the first time since regaining his freedom, takes himself in hand.

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Masterlist

[l4long-winded]

deepthroatting carmy 🔥

"fuck, angel, s-slow down..."

carmen's knees buckle as your tongue swivels over his swollen tip, one of his hands bracing against the wall, the other palming your scalp. his pants hang low on his hips, a product of the haste the two of you found yourselves in. there's not much time for this. he shouldn't have indulged your offer to blow him to release some of his stress during a rush, but his resolve weakens the very moment you bat your lashes and plead at him with your eyes. those same eyes flicker up at him, glances of need he has to take care of later outside of this work setting.

you, on the other hand, are determined to get him there. his worry is visible, switching his focus from you sucking his cock to the shut door of the office.

as he looks towards the door again, you preen for his attention, stretching your lips further down his length. a strangled noise leaves from his mouth, involuntarily bucking his hips. the head of him grazes the back of your throat, and in that instance, tears begin to form in your eyes, accidentally testing your gag reflex when he hadn't meant to.

"shit, sorry-oh, fuckin' fuck me..." he groans as you take him past your limits, your hand wrapped around the remaining inches of him not stuffed atop your tongue. the pleasure crossing his features, contorting him into panting animal above you, is something you seek more of. your thighs squish together to ease some of the ache yearning throughout your core and the discomfort of your sodden panties, a fact he notices.

"i'll take care of you at home, promise, just, ah, keep goin'," he says, his usually soft voice gritty, hips becoming urgent through watching your head begin to bob more on him. every slide of his cock into your mouth stifles more of him into your throat, whining where you sit on your knees for him.

at some point, you do actually gag, quickly breathing through your nose to make up for it, mindlessly tonguing the underside of his cock to pacify how close he is. you need it right now. his orgasm is almost there, you know his body too well. the gag, however, brought another crushing noise from him, your throat tightening around him, reminding him of his favorite place to bury himself into.

"want my cum that bad, huh? can't fuckin' think without it spillin' into you somehow?" he moans when you resume deepthroating him. every time your head pushes down, you're closer to taking all of him, your free hand clinging to his hip. your thumb rests right under the right side of his v line, trying to please him, grateful for his frenetic pace desperately returning.

"i'm so fuckin' close. need you to swallow it f'me. every. last. drop."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

WANTED: Ghost x Reader x König [HEAVY SMUT]

Warnings: Consensual Non-Con, Threesome, Double Penetration, Stomach Bulging, Fem Reader [Male 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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