#darkfic prompt

[the-bar-sinister]

Recovering whumpee completely vacant and dissociated while caretaker takes care of them. Staring off into space while caretaker washes their body and tends their wounds. Only barely responding when caretaker touches them soothingly.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Title: You Better Not Let Him In [Yandere Wolfman x Reader]

Synopsis: The door doesn't lock, and he still wants you to let him in.

For Horrorfest request: trying to hide from a wolfman but the door wont close

Word count: 600ish

notes: yandere, non-graphic mentions of violence, implications of possible sexual assault

“Oh, please.” The words bubble from your chapped lips like a prayer. A desperate one, the kind you would whisper like a mantra as a child, eyes squeezed shut, on those nights that you were suddenly sure you wouldn’t wake up. 

Now-I-lay-me-down-to-sleep-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-keep. 

If-I-should-die-before-I-wake-I-pray-the-lord-my-soul-to-take.

But there’s no use praying to the wolfman on the other side of the door.

No use at all. 

His breath is loud; you imagine how hot it must be against the door. What it must smell like: primal, like the rest of him. He pants in great short huffs from the running he did–the chasing, more like.

Chasing you from the hiking trail all the way into your little cabin (he burst through the front door, broke the lock clean off); down the hall, into what had been your bedroom for the past week.

Only there was no lock on the door–it won’t even close all the way, thanks to the faulty hinges. And there’s nothing heavy enough to put in front of it, nothing you’re strong enough to drag.

Nothing at all you could do but brace your shoulder against it, even though you saw the wolfman break the heavy lock on the thick front door of the cabin like it was nothing. 

So you know, without a hint of a doubt–

The only reason he’s not inside right now is because he’s waiting for you to open up, like a good little thing, like Red Riding Hood smiling brightly at grandmother before she gets oh-so-close enough to see the points of her sharp teeth. 

“Open the door,” he says, in a voice that is not very sweet. “Open the door, and let me in.”

There’s a sound against the wood. Scratching. A claw–his claw, he has no hands but paws with nails so sharp you’re sure they will gut you easily–dragging down the wood.

You don’t answer. You can’t. All you can do is press your shoulder feebly against the door, knowing he’s on the other side, knowing all it would take is a shove to have you on the floor and the door swinging off its loose hinges.

How did he find you? How long had he followed you? It all falls into place, here, on the other side of the door. The unusual footprints around the cabin. The ripped up flowers left at your door, topped with a dead mouse. The sounds in the woods--the snapping, the breath you thought had been a fox or perhaps, a lumbering raccoon.

It was him, and now--

“Open the door,” he says to your silence. Louder and lower, and you catch the sound of spittle in it. He won’t be patient for much longer. You have to make a choice.

Your heart pounds so hard you can hear it. 

He can, too. 

“Open the door,” he says, for the final time. “Or I’ll–”

Huff-and-puff-and-blow-your-house-in.

“Please don’t,” you squeak out, sounding like the prey that you are. “I’ll–-I’ll open it.”

It takes longer than you expect to force your body to move away from the door. It doesn’t want to move. It knows what’s going to happen, even as your brain whirs and whirs and tries to guess. 

He could eat you. Tear you to pieces, gobble you down like dinner. He could–he could–but oh, you know, there are worse things than being eaten.

Worse things are what you think about when he pushes the door, which half-falls off the broken hinges, and stands in the now-empty frame. 

He smiles, and his teeth are very sharp. 

[rookthebird]

abused fictional characters in an environment where people treat each other with gentle kindness and respect be like

"no one's really that good. can the other shoe just drop already?"

[thedarkcorner-darkficprompts]

POV: You're Rey. Fresh out of college. Broke, jobless, mooching of your cousin Ben for a couch to crash on, you just spent the entire day annoying tf out him, and he's had enough

Time to earn your keep

[timberline-falls]

tw: execution, violence, suffocation, gore, violent death, stress vomit

Alt Prompt #3

The ranger landed facedown in the mud. Something heavy and rough as stone held her in place, its weight placed squarely on the top of her head. The taste of mud and the sensation of it moving up her nostrils incited her instinct to thrash against her bonds. Thelinia could hear the muffled protests of her companions as her face was pressed deeper. No angling of her shoulders or straining of her arms was making a difference.

The weight withdrew. A ruthless pull of her hair lifted her from the mud, letting her gasp for air while inhuman laughter surrounded her drowned the stifled cries of her two remaining friends. She spat mud as it ran from her nose.

"You should not have left." Hot breath hit her ear just before he tossed her forward again.

The hooves beside her calmly stepped past her, and she yelped as the wiry tail whipped her cheek as he left. The ranger swallowed, and looked across the small mud pit to her horror.

Among the bodies, two still lived. Bound like game, they laid prone and struggling, mouths gagged with the same rope that tied their arms behind their backs. They had already taken a beating from the intial struggle, and she saw fresh blood painted both their faces. Yet, though the trampled remains of her fellow bandits laid in the dirt around her, Stern and Dorse lived.

Then her heart sunk as Gryhurn stood between them. He turned to face her again, casually kicking mud in Stern's face. Cold eyes regarded both humans. "I am going to ask question, human Raine."

Her sunken heart poured adrenaline into her veins, but fear had frozen her. Stern and Dorse continued to struggle.

"Your friends dead," the towering centaur proclaimed with pride. "But I have mercy for you."

She was silent.

Gryhurn snorted. "Your mates. You decide.. One." To illustrate his intention, he lifted a hoof, hovering it for a few terrifying seconds over each man's head. It outsized their skulls to a horrific degree.

Hooves approached from behind her, and the rope wrapped through her mouth fell from wordless lips.

With a deep growl, Gryhurn slammed his hoof into the dirt close enough to Stern to catch his hair painfully beneath it. "You decide, or both die! NOW!"

Something bubbled up from her throat, and a pathetic sound preceded bile. A small amount spilled from her mouth only to be carried away by the mud still dripping from her face. She heard Gryhurn's laugh, dark and resonant.

"Fuck you," her hoarse voice growled.

In a flash, Gryhurn swiveled and bucked his back hooves into Dorse. The force sent him rolling into the mud in front of her, and they shared a panicked look of pain.

"Jus' kill me, you fucking coward," Thelinia hissed. "Let them go, Gryhurn!"

The centaur roared, and flung Stern into Dorse's back. He had to lift his head to breathe, and looked to her with resignation. She glanced between them both over and over, seeing each with the same plea in their eyes:

Forget me. You can save him. Just live.

Again speechless, Thelinia eventually pulled her gaze away to admit fear to her captor. "Please. I'll stay'ere with you. I'll do anythin' y'want."

Desperate protests from both men.

"Last chance," Gryhurn snarled as he stomped forward, the centaur's patience dangerously thin. Excited murmurs from the rest of the clan circled the scene.

"Gryhurn, you CAN'T! Jus' KILL ME INSTEAD--"

The centaur roared, rearing up to his terrifying height.

And his hooves crashed into the backs of the men she loved. Despite the rope between their teeth they both howled in agony, the sickening crush of their spines penetrating her bones. She hadn't realized she was screaming. The hooves rose again, and again, until only one human voice remained.

Blood and mud drenched her. Scalding bile climbed her screams, and she gagged violently as neither act would cease. She shut her eyes against the image of their bodies trampled into red mud, but it was seared into her mind.

All the while, centaurs cackled over the grand finale.

"Release her." Gryhurn dismissed the scene with a swish of his tail and departed, shaking gore from his legs as he did. "She stays."

[traumatizedoldmen]

𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐛𝐥𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞-𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐮𝐛𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐢𝐝𝟒𝟎𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝟓𝟎𝐬 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐰𝐡𝐮𝐦𝐩 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫—𝐨𝐫 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐨𝟑 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐬? 𝐁𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐡𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞. 𝐈 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐈'𝐦 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠—𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐜𝐡 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐲 𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐞-𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐈 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐝…

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐱𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐨𝟑 @traumatizedoldmen

[writingpencil]

Three's A Crowd

An old darkfic about the DSMP peeps (yes this is from 2021)

I was a messed up kid lmao

"Welcome, boys and girls!" The cheers of the enthusiastic crowd made him smile underneath his mask. From the corner of his eyes, he could tell his cohost's smile widened. "And welcome back to our fabulous show. Today, we will bring you the newest series, among the many, that our production team has brought."

"This series," His co-host announced, dramatically waving his hands. “Is called Three’s A Crowd - you can give our intern all the credit for the name. Now don’t be shy, give them a round of applause!”

The crowd went wild for the blonde, who waved awkwardly from backstage. The blonde was much more focused on helping the producer with audio, a little uncomfortable with a camera suddenly in his face. Oh well, the host thought, it's good to be uncomfortable now and again.

“Alright, alright. Bring out the TV!” The host raised his hand towards the ceiling, where a large TV lowered into view. All the miniature TVs behind the hosts were shut off, then turned on to reveal a wide, purple smile with sinister purple eyes. The bigger TV turned on, revealing a series of animations that followed the host’s explanation. “For this series, there will be three contestants and only one winner. Hear? O-N-E. But if they cannot work together, there will be no winner at all. Tragic, huh?”

His co-host took over. “We’ve given the contestants five rooms to go through, each one getting harder than the last! Perhaps a sixth if they all survive, but, haha, we doubt it~”

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, Wilbur?” The host laughed as his co-host nodded. “Now, of course, I’m sure you’re all wondering - what makes this series special? Well, boys and girls, why don’t we show you!”

The TV changed from the animation to the live video of the three contestants in their “resting room”, still knocked out from their... operations. All three were tucked into their own corners of the room, purposely placed according to the hosts’, for lack of a better term, friend. One contestant, with wild black hair and a flame on their hoodie, was on their back, and it was clear to see that their mouth was sewn shut. The second contestant, with sunglasses by their head, was curled up in the corner, hugging their knees, gauze over their ears. The last contestant, a blonde with a series of freckles dotting his face, was sat upright, his back pressing against the wall he was chained to, and with chemical burns around his eyes. They healed, rather well, but it would be a nasty sting. 

“Boys and girls, meet our three contestants!” The co-host took out three cards, as he never took the time to learn the contestants' names. “Nick, George, and Clay! Roommates who were falling apart by the seams when we got a hold of them!”

The crowd roared into laughter.

“Isn’t it a shame when friends fall out, Ranboo?”

The host nodded. “Most certainly!”

“Now, for clarification...” Wilbur took a glance at the cards. “Nick is the one with his mouth sewn shut. Boy, he was a loudmouth alright, apparently, he has a fiery temper as well, and a little bit of a soft side, but let’s focus on that temper! Imagine starting arguments, and now being unable to be listened to! Perhaps he will be first to go!”

“Or the first to snap!” Ranboo snapped his fingers to make a point.

Wilbur laughed. “And George, a terrible listener, according to our producer, is the one with gauze. Now imagine his shock when he has to trust his friends with information he cannot hear! I also hear that he is a regular ol’ Sleeping Beauty! Let’s hope there are no evil queens to come and put him under eternal sleep.”

“I’m more concerned about his stamina - how will he keep up with the others?” Ranboo feigned concern. “He might be considered dead weight!”

“You’ll have to stay tuned to see!” Wilbur took a peek at the last card. “And last, but probably least, is Clay, someone dependent on his sight! Parkour artists are always reactive to their environment, and now he has to be led by his friends!”

“I hear he doesn’t like being useless,” Ranboo said, shaking his head. “Let’s see if his stubbornness keeps him running.”

“Stubbornness?” Wilbur chuckled. “The stubborn are always cut down to size!”

“They’re always bigger than their bodies, aren’t they?” Ranboo rolled his eyes but fixated his attention on the live audience and the cameras. “Remember, boys and girls, the camera footage is live 24/7 on the Bur’n’Boo, but check back in on your own TV.”

“Remember also,” Wilbur started. “That you being a viewer now doesn’t exclude you from eventually participating! If you don’t care now, you certainly will soon!”

Ranboo nodded. “Tune in frequently and see our commentary on the situation! Hopefully, this will last longer than two rooms!”

“The last contestants were certainly greedy!” Wilbur pressed his hands together, setting them back on his lap. 

Ranboo’s smile coiled into a wicked grin. “We’ll see you soon! Three’s A Crowd, boys and girls!”

[coffeeangelinabox]

Febuwhump #19: Please, don't

My first veeerrrryyyyy slight cheat. I'm doing 18 and 19 the alternate way round for the simple reason that I have a good idea for this and it's Sunday so I have time to do it properly.

All the warnings. This is extremely non consensual and gratuitously so.

None of them are the type to back down. Forcibly portkey'd to Malfoy Manor, bound with a nasty set of incarcerous jinxes and staring down a visibly delighted Lucius Malfoy, Sirius still looks around the dining room with completely unfeigned disinterest.

"You've had the place done up," he comments idly. The drawl he spent years exorcising from his voice creeps back in.

If they had hoped Malfoy would be distracted by bantering back and forth until James and Peter could effect a rescue, they were out of luck. Instead, his smirk merely widens and he continues to stare.

Sirius tilts his chin, gritting his teeth and angles himself fractionally forward. He's humiliatingly unscathed. Knocked out from behind before he'd known they were there. They'd barely arrived. This was supposed to be simple reconnaissance, three teams of three, in and out of a set of suspected Death Eater meeting points. It was not supposed to be a social call to the heart of obviously hostile territory.

Lily has a cut across her cheek and her wrists are bruised. She'd fought like a wild thing, and would have been able to make a break for it...if it had ever been in Lily Potter to leave people behind. She will not sacrifice people for the greater good, and even now she doesn't regret her choice.

Remus was the only one of them who had surrendered, though, in his defence, the wand held to Lily's head hadn't given him much choice. It hadn''t stopped the bruises and rough treatment. He isn't sure what they know about him, though it's obvious there's a traitor deep inside their inner circle. No one outside of the nine of them had known their exact locations and timings. Dumbledore maybe. Or Moody. But to Remus' knowledge, James and Gideon Prewitt had planned this one. It narrows the suspect list down to nine people. Eight. He bares his teeth in a snarl he wishes it were the right time of the moon to make more lethal.

"Now," Malfoy finally breaks the silence. He steps closer and runs the tip of his wand over Sirius' face. Sirius arches back with a sound of disgust. Malfoy simply follows his movement, it isn't like he can go far. "As uninvited guests, I do hope you are going to be entertaining."

"Oh, of course," Sirius says. His tone is still light, but Remus has known him too well and too long not to see the tension thrumming beneath his skin. "I know some good jokes. What's the difference between a Slytherin and an idiot?"

Malfoy raises his hand and Sirius doesn't so much as flinch, then he lowers it with a chuckle. "No. I wouldn't sully myself by touching any of you."

For a second Remus almost relaxes.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Lily demands. "None of us are going to tell you anything. It's a lot of trouble to have us dragged here just to kill us."

Malfoy smiles. "As I said, Mudblood. Entertainment."

And just like that, it's not relaxing at all.

A few waves of Malfoy's wand later and Lily has been moved over to the table, fixed down, spread eagled. A few well placed diffindos remove her clothes and cut thin lines into her skin. She glares up at Malfoy, there are tears in her eyes, but she doesn't let them fall. "Go on then," she snarls. "Only way you can get a woman anyway, to force her."

Sirius lunges forward with a snarl, but finds he can't move his feet, Remus strangely can, but Sirius' protective positioning of earlier puts the other man in his way and he can't get to Lily and they can't make him watch this-

Malfoy holds up a hand. "I won't touch her."

They both look at him, distrust an almost tangible thing.

"If you do exactly as I say."

Remus hisses out breath between his teeth. Lily doesn't look at them, and the mere fact that she doesn't immediately tell them not to worry about her, not to give up anything curls something cold around his heart.

"What do you want?" Sirius says after a moment, voice low.

Malfoy's sneer widens. "You both pleasure the filthy little Mudblood. The one who makes her cum wins a blowjob from their failure of a friend."

"Then you'll let us all go, I suppose."

"Exactly."

"We all know that's a lie."

Malfoy shrugs. "Why would it be? When the Dark Lord wins, you will all be valued soldiers in his army. I wouldn't spill magical blood so cheaply."

"Even-?"

"Even hers. Why make an enemy of you, Black? Or of Potter."

"And if we refuse?" Remus asks quietly.

"Oh, my point about not spilling magical blood unnecessarily stands. You two can still walk out of here, unscathed. After, of course, you watch as many men as I can find willing to risk catching whatever a Mudblood little slut is carrying fuck her raw. Then I'll cut her guts out. You can take whatever's left with you."

Lily's breath hitches. Remus watches a single treacherous tear run the the wrong way down her face and into her hairline. Sirius must see it too because before Malfoy can notice the weakness he's pressing himself forward, arching sinuously.

"Waste of having the Black heir really owe you a favour, Malfoy. Wouldn't you rather have my," he pauses and gives Malfoy the bedroom eyes Remus had watched him use for years to charm various Hufflepuffs off to Greenhouse Three after dark. "gratitude?"

"No." Malfoy says bluntly, not moved at all. "I want you to realise that following orders is your best, your only choice. It'll help you later."

The seduction falls away, nothing more than a thin veneer and for a moment, Remus is certain that Sirius will start screaming and swearing. And that will do none of them the slightest bit of good. "Padfoot," he says quietly. Then, to their tormentor. "Alright. We'll do it."

Malfoy moves out of their way and gestures with a flourish towards Lily. Their hands are still bound, but they can suddenly move. Remus, for the first time, looks at her properly. He feels his ears redden with embarrassment. His own and what is radiating from her.

She is undeniably beautiful. Creamy skin and tumbling red hair in a fiery wave. Her emerald eyes are gleaming. The faint dusting of freckles across her nose is repeated on shoulders and inner thighs. Her breasts are round and full and high and the pinked nubs of her nipples are tight from cold and fear. Spread as she is, he can see every part of her, and Merlin help him, but the way she closes her eyes as he looks, flush spreading from cheekbones down her throat and chest makes something hot and primal inside him want to claim her.

She's his best friend's wife. He can't imagine that James would want him to make a different choice, but, frankly, he'd rather take his chances with a cruciatus.

Sirius drops down to his knees between Lily's legs. "It's okay," he says, a soothing rumble in his voice that tells Remus he's said these exact words before. "This is fine, Evans."

A noise creeps out of her. "Potter," she corrects in a thread of a whisper.

"Lils...I can't call you Potter while I do this."

"At the moment," Malfoy says waspishly, "you're not doing anything."

All three of them flinch and Remus too steps closer. He doesn't kneel down, opting instead to lean over her, shielding as much of her body from Malfoy's gaze as he can. "We'll make this good," he promises against her lips and then kisses her gently, chastely.

Her eyes flicker open and there's real violence in their depths. Remus nods in silent, mutual agreement. As soon as they have opportunity, they'll take Malfoy apart. Bloodily. Unpleasantly. From the feet first so that Remus can hear him scream.

Then she tenses with a moan as Sirius abruptly gets started.

Remus feels slightly put out for a moment. He hadn't known they were ready to start, and he hastens to catch up, mouth fixing quickly over one of those hard pink nubs and he begins to torment her with tongue and teeth, laving over her chest, seeking out every bit of salt from the fear-sweat that has been slicking her body for the past twenty minutes.

He lets himself fall into the rhythm, both of pleasuring a beautiful woman and competing with Sirius Black. Sirius is their most likely traitor. Remus will not willingly suck his dick. He will not. So he has to win this. It's as simple as that.

Sirius is undoubtedly the more experienced lover of the two of them, but he's appalling selfish and he rushes. Remus can't expect him to be different in bed, and he has a number of advantages, even fully human his senses are fractionally better than average. He can hear Lily's heartrate increase, smell not just her arousal, but her blood as it pumps through her. He can discern the tiny differences in her moans and whimpers.

He kneels besides Sirius, and puts his tongue to work.

Sirius has his mouth fixed over Lily's clit, sucking, pulling her pleasure from her by sheer brute force. Letting them live is stupidity, it can only be because the traitor is in the room with them. His fury at Remus for doing this to him, to Lily and James, translates into the ferocity of his movements. When Remus' head pushes up besides his, he cedes the clit to him and pushes back against her hole. He allows the very barest of transformation to padfoot and pushes his now much longer and wetter tongue into her, swirling hard within and Lily lets out a shattered mewl.

He dares to feel pleased with himself for a second as she stutters out a syllable that can only be part of his name. She's becoming helplessly aroused as he stabs his tongue in and out of her, fucking her with it. He wishes he had his hands free to knead her ass, her breasts. She arcs almost off the table with another cry and another gush of wetness.

"Siriu- ohhhhhhhhh, 'Mus. Like that, like that-"

James is like a brother to him. Harry is practically his son. Lily...Lily should never be this. But Sirius cannot deny that her desperate groans are spurring him on just as much as his desire to protect and his fury at the situation, and he feels his own cock rise in his pants.

"I don't," she twists on the wood. "Don't, please..."

Sirius pulls back. She knows they have to, knows the consequences of not following this instruction will be worse, but he echoes her anyway. "Malfoy. Please. Don't- don't make us do this. Anything else."

Remus has always been more ruthless.

As Sirius moves, he chases the spasms of her pussy with his tongue, drinking her down and with a groan Lily falls over the edge moaning and whimpering and writhing.

Malfoy claps his hands like he's at the theatre. His eyes spear Sirius. "Anything else, Black? Very well. You don't have to touch her again. Just blow your friend and we can all be on our way."

Sirius stomach sinks in a completely different way. He hates losing, all four of them were always competitive with one another.

I thought you said you could play chess, Padfoot.

My grandmother is better at gobstones than that.

Only four Os? I got five!

And worse. Remus is the reason they are here. Remus violated Lily. Remus forced her to a climax she didn't want. Remus is the reason so many of Sirius' friends have been lost in this war.

Remus unfolds himself and stands. Sirius doesn't look up at him.

If he refuses now, it will likely be Lily that pays for his habitual insolence. She is worth nothing to Malfoy and everything and then some to Sirius' only family. He shuffles forward and grins up at Remus with a few too many teeth.

"Let's see how long you last, Moony." His voice sounds wrong, but probably (hopefully) that will be put down to the stress of the situation and later he will force Prongs to see that they can't trust Moony. And that Moony knows exactly how to break him. He'll make him see that they have to rethink the Fidelius Charm plan.

He leans forward and, thank Merlin, Remus is wearing robes, not some awful muggle trousers. It's easy enough to get at him, to use his tongue in the slit of his boxers and lick a stripe up his cock.

To Sirius' eternal shame, Remus is not the slightest bit turned on. His small cock, flacid and curled, fits easily on his tongue. Maybe he deserves this anyway. Traitor Moony might be, but he's the monster that enjoyed what they did to Lily.

Remus however, doesn't manage to maintain his disinterest in the face of Sirius' concerted attention. It doesn't take long until he's reduced to an incoherent, dripping mess. Sirius' actions are almost violent. Remus has come to blows with Sirius and felt less attacked than how he feels right now as Sirius slurps at his dick as though he'll die without it. As though wishing he could punish Remus for something. He swallows against pleas. Trust Sirius to use seemingly losing as a new way to attack.

Lily is crying properly, her reserves totally eroded, and Remus realises that he is too. Malfoy is smirking at all three of them. Remus supposes that whether or not Sirius is technically on his team the Malfoy-Black rivalry has enough layers that he can still enjoy Sirius brought low in this way. Thinking of who - what - Sirius has given his allegiance to, Remus instinctively pulls back. Just as Sirius does something with his tongue, flattening it against the vein on the underside and tightening his lips to produce an almost painful sense of suction. He cums as he pulls out, splattering his seed all over Sirius' face.

He's the enemy. This is his fault, but Remus can't help the stab of guilt as his friend looks up at him, betrayal naked for all to see. If Malfoy wasn't still watching and laughing, he'd beg him to stop looking at him like that - please, Padfoot. Don't. I didn't mean-

Instead, he looks away.

[hellcheer-prompts]

Chrissy makes a plan to poison her cheating boyfriend and she doesn’t plan on telling anyone except the wrong guy takes the poison.

dark fic with soft but scary eddie helping Chrissy cover up her mistake and kill her boyfriend for real this time

X

[allicat9ffr]

“What would you do?” Chloe asks. “What would you do for me, if I asked?”

The mark in the center of his chest, where she’d pressed the blade, still hasn’t healed. The wound is blood red, swollen and painful looking and Chloe smiles when it catches her eye, something cruel unfurling inside her. He’s the Devil; the embodiment of evil. He has done unspeakable things. And yet he listens with rapt attention, his eyes glued to her face.

“Anything.” He whispers.

S4 AU, just after the ax scene - Chloe deals, or doesn't, with her feelings towards the Devil.

[cardiac-agreste]

This could easily be the subject of season 6 of miraculous ladybug

Storing your soul in a single grain of sand seemed like a good idea for immortality, until you actually had to keep track of it.

[the-bar-sinister]

Whumpee, limp, beaten, and half conscious bound up on the hard floor. Whumper kneeling down in front of them and grabbing whumpee's chin, pulling their face up to look at them without resistance as whumpee's head lolls and their eyes fail to fully focus.

[rotting-inkblot]

someone save me from my 50 fic ideas fhudfdusofusdofsduhso

[zombified-queer]

28 more fics and i've reached my yearly quota

[diejager]

not exactly a specific prompt or anything but - could you write more stepdad!könig and dbf!horangi pls? 👉👈

Cw: DUB-CON/NON-CON, DARKFIC, STEPCEST, AGE GAP public sex?, exhibitionism, fingering, under the table, mention of forced piercing, rough sex, unprotected sex, PinV, mention of anal sex, tell em if I missed any.

You jerked, dropping the fork in your hand and biting your lower lip to stop a moan from slipping through between them. Unfortunately, the sudden click of your fork and you shift in expression worried your mother, making her question you, brows furrowed and lips pursed into a frown. She was worried, you knew she was, but that was the last thing you had on mind, neither her quiet quarry about your health and unpredictable act, nor König’s piercing eyes and the food that was now sprayed on the table.

What truly worried you was Horangi and your own inability to hold your voice back. He looked nonchalant, brow quipped up in faked confusion, knowing that your reaction resulted from him, his wandering hand that slipped under the waistband of your short and into your cunt, pumping in and out fo you with a slow and unbothered pace. You jumped from the unexpected tap against your gummy wall, three fingers curling before they hit your sweet spot, sending an arousing pulse up your spine. You’d be fucked stupid by his fingers alone, thick and long - not as long as your stepfather, but they were better than yours - stretching your hole open to take his cock later that night.

“I’m ah-okay, mom,” you smiled shakily at her, hand gripping tightly around your knife, tremors wracking your body as you swallowed down moan after moan. “Just a stomach ache.”

“Oh dear, do you need to lay down?” She frowned good-naturedly, the skin on her brow wrinkling.

“Yeah,” you internally cheered, you’d be able to get away from this situation until later, when you’d be stuck under Horangi, ”Thanks mom.”

You were gagged, mouth stuffed with a soiled pair of your panties, drooling around your thong, down your lips while you wailed. You were stuffed with cock, legs jerking with every push of Horangi’s cock, walls forcibly pried open to take his thick shaft and his prettily trimmed pubes rubbing your swollen clit. You felt his cock carve the walls of your cunt to fit his girth, thicker in the middle with a petty and angry head and veins crawling up the shaft. It cured lightly, light enough to stand between his legs, but heavy just enough that you could feel it weigh you down, pounding away at your crumbling resolve.

He was panting, a husky and laboured breathing on your neck, his hot breath hitting you as he kissed down your shoulder, teeth scratching your soft and tender flesh, weak under his sharper teeth. He hungered for more; he lusted for eternal pleasure. Suckling the curve of your collar, teeth skimming the swell of your jostling breasts, nippled flared and wet from his manhandling. He dove back in, lips wrapped around your least swollen nub, sucking as if he was trying to milk it of all substance. You cried out when he bit down, sinking his fangs into the fat of your chest before he unlatched himself with a wet pop, leaving the indentations of his mouth on you. Then he did the same to your other tit, mind keen on fucking you, his dick ramming into you roughly while he gave attention to your sore nipples.

“Fuck, imagine these pierced,” he chuckled dreamily, a low, addicted daze in his mind, dreaming of piercing your nipples himself, “Wouldn’t you like that?”

You shook your head frantically, dreading giving them mor to use against you, more leverage to make your body betray and succumb to their whims, especially with how often your stepdad’s at home. You struggled under him as if to prove your point, feet kicking around his narrow waist, the scarred flesh a touch different from the rest of his body, pulling at the restraints keeping your hands tied to your headboard —his belt. You let out a ragged and angered scream, silenced by the gag but your body still shook with the force behind it, teary eyes closed while they rolled back in reluctant pleasure.

Horangi’s chest rumbled, a smile stretched awkwardly by the tiger-like scars on his face. In retaliation, he gave a few hard thrusts, rocking your bed against the wall, his cut head kissing your bruised cervix after brushing against your sweet, gummy wall. It punched the air out of your lungs, leaving you heaving and gasping for air, fully at the mercy of your stepfather’s friend-

“Ja, she would look so pretty,” König’s sudden appearance scared you, his mocking coo and statement reaffirming Horangi’s thought.

Your closed around Horangi, flinching away as much as you could in your restrained state, your fear and trepidation made you tighter and wetter, slick suddenly bursting around Horangi’s leaky cock. You could hear your stepfather move, his purposefully-loud steps booming in your ear, but you couldn’t see him, eyes rolled so far back in an explosive release. You felt the bed shift under him, dipping to a side while he loomed over you both, looking at your swollen nipples as if he was admiring how pretty they’d look if he had you pierced them, a rod straight through your round nub.

“Sehr hübsch, Schatzi,” he hummed, his rough hand sliding down the curve of your navel where he could feel every hard thrust and found your clit, rolling it with a big finger, “Or a piercing here, on your little clit.”

König smiled handsomely, a brazenly hungry stare covering his threatening and dominating composure. His ice blue eyes squinted mirthfully, gleaming with a dark urge, something that demanded control, that wanted submission and subservience from you. He’d fill that rimmed hole of yours after Horangi’s done with your pussy, spreading your ass around his thick and veiny cock that pressed uncomfortably against his briefs.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @konigsblog @havoc973 @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly @tuttifuckinfruttifriday

[ceilidho]

prompt: it's been a month since you managed to run away from them. your luck had to run out eventually. tags: noncon, darkfic, ghoap x reader, previous kidnapping implied, stalking and hunting down reader. i am begging you to read the tags before reading this, thanks. 4.4k

-

You pay for the motel room in cash. Always cash. Never a paper trail if you can help it. Nothing that could ever tip anyone off if you didn’t want them to be tipped off.

You haven’t been on the run for long. Maybe a month, tops—but after the first week, the days and nights have begun to blend together like watercolours. You don’t do much during the day apart from sit in your room and wait for the night to come. Sometimes you venture out if you’re low on food or if the itch under your skin grows severe enough that you know you need to buy a fresh set of clothes and dump the ones you came into town with. 

Freshly dyed and cut hair. Jackets two sizes too big to make you seem larger than you are from the back. You’ll never be able to change the face god gave you, but you make an effort to obscure it when you can—surgical masks on public transit, heavy sunglasses even indoors, a deep mauve lipstick (purchased, again, in cash at the local pharmacy) to make you seem, from a distance, like someone else. Anyone else.

Sometimes remembering that it’s been a whole month since you escaped, since you got out, leaves you winded. You have to hold onto the wall in your pay-by-the-night, ratty, hole-in-the-wall motel room to keep from toppling over. A month without spotting one of them in pursuit of you feels next to impossible. Almost impossible. You still don’t let yourself think that you’ve fully given them the slip, that you’ve gotten the better of them. There is no getting the better of them. There is no outmanoeuvring the two men that—you’ve learned through painful trial and error—do not let up when there is still the trace of a scent.

And everything leaves a scent. Even you.

You sleep in the bathtub instead of the bed for fear of bedlice; these days, your neck has an ever-present kink that needs to be worked out. It’s bound to get worse though. It’s not like you can stop in this town now and call it home, not when you can feel them hot on your heels. 

You change in gas station bathrooms when you run. You’re learning a kind of awareness of cameras and eyes that you never would’ve developed before. You do not smile at cashiers. Your face becomes blank, unrecognisable. The goal is always that you fade into obscurity the second you step out of the shop, so that no one could ever identify you to the two terrifying men haunting your shadow. Even if they wanted to. 

Paranoid isn’t the half of it. When you hear a car pull up outside your motel room door, your body drops a whole degree and sweats like a night terror has found you in the waking world. You only relax when you hear a door four rooms down slam shut. Then you shake so hard that you swear you can hear your bones rattle.

This isn’t a life. It’s life like the promise of a tomorrow is the only thing getting you through today. 

You get on buses with no idea where you’ll be getting off. Pattern disrupter. In the months that you lived with them, you learned something. If your movements are scattered, they become unpredictable—harder to track down. You force them to stay behind while you skitter off, forcing them to review video footage, question people, even sift through garbage and recycling bins for any sign that you’d been there. 

It doesn’t make you any less nervous. You know they’re like hunting dogs. You’d love to believe that you’ve tried their patience enough for them to abandon the chase, but thinking like that gets you caught. Complacency will get you caught faster than anything.

The money folded and sealed in an envelope in your bag is dwindling though. Even for as frugal as you’ve been, food costs money—clothes cost money. Boxes of hair dye and bus tickets cost money. And you can’t stay anywhere long enough to hold down a job to recuperate what you’ve lost.

It feels hopeless. You trudge back to your motel room after grabbing a bite to eat at the pub down the road and feel like maybe this is purgatory. Maybe you died a long time ago, long before you got away from them, and this long path you’ve been burning across the country is just the long descent into the underworld. You let out a sigh, squeezing your eyes shut for a second by the door before unlocking it to go inside for the night.

You trip over something. It catches you so off guard that you almost break your nose on the carpeted floor, arms almost not swinging out in time to catch you. 

“Whoops. Sorry, kitty—took a lil’ tumble there, huh?” a familiar burr says from somewhere behind you by the door. “Gotta watch where you step.” He chuckles a bit under his breath, pulling back the leg he’d stuck out to trip you. 

Your body goes ice cold on the floor. The door clicks shut behind you; the deadbolt sliding into place is deafening in the silence. The thick knot in your belly expands until you think you might throw up. The only nonsensical thing you can think is that you hope the motel manager won’t be upset that you’ve ruined the carpet. 

You hear the muffled sound of knees hitting the floor and then a hand tangles in your hair, wrenching your head back. “Oh Jesus, look at the state of her, Lt.”

“Looks like she’s seen a ghost.”

The second voice is rough, like logs rolling over water, clattering into each other. It comes from the other end of the room, way into the darkness. They didn’t bother to turn the lights on, perhaps in an effort to make sure your guard was down. Fear grips the inside of your chest. Behind you, Johnny holds your head up high enough that you’re forced to stare at the patch of darkness from which Ghost materialises when he flicks on the bedside lamp. 

On the surface, he sounds almost amused, but as long as it’s been, you’re still attuned to the undercurrent of anger in his voice. His patience has been tried over weeks of chasing after you. He almost looks like he’s put on mass since you last saw him over a month ago, but that could just be the perspective of looking up at him from the floor. His face is still covered in the same half skull mask as always, exposing the shaved blond hair on his head. His eyes are narrowed though, terrifyingly mad.

“Poor baby,” Johnny murmurs, nuzzling into the back of your head. He props himself over you, not leaning his whole weight down onto your prone body, but trying to get as close as possible to you while still forcing you to stare up at Ghost. “Did we give ye a wee fright? Is that why ye ran off? I missed ye so, so bad, baby.”

“She ran off because she’s been spoiled,” Ghost snaps. He sits on the edge of the bed and it creaks under his weight when he shifts a little closer to the edge, leaning closer to where you’re lying on the floor. 

“I ken, I ken, Lt,” Johnny sighs, plastering sloppy, wet kisses into the side of your neck, fitting his mouth briefly into the crook of it, into the meat of your shoulder. “Cannae help myself, she’s just so—ah, kitty, am really sorry but you’ve really pissed Simon off.”

“No—no, please—” you gasp, breath splintered into short hitches. “H-how’d you—how’d you e-even find—”

Johnny shakes you by the hair, a bit rougher than usual. Anger finally leaking out like a drip from a loose spigot. You yip at the pain. “Of course we were gonna find you—Lt, ye hearing this? She thought she could outsmart us.”

“Pet’s don’t know any better,” Ghost says dismissively. It makes you feel queasy to hear him say that like you’re not even in the room. “Needs a lesson in not making us run halfway across the country after her. Get her on the bed, pup.”

“No, no, get OFF—” you try to yell, then gag when Johnny shoves two fingers into your mouth, pushing them almost to the back of your throat. 

When the urge to choke abates, you close your teeth over his fingers, flirting with the idea of just biting all the way down and taking them off. Only the fact that you’ve never done something like that before keeps you from instinctually biting through. Johnny laughs breathlessly when he feels your teeth flirt over his fingers though.

“Bite down,” Johnny dares you, voice quivering with smugness and rage. “Bite down ‘n see what happens to ye. Have nae gotten my cock wet in a fuckin’ month because you’ve been gone and Simon—”

“Quit talking to the pet like she understands,” Ghost snaps, finally standing up, towering over the two of you. You can’t help staring at his mud covered boots still rooted in front of your face. “On the bed. Now.”

You howl when Johnny takes his fingers out of your mouth and wrenches you to your feet, struggling when he coos and frogmarches you to the bed. No matter how hard you struggle though, you can’t break the way he has your arms twisted behind your back. It’s a short walk too, only a few steps, and then Johnny shoves you roughly onto the bed, clambering over you again. His hand forces your face into the mattress, not paying any mind to the way you grunt because your nose bends uncomfortably against it. 

“Always fuckin’ whining,” Johnny growls into your ear, fully pissed off now. His anger is electric, rippling down the length of you. “On and on and on—’n I’ve been so fuckin’ good to ye. Have nae even been a little mean. Being a fuckin’ brat to me and leavin’ me and makin’ us hunt ye down like dogs.” 

You can hear that he’s working himself up to a fever pitch, growing angrier and angrier. It terrifies you to think that you’re trapped under him, nowhere to go. Somehow, it’s a mercy when the bed dips again under Ghost’s weight and he pulls Johnny back by the shoulder, giving his cheek a little tap when Johnny growls and tries to bend back down. 

“You have all the time in the world with her, pup,” Ghost says, giving Johnny a rougher shove. “Get undressed. Can’t fuck her in your civvies.” 

“Yeah…yeah, yer right,” Johnny mumbles to himself, getting off you. 

Your head automatically twists over your shoulder, eyes following him. It’s easy to see in the spare seconds you get before you try to make a break for it again that he looks haggard, beard grown out a bit more than usual. Ghost usually makes him keep it short and tight, but apparently weeks on the road have tempered that military expectation a bit. 

His eyes are wild, electric blue, hardly blinking for how hard he stares at you. You tell yourself that you haven’t, on some small level, missed his pretty face. His arms bulge around the tight shirt that he easily strips off, pulling it off one handed from the back of his neck.

You hear him kick off his boots somewhere in the distance, but when you try to scramble off the bed, Ghost tips you over onto your bed and presses you down with a firm hand on your shoulder. He’s a bit less dressed now—hoodie pulled off and boots and jeans piled on the floor somewhere. Mask off. Familiar scars cut across his face—old burn marks and white spidery lines of fresh skin. Rougher than Johnny, not a pretty man; maybe without the layers of scarring he’d be a proper masculine kind of handsome, but with them, he only seems dangerous. Someone to avoid. 

He doesn’t say anything when he stares down at you. He says enough like that. He looks over his shoulder, away from you. “Johnny?”

“Lt?” Johnny’s at attention now, stripped naked and eager. When you glance down, his cock is already flushed and hard, excitement making him almost vibrate.

“Help me get her naked and then you’ll get her mouth, alright?”

You’re already struggling before the words come out of his mouth, frantically trying to push Ghost off you and opening your mouth to scream—the piercing shrill of it bleats out of you for half a second—before a big hand wraps around your neck and Ghost turns back to you. It shuts you up in a heartbeat. Not once in the months you were with them has Ghost looked half as terrifying; you’ve had a belt taken to your ass until the blood pooling under the skin almost burned, you’ve been manhandled and roughly positioned and been bent into shapes that your body could only just accommodate, but you’ve never, until now, actually worried for your safety somehow. 

“You scream—” he starts, moving his hand up just a little to grab you by the jaw and twist your head to make you stare at the bedside table, where a glock lays flat under the glow of the lamp, “—and I shoot anyone that comes through that fuckin’ door. We clear?”

You nod once. Sweat pouring out of every other gland, but the saliva running dry in your mouth. You lick your lips and swallow, hummingbird heart going wild in your chest. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” Johnny mumbles, coming up behind Ghost to wrap his arms around him as best he can, planting a row of kisses into his shaved head. “Missed it so bad, I need ta—need ta—”

“Her clothes, Johnny. Take ‘em off.”

You only put up a little fight when Ghost works on unzipping and pulling down your jeans. It feels hopeless to try. Johnny almost tears your shirt in two to get it off, only being a bit gentler when you yelp. He can’t help groping at your chest when the shirt is pulled off you and tossed somewhere else in the room, big hands fitting over your breasts and plucking your nipples, twisting them like you’re just a toy for Johnny to play with. He slithers down onto his belly for a second to pop a nipple into his mouth, switching between kissing and sucking at the beaded nub like he can’t tell what he missed more.

Your panties get ripped clean in two. The sob comes out of your chest unbidden, tears finally spilling out. Ghost’s patience seems finally at its end. His eyes are black even in the light, all pupil. Your legs try to close instinctively, but he slots himself between them so you can only clamp your legs around his waist, stuck staring at the way his hand reaches for his boxers only long enough to pull the elastic under his balls. His cock is so heavy with blood that it droops, the tip dewy. 

Your nipples gleam with spit when Johnny finally takes his mouth off them, sitting back on his haunches and spreading his legs. It’s all happening so fast—there isn’t a right place to look. Either the monstrous cock between your legs that already has you feeling twangs of phantom pain knowing that Ghost isn’t going to even bother stretching you on his fingers before fucking you, or the pretty cock that Johnny is already rubbing against your lips, painting with his precome. You flinch when you feel Ghost spit on your sex; he doesn’t try to rub it in.

“Simon” he pants, fingers tangling in your hair again to keep your head still when you try to turn away. “Simon, please, can I—I need ta come so bad. Please, please.”

You almost say something and then Ghost pushes his cock in to the hilt in one brutal plunge. Your mouth opens on a ragged gasp and Johnny keens, fingers clenching so hard in your hair that he almost tears it out by the roots. The tip of his cock stays flush against your lips, even split open on your gasp.

“Please, sir, please,” he begs, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes. Aching and desperate. Holding himself back only because he needs permission to put his cock anywhere in you, just like he did all those weeks ago back in their house out in the countryside. The one you thought you thought you’d escaped. 

Ghost chuckles, groaning at the feel of your tight cunt squeezing his cock. “Go ahead, boy. Give your cock a squeeze.”

That’s all it takes. Johnny pushes past your lips roughly, no finesse or gentleness at all. Maybe the capacity for it is gone after going without you for so long. You choke when the head of his cock hits the back of your throat, tears making your vision blur. Johnny preens and gushes over you, unable to stop babbling about how hot and tight your throat is, how much he missed it. 

“Oh shit, sir, she’s—” Johnny gasps, sinking into your mouth again and again, sweaty hand still clutching your hair. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.”

You feel close to the point of breaking, tight after a month on the lam, too tight for someone Ghost’s size to shove their cock into you without prep. You tell yourself that at least he bothered to spit on you, but lube would help a lot more. Too bad for you. His hands fit over your waist and hold tight, making sure you know that there’s nowhere for you to go. The first few thrusts are rough but slow enough to keep you from tearing—a small mercy, but probably not for your sake.

“I get—I get her pussy after, right, sir?” Johnny asks desperately.

“Dunno, Johnny,” Ghost muses, licking his lip. His thrusts get more brutish, faster; your teeth would be clacking together if Johnny’s cock wasn’t stuck halfway down your throat. “Gonna be a bit sloppy. Might not be tight enough for you after this.”

“S’okay, sir,” he whines, glancing back down at you. Fingers petting your cheek and tracing over your throat, trying to feel himself from the outside. “Jus’ need…oh fuck, please, it’s so good—oh Christ, missed it. I’ll take anythin’, sir, please.”

“Christ, alright, puppy. You can have a turn after. Been a good boy, huh?” 

You can only stare when Ghost lifts a hand from your waist to reel Johnny in by his mohawk, tugging him in for a wet kiss, still thrusting into your pussy all the while. Just a toy between them for their cocks while Ghost licks into Johnny’s mouth and mutters sweet nothings to him. Johnny moans into the kiss, sucking Ghost’s tongue when it’s offered to him and looking dazed, come-drunk. All fucked out and flushed, hips unconsciously pumping forward, just absently rutting. 

“Got our girl back, right?” Ghost murmurs, letting go of Johnny’s hair to smooth down his head and neck, making him preen. “Such a smart puppy.”

“Yeah, I’m good, sir.” He sounds out of his mind, slurring his words. Praise gets him like nothing else; it’s not easily given by Ghost, not handed out for nothing. “Did good…’m a good boy…”

The corners of your lips feel like they might crack. It’s hard to be careful with your teeth when you’re so overwhelmed, but luckily Johnny doesn’t mind it a bit rough. He hiccups when your teeth scrape over his cock a bit. He lips at Ghost’s mouth, dragging his tongue over the scar that bisects the corner of Ghost’s lips. When Ghost finally pulls away from Johnny’s mouth, a thin string of saliva pulls and then bends with the distance, finally snapping off and leaking onto your chest. 

Your flinch and squeak draws Ghost’s attention back down to you. 

You try to think of yourself looking down on the three of you instead of in it, but it’s hard. For as much as it seems like you’re just a toy between them, Ghost makes an effort to get you off, slipping a hand down to jiggle his thumb over your clit, rubbing it just the way you like. It’s sick how well he knows your body by now, how it takes almost nothing to push you to the edge of coming, core tight with the heat of it. 

“Gonna come?” Ghost taunts, scooping a hand under your ass to tilt your hips up, hitting a spot inside you that has you seeing stars, cunt flexing over his cock. You garble around Johnny’s cock as if to say something, but all it does is make Johnny groan and slump over you, holding himself upright with a hand on the mattress. His abs flex every time he fucks into your mouth. “Pussy this close to coming—you must’ve starved it. Good thing you didn’t let someone fuck you while we were looking. Woulda torn them apart.”

You can see the real threat in his eyes at that. There’s no way you would’ve, but the real danger of it crackles in the room. You feel like you’ll slip and touch the third rail if you so much as twitch under his glare. His jealousy at the thought makes him look like an angry god, chest heaving with every breath as he fucks you. 

“My baby wouldnae—” Johnny gasps, sinking his cock all the way into your throat and groaning at the squeeze, “—no, Si, she’s—ah, fuck me, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck—Si, she wouldnae do that to us. No fuckin’ way.”

“She’d have a lot of making up to do then, huh?”

“She’s a good girl, sir, ‘promise. Oh, jus’ look at her,” Johnny gushes, sweat dripping down onto your face from how he’s curled over you. “So, so pretty. Maybe I dinnae take her…take her on enough walks.”

“Yeah…” You feel your skin crawl when Ghost stares down at you, not convinced. “Of course, pup.”

You know there’s no way he believes that. When they drag you home, you don’t think you’ll see the sunlight for weeks, never mind have Johnny take you on ‘walks’. Ghost’s smothering presence will take on a whole new meaning; he’ll snuff out the sun before he lets you walk in it alone ever again. 

Someone in the room adjacent to yours slams their fist into the wall a couple of times, jolting you out of your thoughts. The headboard must really be knocking against the wall. Ghost and Johnny ignore it though, Johnny so close to coming that he can hardly even form a sentence, solely focused on spearing between your lips. You can feel Ghost reaching his end too, fucking you with a single-minded intensity. Breath snorting out of his nose like a bull. The hair on his chest is matted with sweat, curls whorling around his nipples. 

You almost choke when Johnny comes down your throat without warning, hilting his cock until his balls brush your chin and his hand in your hair tightens painfully. He groans, drawn out and long, pained. It splashes against the back of your throat, almost familiar. You’ve done this before. You can do this without falling down a cliff and never climbing back up. 

He pulls his cock out before he’s finished, striping your face with come, twitching when he has to hold his cock from how sensitive it is. You instinctively close your eyes, grateful when you feel his come tag your eyelid. 

You hope it’s almost over, but Ghost hasn’t come yet and you know it’s going to get worse before it gets better. When Johnny pulls away to collapse onto his back on the bed, trying to catch his breath and dragging his hand over his stomach, Ghost hunches over you. He drags his tongue over your cheek, wet and nasty, and your brain almost switches off when you realise that he’s licking Johnny’s come off your cheek. 

“There we go,” he snarls, feeling you flex around him, the little tell-tale spasm of your approaching orgasm. “Atta girl—gonna come on my cock? A little wet sorry for running away?”

You try to say something, but your throat is raw, voice too hoarse for words. Even your lips feel puffy, swollen. Talking hurts. It doesn’t matter though, Ghost doesn’t wait for your response. He pumps into you like a machine, pulling his cock all the way out before pushing back in again. Your stomach cramps with the worry that he might miss and try pushing into the other hole.

You wish there was a way around it, but you can’t avoid it slamming into you, a white hot wave cresting over you. You come so hard it hurts, milking Ghost’s cock and pushing him over the edge too; he pants harsh, animalistic sounds into your throat, cutting himself off by sinking his teeth into the meat of your shoulder instead, making you howl. There’s no condom to keep his come from pumping into you; just a big, heavy man smelling of gunpowder and salt hovering over you, elbow propped on the mattress beside your head and making you go a bit crazy at the scent of him everywhere around you. 

He peels himself off of you after what feels like an hour, soft cock pulling out of you and making you clench down on nothing. You didn’t remember how much being empty can hurt. You try to roll away from him and onto your side, maybe squeeze yourself into a fetal position, but Ghost collapses down beside you and plants a hand on the centre of your chest, holding you in place. Never any respite. 

You croak a tired little, “Ow.” All it does is make Ghost snort softly.

Your body feels like one livid bruise in the aftermath, limbs loose at your sides. You couldn’t move even if you tried, even if you thought you could make a break for it. It would hardly be worth it. You let your eyes slide shut when Ghost runs a hand up and down your chest, a little comforting gesture. 

“Simon,” Johnny whines from beside you. Your brows scrunch, annoyed at his voice breaking the silence. “Please.”

You hear Ghost sigh. “Now?”

“Cannae wait—please.”

You wait to hear Johnny and Ghost get up. Maybe there’s something they have to do—maybe they drove to the motel and there’s still something in the car. 

A hand grabs you by the hip.

“Turn over, pet,” Ghost instructs, flipping you onto your stomach without waiting for you to acquiesce. “Promised Johnny a turn with your pussy before we leave.”

Your eyes go wide.