Life Is Way Easier If You Just Use A Character Creator 😭❗️

Backstory

Things to keep in mind when building a character’s past/backstory:

Before plotting a character’s backstory- Ask yourself if it's relevant. Your story doesn't need unnecessary details that don't fuel the plot/character. Sometimes, a characters entire life story isn't what's best for the plot. 

You don't need to know it all at once- The process is nonlinear/messy. It's okay to go back and forth.

Start with core memories- Smaller details can be great but it's easier to remember the big picture when you start with the corner pieces.

Timeline- use these core parts/events for your character to build a timeline to better understand the character/story. 

Don't dump it all in one place- We don't need to know everything about a character in chapter one. Don't forget to put thought into how you present this information. Flashbacks, dialogue, and playing with transitions can make a memory more vivid.

His Majesty the King - pt one

King!Viktor x Fem!Reader Royal AU

Series Masterlist - Arcane Masterlist - AO3 - Ko-fi

Series Synopsis: After your family cannot afford to pay a tax, they have the option to offer something up to the King as collateral to buy them more time. They decide to send their oldest daughter: you.

Warnings: sexual tension, fluff, nsfw content, yearning (so much yearning), anachronisms for any historical fiction lovers (I'm sorry, this wasn't researched), viktor undoing your dress, stolen kisses/forbidden romance (sorta), viktor feeding you, dirty talk, fingering

Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: The royal au series i wrote off-the-cuff all put into an official series. Parts one through three are found here. Enjoy!

pt one:

You'd been sold, for lack of a better term. Bartered? Traded? Your parents owed money. A tax they couldn't pay one too many times. We need collateral came after begging for an extension for the umpteenth time. There were a few options they could've offered up. The deed to the house, to their general store. Two easy ones. Locked in the safe in your father's office. It would've taken a matter of minutes to retrieve. But he remained planted in the mud outside your house. Modest, but nothing to brag about. A show for outsiders when there wasn't always food on the table.

"My daughter," he exclaimed, yanking your forward with a harsh grip on your wrist, "take her. Put her to use. Surely you could use another hand around the castle."

You were the only one to protest. Which was cut short as you glanced between your mother, father, and younger sister. Not a word was said between the three as you were tossed towards the soldiers. Into the grips of knights you knew weren't there to save. They were there doing the king's duty, identities hidden beneath the freezing metal. The winter weather pierced your thin cloak like needles when you slammed against their chest plates. Had their gloves close around your wrists, yanking them behind your back.

"She will do," one murmured entirely unimpressed. "For now."

The ride to the castle, wrists bound behind your back with chains you'd mentioned weren't necessary. You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to flee to. You'd been offered up on the slab like a piece of meat. Quite literally.

You have no idea what to expect inside the castle walls. It was hard to like a King that often kept himself out of sight. Who seemed entirely okay accepting a person as collateral for his high taxes. Granted, it was his soldiers that had accepted the bargain. But you doubted they would've agreed had the King not been okay with the barter.

Once upon a time, he wasn't that bad. He and his council of advisors kept the kingdom safe. It flourished. But in the last few years, it'd started to deteriorate. Taxes were raised, days felt desolate, those that wore jewels like they weren't worth your entire house lived beyond reason. Parading around wealth worth the entirety of your family's store. Worth you. Wealth that would've paid the debt that you were currently fulfilling without putting a scratch in their jewels.

Those unsure expectations were satiated quickly upon pulling into the castle gates. Luxurious. That's what the inside was. Rich velvets and silks lined the halls, colors vibrant and bleeding an obvious wealth. Rich aromas of foods you'd never even dreamed of tasting. Fireplaces that warmed each room, making the vast halls feel cold and unwelcoming.

They were taking you to meet the king. In your beige dress, unkempt hair, watery eyes as your demise set in. He had to be informed of your joining the staff. Kitchen or cleaning, the knights had decided. They'll make good use of you. But you were stuck on meeting the king. As if it were some casual introduction. Your heart was lodged in your throat as they opened two massive double doors and shoved you inside, surely hoping you'd fall on your face. That you'd embarrass yourself like the peasant you were in the eyes of royalty.

You nearly did, falling to your knees in front of a lavish throne. You tugged on the cuffs, cursed beneath your breath, fought the way your heart wanted to leap from your chest. Too many emotions too fast. Home, gone. Betrayal from those meant to protect you. Thrown into the fray of working until enough time had passed for your family to pay back the debt. And then what? Would they keep you to make sure your family kept paying? Or give you back with the threat they'd take you back in a heartbeat if they couldn't pay again?

And now you were sat before the king. Knees aching, wrists chaffed, fighting fear.

You locked onto a set of gold eyes. Ensnared with a darkness like the hair on his head. Face angular, two beauty marks dotting his face. Beneath his right eye and above the left corner of his mouth. Grayish purple bags were stark against his pale skin, the exhaustion stretching throughout his lean figure. A thin frame of metal braced his right leg, creaking slightly when he moved. He ran a gloved hand lazily along a cane he held, carefully coming to rest on the gold handle. His thick brows furrowed as he scanned you, and he frowned.

"Who is she?" A man you hadn't even bothered to notice asked. Standing beside the king. Shorter, rosier cheeks, significantly older. His blond hair was combed back with hints of gray poking through.

"Collateral." One of the soldiers stepped forward, motioning to you. He came so close to smacking your head that you flinched. The King kept his eyes on you. His frown deepened.

"She was sent as collateral?" The short man asked.

You couldn't tell if he was offended that someone had sent their daughter in place of a family heirloom or a property deed, or if they were wondering if you were even decent enough to be considered collateral. Something told you it was a mixture of the two.

"For the (Y/L/N) family." The soldier rolled their shoulders, armor clinking. "Unable to pay for the fourth time in a row. When told they needed to offer collateral, they gave us her."

"Well." The short man sighed. "Throw her in with the maid staff for now. See if she can make herself useful there."

"Yes, sir," the soldier said, grabbing the chain between your cuffs and jerking up. A searing pain shot into your shoulders, and you winced as your knees were yanked from the ground only to smack right back down. Not enough strength to lift you entirely, but enough to remind you who was in charge.

You rose on wobbly legs, stealing one last glance at the King as the soldier turned you, and you felt the metal dig into your flesh. At the King whose eyes narrowed as you were dragged from the room. The King who the public envied, hated, feared. Worshipped, put their lives on the line for. Whose name was treated like a curse in one circle and a god's in another.

It was most definitely the former for you as the double doors were reopened. You hated the perfectly tailored shirt he wore. The thin gold crown that glinted under the chandelier that dripped wax down the crystals that hung beneath like a taunt. A reminder that this was what the townsfolks were paying for. What you were covering your family for.

You were shoved out the door despite offering up little resistance to the knight's movements. But your feet stalled at the sound that cut through the room. Quiet. Calm, even. It drew everyone's attention back into the room.

You blinked at the King as he sat expectantly.

"Your name."

Two simple words. He knew your name. Or the one that mattered. You were covering for your family so you'd become just another nameless maid expected to do her tasks without question. Your path would never cross with the King again after this. You were nothing to him. A name wouldn't matter.

But still, he waited.

"(Y/N)," you murmured, forcing your voice to remain steady. His eyes burned with an intensity that you couldn't pinpoint. You swallowed as he nodded.

"Well," he muttered, voice wrapping around you like the silk curtains that lined the hall. You were practically out of the room, but it felt like you were standing beside each other, whispering secrets only the two of you knew. "Welcome to the castle, (Y/N)."

pt two:

You weren't supposed to see him again. One in your position wasn't meant to cross paths with the King. You were to be tossed into a cramped room, given a uniform that felt a size too small, shoes that hurt your feet, and were expected to do your duty without complaint. Conversations forbidden unless they were hushed and behind closed doors. No contact was to be made with anyone, let alone the royals, without permission. So you stuck to your duties. Cleaning, tidying, washing clothes you had only ever dreamed of touching. Getting your hands swatted when you messed up. Verbally berated when you weren't quick enough. Even if you were more efficient than some of those who worked by your side.

Your entire body ached by day four. You could barely move on day six. It was day seven when you were brought to the library in the middle of the night and were instructed to clean it--spotless--due to your lackluster attempts earlier in the day. It was code for those who had cleaned the library earlier hadn't done a good enough job and since you were feeling the repercussions of the job, you were forced to fix their mistakes.

And you had no choice. So you cleaned. You dusted, swept, mopped. Scrubbed and organized. Stole one too many glances at the leather-bound novels. Settled beside the fireplace for a moment longer than you knew you should've. But it just felt so good to just sit for a moment.

And then you heard a voice and you froze, hands stretched out towards the fire, feet tucked beneath you as you warmed up your calloused hands. Your wrists were still raw from the cuffs they'd kept you in as long as they could when you'd first arrived.

"Careful," he whispered. His cane clinked against the floor. "If they catch you slacking, they will not be happy."

You slowly rose and pulled your hands away from the fire but a gentle hand stopped you. He stood beside you, frowning as the tips of his fingers ran over your chaffed wrists. The uniform felt infinitely tighter, making each breath impossible.

"Please, warm yourself." His hand lingered until you stretched your arms back out.

The air in the room felt thick and heavy.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

He winced, sliding the hand that'd once been on you into his pocket. His gaze perused your frame and you felt yourself starting to shake, unsure what he was looking at. Unsure how you were supposed to act in front of the King.

"It's too small." He was frowning again.

"I-I'm sorry?"

"Your attire. It is too small. That cannot be comfortable." He eyed the string crisscrossing across your back, holding your dress firm to your body. Too tight, too small. His hand twitched on his cane before he turned his attention to your face. His concentrated expression softened. His gold eyes flickering in the firelight. "I, er, I am sorry for the circumstances that brought you here, Miss (Y/N)."

You blinked at the King, breath catching in your throat. You blatantly ignored the fact that he'd remembered your name.

Instead, you focused on if he'd been wearing his crown, you would've plucked it from his head, pointed to one of the jewels that glittered the band, and screamed about how half of one would've absolved your family of what was owed. That if he hadn't crave such lavish items, the taxes wouldn't be so high, and you wouldn't even be there in the first place. If he were wearing his crown, of course. And if you suddenly gained a bravery you knew was hidden deep beneath the breath you couldn't quite get enough of.

Still, to your surprise, a smidge snuck out.

"You're sorry? Really?" You laughed bitterly. Right in the King's face. In a heartbeat, you threw your hand over your mouth and stepped back. Fear tingled your skin, all the way down your back. "Oh--shit--I'm so sorry, Your Majesty."

Both cursed and beloved, you had no idea how the King reacted to such behavior. You weren't given much of a chance to see as you backed into a bookcase and yelped, thinking you'd bumped into a guard or even another servant. You spun tripped over your own feet. You expected the ground to knock the wind from you, but the King caught you, both hands on your shoulders, his cane thumping softly on the ground. His grip soft, gently trailing down your arms until he got to your elbows, where the sleeves of your dress stopped, and his skin brushed yours once more.

"Relax, Miss (Y/N)," he whispered, mouth beside your ear. "You are free to speak your mind to me."

It took a moment for you to gather words.

"You apologize when it is because of your laws that I am here. If you were sorry, you'd let me go home and give us the extension anyway."

He was quiet. His hands twitched on your elbows before they dropped. A slow breath. Then another. His hair tickled your neck.

When he finally spoke, his words sounded stilted.

"If I were to make an exception for one, I would have to to make an exception for all. Taxes have to be paid. One way or another."

You would've laughed if tears hadn't been welling up. So you stepped away, wiping away the wrinkles on your skirt, and cleared your throat. You hadn't expected any other answer, but it still hurt to hear. And it hurt knowing that you were stuck at the castle until the debt could be paid.

At least there was food every night. Even if you'd been forced to miss dinner due to cleaning the library.

You wanted to cry. You missed your parents cooking, listening to your sister run around wreaking havoc as you set the table. Your bed that was endlessly more comfortable than the poor excuse they gave you here.

Now, you were standing beside the King, his words like the key locking the door to a cage. You couldn't chirp, you couldn't fly. All you could do was speak when your master commanded it. You wanted to hit him. Maybe upside the head. Maybe with his cane that he was subtly reaching for. Your brows furrowed when you glanced at his leg. He wasn't wearing the brace. Nor was he wearing anything that fancy. Just a basic white shirt and pants. They looked like something you would've thrown on when you snuck out during the night to visit your friends, long past when your parents had gone to sleep.

"I ought to get back to work then," you mumbled. Voice more broken than you ever wanted the bastard to hear. It was his fault you were here. Fucking his. His damn taxes. His damn knights. Being goddamn collateral-

Without warning, you were led to the side.

If someone would've told you that you would've ended up in a compromising position with someone while you were at the castle, you would've shrugged. You had to pass the time somehow. And doing so with some nice company? That'd be the way to do it. But if they told you that it was with the King? You would've called them delusional. That perhaps they needed to get their head checked.

But when the library door opened, its hinges squeaking and two distinct voices carried between the bookcases, a tender hand on your wrist guided you into a crevasse beside the fireplace. Where you'd pulled a potted plant and a vase out earlier to clean. It wedged back far enough for neither of you to be seen.

It did, however, mean that the two of you were wedged so close together that you felt every inch of the other's body. Your back was against the King's chest, one hand reaching out to grab his cane before it fell as his hand came to cover your mouth. His other arm wrapped around your waist and held you as tight as you figured he could. You tried not to scream against his hand, and he held it firm when you tried to drag it away.

His breathing was surprisingly even, contrasting your desperate attempts. Each rhythmic movement making his chest brush against your back. You closed your eyes and counted to ten, trying your best to calm down. But it was growing increasingly harder in the small space. Especially so when his thumb ran reassuring lines along your ribs. An action that felt like fire was licking your skin. That the thin dress had caught the flames just on the other side of the wall.

He shushed you, turning his head towards the voices as they got closer. He tensed and you knew whoever was in the room was right there. If they found you--the King and some collateral hiding in a little corner in the library--you wouldn't be collateral any longer. You'd be six feet under.

"This is where he usually goes when he's not in his room."

It sounded like the old man who'd been in the throne room. Heimer, he went by, you found out shortly after. Your paths had crossed no more than what you could count on one hand, and each time he gave you a glance you couldn't read. Uncaring curiosity? You weren't sure.

"He might have gone to see the cook for a snack," the other voice said. "Or he is with the blacksmith, trying to see the progress on the latest weaponry."

"He's not you, Jayce. You're the one who prefers to do the heavy lifting. Viktor prefers to exercise his mind."

You were shaking, and the King slowly--very, very slowly--lowered the hand over your mouth. It skimmed down your throat, circling back until it slid between the two of you. You let out a shuddering exhale as he tugged on the strings holding the dress against you like a second skin, and very carefully loosened each cross. Each gentle tug of his finger made you silently gasp. The last few times someone had undone your dress even remotely as slowly, tender, and carefully, was not because you couldn't breathe. And the memories were tricking you, with each flick of a touch. Each graze and tug. As the fabric hung loosely around your chest. Not low-cut enough to cause worry of potential exposure. But it did dip lower than appropriate for someone to be wearing near the King. Especially with such a difference between classes. Especially with someone you despised.

Yet as you took your first full breath of the evening, you could've sworn you felt him relax ever so slightly.

"Alright, I'll go check in the kitchen and see if he found his way there. Get to bed, old man, I'll catch him up on what he missed from the council meeting."

"Fine. But I am trusting you to return him to his room, Mr. Talis."

"Yeah, yeah, I will."

Two sets of footsteps retreated and the library door closed shortly after. The King waited a beat before fully relaxing, his head falling back against the wall. He didn't guide you out of the small space.

Your mind seemed to catch up with you as he pulled you to rest against him, subconsciously, it seemed.

"Your Majesty," you whispered even though the two had left. "If I may venture a question?"

"You may." He seemed fond of whispering in your ear. And you weren't fond of the way it made your body shiver in a way that should've been disgust but was the exact opposite. It also wasn't helping that his hand was still firmly on your ribs, thumb running that same teasing circle.

"I can understand why you hid, but why me as well?"

His arms tightened for a brief moment around you before they fell and frustratingly so, you missed the contact.

"I, er." He cleared his throat. You couldn't tell if he was trying to choose his words carefully or if he was stalling. "I did not want you to get questioned. You have already been through enough on my behalf."

Silence. Neither of you moved. Your bodies were still practically pressed together. And without much warning, his hand came atop yours as he reached for his cane. You owed him nothing, yet you felt the urge to say what you certainly should've kept to yourself.

"I wouldn't have said you were here."

He leaned forward, one hand on his cane, the other reaching over your shoulder and pressing against the wall. You clenched your jaw as you felt all of him meld to you.

"I appreciate that, Miss (Y/N)." His breath fanned against your neck. And he stayed like that for a second before sliding out. "Genuinely."

When he was out, he gave you his hand. You hesitated before taking it. It was soft yet calloused, his fingers bony against yours. He didn't let go even once you were out of space.

"Spin," he murmured, eyes alight with something that made your cheeks burn. He held his cane underneath his arm, an obvious well-practiced stance. You did as he said, and he laced up your dress, not nearly as tight as it had been before. You noted how close he was standing. Closer than he needed to be, but you didn't step away. And it wasn't because he was the King and you feared potential repercussions. The exact opposite. It made you clench your jaw.

"I ought to return to my bed chambers," he said when he finished, hands hovering over your waist before falling to his side. "My apologies for interrupting you during your duty. I hope you are not kept up much later in pursuit of cleaning this place. I must apologize for its state of disarray. It's my fault that things are often out of place."

You stared at him in disbelief. He was...apologizing to you? You tried to fan the flames of irritation you'd felt towards him days ago, hours ago, goddamn minutes ago. But the soft, crooked grin he gave you pierced you like a damn dagger. So hard you nearly staggered back. You would've had you not locked your knees. But the damn thing made his entire face light up. Made his eyes sparkle and soften his demeanor.

"It's...alright, Your Majesty."

"Call me Viktor, please, when it's just you and me." You swore there was a dimple on his cheek when his smile deepened. You felt the strange urge to kiss it and you hated it.

"Yes Your...Yes, Viktor."

"Thank you." He nodded, studying you for one last moment before starting towards the door. "Sweet dreams, Miss (Y/N). "

The library door closed gently behind him.

When it's just you and m. Sweet dreams.

You bit your lip as you tried to process the slew of emotions. He expected the two of you to spend more time together. Alone. Something that should've angered you, worried you, shouldn't have made you excited. Secretly, you told yourself. You were secretly excited. But there was a strange curiosity there that you couldn't ignore. That bubbled to the surface.

The King--Viktor--was very much not who he seemed.

pt three:

You saw Viktor dozens of more times after that. All during your duties. In between conflicting feelings about the man you should hate, missing your family, and trying to figure out the relationship between Viktor and the council he seemed to meet with every few days. Meetings he often tried to avoid, you discovered, as you overheard who you discovered to be Jayce telling him that he needed to start showing up again.

That was in the throne room, where you'd been started to get sent more and more shortly after your midnight meeting with Viktor. One that you hadn't stopped thinking about since it'd happened. It was growing increasingly frustrating that you were getting less and less sleep each night as you thought back to that evening.

You saw more of the castle as the days passed. Bringing tea, coffee, and fruits into offices with members who you figured to be of the council. They talked of politics you only somewhat understood. Of wars you hadn't known were in talks of being waged. You felt privy to information you knew they weren't in fear of leaking--who were you going to tell, after all? You were there until your family paid a tax that felt more and more impossible to meet as each day went by.

Saying you met the members was a reach. You were simply able to put names to faces. Kirraman and Bolbok, who cared far more for those inside the walls of the castle than those beyond. Hoskel and Salo, who cared only for trade routes, talked of lowering the pay of the workers since the roads had become nicer, in order to pocket more for themselves.

Then there was Mel and Shoola, the only two who seemed to acknowledge the existence of those beyond the castle walls. Of where you and many of your friends and family lived. Where many of those who funded their lavish lifestyle lived.

The final two, Jayce and Heimer, seemed to be the closest with Viktor. But one thing became clear as you traveled from room to room, witnessed the same Viktor you'd seen on day one. The man with puffy eye bags, unkempt hair, clothes and a crown that reminded everyone of his royal status. The man who you watched turn away begging citizens. His hand gripped the armrest of the throne tighter when each denial he had to give. His jaw clenching, hair curling over his forehead.

"It's for the greater good," you heard Heimer whisper to him.

"We need the money to continue expanding our arsenal," Jayce said. "You saw how well the advancements are coming. They're almost there, Vik."

Viktor didn't always meet your gaze when you offered him a snack. A cup of tea. But he almost always made sure he acknowledged you in some manner. Hands brushing as you passed him a cup or a plate. Whispering a very undeserving and etiquette-breaking thank you that he only ever spared you. Handing you his cane if he needed both hands to be free. He'd even asked you to fetch him a book from the library once.

"On the bookcase you nearly fell into that night. Second shelf, middle, right beside the fireplace."

He hadn't spoken loud enough for anyone but you to hear. And it made your entire body burn up. You hoped you hadn't looked as flustered as you felt as you fetched it for him.

It was after about two weeks of the behavior that you realized he was most likely doing it because he wanted you to feel comfortable. Almost like a distraction from why you were there. And it angered you, strangely, that it was working. That he was even trying to do that.

It made the only alone time the two of you ever got...well, different.

Usually, it was your paths crossing while you were left alone to clean while Viktor was trying to just get a moment to himself. Hiding in one of the random bathing chambers, bedrooms, the kitchen, even outdoors in the garden. The latter was your favorite. The one that stuck with you the longest. The hardest.

The rest were momentary meetings. You both knowing you only have minutes at the most together, sharing small talk as you worked and Viktor took a breather, before someone else came passing through. And the King couldn't be seen conversing so calmly and casually with you.

You hated how you longed for the meetings. The way his hands would graze your skin as he brushed your hair from your face. Passed you a rag that royal hands had never once touched. Wiped the corner of your mouth when he fed you a piece of food that was not meant for a mouth of a maid. Of the collateral. He grinned when you practically moaned at the taste. You'd never tasted something so damn flavorful. It was infuriating.

And then there was the garden. Where he'd found you while strolling, a book in his hand that went unread as soon as he saw you. He sat on the bench beside you as you trimmed plants and plucked flowers for a centerpiece that'd been requested for the dinner that evening. But the sunny weather hadn't lasted long. As thunder crashed and rain poured down, Viktor whisked you away to a small gazebo hidden away in an overgrown section. Away from the castle. Away from the rest of your responsibilities for the day. At least during that moment, they felt far, far away.

He tripped on his way in, falling forward and pinning you against a wooden pillar. The roof sheltered you from the rain, but you were both already soaked to the bone. Freezing. Shivering. He didn't right himself, panting as his breath puffed out in a visible cloud. He was so close. You'd never stared at the mole above his mouth for so long. So desperately. So infuriatingly.

But all the two of you did was pant. Pressed against each other, a cold hand coming up to cup your jaw. You gasped. You hadn't meant to, and you tried to tell him that it was because his hand was cold. But the deep-set shivers made your words stutter. And it'd just made Viktor grin. A sight for sore eyes. Sometimes it made you wonder how he could sit there and frown for most of the day when his entire face lit up with just one crooked grin. One that warmed you like a fire. As did he as he settled between your legs, nose nudging yours as an arm hooked around your waist. You hadn't even noticed that you'd started to part your legs for him. Neither of you, it seemed, were going to comment on it.

Neither that nor the way he held onto you like you would slip through his fingers if he let go.

You wanted to stab him. You wanted to kiss him.

Perhaps both.

But your time was short-lived.

"Your Majesty," someone had called out. "We must get you inside before you catch a chill."

"Forgive me, Miss (Y/N)," he murmured as his hand traveled down your neck, trailing over your exposed clavicle in a touch more teasing than anything you'd ever felt. And you'd done a lot more with someone than a simple light touch. "As much as I do not want to, I must say goodbye for now. Please, do not stay out much longer. I fear the council would have my head if I tried to nurse you back to health if you were to get sick."

A laugh bubbled in your throat at the image. The King taking care of a sickly maid because she'd caught a common cold. An image that was difficult to imagine even if he was right in front of you, whispering it to you himself. The ruthless King. The man who wanted to take care of someone. The man you couldn't get your fingers around enough. His neck or him.

"They would if they knew you were even out here with me," you'd said back, breathless. You blamed that damn tight dress. But you knew it was much more than that. You hoped he wouldn't notice.

"Perhaps." He grinned. "But I am starting to realize that listening to the council may not be in my best interest."

He was gone, walking as fast as he could with the leg brace on. You stood shivering in the gazebo as the train pelted down until the tightness in your abdomen subsided. You went back to your duties once the warmth faded. The bouquet for the centerpiece was small and unfinished, so you expect it to be discarded as a waste. But when you stepped into the dining hall that evening to help clear plates, it was still sat right in the center.

The entire encounter was with you for weeks. You thought you couldn't sleep after your meeting in the library. You really couldn't after that. Sharing a bedroom with four other people was devastating when you got more wound up each night. Thoughts drifting into places they shouldn't have been about him.

Anger was the appropriate reaction. Wishing to take that anger out on him physically? Also appropriate. But the ways in which you wished to? Very much inappropriate. You were starting to understand why some of your roommates tried to pry specific...information...from Viktor's personal servant. A man he rarely ever asked for assistance from. Also a man who spilled absolutely nothing. Except to you after they'd asked if he'd be interested in a bedmate.

"Not from any of you," he'd said, eyeing them with amusement as they frowned and pouted. So they left to return to their duties, dismayed and unimpressed. To them, the King was a man to flirt and attempt with. Not the man who was the reason you were at the castle in the first place. A man who your family had willingly given you to without a damn question. Worth more than a deed. Or, perhaps less. More expendable. But you weren't a fan of dwelling on that thought.

Then, he turned to you. "He already has his eye on someone."

And that was all he ever said on the subject.

Because the next time you were alone with Viktor, the sentiment was proven true.

It was a month later. A very tense month where Viktor had been spending a lot more time with the council. And they'd been dismissing far angrier than when they'd started. Except for Mel and Shoola, those two were the only ones who walked out looking even remotely amused.

Taxes were being argued, trade routes disputed, the parties that the castle once threw every few weeks had become few and far between. Only three had been held since you'd been there. And not once had you even been allowed to peep inside. You'd been forced somewhere else, along with half of the other maids and servants, to do other duties. It was after the third party when you discovered that Viktor had snuck out and often snuck out of the parties.

You'd been instructed to clean a servant's quarters downstairs. It'd taken longer than it should have, but you couldn't shake the anger that came with each party thrown. Funded by the money that could've sent you home. That would've let you be with your family again.

But it was off being spent on fancy gowns and jewelry and crowns. On food that you'd only get to smell, to dream of tasting. On music you'd only ever hear muffled and mixed into a sea on conversations. You wanted to tear the rag you'd been using in half. But that risked consequences you weren't interested in facing. You'd already been yelled at for wearing your uniform too loose. They'd tied it extra tight the past few days as a reminder. It made bending down hurt.

You were walking down a hall, bucket and rag discarded, trying to steal and glance at the party you were to be nowhere near. Just a whiff of the food made your stomach twist. A glance through a cracked door that you dared not to get close to showed a glittering sea of rich colors and fabrics you wished you could touch.

Of gowns and jewelry that you wished to burn and break.

And then you rounded a corner and, when you smacked right dab in the middle of someone, you saw your life flash before your eyes. You thought about sprinting off and hoping they hadn't seen your face. That they'd never recognize you again. Or perhaps dropping to your knees and apologizing profusely.

Then he spoke and you'd be damned if you didn't relax.

"Ah, Miss (Y/N), are you alright?"

You glanced at Viktor and swallowed. He had to know you were supposed to be here. You glanced at the two guards positioned a few doors up.

"Y-Yes Your Majesty. My apologies. I'm terribly sorry. If you'll excuse me, I really must get back to my quarters. I'm sorry for the intrusion."

Viktor frowned, and you only caught it momentarily as your gaze fell to the ground. Just as it was supposed to when you were to talk with anyone above your station. You panicked and curtsied, sucking in a sharp breath of pain as you dipped, wincing as your stomach churned in a mixture of pain and hunger.

A hand on your arm stopped you and you stepped around him, and you froze, peering back at him wide-eyed.

"Come," he murmured. "I would be a horrible King if I let you go off without feeding you."

You bit back the words. You already are thought to be one.

You weren't sure what you were supposed to say. If you were found out to have gone with the King, you'd face consequences. If they found out you'd denied the King, you'd face consequences. You already were once they discovered you'd ventured into part of the castle that'd been off-limits to you for the evening. So you nodded and went with the man you were still conflicted about.

He brought you to a small office where a desk sat unused, the curtains were drawn, and a couch seemed way too plush. Stay he said before he disappeared, so you sat atop the desk, a small sign of disobedience you hoped Viktor wouldn't punish you for. A small part of you figured he wouldn't, but he was still the King. Even if your small interactions made your heart flutter in a confusing way, he was still the fucking King.

The King who came back with a plate of food that smelled so delicious you were worried you'd started drooling. He said nothing about you sitting on the desk. All he did was smile, walk up, and sat his cane and the plate down. He held up a piece of what looked like steak, his eyes twinkling like the damn stars in the sky, as he waited for you to part your lips before he fed it to you.

You moaned. You'd tried not to, but when it was the most delicious thing you'd ever tasted and it was fed to you but the literal King, it was hard not to. And the smile he gave you, so self-indulgent and cocky, one you never expected from the man who oozed anger whenever he sat on that damn throne, who'd only given you boyish grins until now. It made your heart stop.

"Good?" He asked. You nodded. "Then have more."

"I do believe," you spoke slowly as to not sound so affected by his presence," that I am the one who's to be feeding you, Your Majesty."

Something sparked and Viktor leaned in.

"Oh, you are?" His hand came up and cupped your jaw. "I thought I was the one who made the rules, considering I'm the one with the crown on my head."

Your eyes shot up to that damn band of gold. You wanted to snap it in half.

"You hate it just as much, don't you?" He spoke against your cheek, breath tickling your skin.

"W-What?" You weren't sure if you were stuttering at the close contact, because you wanted more, or because he'd called you out so blatantly.

"The crown," he said as he picked up another small piece of food from the plate. His lips grazed your cheek as he fed you the dessert. A tang of strawberry, a hint of sponge, and the sweetness of cream. You sighed. "You glare at it every time I wear it."

How he could've expected any answer besides you melting against him was beyond you. His closeness, his lips grazing you, the damn food. You wanted to strangle him. You thought about it, too.

"Your Majesty-"

"Viktor," he cooed, "I love hearing you say my name, Miss (Y/N). It drives me wild."

"Viktor," you breathed, but not much came out. The damn tight dress. Too many emotions at once. Too many thoughts. Your eyes closed but you couldn't get your heart to stop racing. You clutched onto his sleeve as you trembled and you heard Viktor mutter something indistinguishable under his breath.

"I really ought to have a talk with them personally," he said, sounding as angry as he did when he spoke with Heimer and Jayce once. Hating how much he had to turn so many begging citizens away. "About these damn dresses."

He was between your legs, stepping forward until his chest was against yours, his hands sliding down your back. It wasn't as slow or methodical as it had been in the library. He tugged without restraint on the crisscrossing strings that held your dress tight. Each jerk making you gasp, and you wrapped your arms--and, shamefully, legs--around him until the dress was loose and free.

"There," he breathed out quietly. You didn't drop your legs from around him when you desperately knew you should have. It didn't help that when he pulled back, your dress caught against him, and it fell down your shoulders, exposing the low-cut slip you wore beneath. Neither of you parted.

A comprising situation with the King once more. Once again you would've laughed at the idea. Called them crazy. More so if they told you his eyes would drop to your chest, his hands would twitch on your waist, and his gaze would come up to meet your so hungry that they would draw you in like a magnet. You simply wouldn't believe them if they said he'd kiss you.

But, in fairness, he hadn't.

He devoured you.

And you devoured right back.

You weren't entirely sure who'd made the move. Just one moment you were staring at his mouth, silently begging to know what it felt like against yours. And the next, you were leaning forward and you had that question answered. Amazing. Soft and amazing. Perfect. He tasted like coffee and vanilla.

His hands roamed up to your ribs, but strayed no higher. He held you against him, hips still between your legs, and you held him even firmer against you. You wanted so much from him. To yell and scream, to strangle and kick, to kiss and devour. To take him right there. To let him take you right there.

You grabbed onto his shirt, wincing at the poor soul who was going to have to press out the wrinkles. But the guilt hadn't lasted long. Not when Viktor's tongue grazed yours and all intelligent thoughts drifted right out of your head. You'd tried to keep composure, but when one hand came up and skimmed your jaw, reaching back to tangle in your hair, you were hanging on by a thread. One that snapped as his nails scraped your scalp and he tugged your head back just enough to make you gasp. And you'd be damned if you didn't moan when he took that opportunity to deepen the kiss, his hips finally moving between your legs.

Not much, but enough to tell you how much he wanted you.

And, damn it, you didn't want it to stop. As shameful as you felt after everything, you wanted more. You were dazed from the kiss, barely able to keep up with your thoughts as you unclamped your fingers and attempted at undoing his shirt. Practically clawing at it to get it off.

That's when Viktor paused, breaking the kiss, huffing. You prepared yourself for disappointment. That he was just a King exercising his power, his intelligence, his charisma to play with you. Make you want something you could never in a million years have.

"Not here," he muttered. "If I am going to fuck you, Miss (Y/N), it's going to be in my bed where I can strip you down and taste every inch of you."

You moaned. Practically sobbed. Guilty pierced your heart but you'd be damned if you let it break it.

"And if I wasn't expected back at the damned ball..." He cupped your jaw so tenderly and shook his head. "That is where we'd be right now."

You cursed whatever compelled you to speak because all you managed was, "don't go."

And Viktor laughed. He laughed. That was your undoing.

"Do not worry," he breathed, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck and kissing the soft spot beneath your ear. "I do not intend to leave you in such disarray."

His hand snuck beneath the skirt of your dress and you practically vibrated as it skimmed your inner thighs. Your teeth captured your bottom lip and you whined--never once had you whined for someone until now--when he stopped just before he reached the apex.

"May I?"

You would've begged if you'd had it in you. But you were trying to maintain some dignity. So you nodded. And it all disappeared when his fingers ran between your folds, the tips grazing your clit and making you jump.

"Miss (Y/N)," he breathed as he ran the same teasing line. "Fuck."

You'd said the word dozens of times yourself. But from him? It felt a dozen times dirtier. And you committed it to memory. You were going to hear it every time you thought about the evening. Every time you looked at him. You'd think about him whispering it against your neck as his fingers spread you, his teeth dug into your skin, as he visibly ached to touch you.

And then his fingers found your clit. So damn easily, too. The precise, languid circles he ran over it were already driving you mad, your legs shaking as you tried to slow the coil that was tightening in your abdomen.

"I have not stopped thinking about you," he whispered as he slipped two fingers into your entrance. You buried your face in the crook of his neck to hide your whimpers. "My mind, I must admit, does do not you justice."

You nearly lost yourself at that. He angled himself so his palm grazed your clit with each pump of his fingers, with every movement of his hand as he curled them inside you. You wanted more than his fingers. You wanted him to take you right there on the damn desk. He could've. You would've let him without a second thought. Who needed a bed when you'd throw him in the desk chair and ride him until you were moaning his name. Until he was moaning yours.

"Fuck," you whined and Viktor sped up his fingers.

He felt so damn good. You'd watched him use those fingers to write, to eat, to argue. Hands gesturing, fingers twirling quills, it was torture. What little alone time you got by yourself, you imagined they were the ones making you bite your lip to the point of nearly breaking the skin. That he had you on his lap, legs spread, whispering how good you felt as you came around his fingers.

"Please," he spoke against your skin. "Do not make me leave this room without making do on my promise."

You would've laughed if you weren't on the edge already. Your walls squeezed his fingers and he grinned against you. He curled them a little harder, a little faster. He sucked, licked, dragged his teeth along your neck. Reached his hand up and yanked on your hair, angling to give him better access.

You weren't a begger. Not with him. You'd told yourself that.

"Please," you whimpered. "Don't stop."

"As if I have zero intention of doing so." His mouth brushed the shell of your ear. "Now be good and cum for me like I know you want to."

You did. He held your head back so you couldn't bury your face in his neck. And he watched. He watched you come undone. As your walls strangled his fingers, as your back arched, your eyes closed. As your muscles tensed and you fought the moan that still burst its way out. A strangled mixture of his name and just fuck.

He didn't remove his fingers until a few tears slipped down your cheeks and you slumped against him.

"Now that," he cooed as he brought his fingers up to his mouth. He groaned as he licked them clean, and you were ever thankful you decided to open your eyes as he spoke. "Is what's going to get me through the days until I can have you for myself."

"And when, Your Majesty, do you expect that to be?"

He cocked a brow.

"For all we know," you huffed, "my parents could pay off the debt before our paths ever cross again. I am kept rather busy here."

He grinned and kissed you. Long and hard. He redid your dress before speaking. Waiting until he was at the door to the room, ever the dramatic, he was.

"Then I better start sneaking away more often. Good night, Miss (Y/N)." He nodded towards the plate. "And, please, do make sure you eat."

“Reader who decided to go to like a free use club pretty much, the only thing showing was her ass/legs/pussy the rest of her was hidden behind a wall Met 4 people anonymously online and they agreed to play out that fantasy so she wasn't fucked by a whole bunch of random people, had the explicit request that they write those cheese things on her in sharpie yk like "cum slut" "cock whore" just all that, so even when she washes it off for a few days those will be lingering Back at work she bends down to grab something, her shirt hikes up and Johnny very clearly sees their captain's hand writing on her Ohoho they found their little anonymous minx”

um sorry not sorry

cw: f!reader, free use, degradation, spanking

Your calves burned from the strain of your high heels, legs straight and stretched and precariously balanced. They made your legs look miles long, smooth and soft, every curve begging to be touched - just like you'd planned. But now, you cursed them. The arch of your feet screamed in protest with every subtle shift in your stance, the balls of your feet aching under your weight, throbbing with the relentless pressure.

Your ankles wobbled every now and then, fighting to keep your balance, your toes cramping in their confines. This wasn’t part of the fantasy you’d imagined, this strain, this dull, incessant pain that throbbed in sync with your racing heartbeat. Tears burned your eyes.

You’d surely made a mistake. Nobody was coming, you’d been lied to. Made to stand, exposed, like a gullible fool. The cold air against your bare skin felt cruel, mocking, the chill biting at your flesh as if the room itself knew you'd been abandoned.

How could you have fallen for it? They’d seemed so genuine online, so convincing, playing into every fantasy. Too good to be true, and now you were paying for it.

The hole in the wall felt like a pillory, an embarrassing punishment you’d walked yourself into. The first tear slid down your cheek, bitter and hot, when the door creaked open behind you.

A presence filled the air, thick and heavy, making your heart lurch. Your breath hitched in your throat, the sound swallowed by the oppressive silence. Footsteps echoed faintly on the floor, each one slow, deliberate, purposeful. Someone was there. You could feel their eyes on you, their gaze grazing your exposed body like a physical touch, and your skin prickled with the awareness of it.

Closer. The footsteps drew nearer, the weight of their approach filling the room, pressing against you from all sides. You were trapped, your heart pounding in your ears, your body trembling - not from the cold anymore, but from the anticipation, the fear of what came next.

The footsteps stopped just behind you, close enough that you could feel the faint warmth of their presence against your bare skin. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding as the silence thickened, tension coiling tighter around you with each second that dragged by. You couldn't see them, couldn't move, your body frozen in place as you waited, nerves crackling like electricity beneath your skin.

The bench under your chest was slick with sweat as you wriggled in place, brimming with a nervous, anticipatory energy with no way to expel it, the wall chafing around your waist.

It started when a single finger brushed the small of your back, the touch light as a feather, yet sending shockwaves through your entire body. It lingered, tracing slow, delicate patterns against your skin, feather-light, teasing. You bit your lip to stifle a moan, your breath coming in ragged pants as the anticipation built to an unbearable peak.

They had to hurry, hurry up, or you’d combust. They’d already left you waiting so long. But you had no say in this, did you? You’d signed it away, the ball no longer in your court, and you loved it. If just a fingertip felt electric, what would their hands feel like, their mouths, their cocks?

Then, without warning, a hand cupped your ass cheek, a firm grip that left no doubt who was in control. The touch was exhilarating, jolting through you, and you gasped, body arching reflexively, hips pressing backward into the touch, heels arching and shoes scrambling against the floor. A deep, gravelly chuckle rumbled in the room, a sound that sent chills down your spine.

“What a convenient little hole,” the stranger purred, their voice a low, husky growl, dripping with hunger. “Just what we need, hm?” Their words washed over you, heat blooming in your belly as they squeezed your ass, each touch igniting you further. “Waited so patiently, didn’t you?” A pause, deliberate, as the grip tightened. “Already so needy.”

A second set of hands, just as large and firm as the first, ghosted over your other cheek, squeezing, kneading, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned, unable to control the sound that spilled from your lips.

"That's what I thought," came a second voice, low and pleased, dripping with satisfaction. “Now, relax,” it commanded, the edge of authority sharp and undeniable.

Without warning, they spread you apart, exposing every inch of you in the most humiliating way, a wet squelch echoing as your body responded, slick and desperate. And then you felt it - hot, hard, the head of a cock pressing insistently against your entrance, seeking its way in.

Please, please, pleasepleaseplease-

The words swirled in your mind, a mantra of pure desperation, but the only sound that left your lips was a pathetic, needy whine. Your knees shook, weak under the weight of your need as those hands pulled away, leaving you trembling, exposed, wanting.

“No, no, please-” you hiccuped into your arms, folded beneath your head, the words breaking as a sob slipped through. Your hips twitched, pressing helplessly against the bench beneath you, desperate for more, the burn of their touch still scorching your skin.

"You look just like I imagined," one of them murmured, deep and smooth, tinged with dark amusement. New hands trailed up your thighs, teasing, maddeningly close to where you needed them most, only to pull away, leaving you gasping. “You’ll take what we give you," they chuckled, revelling in your frustration. “No more, no less.”

"You’re already soaked," the first voice purred, thick with approval, the smug satisfaction dripping from every word. It made your cheeks burn, the heat crawling down your neck, flushing your skin as much as the desperate ache between your legs. You were on fire, burning with the humiliation of your own need, the way your body betrayed you with every twitch, every quiver.

A shameless moan wrenched its way from your throat as a finger slid inside you, cool and deliberate, parting your slick folds and delving deep. It scraped against your insides, slow and unhurried, dragging out the sensation until your toes curled and your back arched. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop yourself, the sheer intensity of the intrusion sending shockwaves of pleasure rocketing through you, making you gasp, shudder, pressing back into the touch.

You could feel their eyes on you, could hear the amusement in their chuckles as they watched you squirm, watched you fall apart with just a finger.

“Look at you,” the second voice murmured, closer now, a whisper against your skin that sent shivers racing down your spine. “Already falling apart, and we’ve barely touched you.”

A whimper slipped past your lips, your hips bucking involuntarily as that finger curled inside you, hitting just the right spot, sending another wave of pleasure crashing through your already overwhelmed senses. Your mind was a haze, lost in the sensation, every nerve on fire, every touch igniting something raw and primal within you.

"More," you whispered, though the word came out broken, ragged. It was barely more than a breath, a plea that hung in the air between you.

But the fingers stilled, pulling back just enough to leave you aching, empty, desperate.

A strong hand came down hard against your ass cheek, the sharp sting radiating through your body like lightning. You gasped, more from shock than pain, though the heat spread quickly, leaving your skin tingling.

"Good holes don’t talk," one of them growled, firm and commanding, the words biting into you like a warning.

The authority in his tone left no room for argument, no space for anything but submission. You bit your lip, swallowing down any protest, your heart racing as the stinging warmth from the slap settled into a dull, aching throb. Your whole body tensed, bracing for more, every muscle coiled tight as you fought to suppress the need rising inside you, the urge to beg.

Another hand slid across your other cheek, soothing where the other had struck, a dark contrast between punishment and comfort. They knew what they were doing, playing with you, keeping you on the edge. The air around you felt charged, thick with the scent of your arousal and the oppressive weight of their presence.

Another hand, rough and confident, settled firmly on your hip, pulling you back just slightly, aligning your body with their demands. The head of a cock pressed against your entrance again, the heat radiating from it a stark reminder of what was to come.

“You asked for more,” the voice purred, satisfied. “So be a good hole and take what you’re given.”

The command was clear, the tone brooking no argument. Your body, trembling and desperate, responded instinctively, hips arching back, seeking that elusive pleasure that seemed just out of reach. Each touch, each command, was a reminder of the power dynamics at play, of the role you’d willingly accepted and now had no choice but to fulfil.

And just like that, one of them was inside you, one thrust, hard and deep, claiming you with a dominance that left you breathless, gasping. They didn’t stop, didn’t slow, another thrust and another, each one driving you deeper into the bench, the world around you falling away as you clung to the burning sensation that seared through your every nerve.

“Tight, so damn tight,” he panted, a mixture of awe and lust in his voice as he continued to pound into you, relentless and merciless. The rhythm was all-consuming, the sound of skin slapping against skin the only thing that broke the silence, punctuated by your strangled moans and their low groans of pleasure.

The bench creaked below you, cheap wood protesting under the onslaught of their hips, of your desperate grinding as they fucked you, each thrust driving you further and further from reality, from the world you thought you knew.

“You like that, don’t you, you dirty little whore?” another voice hissed, words punctuated by the wet slick of skin on skin. “Bet you’re clenching so tight on him.”

And it was true, your muscles were clenching, contracting around the invading cock, gripping and twisting as if to hold onto the pleasure, to extend the moment indefinitely. You were a hot, wet cavern around their length, taking them in, welcoming the intrusion with a slickness that spoke volumes.

"Fuck, you're so tight," the man inside you groans, his words a low, deep growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

Your world narrowed to this, to the cock inside you, to the feeling of raw, primal lust, the faceless man ravishing your body, reducing you to nothing more than a hole for their pleasure. The humiliation only fueled the fire in you, stoking the flames of your arousal as they brought you closer to the brink.

"Cum for us, whore," one growled, their voices melding together, hands gripping you, pinching you, touching you until you saw stars.

Their words sent you over the edge, the humiliation and the need and the overwhelming sensation of being so thoroughly used combining into a white-hot ball of ecstasy that exploded through your veins, your entire body convulsing around the invading cock.

“Look at you,” the first voice chuckled, triumphant, as your pussy spasmed around him, milking every last drop of his climax from him, his hot seed filling you, “Dirty slut.”

Their words echoed in your mind, even as the world around you blurred into a sea of colour and sensation, even as you lay there, panting, spent, and utterly broken in the best way.

You almost missed the feeling of a dull point against your skin, dragging and looping against the surface, lifting and then pressing. Writing.

More, you wanted them to touch you again, needed something to replace the emptiness. More, more, more. You wiggled in place against the drag of the marker. It only earned you another swat to the smarting skin of your cheeks.

—

‘Dirty slut,’

‘Dick here →’

‘Cumdump,’

Every time they came, they’d write on you - a brand, a claim, proud and stark against your slick skin. It only ended when the marker stopped running, clogged by all manner of fluids - cum, sweat, spit.

The four men watched, satisfied and sated, as your holes twitched and leaked, your legs slumped and weak and quivering, toes barely scraping the floor.

Kyle had gone first, as agreed. Johnny too eager, Simon too big, the captain too rough.

They took their turns, in order of largest to smallest, longest to shortest, in all the ways possible until it devolved to whoever was ready to go again, until your body was nothing but a mess of aching muscles and abused orifices and marker streaks and red cheeks.

“Fuck,” Johnny groaned from where he had slumped in the corner, hands twitching against the ground and his pants half-heartedly tugged back over his thighs. “Do we hafta leave?”

One of your legs twitched out and kicked, and the captain huffed a laugh, “Poor thing has nothin’ left in them.”

Price’s hand skated along the mess of cum and sweat and ink, collecting it on his fingers, and you flinched against the touch, still so sensitive, overstimulated.

“Might have broken them,” Simon snipped, flat, but not even he could act unaffected, his chest visibly rising and falling, sweat coating his visible skin.

“Yeah,” Kyle agreed, strained, sliding a hand down your back, “But it was bloody worth it.”

“Not going again, are ya?” Johnny guffawed from the floor.

“Much as I would love to see that,” Price drawled, but his tone was fond, “we gotta go. Time’s up.”

“Fuck, man,” Kyle groaned, parting with one last pat on your cheeks.

“I know.” Johnny helpfully added, voice wistful. “I’ll miss this ass.”

“Then next time, don’t come so fast,” Simon muttered, and it was the exact wrong thing to say, because they all laughed.

“Next time?” Johnny repeated, incredulous. “Fuck LT., I’m not sure there’s going to be a next time, I have nothin’ left in me.”

—

"Hoooo-lyyyy shit," Kyle blurted, gripping Johnny’s arm as if to steady himself, though his gaze remained glued to the phone in his hand. His voice trembled with disbelief, excitement, and a tinge of something more. He was practically buzzing with the revelation, his eyes wide in awe as he absorbed the image.

"Jee Sus, Mary, and Joseph..." Johnny muttered under his breath, his Scottish accent thickening with astonishment. The look of disbelief on his face mirrored Kyle’s as he leaned in closer, trying to process what he was seeing.

“What are the two of you lookin’ at-” Simon started, only to cut himself off as he swiped the phone out of Kyle’s hand with a swift, almost aggressive motion. Kyle staggered slightly but didn’t bother protesting. His mind was too occupied with the image burned into his retinas.

Simon’s eyes flicked over the screen, his expression shifting from irritation to something far more intrigued. His gaze lingered on the photo: Price’s assistant, the shy little thing that hardly said more than a few words at a time, stretching to grab something from a high shelf. Her shirt had lifted just enough to reveal faded, smeared ink scrawled across the smooth skin of her back, just above the waistband of her slacks.

The words, though blurry, were unmistakable.

The realization hit Simon hard, his grip tightening around the phone. He shifted his gaze to Kyle and Johnny, who both stood there, jaws slack, equally stunned.

"Fuck me," Johnny breathed out, breaking the silence, still staring at the screen like it was some sort of hallucination. "The assistant? Who would've thought she had it in her?"

Simon finally exhaled, passing the phone back to Kyle with a grunt. "Price has a way of... managing things, doesn’t he?" His voice was low, filled with a dark suggestion that hung heavy in the air.

Kyle glanced down at the phone again, his lips twitching into a half-smile. "Never would’ve pegged her for that type. Quiet little thing, but..." He gestured vaguely at the phone, at the faded writing that told an entirely different story.

Johnny laughed, the sound sharp with disbelief. "Looks like there’s more to that lass than we thought." He shook his head, still trying to reconcile the image of the shy assistant with the evidence on her skin.

"Wonder if she knows who got her marked up like that," Johnny mused, puffing out his chest with a wide smirk.

Kyle’s phone pinged with another photo from their captain, and Simon raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh, she knows."

Incubus!Victor x Fem!Reader NSFW

@uwuboowoo wished for Incubus!Viktor drabble and how was my monster loving ass to say no? Featuring a surprise treat artwork collab by my beloved queen of Viktor art @arcanescribbles 🖤 Full glorious art work here!

Thematic horror, slight initial dub con, over stim, breeding kink, mindbreak themes, monster fuckin.

    ⊱ ───── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ─────  ⊰

There was a creepy scent to old houses that you hated.  Like the ages of dust and previous lives had built up in the walls and floorboards like layers of varnish, a must of creeping damp and mice living in the plasterwork, of old burnt dinners and long since extinguished candle wicks.  A scent no amount of perfumes or cleaning agents or open windows could ever truly dissipate.

Keep reading

in light of Trump's inauguration speech declaring multiple national emergencies that require him to take god-knows-what executive actions immediately, I'd like to remember this chapter of "On Tyranny" by Timothy Snyder:

No shame, shit was fire.

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Oral Sex, Mentions of Male Masturbation

Summary: Just some good old student appreciation

A/N: Requested by cat anon!! I missed you cat anon!!!

Word Count: 520 (Unedited)

You know who each other… technically. 

You’ve heard of each other. You’ve seen each other’s faces. Just, never in person. But that still counts as knowing someone. You don’t have to know someone to know someone. You’ve got each other marked to the T.

Miguel’s some too hot to handle delinquent punk that is the main subject in many of your anonymous complaints, and you’re that pretty little goody two-shoes who is probably wondering where her nobel peace prize is. At least, that’s what the two of you have chalked up based on random name drops you’ve heard around the school. Which has to be 100% accurate because… because. But of course, Miguel can’t just take anyone’s word for it. He doesn't like half of the people in this damn school, so why would he listen to them? So naturally, he has to do his own little investigation. 

And he won’t admit it to anyone so god help him, but it’s hot. Not you, because you’re well, you, but the way you take command has his cock hardening in a second. And it’s totally just that and not the way your hips move when you walk or the way your eyelashes bat when you’re exasperated or the way you bite your bottom lip to stop yourself from letting your true emotions take control. Nope, it’s simply the dominance. Nothing else. I mean you’re just a stranger and the bloody VP and not someone he fists his cock to in the bathroom when he’s skipping class…

Which is why when he got the anonymous letter from you- it’s not his fault that he memorized how you write your a’s and y’s-  he didn’t stalk the janitor closet that was to be the designated secret meeting spot. And he totally didn’t make sure to wait 7 minutes (because 5 is too punctual) after the destined time to walk inside. And he totally didn’t feel his cock stir when he got a hint of your perfume as you turned around hastily to look at him. Don’t quiz him, but he was 100% listening to every word you were saying and not just staring at your lips and imagining sliding the tip of his dick through them. Because he's a good and attentive boy. Obviously. Haven’t you heard?

And good boys show their thanks. 

Which is why his tongue is very attentive to your pretty little clit. Twirling and sucking it into his mouth until tiny clicking sounds resonate in the cramp space. It isn’t very hard, the sweet juices you keep gushing on his face makes it very convincing to pay attention. And even when his mind strays, the pretty little mewls you let out and the grip you have on his hair pulls him back into the moment. It just makes him slightly delirious: the way your eyes roll, the mixed scent of your sex and perfume, the intoxicating taste rushing down his throat. It’s just so good he doesn’t even realize he’s coming in his pants the same time you come into his mouth. 

Guess Miss VP tastes as good as she acts. 

A quite insightful quote from Stormy Daniels.

Part 1

3.5k, cw: ghosts a pervert and stalker, readers husband is a piece of work, brief mentions of sex, explicit, not proofread

Simon Riley wasn’t one for the romantics, he was a simple man. Wake up early in the morning just as he would on base, complete his training regimen, take a quick shower, and rot away in his one bedroom one bathroom apartment until he's recalled for a mission. A mundane life for the soldier who dealt with life-or-death circumstances just as many times as he’s brewed himself a cup of tea.

But even Simon had things to look forward to. After enduring the monotonous routine of his week he’d practically sprint to the butcher's shop, not for love of the finer cuts of meat one could find, but to see his bird. 

Still the fittest thing he had ever seen, your relationship evolved from standing with your back turned to his debauched stares to you actually saying hello to him. Slowly hello turned to little conversations. By conversations, it mainly consisted of you prattling on about one thing or another while Simon grunted out a short “yeah?” or “hm.” Sometimes he felt bad that his pretty little thing who always had endless things to say spoke to him, someone who was pretty much a brick wall in conversation.

But, ah well. He couldn’t think of you banging on the headboard while he fucked you and fully pay attention to what was said in his defense.

At times he didn’t know whether to scold or praise your ability to dole out kindness to even a cold bastard like him. A stranger was what he was, and you still managed to speak to him as if he were any other man you’d meet on the street.

He didn’t deserve it, he knew that. Not with the things he has done to others. Things that would send your pretty little head toppling off your shoulders if you knew. Not with the way he prowled behind as you shakily made your way up the slippery sidewalk, plastic bag with groceries in hand.

He didn’t deserve it, but he was sure as hell certain your fuckwit of a husband definitely didn’t deserve it. That prick left you walking alone and cold the whole way home, letting you know minutes before he was supposed to pick you up from the butcher’s shop. 

That pathetic guy didn’t want to take care of his wife? Didn’t want to pay attention to his girl? Well fine, he didn’t need to. Simon would. 

As if it physically pained him to watch you have to lift a finger, he sped up his pace and loudly cleared his throat from behind.

Whirling around in fright, your tensed shoulder immediately relax upon meeting Simon’s eyes. Your body shivered from the winds, yet you beamed at him with the warmth of the fuckin’ sun. 

“Simon! What are you doing here?” You chirped out in greeting, clasping your hands together as the bag dangled from your fingers. You waited for him to stalk up to you, broody as ever. 

His pretty little songbird, who tweets out her hellos even when the frigid weather demands a more mellow tone.

In his usual unsettling manner, he stops right in front of you. “I live up this way.” He lied. 

“Really?! I’ve never seen you coming up this way.” He was so close. He had to crane his neck downwards to look at your face, cheeks and nose probably frozen from the biting wind. Your brows furrowed in what he assumed to be suspicion, and he truly wondered for the first time if you actually had a semblance of survival instinct after all.

Raising a brow, he points to a random building in the distance. He picked something far enough away from your own home to quell any unease.You lived in that reddish-brown building about two blocks away. Though you’ve never told him that.

“Just righ’ up there. Usually don’t go this way, but the other route is closed off.”

Your furrowed brows quickly correct themselves at his words and you assume your resting expression, one much softer. “Well… we might as well head up together then!” You laughed in joy and Simon felt his cock twitch for similar reasons. It seems the concept of “stranger danger” wasn’t drilled into your head hard enough during your formative years. 

He’d never dream of doing something to hurt your cheery demeanor, but he couldn’t say the same for others. People can be nasty and, if you survived this long without that bubble being burst, he’d be more than happy to tear apart the prick who’d try. Pricks like your husband.

Wasn’t it a soldier's duty to protect the peace? Something like that anyways. 

He noticed the way your poor fingers stiffly held on to the bag, the weight harder to carry because of the chill in the air. His hands itched to help.

You quirked your head to the side due to his lack of anything to say and Simon merely jutted his head towards what you carried, “Give it ‘ere.” Your mouth opens to protest, but Simon doesn’t give you the opportunity as he easily plucks the bag from your hands. “Come on,” He began to walk again while ignoring his bird’s shrill whistles of objection to his help “You’ll catch a cold out ‘ere if we don get’cha inside soon.”

Catching up to his long strides, you approach from the right and sigh. You’re inclined to tell him it’s really not necessary, but the heat that bloomed in your chest as a result of his breathy chuckle interrupted you.

You didn’t even need to ask him to help... he just did. 

You couldn’t help the way your eyes wondered about his large frame, and he was huge. You had to admit the first time you had spoken to Simon you were a bit rattled when you stuck your hand out to shake his. It was maddening the way he never made a sound, the way his steps quietly padded along the floor when he went up to the counter at the butcher’s shop to pay. 

Occasionally you felt your skin prickle everytime he stood behind you. Whenever you gathered the courage to take a peek you would be met with the sight of him tapping away at his phone without a care, hood of his jacket concealing most of his face. 

Though you could’ve sworn his phone was upside down once?

Cars whizzed past and you shook away those thoughts. Simon happens to be a quiet type, nothing to judge him for. 

“... Thank you. You know, you’re a real nice guy.” Shoving your hands into the pockets of your jacket, Simon slows his steps just enough to move behind you. “Simon?” You turn your head side-to-side in confusion as he nudges his way to your other side.

“Wha’?” He huffed while putting himself between you and the road. 

Odd.

The two of you got closer to the building and in a practiced stop you both pause at the entrance. About to speak again, you’re cut off by the loud ring of your phone. Looking down you see your husband's photo pop up on the screen. With a sigh, you hold up a finger to your companion and answer.

“Hey hun, is something wrong? You said you had a meeting?” You could hear the exhale of annoyance which escaped him before he responded.

“I’m working late tonight. I can’t make it for dinner. Make sure to leave me a plate before you go to bed though.” Of course. He was always late nowadays. One project or another he would say before rolling to face away when you asked him about his day before bed. 

You were his wife! You’d make time for him no matter what, and normally you wouldn’t want to be a bother, but the way tears threatened to bead your waterline in frustration caused your voice to harden a fraction.

“Again? Really? They’re working you a bit hard, don’t you thi-” 

“I have work. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You blink owlishly at Simon who looks back in silence. You hear the beep indicating the call has ended. Slowly, you pull your phone away from your ear both saddened by your husband's cold words but also the humiliation of your new friend witnessing the way you were clearly hung up on by your own spouse.

You wanted to turn heel and retreat into the privacy of your apartment. Cook up a meal which will grow cold on the counter and curl into your bed while incessantly tracking the minutes until you hear the door open.

Simon’s eyes narrowed as if he wanted to burn a hole through your phone, and he waited for you to gather yourself.

“I- um,” letting out an awkward chortle, you scratch the back of your neck. “Looks like I'm alone for dinner tonight.” You managed a disingenuous smile. Simon didn’t seem like the type to be able to pick up on subtle social cues like that, you doubt he’d think anything of your words.

“Well I better get back inside… it's freezing out here. Thanks for your help with my bags I-I just have to get started on cooking right now, so.” You reached for your groceries and saw the strange look in his eyes soften a bit. As you pivot towards the entrance, you hear a gruff call.

“ ‘m pretty hungry righ now.”

…How could you be such an idiot! He carries your bags for you, probably chilled to the point of numbness, and you don’t even invite him in for something to eat. Not even a hot drink. All because of your own selfish discomfort?!

“Oh gosh, that was rude of me. Simon, you wanna come in? I have enough to whip you up a plate if you’d like. A ‘cuppa’ as well. Is that what you say?” You asked.

Simon was a kind man. He was intimidating, but surely it was okay to let him into your personal space. After all, the only person who would object to his presence was currently holed up at his office.

“Brought it up for a reason. That’d be great, love.”

You couldn’t help the way your heart pattered in your rib cage at the endearing pet name. Kind words from a kind man. That’s all. You willed your heart to slow with images of your husband, to whom you had the utmost respect for.

The two of you made your way up to the spacious apartment. You bent over to unlace your shoes and take off your coat. It doesn’t go unnoticed how it took Simon a moment to follow suit. When he stood to his full height, a gentle warmth swelled within you when met with the sight of his broad build in the now seemingly small walls of your home. He looked as though he crowded the room more than any of the furniture.

You felt a bit hazy when you moved to the kitchen. You shouted back to Simon who stood put at the door, “Feel free to make yourself comfortable! Go ahead and sit down anywhere.”

Like a flower, you needed your fix of sunlight. You had lots of windows in your apartment to let the natural light in, a giant one looking into your living room. Simon would see you watching your silly shows, tapping away at your laptop while snuggled under a blanket in this very spot. Soon he’d show you the value of privacy, closing the blinds, locking everything before bed. 

There were shady people in the world. Those who’d feed off of your sweet carelessness like it was the best thing to touch their depraved mouths. That wasn’t fair to his bird. 

“ ‘m gonna go to the loo.” and before you even had the chance to give him directions, you watched the Brit make his way to the restroom unprompted.

It wasn’t fair, but he would make it fair. He would keep those bastards far away from you, guard your blissful paradise. Keep you ignorant.

So what if his methods were unconventional? So what if he’s followed you home dozens of times. It was to keep you safe. So what if he spent any free time he had watching you through the windows from the building across yours. 

Closing the door behind him, his lips quirked up at the sight of your things strewn about. Makeup, hair products, lotions taking up all the space on your side of the sink. In the mirror, his eyes caught on the laundry hamper sat in the corner. He had been here once before.

So what if he has come into your apartment during the late hours just to catch a whiff of your scent. Just to pull the blanket you had knocked off, deep asleep, while on the couch waiting for your prick husband. You needed someone. He could do good by you, or at least try his hardest to.

With practiced ease, he turns to open the hamper. Hands grabbing with the eagerness of unwrapping a present only to be met with a sorry sight.

“For fuck sakes”  He whispered.

You and your cleaning. The damn thing had been emptied out of all things with your lovely fragrance, tossed in the wash. With the quick roll of his eyes, he quietly puts the lid back on to the stupid thing.

He had been much luckier last time. After taking it upon himself to sneak in and close a window you left wide open, he had the urge to explore around. Fast forward to when he arrived at his treasure chest (the laundry basket) he was rewarded for his considerate act. He had nabbed a dirty pair of panties with sheer ecstacy. 

In the natural progression of things, his cock had hardened with urgency. He had stroked himself eagerly to the thought of your soft, snoozing breaths. A bead of pre-cum already poised to roll down his shaft. You drove him mad, only a few walls separating the two of you. He could walk over to you now, shove your legs apart and sink himself into paradise, in pure euphoria. He continued to jerk himself to the edge of his peak. He had taken in the sight of everything from your loofah to your robe to the pink toothbrush unobtrusively in the corner.

A shiver went down his spine as he looked at the very same toothbrush at present. He wondered how many times you had unassumingly used it since that night.

Images of his desperation flooding back, a hint of something akin to guilt. He had squeezed your panties to his face as if he was trying to suffocate himself, impatiently grabbing for anything else that could connect him to you when he felt himself begin to strain under the stimulation. He had grunted when your scent filled his nostrils, unlike how his balls emptied themselves, his release spurting all over your toothbrush.

When he came back to his senses, he had turned the coated thing over and over in his hand. You’d be none the wiser if he just… washed it off, right? No harm in something you wouldn’t know about. He couldn’t bring himself to do more than lightly run it under the tap.

“Simon! Food is ready!” You shouted. Breaking from his stupor, he steps out of the restroom and moves back to the counter overlooking the kitchen. You gave him that sweet grin while setting the food in front of him.

“Looks delicious, love. Thanks.”

You sat on the seat beside him with a plate of your own. You both tensed at the proximity for the same reason. Taking your first few bites, you look at Simon who blissfully closes his eyes and groans with satisfaction.

That warm feeling begins to simmer in your belly wrongfully so. You turn back to chew before breaking the silence. “I’m glad! It’s been a while since i’ve sat down and ate with someone… it’s a lot different to watch someone actually enjoy something you put effort into.” He didn’t miss the wistful expression you wore. He wanted to fix it, he never wanted to see that pretty mouth fighting stay curved upwards.

Whether it be unknowingly or not, you brushed your knee against and for a moment you both paused in that position. The touch was light but it felt as though Simon’s body was overloaded with only you. Your touch, your eyes, your everything.

It took himself a second to recompose himself, but when he realized your body stayed put; his heart just about soared. Taking another forkful of food, he casually glanced at you and nudged his knee unmistakably to yours. The sound of your cutlery clanging onto the plate gives him a degree of satisfaction.

You simply kept looking down to your plate, whatever was in front of you, anything except his intense stare. Simon was a stranger. Simon was unsettling. Simon was in your home. Simon was so strong, so large he could manhandle you in ways your husband could never.

Your husband. Your life partner who you’ve remained loyal to for years. This was so wrong. You should be leaping out of your chair and separating yourself by 3 meters at least in protest.

So how come you allowed his hand to grip your thigh? You frowned, yet surrendered to his fingers which tilted your face towards him. You didn’t know Simon, but you’d be dense to miss the dark glint in his eyes as he takes in your hesitancy.

How the tables have turned. It was always you who initiated interaction with the morose giant, but as he held you firm in his clutches, you could only sit in wait for his next move. 

Testing your reaction, he slowly brought his face closer to yours. Braving his gaze, you could only recognize want. He pressed a gentle kiss to your jaw as you tilted your chin upwards. You weren’t sure whether it was to avoid his lips or grant him better access to your neck.

“No no no come back to me. Come back.” He urged you carding his other hand through your hair, tugging you back. He had to see his bird's face, commit her to memory. Would her expression be like what he imagined? Better?

With a shaky raise of your arm, you caress his face with uncertainty. He needed to fuck you. The most depraved, wicked parts of his mind demanded it. His blood went straight down south at your gentle touch. He needed you to feel him, to feel all of him. 

He would protect you from all the perversions those other tossers had to offer, with only one thing in return. To corrupt you from the inside with his own special brand filth. His fingers tightened ever so slightly in your hair.

“I wanna fuck you,” he leaned closer to your ear and nipped it “and I have a feeling my pretty bird wants the same thing, yeah?”

Simon’s words sent a jolt to your brain to sink further into the daze. Your lips parted and you turned to him with round eyes hiding the temptation swirling behind them. Your eyes wildly roved across his face, searching

He carried your things, he called you pretty, he ate your food, he talked to you, he wanted you, he wanted to fuck you, he wanted you to want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him, you want to fuck him-

His impatience got the better of him when he pulled you into a frantic kiss. His lips were warm and the feeling of his hands holding you secure and upright only added fuel to the fire. How would they hold you when he took you to your bed? Would he be so kind?

Had Simon known your phone would ring loudly moments before finally getting what he wanted, he would have broken it with his own bare hands.

Your eyes cracked open to only be met with the sight of your husband’s contact photo and all at once your guilt hurtled at you. Sensing you pulling away, Simon couldn’t help but try and keep you to him for even a moment longer. He knew it was over when you pushed at his chest to break the connection.

“I’m- oh my gosh. I… i’m a horrible person! Shit! Shit!” You spiraled as you hurriedly got up from your seat and backed away from Simon as if his touch had burned you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay-” He attempted to console you, but was sharply interrupted with a tone he had yet to hear from you.

“No, no! You need to leave. Get out, please!” You screeched in shame. As Simon once again tried to approach closer to placate you, you only put a hand up with a hard look. “Leave. We shouldn’t have done that, it was a total betrayal of trust!” 

“Okay. Okay. Don’t worry, ‘m gone.” His arms went up in surrender as he mirrored your own backward movements.

Your mind really went blank as you took deep breaths to calm yourself, Simon’s heavy footfalls receding and eventually fading from earshot entirely.

While you focused on calming yourself from your “mistaken” judgement, Simon could only think of one thing. 

If his bird couldn’t be happy because that fuckin’ asshole was still in the picture, he’d have to weed out the problem from the root.

He was a dead man walking.

I love him :(

🪱☁️🪱

lil pink star clown :)

i wanna name him but idk what a good name for him would be

”Then give white people some free advice.” ”They’re all in my books.” RIP Toni Morrison (February 18, 1931 - August 5, 2019)