Imagine coming home from work one day, very sore and very tired. Upon hearing your complaints of an aching back and aching legs, your F/C offers to give you a massage. You take some convincing, but they promise you a fantastic massage and something “extra special” if you stay awake long enough for them to finish.
You agree, and they instruct you to lay in bed, of course nude, as they prepare. Soon your F/C emerges with lotion and several candles. You haggle them about their “fantastic massage” as they light each and every one of the candles about your bedroom and even lower the lights; despite their stalling, you can’t deny that the setting excites you.
Your F/C straddles you as you lay prone, chuckling as they drizzle sweet-smelling lotion onto your back. It arches as their hands drift across it and work the lotion into your skin, your F/C instructing you to relax as they “work their magic”. Their voice is soft but undeniably lustful, adding an edge to your own arousal.
Your F/C proves to be quite the masseuse/masseur, making you moan and sigh longingly as they work the tension out of your most bothersome muscles. It hurt so good, and you can feel your F/C’s arousal pressed against your buttocks with their movements.
“Does that feel good?” They inquire your moans, relishing them, even stopping to give your ass several rolls with the heels of their palms with another chuckle. “Tell me that feels good.”
The obvious request to be verbal with your pleasure makes you grow even hotter, and you decide to accentuate it with several more moans of your F/C’s name. Your F/C tells you to turn onto your back, and your arousal is quite obvious to them. They joke once more about their “magic”, about how they didn’t even need to touch you “there” for you to get so hard/wet. Eager to take a jab at them for their lewdness and their use of something so trivial for their entertainment, you mention the same for them, how you felt their arousal with just massaging your back.
Stalling once more, your F/C lifts your leg and begins to massage it, eager hands kneading the tense bulk of your calf. The sensation of their eyes drifting down your body and lingering at your groin grows to be too much, and you tell them to forget your other leg and to just fuck you already.
“My, my, it seems as if my ‘magic’ is just too strong for my own good!” Your F/C quips as they clamber on top of you. They lavish the expanse of your chest and neck with kisses before telling you to turn over a final time. Mindful of your fatigue, they instruct you once more to relax and “work their magic” as they fuck you slowly and passionately, the remainder of your soreness melting away as they drive you to an intense orgasm.
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You lean your head back, bracing yourself up until the very moment your f/o’s fangs pierce into the soft flesh of your neck. A cold, sharp feeling comes over you, but the pain quickly dulls as your f/o ensures they are as gentle as possible while they feed upon your blood. They wrap you in a loving embrace, one hand behind your head in case you become weak, body close to yours.
When they finally pull away from you, lips now tinted a dull red from your blood, their focus immediately shifts to caring for you. Noticing the daze you find yourself in, your f/o takes the time to pull over a pillow and a blanket from nearby, hoping the objects can help you feel a bit more comfortable as you recover from your blood loss.
It's an act of love for both of you, with you allowing them to drain some of your own life to sustain theirs, and them giving you nothing but the utmost care in return.
imagine a lazy morning with your f/o. the two of you tangled together in bed, one of you mumbling about how you should get up soon while the other clings to them. both of you drifting in and out of consciousness, cocooned in warmth.
perving on f/o. sneaking peaks when they’re bathing or changing, maybe even going as far as to take pictures of them, just for you to keep. “borrowing” their clothes, anything of theirs you can get your hands on that smells like them. watching them all the time just to catch a glimpse of their chest, or their ass, any part of them that you find especially appealing. and always thinking about them when you’re alone, getting off to the mere thought of them as often as you possibly can
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smoking weed with your f/o. getting that warm feeling washing over you, the relaxed tingle in your fingerprints as you really do take in just a little too much for your tolerance. making out while your minds are fuzzy. tongues and messy and everything tastes like weed just a bit too much to taste them under it, but the feeling is enough.. and then your f/o slides down your body, kissing trails down, and even if your brain could register a protest right now, you wouldn't have one to give. you know that tongue will feel even better put to use elsewhere than it did in your mouth...
me thinking about all my f/os: i need to impregnate this man. i need to make him whimper like a dog. i need to feed him soup when hes sick. i need to wash his hair in the bath. i need to put his face in my crotch til he can't breathe. i need to do unspeakable things to him. and i crave his affection. and also his coc-
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Heated, sloppy makeout session with your F/O. Pinned beneath them on the bed as their tongue ravages your mouth, their hands greedily roaming your body as they grope whatever they can.
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hitman!eddie&volt x gn reader. rated e. wc: 2.0k words.
power dyanmics kinktober masterlist.
You day does not go as planned when two strangers approach your car one morning.
AN: This is based off @jabberpool and @ironicorange's hitman au! I highly recommend checking out the official designs by Ivan, and then the in-progress fic by Zai. The fic link also contains a lot of other illustrations from artists who have contributed!
CW for guns, knives, some mild kidnapping, and a cautious dubcon.
If you’d been asked this morning, gun to your head, how your day was going to go, you never would have been able to guess.
So when, this morning, a gun was put to your head through your open car window, it came as a bit of a shock.
You’d only been stopped at the red light for a second, surely a split second, when a metallic click sounded by your ear. A mess of long, white curls entered your vision along with the silver gun, held by leather-clad hands, and a face hidden under… something, some inhuman mask made of bone.
“Good morning, sunshine,” the man said, in a voice as smooth and collected as silk. You could hardly hear it over the rush of your heart in your ears. His eyes were impossibly blue, and despite the fear welling in your throat, you couldn’t look away. “Afraid we are going to need your car.”
A carjacking?
“W-what?” Why you decided to speak and not immediately exit the car was beyond your own comprehension.
A dark brow lifted, blue eyes sparkled with something curious. “Your car. It’s ours now.”
“But -” you gasped, your voice stolen, when something cold, something sharp was pressed to your neck from behind.
There was a new voice, now. One not as collected, certainly rougher, more strained around the edges, and it was hot in your ear. “You heard him. Our car,” it said, and your breath hitched at the tone.
A knife to your throat and a gun to your head. Not where you thought this day would go.
“Okay,” you dared to whisper. “Okay, please. Just, please, let me -”
“Oooh, darling,” the one in the window crooned. “That’s quite a pretty way to beg, isn’t it?”
Huh?
“Eddie,” he continued, his voice echoing in the mask, “maybe we ought to keep this one.”
Keep?!
“Fine,” replied the voice behind you, and the sharpness against your neck disappeared. “Then you’re gonna drive us. Don’t make any fucking moves unless we tell you to.”
Your eyes moved on their own accord to your rearview mirror, finally catching your first glimpse of the man in your backseat. He was darker, overall, than his counterpart, with black stubble along his jaw and raven waves that fell across the antlers and bone of his own mask. It cast harsh shadows on his eyes, almost grey, and a black V stood prominently on the side of his neck.
So now here you are, decidedly off your normal routine, gun still to your head, while two masked strangers tell you to turn left or right every so often as your venture further and further through the streets of East London.
It’s a bit of a relaxed grip the white haired man has on the revolver, though, considering he’s a bit preoccupied with the dark haired one sitting in his lap. You can see them, through more glimpses in your rear view than you care to admit, entangled with each other. Groans and moans and bites, the rustle of clothes as they claw at each other, like they’ve been doing ever since you put your foot on the gas.
You still haven’t seen the entirety of the one with the antler mask, but you’ve caught more of the gun holder. A strong jawline, and gold piercings that catch the light every so often. And a hold on the gun that never wavers, even when the other man - Eddie, you’d heard him called - bites at his ear.
A blue eye meets your own in the mirror, and your eyes dart forward.
“Eddie, my love,” that voice sings, “we have a rather curious one here.”
Eddie doesn’t even look up. “Want me to take care of it?”
Take care of it?
“Mm, no. Not yet, at least.” The sound of his sultry chuckle makes your grip on the wheel tighten. “Turn right, then there’ll be an alley on your left. Stop there.”
The car comes to a stop when you throw it into park between two bricks walls, shadows covering all of you. Your breathing is heavy, but your hands are steady. And you don’t dare to move.
Which, maybe, is not what they were expecting.
The knife is sharp at your temple, Eddie’s voice like fire on your skin. “You don’t wanna get out?”
“Wh - no, I - you didn’t tell me I -”
“See, Eddie?” There’s another chuckle from the back, tinged with triumph. “They’re curious.” The white mess of hair leans forward - the mask is around his neck, his whole face exposed in the mirror to you now, and you try to shove a certain thought away. A recognition of how beautiful he is. “Aren’t you, sunshine?”
You don’t try to shake your head, but you dig your nails into your palms. “I’m just - I - I just don’t want to die.”
There’s a scoff from beside you, a laugh from behind, before the man speaks again. “Then we’ll give you a choice. You can leave, right now, knowing that if you ever breathe a word about being our little chauffeur, that we will find you. Or,” he leans back again, crossing his legs. “You can spend a bit more time with us. And take your car with you.”
What the fuck.
Why, why were you even considering the options? You could keep a secret, certainly if it meant sparing your life. Why shouldn’t you leave, start running down the docks like they were your saving grace?
But there’s a smirk on those lips in the mirror. You realize what animal the mask is emulating - a fox, cunning and quick. And he’s got you pinned.
You are curious. Hopefully, though, it won’t kill the cat.
“I-I’ll stay,” you don’t even realize you’re saying the words, not until they echo in the silence of the car. “I’ll stay.”
You do, finally, scream when four hands grab at your body and shove you into the back of the car, just before a gloved hand reaches around to cover your mouth. It’s Eddie’s, you realize, as your body is twisted to face him. He’s covered in piercings too, dark smudged liner covering his silver eyes, and a chain dips to below the collar of his shirt. Fuck, he’s beautiful too - what the fuck is this day??
“Here’s how it’s gonna play, live wire,” he says, practically spitting the words in your face, “you do exactly what Volt and I tell you. Or his guns won’t be the thing to worry about.”
Volt.
So these are the names of your hitchhikers. Volt and Eddie. Eddie and Volt.
Fingers press at the flesh of your cheeks. “Got it?”
You nod, frantically, your body again acting on its own accord.
“Then get on your knees.”
You’re flipped in a flash, your knees and palms scraping against the rough fabric of the interior, as your head whips around to meet Volt’s hands waiting for you. The leather of his gloves is soft, you notice, when his hands cup your face and tilt your chin.
“Are you any good at sucking cock, sunshine?” he asks, so casually, as if he were asking if you had the time.
You don’t have time to think, not when his grin is predatory, and calloused hands are pushing your legs open. “I think so,” you answer, biting your lip when fingers open the zip of your trousers and tug at the fabric.
“Well, perhaps we can give you some incentive, yes?” Volt offers it like it’s the most natural thing, as he raises the revolver to your jaw. His own fingers deftly undo his belt, his fly, and out springs his cock, flushed red and hard as steel.
Goddammit. Even his fucking cock is pretty. Bet he knows it too, from the looks of that smile on his lips.
“Don’t worry, Eddie will take care of you,” he says, thrusting his hips closer to you, the tip almost brushing your lips. “So long as you keep quiet. Just like a mouse, for us, sunshine. We can’t have anyone wondering what we’re up to, can we?”
“No,” you whisper, “no I won’t make a - hmph!”
You’re cut off as his cock forces into your mouth, down your throat, and tears well in your eyes as you work to regain your breath. He’s so thick, so heavy on your tongue - you’re not sure you’ve ever had your mouth so full before.
Cold air shocks your entrance when your trousers are ripped from your body - you think Eddie’s knife must have rid you of them completely. Your arms wobble and you fight not to moan when a stream of Eddie’s spit falls to your hole, and his thumb works it around you, coating you.
Volt tuts his tongue when he thrusts deeper into your throat. You try to pay attention to his words, and not how Eddie is currently using two fingers to stretch you for him. “Come on, darling, you can give us just a little more.” The barrel juts harder into your skin - you wonder if there will be a mark when this is all over. “There you are, that’s it.”
Your nails claw into the seat when finally, finally, Eddie presses the tip of his cock into your - it burns, the stretch of it, and you wish you could see it too, could taste it on your tongue along with Volt’s. With every inch he sinks into you, your mouth takes more of Volt. It’s an effort not to moan, to plead, when he bottoms out because truly, truly, you have never been so full.
Volt shifts his weight to settle into the seat - how you’re all fitting into the back of this car, you’re not certain, but you’re not going to ask any questions. He sighs with a contented flick of his tongue over his lips, just before he says, “Have a go at them, Eddie.”
Eddie’s thrusts are manic, harsh, deeper and more insistent than anyone you’ve taken before, and your body rocks forward and back on Volt’s cock with the force of them. A few tears are shaken loose of your eyes, and your jaw aches, but not more than the growing heat and coil inside you that longs to scream their names. Scream for more.
A gun to your head and two cocks stuffed inside you. Not where you thought his day would go.
It shouldn’t excite you so much, these strangers, these criminals, having their way with you like a toy they’ll discard, in the back of your own fucking car. Four hands and two cocks shouldn’t make you feel this satisfied, despite how utterly uncaring they are about your own pleasure. But the danger, the thrill, that hums from their skin and their weapons only spurs your further, only fans the flames that are licking under your skin. It’s so much, it’s too much, it’s not enough, it’s -
Volt’s cock in your mouth is the only thing that prevents you from screaming your lungs out when you cum. It’s a blinding white haze that overtakes your mind and your sight while your limbs quake - gloved hands hold your face and hips up as you start to collapse. They’re undeterred by your orgasm; you wonder if anything might actually get them to stop fucking you now that they’ve started.
You rock between them, thrust back and forth on their cocks, for god knows how long. It’s Volt that pulls out first, then Eddie, and you hear the slick, wet sounds of their hands working over their lengths as they huff each others’ names. Hot ropes of cum fall across your back, mixing and interwoven like their lips and spit above you.
You’re aware of them righting themselves a few minutes later. Something wipes the spend off your skin, and your shirt is draped over your legs, but you lack the strength to keep your eyes open, or the capacity to watch their every movement.
The car door slamming shut is what makes you blink back to consciousness, and you start, sitting up as quickly as you can. The car is empty now, save for you, and save for the small note that sits on the driver’s seat.
Ghosting your lips against his before pulling back, making him chase you with red creeping up his face and a desperate sort of urgency.
Trailing a hand up his side, keeping a few fingers hooked in his belt loop so he can’t move, although you’re not sure if he wants to, not with the way your fingers are trailing over his chest.
Openly palming him over his pants, ignoring the hissed swears dragged through gritted teeth and the way he grips the bar like it’s his lifeline. You whisper filthy things in his ears while you do it, and by the way his hips jerk, you think he likes it.
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