You let out a curse when the goblin hits the back of your knees, destabilizing you and making you fall to the ground. In the three seconds it takes you to land with a thud, the goblins are all around you, staring down at your body with hungry eyes. You know you should be scared, maybe scream for help… But the perverted side of your brain is singing with pleasure and wanting nothing more than to open your legs for those goblins. You are ashamed of yourself.

But your pussy doesn’t seem to care when somebody rips your clothes off your body. You don’t know where your backpack is anymore, but there’s hands all over your exposed skin, and you are moaning in pleasure. Some of them call you names, much to your embarrassment, but they only make you wetter. They are amused that you are so ready to be fucked when you should be worried about yourself. But you don’t care. You only feel emptiness inside of you. And a deep desire to be fucked within an inch of your life.

They are groping you. They are touching every soft and hard spot in your body. All at once. You don’t know how many hands are touching you, but you don’t care to count. Not when one of them is dripping his fingers between your pussy lips and plunging them inside without preamble. You let out a scram while they cheer. The one finger-fucking you is sharing his experience, talking about your wetness and heat. There’s dicks touching your body, too. Their wet tips leaving trails of precum all over your boobs and stomach, to your sides… You want to suck them off so bad. You are going a bit insane with it.

The please that leaves your mouth is barely a whisper, but somebody takes pity on you, and there’s a dick right over your face. You stretch your head enough to lick over the tip, and there’s a growl before the dick is pushed inside your welcoming mouth. You groan around it. The fingers inside of you are joined with more. You are rolling your hips trying to get them closer, deeper. But it’s not enough. And when they pull out their fingers, you moan in displeasure. The dick in your mouth twitches in response, and that’s all you know before a goblin grabs your hair and starts fucking your face without any caress. You fucking love it.

It takes a total of six thrusts against your throat before you feel a dick breaching your pussy open, making you gag and allowing the goblin in your mouth to go a bit deeper. You are struggling to breathe, tears rolling down your cheeks while they use your body like you are nothing but a monster toy. You’ve never felt so desired. Never felt so utterly debauched.

The one in your mouth thrusts as deep as possible, holding your nose against his pubes before you feel the shot of come against the back of your throat. You swallow compulsively, but it’s not enough. When he pulls back some of his cum drips down your chin. But you can’t even lick it clean before somebody else gets a hold of your hair and a new cock is thrusting down your throat. The one in your pussy is going rabbit-fast, and you are holding it together by a fine thread before somebody’s mouth latches onto your clit for half a second and you come so hard you see stars behind your eyelids. They pull back, and another replaces the dick in your still clenching hole, pushing the come of the other back inside of you. As deep as it would go.

You are in heaven.

The lecture hall smelled of old parchment and candle wax. 

Professor Grimble's voice scratched through the humid air, his goblin voive rising and falling as he diagrammed transmutation circles on the floating chalkboard. You weren't listening. You hadn't listened in weeks.

Your quill moved fast, copying verbatim from Mira's notes that you'd borrowed before class. Same diagrams. Same annotations. 

Stupid. You knew it was stupid. But the practical exams were coming, and theoretical lectures made your brain turn to porridge.

"Miss y/n.”

You looked up. Professor Grimble stood at the front of the room, no taller than three feet, his green skin gleaming under the enchanted sconces. His yellow eyes were fixed on you. On your parchment. On Mira's parchment, which sat clearly visible two rows ahead, with identical smudges in the corner.

The class went silent. Forty students. Forty pairs of eyes swiveling toward you.

"Would you care to explain," Grimble said, stepping around his lectern with a gait that was entirely too deliberate, "why your transmutation circles are structurally identical to Miss Vane's?"

Your mouth opened. Nothing came out.

"Because you see," he continued, climbing the three steps to your row, his jeweled fingers trailing along the edge of a student's desk, "I've been watching. Week three, you copied Derrik's elemental theory. Week four, you lifted Sarai's binding runes verbatim. Week five—" He stopped directly beside you, close enough that you could smell the musk of him. "—you didn't even bother changing the ink color on Lydia's familiars essay."

Heat flooded your cheeks. "Professor, I—"

"Stand up."

You rose on shaking legs, your robes pooling around your ankles. He was so short. You had to look down to see the top of his bald head, the pointed ears that twitched with irritation. But his presence filled the entire room.

"Magic requires integrity," Grimble announced, turning to address the class while keeping one hand raised toward you. A green glow gathered around his fingers. "Raw power means nothing without the discipline to earn it honestly. Those who cheat demonstrate that they cannot handle the responsibility of true arcane study."

You heard Mira snicker from two rows ahead.

"So," Grimble continued, his eyes sliding back to you, dark and hungry beneath the academic disappointment, "I will administer a corrective lesson. One that you will not forget."

The green light flared.

It hit your chest—a spell you didn't recognize, didn't have time to identify. The magic didn't burn. It heated. A deep, cellular warmth that started behind your navel and radiated outward like someone had dropped molten metal into your core.

"What—" you gasped.

"It's a minor thermoregulation curse," Grimble said conversationally. "Designed to raise the body's internal temperature incrementally until the subject removes all constrictive layers of clothing. Rather useful for... motivational purposes."

The heat intensified.

Your skin prickled. Sweat beaded on your upper lip, between your breasts, along the backs of your knees. The robes that had felt light and airy moments ago now seemed like wool blankets in a summer sun.

Your thighs stuck together when you shifted your weight.

"You will get even more sweaty. Of course," Grimble added, "one could simply remove the clothing to make it better. By my calculations, you have approximately two minutes before you lose control. So..." He gestured vaguely at your trembling form. "Your choice."

The class was rapt. Forty students watching you drip sweat onto the stone floor. You could feel their eyes on your flushed cheeks, your heaving chest, the way your fingers twitched toward your collar.

One minute.

Your lungs felt scalded. Your vision blurred at the edges. The heat pooled between your legs with an intensity that had nothing to do with the curse's mechanics and everything to do with the way the Professor was watching you—his yellow eyes tracking every labored breath, every tremor in your hands.

"I..." you choked out.

"Time's ticking, Miss y/n."

Your fingers found the clasp of your robe. The metal burned against your skin. With a strangled sob that was equal parts shame and relief, you pulled it open.

The robe fell.

First the outer layer, heavy navy wool that hit the floor with a wet thump. Then the linen under-robe, sticking to your sweat-slicked body as you wrestled it over your head. You stood in your smallclothes: a thin cotton shift that was already transparent with moisture, your nipples dark and prominent against the damp fabric, your areolas tight and pebbled in the cool air of the lecture hall.

Someone whistled in the back row.

"Not enough," Grimble said calmly. "The curse requires all constrictive layers."

Your shift was plastered to your stomach, outlining every curve, every dip. You could feel your pussy throbbing—a response you couldn't control, couldn't explain. The heat was there, yes, but it wasn't just the curse anymore. It was the way Grimble's ears had gone rigid. The way his knuckles were white where he gripped the lectern.

You pulled the shift over your head.

Naked. You were completely naked in front of forty students. Your breasts bounced free. The triangle of hair between your thighs was dark with sweat, your outer labia swollen and visible beneath the sparse curls.

The curse released. Cool air washed over your exposed skin. You sunk back on your seat, breathing in relief.

But the professor didn't look away.

"Excellent," Grimble breathed. Then, louder, "Class dismissed. Miss y/n will remain for additional correction."

Students filed out with grins, whispers, backward glances that made your stomach clench. Mira gave you a pitying head shake that made you want to claw her eyes out. Then the door slammed shut, and you were alone with him.

Alone with the Professor.

He walked toward you slowly, removing his teaching robes as he came. Beneath, he wore practical clothes; leather vest, canvas trousers—but the trousers did nothing to hide what was pressing against them.

Gods above, the size.

"I told you on the first day," Grimble said, stopping inches from your bare thighs. He had to crane his neck to meet your eyes. "I reward talent. I punish laziness. But cheating?" His hand came up, green fingers pressing against your lower belly, just above your pubic bone. "Cheating requires special attention."

His touch was cool against your overheated skin. You shivered.

"Do you know what I'm going to do to you, Miss y/n?"

You shook your head, mute.

"I'm going to fuck the dishonesty out of that pretty cunt." He said it like he was discussing the weather. "And by the time I'm finished, you're going to beg me for the privilege of doing your own work."

His trousers came down.

His cock—gods, his cock—sprang free. It was disproportionate to his small frame entirely; easily ten inches of thick, veined green flesh, flushed dark at the head. But that wasn't what made your knees buckle.

The piercing.

A thick silver barbell through the head of his cock, the balls of the jewellery pressing against the slit. Another ring craddled the base of the shaft. The cock swelled even more and the Prince Albert that emerged from the urethra and exited beneath the glans, gleamed with pre-come.

"You like that?" He wrapped his hand around the shaft, pulling the foreskin back to expose more of the barbell. "Goblin custom. Every male gets pierced upon reaching maturity. It serves two purposes: enhances pleasure for both parties, and..." He stepped forward, the head of his cock brushing against your leg, the cool metal leaving a trail of goosebumps. "...marks territory."

You should run. Should scream. Should do anything other than sit here with your thighs trembling and your pussy dripping onto the chair.

But your body no longer belonged to you.

"Lie the floor. On your back," Grimble ordered. "Now."

You lowered onto the floor, it was cold against your ass, your spine. Small but supremely strong hands pushed your knees apart and stood between them. He was at the perfect height.

One green hand found your pussy. Two fingers pushed inside without warning, stretching you open, and you cried out at the invasion. Shlick, shlick, shlick; your juices were audible, embarrassingly wet, coating his knuckles as he pumped them in and out.

"Soaked already," he observed, pulling his fingers out and holding them up. Transparent strings stretched between his green skin. "The curse only raises temperature, Miss y/n. This response is entirely your own."

He was right. You hated that he was right.

"I—please—"

"Please what?"

"Please fuck me."

His grin showed too many teeth. "Good girl."

Positioning the head of his cock at your entrance was a sight. Your pussy lips parted around the thick, veined shaft, the piercing scraping against your clit as he pushed forward. Just the tip. Just the barbell. Your inner muscles clenched around the metal, the sensation so foreign, so intense that you nearly came on the spot.

"Breathe," he commanded. "You're going to need it."

He thrust.

All of it.

The world went white.

Ten inches of pierced goblin cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, your walls stretching impossibly around the girth, the ring at the base of his shaft pressing against your outer labia. You could feel the barbell moving inside you, the smooth metal sliding against your cervix with each pulse of his hips.

And the bulge—

You looked down.

Your stomach had changed, a visible protrusion low in your abdomen, a moving lump that traveled as he began to fuck you in earnest. In and out. Squelch, squelch, squelch, your pussy singing around him, producing more wetness than you'd thought possible, dripping down your thighs and pooling on the floor.

"Look at that," Grimble growled, one hand pressing on the bulge, feeling his own cock from the outside. "Look at how deep I am. You can see me inside you."

"Professor—oh gods—"

He picked up the pace. His tight, hairless balls slapped against your ass. Plap, plap, plap. The metal caught on every ridge inside you, dragging screams from your throat with each withdrawal.

"You feel that?" He angled his hips, driving the barbell against a spot that made stars explode behind your eyes. "That's my jewelry hitting your cervix. Every. Single. Time."

Your eyes rolled; the stretch, the burn, the impossible fullness. Your nipples ached, untouched, and you brought your own hands up to pinch them, rolling the hard peaks between your fingers, your areolas bunched tight.

Grimble's eyes locked onto the movement. "Touch yourself," he ordered. "Yes, such a slutty little student... play with those tits while I ruin your tight cunt."

You obeyed without thought, squeezing the heavy mounds, pulling at the nipples until they were dark and swollen. The sensation cascaded down to your clit, which was grinding against the base of his cock with every thrust, the friction building something enormous in your gut.

"I'm—I'm going to—"

"No." He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. "You come when I say you come. Understand?"

Tears leaked from the corners of your eyes. "Please, please, I can't—"

"You can." He drove deeper, if that was possible, the bulge in your stomach became more pronounced. The ring in his glans was pressing against something vital, something that made your vision flicker. "You're going to hold it until I fill this tight little cheater's cunt with my seed. And then—"

His rhythm stuttered. The barbell inside you vibrated—some enchantment, some goblin magic you couldn't begin to understand, and that was it.

"Now," he snarled.

Your orgasm hit.

Your walls clenched around him, convulsing so hard you felt the piercing shift inside you, the rings pulling against your inner walls. Your juices flooded around his shaft, dripping off his balls, soaking the floor beneath you. He snarled, hips slamming forward, and you felt the heat of his release pump into your depths.

One spurt. Two. Three. He kept coming, filling you until it overflowed, until ropes of white dripped down your thighs and mixed with the puddle on the floor.

And then he pulled out.

The loss was devastating. Your pussy gaped for a moment before clenching down on nothing. A gush of his seed followed. Grimble tucked himself back into his trousers and smoothed down his vest.

"Tomorrow," he said, not looking at you as he gathered his papers, "you will submit your own work on elemental theory. Ten pages. Original research. Or we repeat this lesson."

You lay there, naked, ruined and dripping, unable to move.

"And Miss y/n?"

You croaked something unintelligible.

The goblin Professor glanced over his shoulder, yellow eyes gleaming.

One steps forward. Taller than the rest—which means he barely reaches your shoulder. His cock hangs out. You see it immediately because he's not hiding it. None of them are. They're naked. Every single one. And every single one is half-hard, leathery sacs swinging between spindly thighs, shafts nothing like human ones. Thick, long making it difficult for them to move.

"That's the one," he says, and his voice drips satisfaction. He grabs your chin. His fingers are cold. "That's the breeder."

You try to spit. He squished your cheeks and stropped you.

"None of that, little doe." He smiles darkly. "We been empty down here. No females in three seasons. You know what three seasons without a cunt does to a tribe?"

Behind him, another goblin laughs. "Makes 'em hungry."

"We're starving," the first one agrees. He lets go of your face and steps back. "And you're dinner."

You scramble backward. Your heel hits something soft. A green hand clamps around your ankle.

"No running," whispers the goblin behind you. His breath smells like meat. "No running at all."

They drag you to the center of the cavern. Furs are piled there. You thrash. You kick. You catch one in the jaw and he screeches but doesn't let go. Another pins your arm. Another takes your other leg. They stretch you out like a sacrifice.

The first goblin kneels between your thighs. He pushes your dress up past your hips. Your smallclothes rip away in one tug.

"Look at that," he breathes. His yellow eyes fix between your legs. "Look at that fat little slit."

His thumb presses against your entrance. You're dry. Terrified. But his thumb is rough and calloused and it drags across your clit anyway, once, twice, and your body betrays you with a twitch.

"Oh, she's got some juice in her," he says. He shows the other goblins his thumb. It's wet. "Tastes sweet. Want some?"

He puts his thumb in his mouth and sucks it clean.

Then his face is between your thighs.

His tongue is longer than a human's. Pointed. It laves up your slit in one hot, wet stroke and you hate the sound you make. A gasp that cracks into a moan. He does it again. Slower. He presses the flat of his tongue against your clit and circles and you buck up into his mouth like a whore.

"That's it," he growls against your flesh. "That's it, little doe. Get wet for us. Get sloppy."

His fingers join his tongue. One. Two. They're thinner than human fingers but longer. They curl inside you and find that rough patch on your front wall and he scrapes and you scream.

Not from pain.

From the shock of pleasure that punches through your belly.

"She likes it," another goblin observes. He's stroking himself now. His cock is thick, the head almost black with engorgement. "She's a natural slut for goblin cock."

"She hasn't had any yet," the tall one says. He pulls his fingers out. They're coated. He holds them up. "Smell that, brothers. That's a human female ripe and ready."

He shoves three fingers back in. Your pussy stretches around them. The wet sounds are obscene. He finger-fucks you hard and fast, his palm slapping against your clit each time, and you can't stop your hips from rolling. Can't stop your thighs from spreading wider.

"Please," you gasp. You don't know what you're begging for.

"I know what you need." He pulls his fingers out. Positions the head of his cock at your entrance. "You need to be filled."

He shoves in.

All the way, one brutal thrust that splits you open. Your back arches off the furs. Your mouth falls open in a silent scream. He's thicker than his fingers, veined, ridged in places human cocks aren't ridged, and every ridge scrapes your walls as he sinks to the hilt.

"Gods," he hisses. His clawed hands grip your hips hard enough to bruise. "Gods, her cunt is clenching. Squeezing me like a fist."

He pulls out. Shoves back in. The ridges drag in reverse and you sob.

"That's right. Cry. I want to hear it." He sets a rhythm. Deep. Grinding. Each thrust punches the air from your lungs. "So tight. So fucking tight. We're gonna wreck this hole."

Another goblin appears at your head. You didn't see him move. He grabs your hair and pulls your head back, and his cock is there—long, curving slightly upward. The tip presses against your lips.

"Open," he says.

You clamp your mouth shut.

He pinches your nose.

You hold out for ten seconds. Twenty. Your lungs burn. Your eyes water. You gasp for air and his cock shoves past your teeth.

"That's a good little doe." He feeds you his length. Not all of it, just enough to fill your mouth, to tease against the back of your throat. "Suck. Or I'll go deeper."

You suck. Your tongue drags along the underside of his shaft. He tastes like salt and something muskier. He groans and his hips twitch and you choke.

"Easy," he murmurs. "Easy. You'll learn."

Below, the first goblin fucks faster. His balls slap your ass with each stroke. The wetness is constant now, your cunt drooling around his cock, coating his shaft, dripping down to the furs. He notices.

"You're creaming on me," he says. "Look, brothers. Look at her cream."

They gather closer. Yellow eyes stare at where you're joined. You should be humiliated. You are humiliated. But the shame is distant, muffled by the fullness in your pussy and the weight on your tongue.

"She needs more," someone says.

"Patience," the tall one grunts. "I'm not done with this cunt yet."

He pulls out. You whine around the cock in your mouth.

"Shh," says the goblin above you. "He's just giving someone else a turn."

True. Another goblin is already climbing between your thighs. This one is smaller but his cock is not—thick as a beer bottle, the head flared like a mushroom. He doesn't tease. He lines up and pushes.

You scream around the shaft in your throat.

He's too big. He's too big. Your pussy burns as it stretches, as the flared head pops past your entrance and the shaft follows inch by inch. The goblin above you pulls his cock from your mouth so you can breathe.

"Too much," you gasp. "Too—"

"No such thing," the goblin says as he rocks his hips, working the last inch inside you. "There. See? All of it fits."

Your vision goes spotty. You feel impossibly full, stuffed to bursting. He pulls back and thrusts forward and the flare of his head drags against your cervix and you sob.

"She's crying," someone says.

"Good tears," the tall one answers. He's moved to your side, stroking himself and watching. "Look at her face. She's not in pain anymore."

He's right. The burn has faded to a deep ache that throbs with every pulse of your heart. The goblin above you—the one with the curving cock—kneels by your head again.

"Open."

You open. He slides back into your mouth. This time you suck without being told. Your tongue works the underside of his shaft, finds the ridge where the head meets the shaft, laps at it. He shudders.

"She's learning fast."

"Goblins teach well."

The one in your pussy fucks you with that deep rhythm. Each stroke pushes against your cervix, not quite breaching it, just nudging, reminding you how deep he is. Your hips start moving with him. You hate yourself for it but your body doesn't care about hate. Your body wants to be pleasured.

"Flip her," the tall one says.

The goblin in your cunt pulls out. You feel empty. Hands grab you, turn you onto your stomach, pull your hips up. Your dress falls around your shoulders. You're naked from the waist down, exposed, presented.

Two of them press against you from behind.

"Double," one says. "I want double."

"Hold her open."

Fingers spread your cunt lips. Something cold and wet drips onto your anus—spit, you realize. Someone's saliva. A thumb presses against the tight ring of muscle and you flinch.

"Shh," comes the soft voice again. "Shh, little doe. It'll hurt but then it won't. You'll see."

The thumb pushes inside. You clench and he waits, patient, until your body relaxes around the intrusion. Then a second finger. Stretching. Burning. He scissors them and you moan into the furs.

"Ready," he says.

A goblin slipped under you, his cock nudging your cunt. You lowered to take him while the second—the one with the flared head—presses against your ass.

"On three," someone says, and laughs.

They push together.

You lose your breath. Lose your voice. Your mouth opens but no sound comes out. Two shafts filling you simultaneously, the thin wall between them so sensitive you feel every ridge, every vein, every twitch. They're different temperatures—one warmer than the other. One longer, one thicker. They slide against each other through your flesh.

"Fuck," groans the one in your cunt. "She's milking me."

"Both holes," the other gasps. "Both holes gripping."

They start moving. Not in sync. One thrusts while the other pulls, either way you're always full, always stretched, always being fucked from both sides. The friction is maddening. The fullness is delirious.

"More," you hear yourself say. "Please, more—"

"More what, little doe?"

"More. More."

The goblin in your cunt finds your clit. His fingers are slick with your wetness. He circles the hard nub and you shatter. The orgasm rips through you without warning. Your pussy spasms, clenching and releasing, and the goblins groan in unison.

Your ass clenches too, gripping the cock there like a vise. You're sobbing now, tears hot on your cheeks, but you're also pushing back against them, grinding, desperate to keep them inside while your body shakes apart.

"She came," someone says, wonder in his voice.

"She came on goblin cock."

"She's ours now."

They don't stop. They keep fucking you through the aftershocks, through the oversensitivity that makes you whimper, through the next orgasm that builds without your permission. Your mind is static. All you know is the stretch, the fullness, the guttural sounds they make behind you.

Their seed floods you, drips down your thighs.

They pull out. You collapse onto the furs, leaking, trembling.

"Not done," says the tall one. You'd forgotten about him. He's been watching, stroking himself, waiting. "Not even close."

He presses you further down. Spreads your thighs. Your cunt is gaping now—you can feel the cool air inside you—and he stares at it.

"Beautiful," he says. "Destroyed and beautiful."

He positions himself behind. But instead of your cunt, he pushes against your ass.

"I want this one," he says. "It's still tight."

He pushes in. Your ass has been stretched but not enough. The burn returns. He's thick and he doesn't stop until his hips meet your asscheeks.

"Look at me," he commands.

You look. His yellow eyes bore into yours.

"You're not leaving this lair," he says. "You know that, right? We're going to breed you. Fill you every day. Every hour. Until your belly swells with goblin young."

He thrusts. Your eyes roll back.

"Until your tits drip milk for our spawn."

Another thrust. You moan.

"Until you can't remember your own name. Just ours. Just this."

He fucks your ass hard. His balls slap against your cunt, still wet and dripping, and the sensation is too much—another orgasm crashes into you without warning, making your whole body convulse. He keeps going. Fucks you through it. With every stroke and you can't stop coming, can't stop shaking, can't stop wanting.

"Take it," he growls. "Take all of it."

He comes in your ass. The heat floods you and he stays inside until he softens, then pulls out, watching his cum drip from your stretched hole.

You lie there. Broken open. Used. Filled.

**************

Time loses meaning.

They take turns. Three of them fucking you at once, somties four or five. Using your cunt at once—impossible, but they manage, two fingers from one goblin stretching you alongside a cock, your ass filled with one or two cocks while another uses your mouth.

You learn to breathe through your nose. Learn to swallow. Learn to beg without shame.

They arrange themselves like a wheel around you, holding you up, fucking every hole simultaneously. You can't move. Can't speak. Can only exist as the vessel for their pleasure.

"You're taking it so well," they murmur. "So fucking well, little doe."

The tall one—their leader, you learn his name is Rikkit fucks your throat until you gag and tears stream down your face. He calls you his pretty little cocksleeve. You moan around his shaft.

Another one spends an hour between your thighs, licking and sucking, drawing orgasm after orgasm from your exhausted body. He smiles when you try to push his head away. "No," he says. "You want this. Your cunt is dripping for it."

He's right. You're always wet now. Always ready and leaking goblin cum.

They come on your face, your chest, your belly. They paint your skin with seed and lick it off. They call you their doe, their breeder, their little human whore.

And you love it.

The realization hits you sometime around the fourth hour—or the eighth, or the twelfth. You're on your hands and knees, five of them around you, taking turns while the others watch. Your arms shake. Your thighs are slick with cum. Your holes are so full they ache.

Rikkit kneels in front of you. His cock is hard again—always hard, they recover so fast. He cups your chin.

"Look at you," he says. "Three seasons we waited for a female. Three seasons of nothing. And then we find you." He strokes your cheek. "You're not fighting anymore."

You're not. You lean into his touch.

"Why would I fight?" Your voice is hoarse from screaming. "This is... this is..."

"Say it."

You close your eyes. "This is what I needed."

He kisses you. His mouth tastes like your own cunt and goblin seed. You kiss him back. Behind you, a cock pushes into your cunt. Another into your ass. They thrust in opposite rhythms and you moan into Rikkit's mouth.

"We're going to keep you," he whispers against your lips. "Forever."

"Yes," you breathe. "Yes. Yes."

*************

Weeks later, after many more goblin bangs... when the torches have burned low and the other goblins have collapsed in exhausted piles around the cavern, Rikkit slides into your lap. His finers slide into your cunt easily. You're gaping now, so well-fucked, that there's no resistance. Just fullness. Just warmth.

"You're carrying," he says.

You press your hand to your lower belly. It's too soon to know but something feels different. A weight you hadn't noticed before.

"Maybe," you whisper.

"No maybe." He curls his fingers. "I can smell it. We all can. You're ripe with our seed."

You should be horrified. You should be planning your escape.

Instead, you grind down on his fingers and smile.

"Good," you say.

He laughs. "Good, little doe? You want to swell with goblin spawn?"

"I want to stay." You look around the cavern at the sleeping goblins. At their sharp faces and twisted limbs and yellow eyes. At the cocks still half-hard even in sleep. "I don't want to leave."

"You can't leave," he says simply. "You're ours. This is your home now."

He fingers you slow and deep. Not for his pleasure—yours. He watches your face as you come apart again, as you moan and cling to his shoulders, as you drip down his shaft for the hundredth time. When you collapse, he strokes your back.

"Sleep," he murmurs. "Tomorrow we start again."

The defeated party beats a hasty retreat back to the mountain, only to be stopped just outside the village by a hissing voice.

"Wait, take me with you!"

The dumbfounded goblins turn to see a peasant woman hurrying out of a house with nothing but a satchel in her hands.

"You wish to come with us?" Dibbin says, his eyes widening in disbelief.

"My father wants to marry me off to some old rich man. I'd much rather run away," you say, eyes sparkling with daring. "Please?"

"Och, pretty, you needn't ask," Grog says. He'd be blushing if all his blood hadn't rushed downstairs.

The door to your house crashes open and your father comes running out with a shovel, yelling about goblins thieving his daughter away. You run into the dark with the pack of goblins, giggling until you can't breathe, exhilaration running hot in your veins. Halfway up the mountain you need to stop for a break, never having walked for so long in your life.

The goblins buzz around you, eager to treat their new mate. Irik and Jak bound off to find you berries and fresh water, while Dibbin massages your sore feet and Grog strokes your arm with his grubby hands, admiring your softness, so different from their weathered, callused skin.

"The gods must be smiling down on us to give us such a sweet thing," he says.

"Aye, we'll breed you full of our younguns," Dibbin says hoarsely.

Grog hisses at him that they don't want to scare you, but you smile.

"I like the sound of that," you tell him.

He had given up hope so long ago, deep down knowing it was going to be impossible to even try and find the person who held his heart in some way. His bride, the one who would end his immortality and give him death. The death he craved now, for hundred of years as he went through life. It was dragging him down, knowing that the sword was lodged into his chest that tied him to immortality. The pressure was damning, pushing him down with every year that passed. Friends he knew had passed, the only person he had left was the grim reaper that now lived with his, and he had shut himself off from the world to avoid any more heartbreak.

As he wandered the streets early in the morning with coffee in hand, the air was cold and snow was fluttering down the sky as the first rays of sunshine lit up the streets. He took a sip from his coffee, trying to wake himself up more from the sleep that hung unto him. That is until he saw a woman further down the streets, dressed in warm clothing and a fluffy shawl that covered half her face. Nonetheless, he felt his heart suddenly thump, skipping a beat at how cute she looked. He felt the blade in his chest twitch ever so slightly, making his whole body tense up. But it didn't hurt, not even in the slightest. Instead, his whole body felt warm like it hadn't in decades. For once in his long life, he felt human again...

His feet started walking before he can even realize he was moving, his stride confident yet hesitant. Before he knew it, he entered the coffee shop that she entered and watching her from a distance as he sat at a table. He knew it was inappropriate, he was pretty much creeping on the woman without even having the slightest inkling of who she was.

After fifteen minutes, he finally found it in himself to get closer to her. He walked to her table, sitting down in front of him with a small smile.

"Hey... I..." He was nervous, his palms sweating as he looked at her. She looked up, her hands still wrapped around a warm cup of coffee before she gave a gentle smile.

"Hey... Can I help you?" She asked, her voice like a melody in his ears that only made him feel even more human than before. The blade in his chest seemed like it was going to pull out any moment, although he knew well enough that it was not going to. He wondered about what to say but found his mouth running dry as the words caught in his throat.

"I... You... You're beautiful" He blurted out, to which she let out a soft chuckle as she took a sip from her drink. It was honestly ironic. For how long he had been alive, yet now he felt like some teenager in the middle of puberty. Words got caught in his throat as he stared at you, unsure how to not sound so creepy in a way. Luckily for him, she didn't look too creeped out by him yet and more so amused. He awkwardly tapped his fingers on the table, trying to think of what to say to her.

"I'm (Y/n)..." She smiled at him softly, setting her drink down as she looked at him. He nodded softly before finally finding the courage to speak.

"Kim Shin..." He introduced himself shortly, clenching his hand under the table as he tried to calm his racing heart. His mind raced as to what he should say to make himself less nervous and so he would finally be able to talk like a normal person would.

Finally, he found the words to continue talking.

"So... What do you like to do?" He asked, a bit unsure whether it was a right thing to ask at the moment. Nonetheless, she answered with a soft chuckle before she started talking about her work and her hobbies. He listened intently, genuinely interested in her interests. He didn't care that he looked like a lost puppy as he listened to her, his arms crossed on the table as he leaned on them. If anything, her ranting about her passions was adorable to him if anything and he could not stop staring at her as she talked to him. Soon enough, she was finished and looked at him. He blinked before realizing she was waiting for him to speak, opening his mouth before closing it again. Finally, he started to talk about his own interests. He was slightly unsure of what he was supposed to say, since most of his interests were dated back to the time he was alive and didn't have the stupid sword in his chest. Nonetheless, he found himself comfortable enough after a few minutes of speaking as he leaned back in his seat casually.

In the end, he went home with her number now saved in his phone and his thoughts stuck on her. As days passed, he couldn't stop thinking about her every waking moment. Not to mention that he spend most of his time talking about her to the grim reaper, annoying the man to no end, but Shin didn't care. He just wanted to talk about her constantly, remember each detail of her and imagen what could happen in the future. Every date, he would bring a bouquet - a unique on each time - and sometimes even some sweets for you, he remembered each thing you said to him and made sure you had the best time of your life.

The first time you found out who he was, who he really was anyways, was completely on accident. You had been trying to light a candle, but the lighter didn't work and so you used a match stick. When you lit the candle and blew out the match stick, however, Shin found himself standing behind you in confusion. You hadn't noticed until you spun around, almost screaming and dropping the candle as you saw him right behind you.

He stood there as awkward as could be, dressed in casual sweatpants and a hoodie, coffee still in hand and eyes wide in confusion as to what had suddenly happened. You two stared at each other for about a minute before you spoke up.

"What in the holy-" He cut you off with a quick sound of protest. "I can explain, I swear! It's not what you think!" He held up his hands after putting the coffee cup down, clearly defensive. And thus came the explanation, which was probably shorter than it should be although he had no clue what to actually say. After all, how could one explain that he was a thousand year old goblin, cursed by the blade currently in his chest or the fact that you were his bride. Nonetheless, you deserved the truth, so that is what he gave you. By the end, he was afraid you'd throw something at him and call him insane. Yet you just watched him, curiosity deep hidden in your eyes and yet somehow a hint of understanding.

No anger, no yelling or crying. Just a soft nod, a smile before you offered him something to eat since it was near dinner time. But he could see the confusion in your eyes, the hesitation and the uncertainty. He couldn't blame you, it was sudden and honestly quite insane.

But even then, you remained calm even when your mind was whirling and your heart was thumping in your chest. You felt like you were insane, like he had just told you he'd burst into flames any second. He could see it in your distant gaze, in the way you didn't even dare to look at him. He wondered if you could see the sword now, if him telling the story would somehow open up a whole new world for you.

"So... The sword... It... It needs to be removed? But... When I remove it, you might die...?" You finally spoke, to which he nodded as he looked down at the sword in his chest. It seemed to pulse, reminding him of it's presence in his very soul. He looked back to you, almost looking like a lost or scared puppy that made your heart ache in both sympathy and anger. Not at him... Rather at fate.

For you to find someone like him only for him to be destined to die by your hands..? You couldn't help but wonder what you had done to get such a cruel fate. In the end, you couldn't think of anything that gifted you this hell. Thoughts swirled in your mind, echoing in the void of your mind as it all registered. Then, you just felt sick to your stomach as your heart raced.

"You have to pull it out..." He finally says, breaking your train of thoughts. You look at him in shock, eyes wide and mouth dropping open. He cut you off before you could reply? "I would rather you do it now... It'll hurt less now." He gently grabbed your hands in his before placing them on the hilt of the sword, moving your fingers to wrap around it. You froze, watching him with a look of horror.

"No! No, no, no, no-" You protested, but he didn't let you think as he pulled the hilt, hands holding down yours on the hilt as the sword started slipping. Soon enough, the blade clattered to the ground while you stared at him in shock. The wound on his chest seemed to glow, a green flame seemingly igniting as embers floated in the air.

"You can't die, you-" "It'll be fine... I'll find you, I promise." He spoke softly as he cradled your face. You felt tears streaming down your face as your hands went to his chest, pressing against the wound as if to mend it. Then, surely but slowly, the wound seemed to close itself, the green fading until the whole wound was closed. He looked down in surprise, blinking in confusion.

"Huh... Not what I expected" He mumbled, which made you look up before hitting his chest. "You complete, utter-" He cut you off as he grabbed your wrists to stop you from hitting him before he pulled you against him in a tight hug.

"I'm alive... I'm okay..." He whispered as he held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you like some sort of comfort. He ran his fingers through your hair, whispering words of comfort in your ear.