#sorry for just ghost and konig i have konig brainrot today

[devilanon]

sorry for the delay, here we are! [nsfw, f!reader, breeding kink]

Konig is a groper. He's pawing at you any chance he gets, his huge hands palming your tits, kneading gently; he's prone to coming up behind you, pinning you to his front as he shoves his hands under your shirt with no preamble. He rolls your nipples between his fingers, humming in satisfaction as they harden under his attention. God forbid you wear anything less than a Puritanical full body gown to bed, because if he catches even the slightest hint of your tits peaking out from a tank top, or your shirt riding up even a smidge, he's waking you up with his hot, wet mouth on your chest, trying to fit as much of your tit into his mouth as he physically can. In your sleepy haze, you go to tug his hair to pull him away from your chest - he's drooling, your skin sloppy and wet from his ministrations - but he catches your wrist in one huge hand, his grip iron as he stares at you owlishly. He looks almost innocent, suckling at your chest, but his eyes belie a sort of crazed interest, blown wide. He's not interested in letting go until he's finished. He pops off your chest momentarily, panting, and gives you a dangerous look. "Mine. I'm not done yet, schatzi."

Ghost is mean, full stop. He likes to abuse your tits, bite your nipples, leave indents of his teeth in your skin, suckle until dark red hickies bloom across your chest. He's a fan of nipple clamps, of tit slapping, anything that makes you squirm and your pretty eyes grow wet with tears. His ultimate goal, though, is to get you swollen with his seed, fat and round, chest growing heavy with milk so that he can suckle at your leaking tits. The moment you start showing, your tits beginning to spill out of your pre-pregnancy bras, he's gone fucking insane. He's a bit nicer, sure; you're carrying his child, after all, and the idea of making you cry and writhe when you're in such a vulnerable state is unappealing. But the change in your body, the physicality of it, the way you moan and complain about the newfound heft of your sore, sensitive breasts; he's on you constantly. He cages you against counters as you do chores, grinding against your ass and yanking your top down to expose your chest; he bullies his way into the shower with you just to soap up your tits. When you start to lactate, he's lathing his tongue over your nipples constantly, suckling (gentle, as gentle as he can be), delighting in the way you groan with the release of pressure in your chest. Your body changes because of him, because you're his, because you're creating new life, his and yours together.