cowboyfromh3ll - Tumblr blog

cowboyfromh3ll · 5 months

Text

Tear You Apart

(John Marston x Fem!Reader Smut)

Happy Thanksgiving y'all. In which the reader kills and eats John. A little idea I've had brewing. Heed the warnings please don't take them lightly. On tonight's bountiful night, this is dessert

Warnings: DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, extremely graphic depictions of gore, cannibalism, noncon, smut

John awoke to a world of pleasure and pain.

The last thing John remembered was being in a saloon with you, sitting at the bar and drinking while engaged in blithe conversation. A hazy memory of Arthur’s face tormented him. Had he been there? Now that he thought about it, had the rest of the gang been there as well? He thought so, but the whole scene seemed so blurry, clouded over by the feeling of incapacitating nausea after he downed his last drink. Had there been something in the drink? But he was there with you and the rest of the gang.

His memory seemed to spot afterward—as if someone had come in with a scalpel and surgically removed chunks of it. He remembered staring at the ground as you cooed soothing words into his ears. His limbs were numb and felt full of static, but he still remembered the feeling of his arm slung over your shoulder as you walked him toward a hotel room. It was a distant dream that would soon be eclipsed by a present nightmare.

His wrists and ankles were tightly bound, each to a corner of the bed. The restraints felt like his leather suspenders. The surface beneath him was soft and cushioned like a bed, a feeling that wanted to allure him towards the belief that he was safe. Every breath he took felt like sandpaper scraping his nostrils and throat, an unbearable parchedness making itself known. His head hurt dreadfully, a dull throbbing pain that intensified with each slight movement of his neck as if he could feel millions of little blood vessels burst inside his brain. The yellow light that hung lowly on the ceiling felt familiar, like he had been taken to someone’s childhood home. Despite his confusion, the lighting made him feel strangely safe.

He was hard, and he was fully down your throat. He slowly broke the surface of subconsciousness as if he were emerging from a pool of water. He flickered his eyes down to stare at you—able to hear the dryness in his eyes as he moved them—and came to discover you were already staring up at him, your eyes frosted over by something unfamiliar. John hadn’t paid any mind to the fact you were naked, but rather, that he was fully barren as well. You became keenly aware of John’s consciousness, removing his cock from your mouth and letting it fall against his stomach with a wet slap.

You stood at once and brandished a warm smile as you walked towards the nightstand next to John’s head. You grabbed a wet cloth and dabbed the white film of drool around the corners of his mouth. You briefly glanced over John’s body, the lighting making him appear like a yellowed corpse. You picked up a glass of water John hadn’t noticed was there before offering it up to him.

“Water?” You asked.

A sense of bewilderment flickered in John’s eyes. His confusion was only multiplied tenfold, baffled by the bizarreness of the situation and how you were able to act so casually. Without waiting for an answer, you slid your hand to the back of John’s head and picked it up, watching the way his face scrunched. The throbbing only worsened as you lifted his head, though he voluntarily opened his dry lips as the rim of the cup came into contact with them, deliciously cold. The water trickled down his throat, a shred of relief coming over John as he downed it, the same way one would feel relief waking up in the middle of the night and drinking water.

A small moment of clarity came over John. With his head lifted by your help, he was able to look around the room better. His nakedness made him feel vulnerable in a way he didn’t enjoy. The two of you had had sex plenty of times before, and exposure was never something that bothered him, but there was something strangely ominous about this. Not to mention being bound to the corners of the bed. If this was some sort of sexual fantasy you wanted to fulfill, John didn’t understand why he was just now becoming aware of it. He questioned why he had to have been passed out for it. Being tied up was never something he was against, maybe a little scared by it, but he would have been happy to discuss it with you prior if you had just asked. An unexplainable feeling of dread washed over him like a cresting wave, enough to make tears well up in his eyes. He swallowed again and found his ability to speak.

“(Name)... What are you doing?” His voice was hoarse. You smiled in a chilling way, in a way that was unfamiliar to John in all the years you’d been together but so natural to you.

“Eating you.”

“What… What do you mean?” If that was meant to be some sort of sick sexual joke, John was not for it at all.

“Exactly what I mean. I’m going to eat you. Like I did that plate of lobster downstairs.”

Your answer only served to confuse John more. Your declaration seemed so far out of the realm of possibility that the feeling of fear he should’ve felt did not register fully. But you seemed dead serious, and a part inside of John’s head screamed at him to take it to heart.

“Why?” He asked, his chest beginning to heave. His fists tightened as if he were ready to pick a fight with the mere idea of what you meant. You felt like you were at the point of artifice being over; you saw no need for fakeness or dishonesty.

“It’s what I like.”

At this point, you noticed how John’s eyes looked towards your lips, which were now sealed. His face went through various stages of confusion, the muscles in his forehead moving in opposing directions for several seconds, a tinge of expectancy in his eyes as if he were waiting for you to confess to all sorts of atrocities and you were forcefully keeping your jaw clenched. John decided to take a stab at it, still unsure of the gravity of your words.

“Have you done this before?” His heart raced as he waited for an answer. It was torturous watching you run your tongue over your teeth before sucking on them.

“A few times.” A cold feeling spread inside John that started at his neck. Before he knew it, he was trembling. He would’ve attempted to convince himself this was a dream if not for the static of his limbs being reduced to his toes and fingertips, full feeling returning to his body. He closed his eyes again, hoping he’d fall out of consciousness and would miraculously be taken away from here and wake up in a much more pleasant state of reality.

John chuckled dryly, his last attempt at calming himself. He watched you for a few seconds and waited for you to laugh as well, to burst into laughter and declare that you were just playing some sick joke on him to try and scare him, he wouldn't even be mad. But it did not happen. Wordlessly, he began tugging at his wrists and ankles with the same fear of a cornered animal. He muttered curses and pleas that you needed to let him go. But his limbs were far too heavy for any real progress to be made, and if he were set free, he’d hardly make it far before you’d catch up to him walking.

His body finally slumped against the mattress. You realized his eyes were wet with disbelief.

“Why me?” He asked, his voice shaking.

“Because I love you.” You said. You leaned down and caught John’s lips with your own, something he returned. He kissed back with so much vigor despite his weakened state, almost as if he thought that if he kissed you passionately enough, you’d change your mind about this whole thing and come back to your senses. You parted from it, much to his dismay.

“I don’t want to die.” John pleaded. Speaking the words was a concrete confirmation of what would prevail. Speaking it out loud finally convinced John fully of the graveness of his situation.

“Yes, you do.” You stroked his cheek with a dainty finger. “You should feel joy at the fact that I love you so much that I want to unite us wholly, forever and ever.” As you spoke, John shook his head and whispered no.

“You’re fucking crazy, woman.” He spat. At that moment, John was ready to bare his fangs and claws at you. But he did so with the helplessness of a kitten, a fact that made you chuckle.

“If being in love makes me crazy, then I suppose you are too.” You retorted.

“I’m going to scream, and they’re going to come in here and fucking kill you, you psycho.” He yelled. But you remained calm.

“I know.” You reached over to the nightstand and pulled out a familiar object. “Which is why I’m going to gag you. Prolong the fun.”

One final wave of terror crashed over John, threatening to pull him into an ocean of incomprehensible depth. You meant it. You were going to tear him apart and eat him. He remembered the feeling of hopelessness he’d felt when he was on that mountain, facing off with a pack of wolves before fighting them off. He remembered the feeling of relief he felt seeing Arthur and Javier’s faces. And the triumphant feeling of exultation he’d got knowing he survived. How he wished he could see their faces right now. But unlike then, there was no fighting back. And he was trapped.

Vomit rose in John’s throat, stinging and sour. You aided him and pushed his head to the side, where he emptied the contents of his stomach onto the floor, barely missing the mattress and painting some of the sheets with his bile. You took the same rag from earlier and wiped his mouth clean, but the gesture only seemed to anger John more as he jerked his head away from your help. In that moment, John knew he was going to die, here and now, but he would fight the idea as much as possible.

“But first, how else could I bid you adieu without giving you some sort of fun.” You walked towards the foot of the bed, staring at John and basking in all your naked glory. You were vulnerable, yet you had never felt so powerful. John looked at you with something that resembled wonderment, the same way he stared at the vast open plains of the west for the first time and realized just how beautiful they were—but at the same time, realizing just how small he was.

You began crawling ontop of John, akin to a panther crawling over its meal, ready to sink your fangs into him. His body tensed, back arched above the mattress in a refusal to relax.

“I don’t want this.” He said firmly, but the end of his sentence cracked like porcelain.

“Yes. you do.” You repeated. You took ahold of the base of John’s cock and slid it into you before seating yourself fully on his lap. Even then, John couldn’t help the pleasured grunt that escaped his lips. John instantly began in a series of uncontrollable sobs as you bounced yourself on him, your bodies rocking back and forth. You paid his tears no mind, settling your palms on his chest as you fucked yourself on him.

“Oh, John!” You gasped, goosebumps wracking through your body from mere excitement. In tonight’s feast, this was merely the appetizer. John’s cries were a dreadful backdrop to your moment of passion, but soon, you as well joined him in a chorus of cries. But your tears were a different kind than the ones he shed.

“John, I can’t believe we’re finally going to be whole as one!” You sobbed, wiping your eyes. The burning in your thighs as you worked your cunt up and down on him became unbearable; used to the way John would hook his arms around your knees from beneath you before fucking up into you. But you recognized that that was simply not an option tonight. John’s body would occasionally come alive beneath you as he tried to fight his restraints, still under the belief that he could escape this.

“Don’t be sad, John!” You consoled. “You’re getting the opportunity to be with me forever. Inside of me. That’s true love. We’re no longer limited to just sex where you can be in me. This is so much more than that, my love.” But this provided John with little relief. He wanted nothing more than to be as far from you as possible. Even the pleasure firing in his lions wasn’t enough to convince him otherwise. He knew it was going to hurt like hell, and the terror of not knowing just how much it would hurt terrified him to no end. He doubted he had ever felt anything comparable. Surely, a bullet wound was nothing like being split down the middle.

Thinking of being shot made him reflect on every action he had done during his life that led up to this. Was this some sort of sick karma he was experiencing in return for every bit of sorrow he had brought upon others throughout his life? For ever drop of blood he had made others shed, would he shed it tenfold? He certainly expected to meet such a gruesome end, but not one quite so intimately regarded, and at the hands of his sweetheart. That led him to think about the years he had spent with you. You were carnal, loved sex and drinking and were full of passion. You were the most fun John had had in his entire life. Upon meeting, you had mentioned you were an outlaw. But you had certainly failed to mention this part of your past, yet you did not skimp out on details of your other crimes. Naturally, John didn’t care. The way you made it sound, you were a saint compared to him. And John was helplessly in love, more than he’d ever been.

Were there signs you would end up doing this? John was sure there was, but he did not have the mental fortitude to being delving into all the red flags he had missed or ignored, and his time was running out, he would rather not spend it pondering on ambiguous thought. Perhaps this was a divine stroke of mercy at the hands of God’s intervention. He supposed spending his last moments with the love of his life was better than bleeding out on the side of the road, alone and defeated. But how different was that than this? The only thing that was different was the setting—and the gruesomeness of it.

“Do you love me?”

The question ripped John from his terrifying train of thought—he wasn’t sure if coming back to reality was any better than reflecting on his life. He looked at you as though this was the most ridiculous question to be asking at a time like this. John thought about it. He loved you. He knew it. But he was so petrified, saying he loved you right now would be like telling a random stranger on the street that he loved them. This was not the (Name) he knew.

“DO YOU LOVE ME?” You yelled, gripping his jaw. John began nodding vigorously, hot tears spilling from the corners of his eyes and wetting his sideburns. “I love you! So much!” He yelled, more passion in his voice then there had ever been. The answer seemed to satisfy you, removing your hand and beginning to move on his lap again. You increased your speed, ignoring the pain in your legs as your moans increased in volume. Those sweet, sweet sounds that John loved so much, he wished he were in any other circumstance so that he could appreciate them.

An involuntary guttural noise of pleasure left John’s mouth; the familiar wince of his face that tipped you off in turn. You dropped your hips onto his cock with your full force and felt his pelvis begin to spasm as he came inside you. Several moments of spreading warmth passed before you threw your head back and screamed. It was the hardest you had ever cum, the finishing garnish for the meal before you. The moment of tranquility after the two of you came as you caught your breaths provided John with a small sense of solace. He wanted to be gripped by fear, but he knew he should enjoy his last fleeting moment of pleasure.

Your breath returned as you dismounted, a feeling of ravenous hunger replacing your carnal one. Now was when the fun truly began for you, and when the horror peaked for John. You walked your knees over towards John’s torso and leaned down. You licked the glistening sweat from his skin, savoring the bitter saltiness as if it were some sweet syrup. You lapped at his skin like a dog, attempting to enjoy every bit of his unscathed skin. The hair on his chest appear as fibrous candy that would melt on your tongue as soon as it was scooped by your wet muscle. You sucked and licked, watching his face contort between pleasure and fear. He was blabbering some incoherent words pleading for his life, begging you not to do this, words you didn’t pay enough mind to to understand.

You took John’s right nipple between your forefinger and thumb, rolling it gently, before beginning to suck on his left. You rolled it between your tongue, teasing it with you incisors and occasionally meeting his eyes. John’s skin shivered with goosebumps, a shudder leaving him as he tried his best not to respond to your touch. You held eye contact with John as you pinched the tender bud between your teeth, clamping down fully.

The pain was immediate and sharp in a way that made John throw his chest up towards you then back down on the mattress as if he was trying to escape your mouth. A scream caught in his throat, one that wanted to rip through his vocal cords but was still building up. Before it could come out, you slapped your hand over his mouth, allowing him to deposit the sound into your palm, muffling it effectively.

John barely noticed the way you climbed up off the bed and towards the nightstand once again. His nipple throbbed painfully, and he was scared to open his eyes and look down at the damage that had been done. The pain was so terrible it robbed him of breath as he struggled to suck in air in a steady stream. Yet he knew this was the tamest of what was to come.

You came towards John’s head, ball gag in hand and moving to clamp the material around his head.

“Wait wait wait wait no no no no, (Name), please don’t do this please. I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I ever treated you wrong I love you please—” You heard none of it. John got the remainder of his pleas out as you positioned the slick latex ball between his lips, tightening the strap securely to make sure it would not come off. You smoothed his hair back with his sweat, the way you loved he did while he was working in the sun. Such a shame you’d never be able to see it again, so you’d have to make sure to enjoy this to the fullest. You leaned down and kissed his forehead. “I love you too.”

John’s tongue was pushed back to the well of the back of his throat where saliva would pool. He hoped he would drown in his own spit before he’d reach the end of this. He gagged and struggled to compose himself, his nostrils flaring as he tried to calm his breathing. Though he would not choke or pass out, he was not granted the mercy of a significantly less painful death. He would be aware of every little feeling.

You ghosted your fingertips along John’s cheek, his jaw, neck, chest, and torso. You leaned down to hug him one last time, knowing it was the last time he’d be whole. You laid your palm flat on John’s belly button, as if you were at the supermarket and were testing the ripeness of fruit. You reveled in the secret, unseen movement of organs, imagining the hell of a stomach ache John was feeling from adrenaline.

John continued to yell behind the gag (the best he could) as he watched you pick up a blade from the nightstand. The soft lighting made the stainless steel glow lightly. When he saw the tool, he squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, praying to a higher being to will him away from this. But the only god present in the room was you, he was utterly at your mercy. He should've been praying to you to make this as quick as possible.

John tried to thrash his torso as the tip of the blade came into contact with the bottom of his breast bone, dimpling the skin until a droplet of blood appeared. John felt utterly defeated as he watched, and felt, the blade skate across the thin flesh of his torso. He couldn't gauge quite how deep it was, it all felt the same. The incision spanned from the base of his pectorals to his crotch, a perfect clean cut. The lips of the wound parted and fell to either side, and layers of skin, fat, and muscle became visible to John like the unveiling of a show, curtains drawn to either side. Instantly, the sheets beneath became drenched in blood. John could not muster up a sound primal enough to express how much pain he was in. His head lolled from side to side in disbelief and agony.

You thrust the knife into the gaping wound once again, blade sinking into vital softness. His head fell back, breath catching in his throat as he clenched and unclenched his fists weakly. John had seen a decent amount of gore in his life, more than he would remember; the smatterings of brain matter and blood on grass and dirt, the slippery tubes of intestines laid out next to their owners, shattered bones, decimated limbs. But seeing his own was worse than anything he'd ever seen. He had more colors than he could've imagined, the hole large enough for the both of you to fit your heads inside, enough for you to reach in and move your hands freely. The cold blade twisted, severing and slicing through tough membrane with a sickeningly loud crunch. John felt the warmth of his blood pool beneath him, rise in his throat, trickle out the sides of his gag and mat his hair. You unfastened the gag, letting it fall to the side along with a trail of vomit mixed with blood. John coughed, wretched, squeezed up more bile. He tried to breathe but it sounded more like gurgling. You leaned down and kissed the corners of John's mouth, his jaw and neck and all the places you had kissed before. You licked his swollen nipple, the bud nearly bitten through. John felt consciousness begin to slip from him.

He was ripped back by the white heat of your hands jamming into his intestines, tearing and ripping apart whatever would come loose. Everytime John had thought his pain reached it's peak, it seemed as though it could reach infinite more. You pushed apart the edges of his wound, slathering your entire body in his blood. It appeared as though you had just burst forth from a wild animal and emerged by tearing through its belly. Your hands thrust deep inside, ripping something out of him. The pain felt like a never ending shock wave that came in endless cresting waves. He watched your rabid jaws chew his dear, tender insides. His own flesh. The lower half of your face slathered in his own blood as you chewed at one of his slippery intestines, the meat dangling and dripping. You laughed and cheered and looked more euphoric than you had ever been. Your eyes held more joy than John had ever seen them hold. More joy than when he proposed to you. And part of him felt a strange peace at having brought you so much happiness.

You spoke to John as you chewed the stringy flesh, your lips purpled by his dark blood, chunks of gore lodged in-between your teeth. John thought you said something in between the lines of I love you, but he was too far gone to understand. He watched you through a blackening haze as the corners of his vision spotted and became darker. The pain seemed to fade, even as you thrust your hand inside him again and pulled out another fleshy pink object. He felt weightless, cold, as if he were laying on a cloud. The thought of this finally being over felt comforting, like the touch of a lover. Like your touch. John closed his eyes and would never open them again.

When morning came, you were gone. You had spent a considerable amount of time consuming John's body. You took snippets of his hair, hacked a bone off, ate as much as you could. You realized the time crunch you were in, but continued to gorge yourself with your lover as much as possible. You hurried off into the dead of night, undetected, never to be seen by the gang again. The hollow cavity of John's body remained on the bed, gaping and rotting. Saint Denis had it's hot days, causing the remainder of his insides to bloat and burst with putrescent fluids, mixing with the dried brown blood on the mattress. Soon, room service would come upstairs to kick the two of you out under the pretense that you had only paid for one night and were to be gone by morning. They would discover his body that reeked of your love for him.

Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fandom #red dead redemption 2 x reader #red dead redemption community #red dead fanfiction #writing #van der linde gang x reader #john marston #john marston smut #john marston x reader #john marston x reader smut #dead dove do not eat #cannibalism #noncon #cw: gore

37 notes · View notes

cowboyfromh3ll · 5 months

Note

This is still the best thing I've ever written

OKAY BESTIE I'VE GOT ANOTHER ONE

It's John's turn this time.

The reader is Dutch's daughter still.

Dutch starts dating John's mother, and they have a dinner to introduce the kids. (They're 18 ans 23 but) since Dutch is serious about this woman, he wants her son (who still lives at home... also maybe has an emo band but thats besides the point) and his daughter to meet each other.

Cue another stereotypical porn scenario, except this one of the Stepbro variety

I absolutely loved Cola.

Have you heard the song "She keeps me up" by nickelback? (Ik nickelback is kinda cringe but this song 💋👌)

It reminded me of this prompt because one of the lines is:

"Funky little monkey, she's a twisted trickster.

Everybody wants to be the sister's mister

Coca cola, roller coaster

Love her even though I'm not supposed to."

(StepBro!John Marston x Dutch’s Daughter!Reader Smut)

WOOOO MY GOD this was sooooo fun to write and it's one of the best pieces of literature I have ever written. Enjoy.

Warnings: Stepcest, age gap, unprotected piv, reader is a pervert with a wild imagination

You had a near giddy sense of optimism at the thought of that day's coming events. The lust was like an IV drip in your veins, spreading through your body rapidly enough to make you feel lightheaded from excitement. You tumbled out of bed and pranced towards the bathroom like a deer frolicking through a field, though with your hazy state of mind, it felt more like dragging yourself towards the bathroom with the helpless awareness of someone realizing they’d been slipped a drug. You swung open the door with such great ferocity you thought you might rip it off its hinges if you weren’t careful.

You tried to take relief in the surging water of the shower, cranking the handle the furthest you could; the bathroom filling with steam within minutes. You stood underneath the water, watching the way each droplet drummed against the bottom of your tub hypnotically. You thought of the boy you were hours away from meeting in an introductory dinner, your father informing you he was named John. From pictures your father had so graciously shown you, you knew he was your type. He looked considerably older than you, though not by too much. Young looking enough that people wouldn’t give you questioning looks if they saw you walking together in public hand in hand, or perhaps sharing a milkshake; seductively licking the whipped cream off the corner of his mouth before dipping your own finger in the fluffy confection.

His skin looked nearly wet in the picture your father showed you, standing next to his mother in some outside area (You barely remembered what she looked like, far too focused on him). The oily lubricants of sweat caused his hair to cling to his forehead; the effortless feather of his side-swept bangs that were just slightly too long framing his left eye. You’d imagined that if you pushed them back, the path of his shining forehead would be exposed. The thought alone made your heart quicken as if he had just stripped naked in front of you. You went on to imagine that after pushing back his bangs, you’d lick his forehead; likely tasting of the sweat on his inner thighs and the crevices of his torso.

You smiled at the thought as you slathered the syrupy body wash across your breasts, hoping your skin would ferment with the scent and create an intoxicating alcohol in the air. You began to imagine John inhaling the rousing fragrance of your cherry vanilla shampoo as you massaged your scalp; the result of accidentally leaning far too forward next to him while he showed you something on his phone screen, a swath of velvety hair brushing against his nose as he tried his best not to deeply inhale you. You soon became so dizzy from your own thoughts that you clumsily supported yourself on the shower wall before sliding down. You extracted the shower head from its holder before turning the notch to a narrow stream of high pressure and holding it between your legs the same way a medic would put an oxygen mask on a patient slipping from consciousness.

You chose your outfit for the day carefully. You decided that today you’d brandish a mini baby pink slip dress, the material imperceptibly sheer; slight enough that they wouldn’t be able to discern the outline of your lacy underwear; but sheer enough that upon closer inspection, they’d be able to make out the prints of your hardened nipples and the color of your smooth breasts. For the special occasion, you wore no bra but donned a simple white cropped cardigan. Only upon entering the privacy of John’s bedroom, if allowed, would you discard the fabric to allow the cold air of the house to make a show of your hardened nipples for your target. Until you were able to engage in true contact with the man, you’d use his hungry stares as sustenance. You’d imagined John had never been with someone so deliciously supple, someone so curvaceous and tempting, that he couldn’t mask the direction in which his eyes traveled and the delight at what he was looking at.

When you check the weather for the day, your heart swelled in satisfaction at the realization of what the record high southern heat would bring. You licked your lips as you watched the news anchor on TV, almost able to taste the flavor of John’s sweat on your tongue. The piquancy would cause your mouth to water in delight, and you began to clench your legs painfully together as if to muffle the screeching desire that clawed away at the ornately papered walls of your meridional mansion.

As you shuddered, your father walked into the living room with an equally blissful smile on his face. “Goodmorning, sweetheart.” He called before walking over and planting a tender kiss to your temple. “Are you ready for tonight?” You nodded enthusiastically, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically as you realized your own excitement. In the past, you had never been particularly keen on meeting your father’s girlfriends, but it wasn’t often they had a hot son under their wing and this situation seemed too good to pass up.

The ride to their house was torturous; restless in the passenger seat of your father’s corvette as he drove down the road. Even though he was already driving above the speed limit, a part of you wanted to shove your father out of the driver's seat and drive there on your own at record speed, pushing the gas pedal to its limits. You tried your best to not bite your nails, painted cherry squares that gleamed like red vinyl; it was a habit you had ditched in the throes of your childhood. As you and your father pulled into the driveway of a quaint suburban home, all judgment you might’ve initially had left you as you remembered the prize that awaited you inside; like a parcel sitting inside an ornately wrapped gift box. You squinted your eyes against the bleached out concrete of their driveway, looking past the beat up looking 1900 Audi 100 and towards the doorway. The stone paved walkway served as an umbilical path to the inside; the bottom of your Repetto Camille heels scraping against the granular surface of their front steps, each strike of your heel against the ground a sharp reminder of what awaits you. It felt like a daydream, like you were walking a path of luminous sugar.

The rap of your father’s knuckle against the front door snapped you back to reality, and you stood there skittishly. You straightened your posture and flashed your father an enthusiastic smile which he returned. The door creaked open in front of you, revealing the woman of your father’s affections, but not the man of yours. Nonetheless, you held your smile and greeted the woman. You watched as the two exchanged kisses on the cheeks, before she turned to face you.

“Oh it’s so good to meet you, (Name)!” She stuck her hand out to shake yours, which you gingerly accepted and shook. “I’ve heard so much about you.” She went on to say, which made you smile wider.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you Ms. Marston.” You nodded, your eyes skidding to look behind her to see if John was there. A sense of disappointment began to swell within you as you considered the fact that he may not be there; he was a grown man after all, and he could decide whether or not he wanted to be present to meet his mother’s new partner. The realization felt akin to the bittersweet pain of heat leaving your genitals upon retracting your hand before you could reach orgasm.

“Please, step inside. Dinner is nearly ready.” She stepped aside to allow you in, and you did so in a sluggish manner. The woman led you down the hall, presumably to her living room. When you turned the foyer into the living room, you nearly crumpled to your knees.

There, on the couch, you beheld the love of your life. Your chest began to surge when he turned to face the three of you, at once standing in a show of practiced politeness. His awkward gait as he walked over nearly made you screech in desire. Now that he stood before you, you drank in details you weren’t able to capture from mere pictures. Healed scars almost white in comparison to his tanned, stubbled skin. The small bump on his nose as it curved to a rounded tip. The girth of his generous biceps, decorated in embellishing ink designs, not revealed in the portrait style pictures you had seen. The slight downturn of his brown eyes contrasting his rough features.

Before you knew it, he was standing before you, seemingly last in the assembly line to be greeted by him. “Nice to meet you, I’m John.” His southern drawl made you shiver, your teeth chattering as you lifted your hand to his. The initial feeling of skin to skin contact made you want to cry out; the single touch alone would’ve been enough to satiate you for the entire night and until your next meeting. But your longing grew teeth, and you were ready to maul the man before you. There was a distinct gentleness in the way you took his hand, flashing him your best smile as you batted your eyelashes. “I’m, (Name).” You chirped. “Pleasure to meet you.” And what a pleasure it would be, indeed, you thought. You noted the calluses on the tips of his fingers, imagining what their roughness might’ve felt like grinding into your clit. As the two of you parted hands, you smoothed the tips of your fingers over his wrist and slid them over his palm. You watched his face to pick up on any reactions to your strangely intimate gesture, relishing in the way his adams apple bobbed harshly.

“See, they’re already getting along.” Your father joked. You offered genuine laughter, finding amusement in the unintentional literalness of his statement.

“Oh, yes! Let me check up on dinner to see if it’s ready yet.” John's mother began walking towards the kitchen, to which your father followed closely behind her.

“I’ll come with you, the two can acquaint themselves for a bit.” He patted her shoulder, offering you and John a polite yet expectant smile. You and your father seemed to have a hive mind that night, because the set up couldn’t be any more perfect. You stepped around the arm rest of the couch and sat down on the cushioning, seemingly assessing the comfort of the pillows to see how well of a surface they’d make for cunnilingus.

Your attention was drawn back to John, who was sitting in a reclining chair vertical to the loveseat you sat on. “There’s some water on the table if you’d like some.” He motioned towards the tray on the table, which held 4 glasses.

“Thank you.” You said, a small purr in your inflection as you reached for a glass and brought it to your lips. John watched with near a hypnotized demeanor as you tipped the cup back, your rouge lipstick leaving a print on the side of the cup. He watched as the pink flesh of your tongue flicked over the rim of the cup tentatively, catching a few loose droplets of water. John looked so nervous he looked like he might throw up all over his shoes, and your small gestures were enough to start up a tremble in him.

“So,” you began, the sound of you setting your cup down causing John to jerk. “Tell me about yourself, John!” You said enthusiastically. You hadn’t noticed how wide you were grinning, perhaps too excited for a simple meeting. He looked at you as though you had just asked him the meaning of life. You gave him an encouraging nod, something you would’ve never otherwise done if this were any other boy. But you could make special exceptions.

He sat up and drummed on his thighs, deep in thought. “Uh, well… I’m twenty three-”

You couldn’t help but lick your lips at the mention of his age, passing it off as blithely wetting your dry lips. You listened attentively as he recounted the rudimentary details of his life, your eyes focusing on the scars littered across one side of his face. You imagined what it’d be like to skate your tongue across them, allowing your tongue to linger on one end before sliding back down the other direction.

“The car out in the front is mine, actually.” There was a small inflection of pride in his voice, though you couldn’t remember the conversation having gotten to the point of discussing cars in your daydream.

“Oh really? It’s quite nice.” You supposed talking up a man’s ego would be the easiest way to get him out his pants, and his car seemed to be a soft spot for him. Though comparably, if you were talking cars, you’d be doing him a service driving him around in yours. Imagine the fun you two would have! You’d pick him up in your baby blue audi roadster; he’d sit a bit awkwardly at first on the passenger side, his legs bent up too far to avoid having the skin on the back of his knees touch the hot leather of the seat. You’d drive him down an isolated road with the top down as you floored the gas, letting the wind hit your bodies in some form of foreplay. Before long, you’d be surrounded by overgrown greenery and untamed woods, and you’d tell him to slide his jeans down so you could pull his cock out and fellate him.

“Y’know, I actually have quite a few cars. Maybe you can check ‘em out sometime?” You offered, feigning innocence. His eyes widened slightly at your mentioning of having several cars of your own. “Yeah?” He asked in disbelief.

You nodded. “Yeah! Maybe I’ll even let you drive one.” You giggled, feeling exultation at making him laugh as well, even if it was nervous laughter. You hoped that upon accepting your invitation to view your cars in some impromptu meet, it’d be easy to seduce and fuck him in the back seat of one of your coupes.

"Ha, never imagined my mom would find herself a rich fella. Now I'll be able to borrow my rich sister's cars." Having him call you his sister felt like a kick in the skull, it was like being unwillingly pulled into a group project you had no intentions of being a part of. "Well, I'm not quite your sister." In an act of defiance, you shed the thin cardigan and puffed your chest out, pulling the thin strings tying the front together like you were unwrapping a gift; the lighting from the chandelier made your dress appear subtly translucent. You suppressed the smirk that threatened to come onto your face when you heard him cough and clear his throat. "Think of it as borrowing your friend's cars " You turned to look at him again, flashing a toothy smile that dismissed any ulterior motives.

"Uhm, yeah." His porcelain voice shivered with forming cracks. He crossed one thigh over the other, leaning back in his seat and sucking in a deep breath. Now that he was actually in front of you, you could take a moment to study his clothing of choice. It seemed that that day he himself had decided to brandish baggy black jeans that bunched around his ankles, and a black band shirt that read 'Alice In Chains'. Not only that, he had a few studded leather bracelets around his wrists. You wondered what he'd look like with a similar choker around his neck, attached to a leash as you sat on his back with a leather crop like he was your mount of choice.

"I like your style!" You complimented, taking another sip of your water. The remark seemed to work in your favor, causing him to sit up straight and smile in pride. Indeed, the way inside a man's heart, and pants, was to talk him up.

"Thank you, I like yours too." His tone was hushed, briefly flickering his eyes down your body before your father walked in. "Hey you two, dinner’s ready." He announced. You dropped all seductive pretenses and faced your father, pulling your cardigan back on while smiling. "Alright daddy!"

The two of you promptly followed behind Dutch, who already seemed to know his way around the house as he led you towards the dining room. John mechanically set the table as his mother droned on about how excited she was to have finally met you, putting a hand on your shoulder with familiar proximity. You did not mind the touch, but you detested the idea of it being perceived as motherly by your father or John. You sat across from John on the mahogany dinner table, which was a heartland expanse of wood long enough for you to lay down on as John pillaged you. Though the four sharp corners of the table were somehow symbolic; a reminder to not go out of bounds on this dinner.

The dinner went on as planned by your father: blithe introductions and a lighthearted atmosphere, your father encouraging you to speak of your achievements casually to show what a great unit the two of you were without sounding pretentious. Though you supposed speaking about all your pageantry awards and college certificates along with your impressive resume was anything but; feeling instead like you were in the middle of some high stakes interview that determined the rest of your life. In a way, you thought it did though. Afterall, the man of your dreams was sitting across from you, and you wanted to impress him. But John seemed to sink in his chair the more you spoke, his eyes flickering occasionally towards his mother, who's jaw only seemed to open wider the more you shared.

"Quite a daughter you've got, Dutch! You should be proud." She cheered, flashing you a warm smile in the process. You returned it before looking over across from you, and John himself seemed to be impressed. But it was more of an ashamed look, as if he were trying to telepathically communicate to his mother 'don't be disappointed in me because I don't have all those achievements under my belt'.

In an act of consolation, you slipped your foot out of your shoe and ran it up his leg, not once looking at him as you did so, stopping to rest your toes on his knee. Perhaps a rush of your judgment, but you felt his entire leg go rigid beneath your foot as he froze, his fork stopping mid way on its path towards his mouth. You continued conversation with your father like it was nothing, a skill born out of practice. You retracted your foot momentarily, an imaginary static shock connecting the two of you as you flickered your eyes towards him briefly, who was staring back at you with aroused disbelief.

"Would you like some more water, (Name)?" John's mother asked, pitcher in hand. You nodded and thanked her, watching the way the cup filled before flashing John a more sultry smile, knowing and empathetic. It said all the words you could not speak out loud. You rested your chin on the back of your hand as you listened to John's mother speak about the multiple clients she saw a day as a real estate agent. You took John's reaction as a green light, opting towards a more bold move. The initial touch had been a pop quiz, now this was the big exam. Once again, your foot traveled up his shin, stopping only for a moment at his knee, as if waiting for one last sign of rejection, before reaching past his thigh and landing at his crotch, rubbing front to back again and again while your father spoke of his own business. Upon applying more pressure to his half erect genitals with the sole of your foot, John's knee reflexively jerked and slammed up into the table, causing you to pull your foot back and shove it into your shoe before anyone could see what you were doing.

Dutch and John's mother looked at each other before looking at John in confusion. "Are you okay, hon?" His mother asked. Her concern-laden question made you want to laugh. John cleared his throat and nodded, shifting in his seat.

"Yeah, mom." He confirmed. She didn't appear too convinced, but she didn't want to rouse any sort of uncomfortable conversation in the middle of dinner. You smiled to yourself in satisfaction, a small victory cheer playing out in your head. The rest of dinner went without a hitch, occasionally stopping to rest your foot on top of John's shoe. He still held an expression of confusion and disbelief, a tinge of arousal; but not once did he move his foot away.

By the end of dinner, John's mother insisted he show you to his room so you could see all his rock memorabilia, something she thought a woman of your age would enjoy seeing. And while you had never dabbled in the more alternative side of fashion and music, it was certainly something that you thought made a man more attractive. John had a stiff air about him as the two of you got up and excused yourself from the dinner table, and you reveled in his tenseness as you walked alongside him. He was quiet the entire walk as if in deep contemplation, not once looking at you out of fear that if he did, he might turn to see some sort of succubus had taken your place. Though once you reached the steps leading up to the second floor, you made a point of stepping directly in front of John as you traversed upwards.

You could feel his eyes train on your ass, the shortness of your dress and the movement of your hips affording him a peek beneath the hem of your dress and to your lace clad ass. As if you were a magician hypnotizing him with some sort of mystical locket by swaying it back and forth, he followed you up in a trance. It wasn't until you stopped at the top of the stairs, turning your torso to face him, did he rip his eyes away from your posterior and up to face you. You smirked unabashedly, as if to tell him you caught him staring.

"Which room is yours?" You asked, looking back to the hallway.

"Oh, right this way." There was a small pep in his step as he led you down the carpeted hall. When he reached the door, he pushed it open and stepped aside to allow you in.

"Ladies first." He said, a tinge of amusement in his voice.

"What a gentleman." You said as you stepped in. You stood in the center of his room, looking around at its slightly disheveled state. He clearly hadn't anticipated having anyone in his room that night, only expecting a quaint dinner. His walls were decorated with several posters of bands, all dressed in a similar fashion as him while carrying electric guitars and wildly thrashing their hair. His navy blue bed sheets on his unmade that you so badly wanted to throw yourself onto face first before inhaling deeply. He had a few guitars of his own propped up against the wall, and you took an instant liking to the bright red one. There were stray t-shirts littered across the floor; his closet door bulging open to reveal more black clothes.

"I like your room, it's so you." You smiled at him, crossing your arms beneath your chest. John stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him but leaving it slightly ajar.

"Thanks, I'd say it's real uh, expressive." He said, which made you giggle.

"You play?" You pointed towards the instruments, only then taking note of the amp positioned behind them.

"Yeah, I'm actually in a band."

This new piece of information was absolutely delightful, and it made you perk up. "Oh really?" You asked, leaning forward in interest. He showed that same bit of pride, gaining confidence at your sudden inquiry.

"Yeah, I'm the lead guitarist." He boasted, sitting down on the bed behind you. You looked at the spot directly next to him, and asked "May I?"

Before he could realize what you were asking, he nodded yes. The realization of what he agreed to came when you sat down so close next to him that your thighs were shy of touching each other. He made no comment about it, only deeply inhaling to steady his breath. The casualty of your prior conversation almost made him nearly forget about the little trick you pulled downstairs at dinner.

"Uhm.." He began, opening his mouth to speak but closing it as if unsure how to start. He looked at you and squinted his eyes, confused by the perplexed expression on your face feigning innocence.

"Downstairs, uh…" You cocked your brow in faux confusion, as if you had no idea where he was going with this. The action alone made John feel crazy, as if he had imagined the whole scene in its entirety and by mentioning it, you'd look at him in appalled disbelief for even imagining something so lewd with his new step sister.

Before he could continue, you cut him off. "Hey John, I have a question."

He pursed his lips before gulping. "What is it?"

"When your mother showed you the picture of my dad and I, did you touch yourself to the thought of me?"

The forwardness of the question made John’s eyes widen to gargantuan proportions. He raised one of his brows at you as if to assess whether you were serious or not, and for a moment, you felt the unfamiliar fear of the possibility of your assumptions being wrong. To emphasize how serious you were, you began undoing the front strings of your cardigan again, letting it slide down your arms along with a singular spaghetti strap, which you made a point not to fix as it slid down your shoulder.

“Uhm… I…” His hesitancy to answer was an answer of its own. You smiled and leaned into his arm, feeling the rigidity of his body. You looked at his face; he looked as though he were weighing out his options. You were sure that if you could read his mind, one end of the balancing scale would have “Remain decent during this joining of two families”, and the other end would read “Fuck my super hot step sister who clearly wants me.” And you were certain that the latter was outweighing the former.

“Well,” You began, ghosting your fingers on his thighs. “I have.” His breath hitched, eyes fixed on where your hand was. “All I can think about is touching you. I want to touch you so badly, and I want you to touch me.” You brought your face closer to his, awaiting any sort of response. He didn’t seem quite as convinced as you wanted him to be though.

“I know you want to.” You purred, laying your palm flat on his thigh, shy of a few inches from his cock. “I saw the way you were looking at me in the living room. And I know you were looking at my ass when we were going up the stairs. Just admit it.” John looked off to the side shamefully as though he’d been caught walking into a room he wasn’t welcome into. You were sure that if this were under any other circumstances, John would’ve pounced on you with as much fervor by now. But the step siblings aspect added an extra layer of shame that you viewed as unnecessarily tedious.

“John.” You said more firmly, cupping his stubbled cheek and turning him to face you directly. “Touch me.”

His hands came to the sides of your face as he lowered his mouth onto yours. You felt his pulse strike against your fingers as you continued to hold him, willfully opening your mouth in the beginning of a hungry kiss. Instantly, John shoved his tongue into your mouth, the nascent feeling of metal on his tongue as he created a sucking motion with each kiss making you shiver. You moaned into the kiss, sucking and kissing anything your mouth came into contact with. He abandoned all hesitant pretenses as his hands began to roam your body, groping and squeezing anything that filled his palm. His touches were so confident and intentional, it appeared as though he had never been scared at all. He seemed to have a perfect lexicon of your body inside his mind, knowing exactly where to touch without looking.

You turned to face him better on the bed, swinging one of your thighs over his lap. As you two separated from the kiss, his needy hands came to your straps and hooked two fingers around them, looking to you for permission before he pulled them down.

“But you’re my brother.” You joked, faking a pout.

“Your STEP-brother.” He clarified. Without another word, he yanked the strings down, exposing your pert chest and hardened nipples. He lowered his mouth to a nipple before taking it in between his lips, pulling it along with his teeth as he sucked. You lowered your head and watched the pink on skin contact, your nipple beginning to glisten with John’s saliva. You gasped and threw your head back, holding his crown in place as his tongue piercing swirled around the bud.

You reached your arms across his back and began clawing at the shirt he was wearing, pulling it up along his back until he helped you pull it over his head, temporarily interrupting his ministrations. After delivering the same attention to your other nipple, he began yanking the rest of your dress down along your body. You lifted your ass in assistance, giggling at the way he flung it across the room, hanging on the headstock of his red guitar.

“Damn, girl, you are stunning.” He smirked, taking a moment to admire your perfectly taut torso before smoothing his hands over the skin. “And you smell amazing.” He added. His comments nearly made you blush. You flung your heels off across the room, leaving you in only your red lacy underwear.

“Your turn.” You whispered, winking at him. He stood hastily and began removing his studded belt, dropping his jeans quickly after and clumsily pulling them off his ankles. His excitement made you laugh, you thought he might trip from how quickly he was moving. You licked your lips at the sight of the trail of hair dusted across his naval, disappearing beneath the waistband of his boxers; it appeared as if it were some wispy chocolate confection drizzled over his body. At this point, he joined you back in bed, remaining in his own underwear. You eyed the noticeable bulge in his underwear, a tiny wet spot where his tip lay.

“Someone’s excited.” You teased, tracing the scar that ran along his cheek.

“Shit, with someone as smokin’ as you, who wouldn’t be.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your neck, his teeth grazing your pulse. The two of you shared a moment of lighthearted giggles as he pulled you along further on the bed.

“You ever had a girl?” You asked. You supposed you knew the answer, but you wanted to hear it come from his mouth. Your hands wrapped around his cloth covered cock and began to stroke leisurely.

“One, but besides that, I haven’t done much.” His labored breath sounded like he was running from something. “How come?” You asked. “You’re certainly handsome.”

He shrugged, shaking his head as he tipped it back on his sternum. “No one will have me, I guess.” He laughed in self pity. In response, you squeezed his cock before lifting your hand from the wad of fabric shaped around his erection. You hooked your fingers on the elastic of his underwear, pulling it down as the head of his cock snagged on the waistband before springing free. You smirked at the sight of his Jacob's ladder piercing.

“I like it.” You complimented, looking back up at him. “Real adventurous.”

“I guess the pain would have been worth it after all.” He joked.

You lowered your head above his cock, your hair falling around you. You exhaled onto him, bathing his tip in your warm breath. With that, you licked your lips, lowering them over him, leaving a pink print wherever your lips paused. You heard a guttural moan above you, his fingers resting over your scalp as if debating whether he should grasp your roots or not. You slowly arched your neck, extending your throat until it came to his base. You delighted in the feeling of metal against your tongue, fluttering it against his underside. He made gasping noises and began bucking his hips, writhing in a disoriented way that made the tip of his cock bump against the back of your throat.

You gave him a few minutes of skilled sucking, your throat producing various wet slurps and gags as you fucked your own throat on his cock. You brushed your hair behind your ear, looking up at him through your lashes. His face twitched and contorted in pleasure, his mouth hanging open in a silent moan. You began tasting the salty bitters of pre-ejaculate on your tongue, hollowing your cheeks as you pulled your head back on his tip, giving a few more harsh sucks before popping off of it. His erection glistened and bobbed in the air as you looked up at him seductively, licking your lips before leaning back up towards eye level. His eyes remained trained on his own cock, looking as if to see if it was still attached.

“Your turn.” You whispered before placing your fingertips on his chest, pushing him back to lay on the bed, his head landing comfortably on his pillow. His lips twitched into an excited smile as you shuffled over him, your knees on either side of his torso. His shaky hands came to grip the back of your thighs, his pointer fingers digging into the plump flesh where your thigh curved into your ass.

You couldn’t believe how close the two of you were to actually fucking. You had a small growing sense of paranoia that your father or John’s mother may decide to walk upstairs, the carpeted floor cushioning their muted footsteps. That they’d throw the door open and see the clothes strewn across the floor, before landing on you sitting atop of John. You sweeped the thought away, deciding to enjoy this for as long as possible. You gripped the head board as you walked your knees to the sides of his neck, looking down at his excited face.

“You know what would be really hot?” You asked, squaring your cunt in front of his mouth. “If you took ‘em off with your teeth.” He leaned up with the obedience of a dog, pinching the elastic between his front teeth before sliding them down, his canines lightly scraping the tender flesh of your thigh. You shuddered as goosebumps wracked your body, the feeling of his nose traveling down your pubic bone making you want to cry out in ecstasy. Your thighs nearly sandwiched his neck, and as your panties pooled at your knees, it only required a slight tilt of your pelvis before you straddled his face fully, releasing your weight onto his mouth. His hands came to grip your ass, squeezing and pulling the globes of flesh in opposite directions.

His lips quickly latched onto your clit, sucking before he opened his mouth and flattened his tongue along your cunt; the feeling of cold metal making you yelp. Without waiting for the green light, you began grinding down onto his face. You bit your lip to avoid the risk of being found out, scrunching your face up at your best attempt to keep quiet. The bottom half of John’s face quickly became marinated in your enthusiasm, eating you out with the same eagerness as if he had just got a new car and was driving it for the first time.

He moaned into your pussy, his tongue laving between your lips and labia, circling your clit before sliding back down to your molting hole. He slid his wet muscle inside you, effectively tongue fucking you as you ground your clit into his nose. He gave your ass a playful spank, a sharp quick cut into the static haziness of your wanton acts which made you keenly aware of the fact either of your parents might’ve heard that. But you couldn’t find it in you to chastise him, he was far too engrossed in eating you out, and very excitedly.

John gripped your ass more forcefully now, manually shoving your cunt further onto his face as he continued to suck and lick. He was doing this with the full intention of making you cum. You bit the back of your hand, grinding so hard into his face you thought you might break the mattress. With a few more harsh sucks, you felt a flash of heat as you came all over John’s mouth and chin, barely able to suppress your cry of euphoria. He wrapped his mouth fully around your cunt, swallowing as much of your cum as he could before going back to sucking on your oversensitive clit. Your grinds slowed to a halt before you climbed off his head, seeing just how spent and drenched his face was.

You laughed in amusement. “My god.” You continued to giggle, feeling a sense of tenderness for him. He had a satisfied smile on his face as he laughed.

“How’d I do?” He lifted himself on his elbows as you moved off of him, leaning your back against the wall as you shed your panties off of your legs fully.

“Well you made me cum so I’d say pretty fucking good.” You giggled, patting him on the knee. Your cunt was a spent pool of pleasure, but the ache inside you continued to burn. You imagined he felt the same way, his cock somehow harder and in more need of touch.

“Take these off fully, already.” You pouted, moving to yank his underwear fully off his legs, throwing it into the pile of clothes next to his bed. You turned to face him. “How do you wanna fuck me?” You asked. He sat up suddenly and moved to the side, patting the pillow where he once laid.

“I wanna look at you while we do it.” Wordlessly, you followed his order and laid on your back, hugging your knees to your chest as he positioned himself above you. He took your ankles and settled them on his shoulders, giving the sides of your feet a kiss before gripping his cock and guiding it inside you. You nodded in encouragement, your mouth falling into a silent o as he slid in slowly to the hilt. He sucked in shaky breaths, trying his best to contain any sounds. He decided to lean forward and over to his night stand, pulling out a random CD before popping it into the player atop. At once, the sound of guitars and drums and smooth vocals filled the room, masking any sounds you made. He cranked the volume up, hastily beginning to thrust inside you.

It was the perfect cover up, one John’s mom wouldn’t question. It made sense, after all, for John to be sharing some of his music taste with you up in his bedroom, no matter how obnoxiously loud it might be. The two of you began in a chorus of moans and grunts, the wet sounds of skin on skin accompanying the playing of the band. John paused his movements momentarily to reach for an extra pillow aside your head before shoving it under your hips, helping him in elevating your pelvis. You let out a particularly loud squeal at the newly reached depth, letting loose a stream of obscenities about how good John was fucking you.

His hair began sticking to his forehead the same way it did in that one photograph, the sight of it making your cunt tighten around him. You dragged him down toward you by the arm, before sweeping his bangs to the side and landing a stripe of saliva on his forehead. The racy flavor made you shudder in delight, and you moved to wrap your arms around John’s neck to hold him in place. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, gripping the headboard as both of your bodies jerked from each movement. If the bed was squeaking, you wouldn’t have known; far too stimulated by the sounds of your bodies moving in tandem along with Chino Moreno’s singing.

John lifted his face to press his sweaty forehead to yours, an expression of pure ecstasy on his debauched features. The functioning awareness of his brain lagging behind his own body as it tried to register what had just happened, what was currently happening, and what was about to end. His eyes opened momentarily and you saw a sense of bewilderment for his own actions, before shutting slowly again in bliss. An involuntary and guttural noise left his mouth as he came inside you. The uncontrolled wince of his face combined with the spreading warmth in your abdomen tipped off your own orgasm, and you came harder than you had before. In the moment, you hadn’t registered that the way you screamed was akin to the primal screech one would release upon being fatally wounded.

As the next track on the album came to an end, the two of you remained in the same position catching your breaths. John seemed to snap back to his senses when he looked down to where you connected, a ribbon of cum dripping out of you. When he removed himself his horrors were only confirmed further.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I-I’ll pay for your plan b, I-” You sat up and waved your hand dismissively.

“On the pill, don't worry.” You reassured, which seemed to effectively calm his nerves. You sat up again, resting your back on the headboard.

“Wow.” He said, smiling at you widely.

“Wow, indeed.” You said.

“That was the best sex of my life.” He slapped your thigh before rubbing it, which you welcomed by placing your hand over his. “There’s more where that came from.” You winked once again and leaned forward to kiss him. The two of you shared a non-sexually charged kiss before separating.

“Alright.” You pat his knee, “Let’s get dressed now before my dad or your mom come up.”

The two of you got dressed simultaneously, slipping your dress on quickly before studying your hair and makeup in a nearby mirror. You picked up your panties and tossed them back towards John, who just barely caught them.

“Keep 'em, as a trophy.” You giggled as you watched him stuff them in his pocket. “Will do.”

The two of you made a haste trip to the bathroom to clean yourselves up and make sure you looked presentable before going back downstairs again. The two of you shared a tender moment where you dabbed away the sweat on each other's foreheads with crumpled up tissues. Upon your return downstairs, you found your respective parents sitting on the couch chatting, before they turned to face you two.

“How’d you two get along?” Asked Dutch. John’s mother looked on in enthusiasm, clapping her hands together. “I’m assuming well, John put on one of his favorite CDs to show you after all.” She cooed. The two of you looked at eachother knowingly with blithe laughter that suggested nothing out of the ordinary had happened at all.

“Yeah,” You began. “I think we’re gonna get along great.”

MX - Deftones

#red dead redemption 2 #john marston rdr2 #john marston smut #john marston x reader #john marston x reader smut

162 notes · View notes