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grossitsluca · 2 months ago

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green cliffs: lessons in mortality. chapter five

highlander!johnny x fem!reader. cw dubcon and period typical violence. read on ao3 here.

You assume that Johnny will get bored of you now that you are officially married.

In that slow ride back to the Keep, you imagine that it was all about the chase for him. Catching you as you fled, the snap of teeth at your heels. There is nothing for him to run after now, you were suitably caught, on your back with your soft belly up. The picture of defeat.

You were wrong. If anything, Johnny is hungrier than he was before. The first night that you are back, he barely lets you stumble into his bedroom before he is on you. Discards your dress like it’s a personal offence, saliva slicking your chin with how he kisses with his mouth open against yours.

He doesn’t even let you reach the bed, bucks into you on the floor until he spills into you with a whine that you echo. You protest at the ache in the muscles in your back from being on the stone floor.

He makes it up to you, lifts you onto the bed and seals his mouth over your cunt until you howl.

It’s relentless, you watch him constantly out of the corner of your eye, waiting for the moment that he loses interest, when he decides that you bore him.

It doesn’t come, you aren’t running but he’s still nipping at your heels. Pulling you back into him so he can grind his erection into your backside in the corridor. Tugging you into alcoves so that he can hitch your skirts up and wrap your legs around his waist.

You think he is trying to eat you alive. His hands are always just too tight, clenching around any give in your flesh. His tongue in your mouth, all the way to the back of your throat while he groans, vile and titillating.

It’s dizzying, leaves you on edge before he pushes you over it and you let him.

You seem to fascinate him, more so now than you did before. You wake up in the morning and find him studying the strangest parts of you. His chin on the curve of your belly, smoothing his thumb over where the skin of your breast disappears into the skin of your side. Other times it’s the slide of his hand up your throat, tilting your head back until his thumb frames the curve of your chin into your throat. A delicate hollow of flesh, the heel of his hand digging in as if to make it wider.

He frightens you, but you’ve also never experienced being under someone’s attention like this. You bask in his affection at times, flattered at his open adoration of you. Then you shy away later, when his attention is too much, a sun that burns you and leaves you red and raw. It doesn’t seem to matter either way, there isn’t far that you can get with Johnny following you there.

“I’m gettin’ a ring forged fer you, later,” Johnny announces, popping up in the doorway to the kitchen and spooking you. By the grin on his face, you suspect that was his intention.

“A ring?” you query, giving him an irritated look before you look away again, pulling more linen into your basket.

“We’ve been married fer a few weeks, but we have nothin’ to show fer it,” Johnny continues. He slides his arms around you, tugging you back into him. You are swallowed up in the breadth of him, thick forearms crossing over your stomach.

You hum in response, continuing to sort the dirty linens to wash. Most of them were the sheets from Johnny’s room, which is why you insisted on washing them yourself.

You hadn’t thought much of the physical show of your marriage. Johnny’s father had accepted Mrs Duncan’s nephew as a witness, and the two of you had shared a room since. You were referred to as Mrs Mactavish, something that you forgot to respond to half of the time. In your village there was the exchanging of rings, but that was usually if a family had a family ring that had been passed down, or could afford a strip of metal to mould into a ring. It wasn’t something that you had thought much about.

“Dae y’want a ring?” Johnny asks, suddenly quiet. His head next to yours as he watches your hands, temple to temple. You feel the inhale of his chest against your back and mimic it, subconsciously.

“I hadn’t thought about it, honestly,” you answer, hands hovering in the air, pulled to a stop. You were used to Johnny being brash, pulling you to where he wanted you to be. His sudden moments of contemplation always left you uncertain. He had never raised his hands to you, but looking down at the thick of the back of his hand reminded you of the violence that he enacted when he wanted to. “My mother had a ring, but my father buried her with it, so I barely remember it.”

Johnny smoothes his hand up your side, warm even though your stays and your shift. You turn your head and see a slight frown on his face, his eyes faraway, but he blinks, focuses on you. “Hello,” he murmurs, his arms squeezing you, making you wheeze slightly, which makes him smile. He turns you around, still not allowing for any room between the two of you. Picks your left hand up and frowns at your bare skin.

You stay silent, studying him in return. He shaved just after your wedding, after you complained too much about the burn on your thighs, but it was growing out again. The hair peeking out of the collar of his white shirt seems darker as well. You had pointed it out once, delirious after he had worn you out. “Makin’ a man oot of me, angel,” he had responded, grinning as he pulled you closer to him.

You tilt your hand into his, linking your fingers between his own. Your movement is clumsy, unpractised, but it knocks the frown off of his face anyway. “Hello,” he repeats, knocks his nose against yours, fingers squeezing yours.

“I need to wash these sheets,” you say, which he barely seems to notice. “I was going to go down to the stream.” You know that he will take it as an invitation, in the way that he does with all of the closed statements that you say.

“I’ll come wae y’,” he answers, kissing a wet trail down to your neck, sucks a little at your pulse point which has you jumping. He laughs, a buzz in the column of your neck. Everything you do amuses him, like you are a puppy that is trying to bark at him but can only yip.

“I need to go now,” you say, unlacing your hands but not getting far before he catches your wrists and wrestles them to the table behind you.

“I’ll be quick,” he answers again, licking at your collarbone before he drops to his knees and hikes your skirts up.

“Johnny,” you hiss, kicking him in the shoulder and only get that same laugh pressed into the curve of your knee. “You can’t do this in the kitchen.” You try to wriggle away, but he has you pinned to the table, hands shoved up to catch your hips and press you back.

“Sure ah can,” he responds, his words muffled beneath your skirts. You try to shove him off and you get a bite on your thigh that makes you squeak. “Keep still and let me get my fill.”

You shudder, staring anxiously at the door as Johnny pushes aside your shift and coos at the sight between your legs. “Johnny -”

“She’s achin’ fer me, angel, just look at this,” Johnny murmurs, voice muffled beneath your skirts. You see the lump shift, almost frown at how silly this must look before your knees buckle as he presses his mouth against you.

His hands are there, tight on the back of your thighs, hoists you up so he can pull himself in deeper. It’s vile, his mouth wide open against you. Saliva slicks until it drips, but he doesn't seem to care.

He kisses your cunt like it's a mouth, laves his tongue up until he sucks. It’s not the first time that he’s done this, but usually you can see him while he does. Make sense of what he’s doing through sight if not touch. You feel jumpy, legs kicking like a startled rabbit. His teeth make you gasp before they are gone, replaced by the loving slide of his tongue.

“Johnny, I can’t,” you whimper, arms shaking as you cling to the counter that you are leaning against. He pulls one of your legs over his shoulders and you feel split. A tear that Johnny wrenches his fingers into, always so greedy when it comes to you.

He doesn’t seem to hear you, or more likely chooses not to hear. He hums, sucks a kiss against the top of your sex that has you trembling. He leaves one hand on the back of your standing leg, but uses the other to slide a finger inside of you. You hear the groan he lets out as your flesh parts for him, feel ashamed as you also hear the wet noise that comes from you even through the fabric.

It’s messy, his tongue pressing around the split of your cunt around his fingers, like he’s trying to cram his mouth in there as well. You turn your head to the door, praying that no one comes in, or worse, that someone can hear the way that you're whining - worse than Johnny is.

Sickness blooms in your stomach until it takes, a split that becomes a cavern. One of your hand drops from the counter to the lump that you think is Johnny’s hand. You hold him there as you cry out, hips bucking out. You sob as he keeps going, fingers relentless even as your flesh wrings out everything that you have to give.

You collapse back, chest heaving. Johnny doesn’t move, and you think he would keep going if you didn’t thump the back of your foot on his back to get him to stop.

He pulls your skirts out of the way, and stands up, grinning at you. His stubble is wet and you would flush with embarrassment about how unabashed he is about it. He grins, hunches over you as he takes in your sweaty face.

“Go wash your mouth out,” you mutter, cringing as he pushes his nose into your cheek and you feel his skin stick to yours for a moment.

He snorts, his hand cupping your chin as he drags you up to meet his mouth. It’s a perverted rush that slinks up your spine as he kisses you the same way that he kissed you between your legs.

He seems content enough, with his tongue in your mouth. Forced relaxation upon you, muscles un-knotted enough to let him smooth his hands up and down your spine.

You jolt, caught again, as grinds his cock against your hip. Your mouths separate with a wet noise as you rear back. He grins down at you, unrelenting. “Cannae blame a man for this, not with those pretty noises that y’were just singing fer me, angel.”

“Johnny, I should really clean these sheets,” you start, trying to lean back.

You’ve misstepped, you know it in the way he suddenly frowns. Not in the usual way he might, before he purses your mouth with his hand and coos at how sweet you look. Irritation is a dark mask that cracks across his face, leaving him scowling.

“Oh, ah see,” he says, towering over you. “Yer allowed to use yer husband as y’wish, but God forbid he ask anythin’ in return fae his wife.”

“I never asked you to -”

“But you were happy enough tae take it, weren’t y’?” he snaps. The blunt edge of his teeth hides the pink of his tongue. Hard to imagine that the same mouth was pressed against the tender spot between your legs moments ago.

He’s working himself up, angry like a bull. You picture standing your ground, fantasize about spitting in his face.

You wouldn’t. You don’t. His hand is guiding on your shoulder and you kneel in front of an angry god.

You get your ring later, sat atop a wide stretch of fabric of the same red that his plaid is made with. An arasid, in your husband’s colours.

The ring is barely on your finger before Johnny pins you down and huffs like a beast, his eyes on your hand when he comes inside you.

Johnny doesn’t let you hide within yourself for long. There is a retreat in a recess of your mind, where you can let him pull you around as he wants, a haggard doll that he is a little too rough with most of the time. And you rest, separated from it all, aware enough to hum and gasp as he wants you to, but apart, dreaming of open fields and a bed you wake up alone in.

You thought that you had been getting away with it, but Johnny is intent, a bloodhound for every bit of you.

“I love you,” he tells you, his hands cupping your face, thumbs pressed into your temples. He’d been sitting at his desk when you had approached him, asking him if he wanted to come down for dinner. Now, his fingers cradle your skull, wide enough that you think he could separate your head from the rest of your body if he wanted to.

You blink back at him, still. Prey animals know when they are caught, and you’ve been hanging from this wolf’s mouth for a while now to know when his teeth are especially sharp.

“You love me?” he asks, half a question, half a demand. Fingers press into the skin of your scalp, thin like he wants to press into your mind and form the words for you.

“I-” you start, helpless. He inhales as you speak, as if to taste the words as they sit in the air between you. You can’t continue, mouth working silently. You’ve only known this man a month, you think. You will spend the rest of your life with him, if he doesn’t get tired of you. These are already impossible to reconcile before you start to wonder how you feel about it.

He steps closer, presses his forehead against yours. He’s usually unintentionally rough, fingers bruising in his haste to pull you where he wants you to be. Instead he’s slower, his hands soften as they frame your head. Nose rubs against yours, gentle.

“Tell me,” he murmurs, eyes hot on the curve of your mouth. One hand slides down to cup your jaw, as if to aid the forming of the words he wants to hear. “Tell me, please.”

Something trembles inside of you, an ancient ache that you think started up the moment that you saw him. You can’t do it. It is one thing to let him touch you, burn his hands on you until you give in. It is entirely another to lie and let him infect everything about you, even the parts of you that he can’t parse his hands over.

His hand tightens on your jaw, the hinge giving at his grip. You remember those Englishman, his own man that he beat into the ground. All for you, back when he didn’t know you, then when he knew you and you didn’t want him anyway. You don’t love him, you know this. Not the way that you’ve come to know love, steadfast and consistent. Some viscous expression is creeping across his face, the longer that you stare up at him, quiet.

You don’t love him, but he frightens you sometimes, even when he doesn’t mean it. And sometimes when he does, a satisfied glean in his eye after he gets what he wants. A lie, just for you, to cradle like a newborn. “I love you,” you murmur, give it life.

The snarl on his breath gives way to a sigh, and he presses even closer. “I love you,” he says, louder than you did. He says it, over and over again. Your lie is suffocated in the air, strangled in his confession.

You suspect that he knows it’s not true. The same way that his brow smoothes over when he reaches for you and you hesitate for a moment. Flesh stiff and unyielding in his palm as he passes over it. You tell him what he wants to hear and he goes soft, but his eyes look like ice, a tension around them that doesn’t fade even as he smiles at you.

He exhales like relief against your mouth, eyes boring into yours.

You thought that being unchewable would make you discardable. Unwanted, half-digested and ruined. Instead it seems to make Johnny more intent on you, teeth sharp as he digs into you further.

“Say it again,” he demands, sitting back in his chair, his hands wide on your hips. He presses his face into your dress. You don’t understand it, he seems to know that you’re lying, but he wants to hear it anyway.

Either way, it’s easier to admit it to the open air in front of you. Unbidden, your hands cup the back of his neck, feel the way he shudders, fingers flexing. “I love you,” you murmur, voice brittle.

“Ah know,” he responds, tugging you closer until you’re half in his lap. Unbalanced, caught with his desk digging into your back, the rest of your weight on the edge of his knees. Your hands cling to his shoulders, nails biting which makes him grin. “C’mere, angel, ah love you, ah do.”

More intimate to let him vow this to you than it was to stand in that church and have him bind the two of you together.

You let him kiss you and grunt at the graze of his teeth.

He bounces you on his lap, his fingers in your mouth. Right to the back of the throat, as if to touch the words before they even form yet. Takes that from you as well.

The journey back home isn’t long. Memory has elongated it into an endless beast, as if it were multiple nights and days. Endless and snapping like something wild.

You’d let the dust settle for just over a month before you approached Johnny with your desire to go home. It sat like an ulcer on your tongue, polluting the air around you. The stinking pull to leave. Johnny always seemed to know, always quick to skip past it, drag your mouth up to his, or hike your skirts up. Anything to push it back until it sat like a lump in your throat.

Finally you’d found the courage to suggest taking the trip back to your village to meet your brother, half-expecting Johnny to decline it outright. After all, your last attempt to go home had involved leaving Johnny behind.

Johnny surprised you, agreeing to go but had snapped his hips in yours sharply afterwards, as if to leave you a reminder of where you belong now.

It ends up only taking a single night that you spend in a village rather than the woods this time. “Nothin’ but the best for my bride,” Johnny grins, teeth pressed to the column of your neck. It is on your mind to point out that when you were unmarried and vulnerable, he’d slept with you on the forest floor and spent himself on the back of your skirts. The idea that he will march you back to the Keep if you anger him is what stills you.

The next morning and you are on the edge of your village, finally recognising some of the hills and the bends of the path.

You murmur to Johnny, telling him stories of the daffodils that you would pick in spring, the cow that you only had for a few years, the dogs that Ian had to keep in check because you were always a little too soft.

It’s likely the most that you have ever said to Johnny, but you feel the need to justify yourself, to justify why you want to be here. Johnny seems largely indifferent, as if you could be going to any village, and you want to start leaving the groundwork for future visits here. You aren’t silly enough to think you could come back permanently, but if it went well enough, you imagined a future where you could come back whenever you could.

You leave Cerberus tied to a tree and walk with Johnny when you reach the edge of your village. The way that you’ve come, by path rather than wildly through the woods, your home is on the opposite side, so you have to pass through the rest of your village before you can reach it.

Everything is as it was the same few houses are still standing in the way that they did before you left. Everything has stayed, even after you have left and came back changed.

There is a post that is used for whipping, standing in what made the rough centre of life here. You remember the man who was tied there for stealing money from some passing Englishmen, how they had painted his back red until he collapsed and they finally untied his hands from the stand.

This treatment was not granted to the man that was tied to the post. He’s been left to rot in the sun for days, weeks likely. The birds have been at him, picked away, most of his flesh gone. Rotted, down to the bone.

You’d know your brother in death, though. The same shock of hair as your own, dangling above what’s left of him.

You stare at him, unable to comprehend what you are seeing. You wait for him to stir, to look up at you and witness your return.

The wind blows and his hair stirs before it stills again.

Johnny murmurs your name, tries to reach out and catch you when you step forward. You dodge his hands, try to dart forward but he catches you around the waist.

You howl, mindlessly trying to force yourself forward again. A woman stops at the sight of you, and you barely recognise her. Animal brain at the forefront, any cognition capable of calm conversation has been buried.

She gives you a sad look, exchanges some words with Johnny that he barely responds to. His hands are full, as you try to scramble forward again. You need the truth beneath your hands. Your sight has failed you, you will only accept that your brother is dead if you can feel his dead flesh beneath your palms.

Johnny tugs you forward, but past the post and up towards your childhood home. You reach a futile hand out, only brush the post. Soaked in blood but dried so it doesn’t even stain, but you imagine it can.

Johnny lets you go when you step foot on your property, as you stop struggling to get back to Ian and instead throw yourself into your cottage.

The door is swung open and you force yourself inside, stopping in the kitchen. You look at everything in here, the cups washed and left off to the side, ready to be used again.

Everything is tainted, all of it is ruined. You had expected to come back and find your brother in here, to let him scold you for running off, feel the moments before those Englishmen dragged you outside and changed you.

You’ve turned back time, but no one is waiting for you here. The house that you grew up in is empty, and you are an intruder in it.

You sit on the chair by the kitchen table and stare down at the floor. There’s blood here, spilled from Johnny’s wound on his calf. You stare at it until your vision blurs and you cry until you feel wrung out.

You sob into the table, barely able to get a breath in. Johnny must come in at some point, because suddenly there are hands smoothing down your arms, trying to tug your hands away from your face. You howl, nails digging into your face. Johnny suddenly yanks your hands down, restrains them by your legs with one hand before he pulls you out of your chair and into his lap.

You let him comfort you, let him tuck your face into his neck and cry there until his shirt is wet with tears. He lets you sit like that for what feels like hours, until you manage to speak, wrung-out and ruined.

“I killed him, it’s my fault,” you croak, not lifting your head from where Johnny cradles you. You don’t deserve any comfort, but you soak it up anyway. Johnny has warped you, made you something greedy.

He shushes you, rocking you back and forth. “That would’ve been you up there, if ye’d stayed,” he tells you. Voice hardening at the end, fingers digging in just a little too much. Angry, at even the idea of it. “Ah couldnae let that happen. No’ tae you.”

A life traded, in a bargain that you didn’t want to make. Here is the knife, here is Johnny’s hand on yours, guiding it down until it sinks into flesh. Who is the one holding the knife?

“My fault,” you murmur, suddenly cognisant. Forehead pressed to Johnny’s pulse point. You are finally telling the truth, but it is stripped of meaning now. Weeks too late, your words no longer have any weight to them. Coming back here is stripped of meaning, a fruitless endeavour that has only left you sick.

Johnny pets his hand over the back of your head, down to the nape of your neck. Hand wide there, swallows up the vulnerable parts of you.

You expect Johnny to start shifting impatiently, maybe stand you up and announce that you have to leave. He doesn’t. He is still beneath you, kneels and holds you to his front. His knees must be sore in this position, you can feel the tension of his thighs beneath yours, but he stays silent. Just pets the back of your skull in his palm, until you feel trance-like, lulled into complacency.

You stir finally and stand up. Johnny follows behind you, a warm wall at your back.

You feel scraped out and empty. Look around the kitchen, unable to reconcile that this was once yours, that you once sat here and ate breakfast. Step outside into the yard, all of the animals gone, likely taken by the English.

Everything is empty and unlivable, but you shouldn’t be surprised. You were the one to leave dead men in the yard, and let their blood pollute everything.

You turn to your right and look at the pitchfork left in the hay. You know it was you that left it there now. Careless, and unthinking.

You walk over, and pull it out. It’s rusted, left out here. This is why Ian was always scolding you to put it back in the shed. The handle is uncomfortable and flaking in your palm but you endure. Walk the few steps it takes to put it back where it belongs, hanging in the bare shed. The rest of the tools that once hung here are gone. Gutted, as well.

You fix it where it used to hang. Futile and yet all you have left to give.

Johnny watches you, face still, except for the slight dip of a frown across the cleft of his brow.

There’s nothing left for you here, now. You leave the rusted pitchfork and walk back over to Johnny. Let him take your hand and smooth his thumb over your ring.

Time folds and presses into each other. This is the same moment as when he first saved you from those Englishmen, everything in between is squished and flattened until it is now. A month is nothing, it was all already decided. Futile to fight the tide that pulls you into his side and presses his face into the crown of your head.

You’ll let Johnny guide you back to Cerberus and you’ll go back to the Keep. You’ll most likely fall pregnant soon, and then you’ll have that child and then the next one after that. Time is nothing, this might have already happened, you can feel it unfolding in front of you now.

Johnny steps back and you echo his movements exactly. You step into the future and force it into the present, shudder with the ache of it.

Both of your feet kick up red dirt. Maybe in the coming seasons it will grow green again, but you won’t be there to witness it.

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grossitsluca · 4 months ago

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Three’s A Crowd

Ghoap x Neighbor! Reader

Pt. 1, Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4, Pt. 5 (final part!)

There is explicit smut in this chapter! 18+ content! I can’t emphasize the derange media ahead enough!

Tags: Smut, vaginal fingering, anal fingering, sex toys, butt plug, lingerie, double penetration, anal sex, vaginal sex, oral sex, creampie, dirty talk, pet names, multiple orgasms, overstimulation

Summary: When you moved into your new apartment complex you thought your biggest concern would be something practical such as mold in the shower or weak water pressure. Maybe even the smell of lingering cigarette smoke or marijuana from previous tenants.

You never expected it to be your neighbors who seemed to have a sex drive that rivaled any succubus or horned college teenager.

You weren’t disappointed.

It’s not like you were expecting John and Simon to knock on your front door after the fact and carry you to your bedroom Cinderella-style. Fuck you into oblivion and become the new neighborhood disturbance.

But you also didn’t expect them to pretend as if nothing happened.

You saw them in the hallway and lobby, outside your apartment doors, but all they did was greet you. John gave you a bright smile and Simon a curt nod. Which wasn’t weird considering you were neighbors, but it was strange for them.

They had tormented you for weeks, took every opportunity they could to tease you, and make sexual comments to you at every turn.

And now they just stopped.

Stopped teasing you.

Stopped having loud sex across the wall.

You should’ve been grateful; you weren’t waken up to their loud moans or put in awkward situations that left your cheeks warm and your heart racing. Except you weren’t; they heard you moaning and knew that you were sexually interested in their invites after that night.

However, they did nothing, left you with dainty lingerie, a butt plug, and a burning reminder of the embarrassing way you had willingly let them hear your moans.

It was like they were waiting for you to make the first move, waiting for you to actually accept their invitation before it turned into something you regretted. As if now that you actually reciprocated it became more than flirtatious teasing. Stared at your ceiling for days, laid awake at night for reasons other than their loud moaning.

So begrudgingly, you took matters into your own hands. You don’t exactly know why you were waiting outside their apartment door.

Maybe it was the two glasses of wine you chugged coursing through your veins. Maybe it was because you hated not having their attention anymore. Curious to find out if all their insufferable noises were warranted.

But there you were: a long silk robe covering the matching set you wore under. Stupid skull butt plug pressed to your rim.

When Simon opened the door, you second-guessed every choice you’ve ever made. Swallowing thickly as he traced his eyes over your robe. Took all your courage to push past him, slip under his arm, and barge into their apartment. He closed the door behind you, moving to stand in front of you so you were closest to the door.

You don’t know if it was worse that he didn’t say any words, didn’t even call for John. Just stood there and peered down at you, eyes sharp as they ever were. It was silent, each gulp of saliva practically shattering off the walls, clenching and unclenching your fists nervously. Rocked side to side on your feet as the room became impossibly suffocating.

“Think you have somethin’ to show me.”

His voice was deep and controlled. Knew what was under the robe without having to ask, knew why you were standing in their apartment. Almost made you want to run away because he was too cocky for his own good. Like he had just been waiting patiently for your arrival as if he knew you would succumb to him eventually.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you untied the robe, letting it fall to the floor slowly, pooling at your feet. Left you standing in the pink babydoll he bought you, thong and thigh highs hardly covering any of your skin. You barely had the strength to find his gaze, watched him outline your figure hungrily, and take his time to examine every part of your body like he was mesmerized.

“Turn around.”

You hesitated slightly; it wouldn’t be too late to stop. You could leave now; neither of you would mention it again. Forget it ever happened because at least you calmed your nerves long enough to try, but the look in his eyes had you spinning in an instant.

Swallowing all your pride as you obeyed, facing the door as his figure approached. Could feel the ghost of his palms on your hips, his mouth above your ear. Goosebumps bursted along your shoulders where you could feel his breath.

“Show me.” Two taps on your left ass cheek.

You fluttered your eyes shut, leaning forward to bend your ass farther out. Spread yourself open with a shaking hand and presented the stupid butt plug to him in all its glory. Hummed lowly, approvingly, at the sight. Heard him take a step backwards to get a better view, enraptured by the sight.

It was hot. Unbearably hot.

Felt as if your skin was melting off, pooling on the floor with your robe and dignity. Sweat collecting on your skin almost causing your grip to slip. Heartbeat drowned out any other noise in your ears, but you could still hear everything. Could still hear his breaths, each creak of the floorboard, the TV playing in the other room.

You jolted forward in shock when his thumb pressed against the butt plug, pushing it forward slightly. Had you yelping out in surprise as he returned his head to your neck.

“Didn’t think you’d actually accept,” He drawled, “Should we show Johnny, huh?”

You nodded quickly. Despite how humiliating it would be to have two pairs of eyes on you, at least John was tolerable as a person. Wasn’t hidden behind a mask as you stood bare and open for them.

“Eager to answer,” He teased, fingers still pressed to the butt plug, had you shifting anxiously, “Seems you like being shown off.”

You opened your mouth to retaliate, irritation strumming your temples, but he spoke before you could, calling John from the other room. Though, it’s not like he would’ve listened to anything you had to say in the first place.

“Johnny, think our birdie came to give us a present.”

You could hear the sounds of his feet approaching, anxiety building in your chest with each new step. Let your hands fall from your ass, didn’t want him to see you with a butt plug buried in your ass as a first greeting.

“What are ya— steamin’ Jesus.”

You rested your forehead against the door, squeezing your eyes tightly together in embarrassment.

“Go on.” Simon demanded, “Let him see.”

Your hands returned, presenting the plug once again with a huff of annoyance. Filling your lungs with shallow breaths as you felt incredibly bare under their stare. Mortified as your roles were reversed, half-naked in front of them when they were fully dressed— for the first time ever.

“Bloody fuckin’ hell,” John groaned, kneeling between your legs, incredibly close to your core.

You looked down at his face, his eyes focused, fixed on your hole. Wonder filled his irises as he drank it all in like you were heaven reincarnated. Couldn’t pry his eyes away if you tried. His reverence, the fact that he was so close, had you dropping your grip, burying your face in your arms, and pressing them against the door. Flustered from his proximity, hadn’t expected him to get on his knees.

A movement that had Simon tutting in disapproval. “Lass.”

“Nae, It’s alright, Si. Don’t worry lass, yeah?” John said, reassuring you softly, “Don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t want.”

His hand cupped your right ass cheek, rough palms scratching your skin deliciously, “I can do it for you, yeah? Wanna see how pretty you are.”

Cup turned into a grip, squishing the swell of your ass in his grasp, and spread them apart. Fingers hovered over the butt plug, fear swelling in your throat as you anticipated his next move, couldn’t see what he was fucking doing.

Where Simon pushed, John pulled; slid the metal plug out just enough for your rim to catch on the bulb. Made you whine at the sensation, pushed to your tippy toes in shock.

“Sensitive little thing ain’t she?” John said, but he wasn’t saying it to you. He spoke the words to Simon, openly talking about you like you weren’t standing there like he wasn’t tugging on the plug in your ass.

Pulled on the metal until the bulb slid out with a wet pop, keeping the slender tip snug inside. You cried out, digging your fingers into the door, knuckles gone white. You had used the plug several more times since the first night, had gotten used to the feeling, but the fact that it was John, his larger fingers teasing your rim had your nerves alive. Burning every fiber in your body.

Pushed it back in to the hilt, had your already shaking legs almost buckling under you. Repeated the movements until your walls were quivering around the metal. Cherishing the sight of your greedy hole sucking it back in with each thrust, enjoyed toying with you for his own pleasure. Could hear his breath speed up the longer he played with your walls, cascading warm air over your hole.

John turned you around swiftly; for the first time the entire night, you two made eye contact, a warm smile on his lips as if he wasn’t just tormenting you. “Hi there.”

You chuckled softly, “Hi, John.”

He hummed, placing his hand out for you to take, slender fingers swallowed whole by his thick palms, “Let's get ya in the bedroom, yeah?”

You nodded and allowed him to guide you down the hallway, Simon’s figure looming behind you as he followed.

“You look bonnie,” John complimented, eyes sweet as ever, “Where’d ya get somethin’ like that?”

They sat you down on the bed, John standing in front of you, Simon against the wall, watching. Like they had done this before, knew where they belonged, falling into place like chess pieces.

You were sure they had done this before, but you weren’t sure if you were grateful or remorseful about that fact. They weren’t awkward, their confidence eased your nerves. If they were jittery, just as scared as you were, you probably wouldn’t be sitting on their bed, lace adorning your skin so willingly. Though you couldn’t help but feel a little tinge of jealousy knowing you weren’t the first woman they shared.

“Simon bought it for me.”

“Did he?” John chuckled, “Surprise tae me.”

He positioned himself between your thighs, resting his hands on your hips.

“Feel bad, would’ve shaved for you had I known.”

You snickered, thanking the gods above that John was here, so seamlessly confident. Playful demeanor put your racing heart at ease, diminishing the intensity of Simon’s presence.

“It’s okay,” You reassured, “I like your beard.”

“Do ya?”

“Uh huh,” You reached up, scratching under his chin, “Tickles.”

You gripped his chin, pinching the bone between your thumb and index finger, and pulled him closer. Hovered your lips over his, faint breaths flowing over your cheeks. You flickered your eyes to Simon’s dark figure, the whites of his eyes striking through yours. Possessive. Protective, but not over you. Of John, warning you.

Your focus dipped back to John, wetting your lips before leaning forward. Slotting them against his in a tease of a kiss. It was subtle, soft, testing the waters wearily as you slid your mouths together. Sweeter than you expected for a man of his stature. Contrasted the way you were just standing on their doorstep, fucking you with the butt plug.

The both of you separated, staring at each other for a mere second before he surged forward. Large palms cupping your jaw, pressed his lips against yours with the urgency you had imagined him to. Threw the sweet kiss away, forgotten and dull.

Devoured you whole.

Pushed you to your back before crawling over your frame, lips conjoined the entire time. Elbows on either side of your head, beard scratching against your chin. Sure it would leave a mark.

Hoped it would.

A reminder of the way he was kissing you like he intended to make your breaths his own. Keep you lightheaded enough that you would have no choice but to seek his lips, melt under his touch.

When he pulled away you almost whimpered, head embarrassingly following his lips. He chuckled, stopping your movements with a stiff hand on your shoulder.

“Be patient, love.”

Lips found your jaw, wandering hands scrunched the baby doll up, slipping under the material. His hands were cold on your warm flesh, had you taking a sharp breath between your teeth. Clinging to his shoulder as he sucked the flesh of your neck into his lips. Littered ghost of bites against your skin, softer than the marks that decorated Simon.

Determined hands explored your body, pinched and squeezed any fat he could get his grasp on. Greedy and hungry, like there wasn’t a part of you he wanted to leave untouched. Sliding lower, hooking the seams of your dress under your breasts. Pert buds revealed, hardening in the cold air. Capturing a nipple in his lips, suctioning around it harshly, made you arch into his mouth, moaning loudly into the quiet room.

The bed above you dipped, creaking as Simon crawled onto it. Banding his hands under your arms before hoisting you against his chest, leaned back against the bed frame. Clothes since stripped, cloth fabric of his boxers the only barrier between you and his hard cock. Practically had your eyes widening as it rubbed against your back, thick and long. Baffled by the size of him, wondering how you were going to fit any of him inside you.

John whined as your breast slipped from his mouth; Simon adjusted you so you rested between his thighs, palms on either side of your knees. The other man mirrors Simon’s actions, peeling the unnecessary layers of clothing off. Felt a bit of sadness that neither of them gave you adequate time to truly admire their frames. Had spent several occasions avoiding slipping your eyes lower, gawking at their brawn, and the one time it was appropriate, you couldn’t.

Simon separated your legs, left your barely covered cunt on display to John at the opposite end of the bed. Though as if this was his cue from Simon, he crawled across the bed like he was approaching his prey. Had your mouth drying nervously, squirming in Simon’s grasp in suspense. John rested flat between your thighs, running his hands over the lace of your stockings.

Simon’s bare lips pressed to your ear, balaclava shoved up so he could taste you, “Knew you’d look pretty in this.”

You whimpered at his words, laying your head on his shoulder. Low drone so close to your ear that it had your core tightening uncomfortably, could feel every vibration straight through your toes.

“Go on, Johnny. Give our birdie a reward for being so good for us,” His hand cupped your breasts, “Came over all pretty and dolled up for us.”

John hummed in agreement, pressing his lips to the insides of your thighs. Fluttering your eyes shut as he edged closer to your warmth. Compliments and praise from Simon, who was normally ordering you around, combined with John leaving a trail of wet kisses in his wake, searing your sensitive flesh in bites and nibbles had your mind puddling.

It’s not like your breasts were that small, but Simon’s hands engulfed them whole, making them look tiny as he kneaded them between thick fingers. Not like you were a fucking virgin either, but John’s soft touches made you twitch. Had your pussy weeping like it had been touch starved and desperate for years.

Your legs snapped shut when John rubbed his thumb over your clothed cunt without warning, both of them clicking their tongues in their mouth disapprovingly. Had you whimpering at their disappointment, but it was overwhelming, suffocating, wrapped between them. Couldn’t catch a break when both of their hands were on your body, lips branding your skin in their saliva and markings. Trapped; nowhere for you to run.

When one stopped their ministrations, the other started, didn’t leave a second with you untouched. The sensations tenfold shared between a pair.

John forced your legs open with a sudden strength that left you speechless, digging his grip into your flesh so harshly it was going to bruise. Wanted it to bruise, so when this was all over, and you were alone in your room, you could press them, remember the way they peeled you apart layer by layer.

“Can’t tear these now, can we?” He remarked, a wolffish smirk on his lips.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just buy her a new set,” Simon responded, hated the way it made you want John to rip them. Split the fabric in two so you would have an excuse to find yourself between them again.

Gasped when he did.

Tore the lace right off your body, and threw it carelessly across the room. Shredded and insignificant on the floor just like your previous pair that got you in this situation in the first place. Couldn’t help but mourn the loss of another thong, even through what it promised.

Simon hooked your feet either side of his, legs bent in half as he forced you to display your bare pussy to John. You shrieked, hands flying down to cover yourself, but they didn’t allow you to hide for long. Simon pulled them away, tangling his fingers in yours. A motion that seemed too intimate for strangers, his larger hand enveloping yours.

“None of that.” Simon cooed, “Johnny’s a good boy; he’ll treat you well.”

You didn’t even have time to register his words, John’s thumb brushing a breath of stimulation to your clit. Buried your face in Simon’s neck, the arch slightly uncomfortable, but John made you forget about anything else. Had you breathing a hot moan against Simon’s skin as he stamped more pressure against the bead.

God, it was humiliating.

Spread between the two, both of them intently watching you, listening to you. Drank every reaction you gave them eagerly as you writhed under John’s fingers. Made your body ten times hotter, burning excruciatingly.

It was barely any stimulation, repeated rubs against your clit, but the situation alone had you particularly sensitive. Two pairs of eyes, two sets of hands, two mouths all for you. Dedicated to your pleasure made you more hypersensitive to every touch against your body.

You were pathetically close to finishing, clenching your fingers tightly around Simon’s as your core constricted. You didn’t want to finish, didn’t want them to tease you for orgasming so quickly— especially Simon’s cocky ass.

Until John slid lower, lower, lower, dipping his index finger into your pussy. Your breaths stuttered in your lungs, hiccuping over the air as you cried out. You knew they were bigger than you, but the width of his finger was still shocking. Even through all the slick you knew drenched your entrance, his finger faced resistance.

Your moans apparently weren’t good enough for them because John slid a second finger in after several thrusts. Simon wringing a hand free from your grip and pressed three fingers to your clit. That had you thrashing in their arms, John’s fingers fucking in and out of your walls. Stretched thin around his thick digits, curled against every ridge of your spongy flesh. Simon’s fingers swiped swiftly against your swollen clit, managing to match Johnny’s pace.

“Come on, doll,” Simon whispered, “Quit holdin’ it in. Want you to cum for us.”

You nodded your head frantically in his neck, brows furrowed as you clenched down around John’s fingers— humility be damned.

You didn’t care if they teased you, if it only made them that much more smug. Not when it felt so mind-numbingly good. Succumbed to the pleasure, washing away any of your concerns.

Snapping your hips down to bury John’s fingers deep within your walls before arching into Simon’s touch. Moaning broken chimes of their names as you came undone. Spasmed your walls around their fingers as they fucked you through it, pussy squelching wetly with each stroke, each drag of their fingers in your puffy walls. Both of their hands soaked in your cum.

They didn’t even give you time to be embarrassed; Simon cupped your jaw and tilted your head to pull your lips against his. Kissing you harsher than John did, whereas John’s was sweet and passionate. Simon’s was primal, aggressive. Bruising his lips against yours, didn’t give you room to breathe after an intense orgasm. Deliriously trying your best to reciprocate Simon’s movements.

John’s tongue replaced their fingers, lapping between your swollen folds eagerly. Made you cry out in shock, Simon taking the opportunity to lick into your mouth, swiping his tongue in your mouth possessively. Made you his as John’s tongue broke through your walls. Licked up all your cum, buried his nose against your pussy, and swallowed it all down as his. Stained his throat, tongue, and lips in your taste.

You were lightheaded, mind buzzing and numb, barely managed to move your lips against Simon’s. Both of their tongues pleasuring you at once, mewling into Simon’s mouth with each swipe of John’s tongue.

Simon slipped his fingers in your mouth, fingers that were drenched in your cum.

“Suck.”

So you did.

Eyes bleary as you tried your best to focus on his. Slurped your cum off his fingers and licked his digits clean. His eyes followed every movement, every lick, pupils dilating as he pushed them flat against your tongue. Whimpers vibrating his fingers as John suctioned his lips around your clit and sucked. Hard.

You were beginning to understand why you heard John crying through the wall so often. The tears were beading in your eyes before you realized, streaking down your cheeks as Simon moved his grip around your neck. John’s stimulation didn’t halt for a second, lapping at your pussy like it was fucking heaven on earth. Moaning happily between your thighs as he rutted his hips against the bed.

“Drove us crazy for months, you know that?”Simon spat out through clenched teeth, grip tightening around your neck, “Made me lose my mind when I saw you in my shirt. Wanted to fuck you against the door right then and there.”

You shook your head in his palms helplessly, couldn’t even respond if you wanted.

“Had to keep fuckin’ Johnny here because we couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you across the wall.” His voice was hoarse like he was fucking angry at you, “But you kept denyin’ our invitations.”

You mewled weakly, “W-Was scared.”

He chuckled, but it wasn’t anywhere near friendly. It was dark, had nerves spiking at your chest, but you didn’t even hear his response. Vision going white, arching painfully between the two of them, grinding against John’s face as you came on his tongue.

Screamed so loudly you didn’t recognize it as your own voice. Walls convulsed uncontrollably, legs shaking from the intensity. Hadn’t even known you were on the brink of a second orgasm. Never had a lover make you finish so quickly back to back.

They were rubbing their palms over your body, petting you tenderly as they repeated praises to you. Eyes heavy and half-lidded as they graciously let you catch your breath this time. Slowly drifting back down to reality, felt as if your last orgasm was ripped straight from your core. Legs still shaking. Hips rutting sporadically through the comedown.

John’s lips glimmered in your cum, smeared down his chin as he sat back up. Simon switched his grip from your throat to John’s, pulling him harshly to his lips. Watched as Simon licked into John’s mouth ravenously, flicked his tongue over his lips and down his chin. Cleaned all your cum from his face. Had your core fluttering, mind blanking as you watched them swap your cum, like neither of them could get enough.

Your fingers tugged on John’s shirt, whining quietly at the sight, wanted them to kiss you too.

John pulled away as much as Simon’s tight grip on his chin would allow, smirking knowingly at you caught between their chest, “Gettin’ jealous, Bonnie?”

You shook your head weakly, not convincing anyone in the room as you tugged at John’s shoulder this time.

“Needy little thing.”

Simon’s grip loosened on John, allowing him to lean in to capture your lips. Could taste your expense on his tongue, moaning tiredly and softly into his mouth. Though Simon seemed just as desperate to kiss you, pulled you away from John to smash his mouth against yours.

Spent god knows how long like that, both of them fighting over your lips, pressing into Simon’s smaller mouth as he pinched and bit at yours harshly just to be pulled into John’s plump lips, sucking and licking at your swollen lips to ease Simon’s torment.

Pushing them together every time you became too lightheaded, every time your mind began to whirl, dizzy, and drunk off their kisses, off your previous orgasms. Watched them make out with each other as you regulated your breath.

“Jesus, yer fuckin’ perfect,” John groaned as you pushed them apart again, swiping your lips against his as he pulled you into his lap.

Simon brushed his palms down your back, exploring lower until his fingers nudged at the butt plug. Whimpered into Johnny’s mouth as Simon pulled it completely out, excess lube dripping out of your hole. Had Simon cursing under his breath at the sight, pushing his index finger slowly into your loosened walls.

You had anticipated this moment since he gave you the butt plug and had tried your best to stretch yourself with your fingers and toy in preparation for the burn. The first finger, despite how fucking thick it was, didn’t hurt. Walls already accustomed to a slight girth.

Simon seemed to enjoy this fact; impatiently pressed a second finger to your rim to test the stretch. Your walls gave away to the intrusion easily, burrowed to the knuckle. Buried your face into John’s neck as you clung onto his shoulders tightly.

Simon leaned his forehead onto your back, groaning as he slowly began a rhythm, dragging his fingers against your sensitive flesh, “Bloody fuckin— you’re tight, birdie.”

You mewled into Johnny’s skin, “T-Tried to stretch myself out as much as I could.”

This had both men tightening their hold on you, digging their fingers into your flesh harshly, “Yeah, Bonnie? Stretched yourself nice an’ pretty fo’ us?”

You nodded earnestly, canting your hips back down onto Simon’s fingers, “Wanted to be ready for you two.”

Simon bullied a third finger in at that, John taking your lips in his aggressively like all their restraint slipped through their control from your confession. Hand snaking between your legs to rub at your clit, both of them sharing your mouth, taking turns taking your breath as their own. Rambling your praises when their lips weren’t on yours, as Simon stretched your walls loose and lax.

They turned you around so you faced Simon, hoisting you into both of their laps when Simon deemed you stretched out enough. Snickering at the apprehension on your face, the way your body tensed under their touch when both of their cocks sprung free.

It was Johnny’s turn to press his lips against your ear, “If it’s too much we’ll stop. Won’t do anythin’ you don’t want to, okay?”

You nodded wearily, arching your head as far back as you could to find his eyes. Didn’t think you had it in you to look in Simon’s, not when they were so sharp, had the hair standing on your neck. Needed the warmth in Johnny’s to regulate the tension burning your throat.

“Don’t worry,” John whispered, flickering his eyes to Simon like you two were sharing a secret, “He won’t eat ya; I won’t let him.”

You chuckled, the stress in your body dissolving at his words.

“Si’s gonna go first, okay?” He continued, “Then when ya tell us you’re ready, I’ll try.”

“Okay.”

Simon lifted you to your knees, pressing the fat of his cockhead against your pussy. Choked on your breath as he broke through your walls. Slowly pulling you back down into his lap until your ass rested against his hips. You jolted forward once he bottomed out, digging your nails into the muscles on his shoulders because fuck, was he massive.

Filled you out in ways you never thought possible. Gasping for breath as you felt him in your stomach snug against your cervix. Couldn’t even breathe, each time you gulped air your stomach clenched, squeezed him tightly between your walls.

“F-Fuck, doll,” He gritted through clenched teeth, banding his arm around your waist, “Gonna need you to relax.”

You whined high-pitched, stumbling through your words, “T-Trying to, but you’re too fucking big.”

Dug your teeth into his skin as he began a slow grind, rutting his hips against yours gently. Until you were gyrating back, fucking yourself onto his shaft, matching his motions as a signal. Showing him that you were ready for more.

“There we go,” Simon hummed, tightening his grip on your waist, “Just like that.”

Lifted you to the tip, had your eyes widening because you didn’t mean that much more, “Simon, wait. No, I can’t-“

But he was dropping you back down anyway, ass smacking against his thighs. You practically cried out, felt as if he punched right through your walls. Squeezing your thighs around his hips as if to stop him from doing it again. Though it was no use, ignored your protests as he lifted you over his shaft before slamming you back down on his cock.

“Yes, you can,” He tutted, “And you will.”

Another one of his demands. Uttered harsh and direct. Made you want to listen to him, please him.

So, you did, let him guide you on his dick. Bullied his length into your puffy walls, made you take it, moaning wet and hot into his neck. Pressed open-mouthed to his skin as you keened out with each thrust. Had your pussy squelching loudly around him, drenching him in so much fluid that he practically slipped in and out.

Made you so fucked out and delirious, clinging to him like he was your last lifeline that you barely noticed Johnny’s head pressed to your ass. Almost forgot that he was even there in the first place in your Simon-infused daze. Pushed the tip in slowly, tensing around it as it had your vision blurring.

“John, oh— fuck, I—,” You babbled pathetically, couldn’t get the words out, couldn’t even form a complete sentence as he plunged deeper.

Tears burned your cheeks as he bottomed out, hiccuping over your breaths as you heard your heartbeat pulse in your ears. Both of them pressed praises to your skin, but you couldn’t even understand what they were saying. Too full to think about anything else, to feel anything else but fucking stuffed. Like you were being torn in fucking two on their dicks.

“You’re okay,” Simon said, reassuring tone surprising from how he usually snapped at you, “We got you. You can take it, pretty girl. So good for us, spread so well around us.”

His fingers were on your clit, brushing against it slowly with each word, Johnny’s lips on your neck, sucking hard marks on your unblemished skin. Distracting you from the pain radiating your body.

Simon’s grip on your thighs, Johnny on your breasts. Or maybe it was the other way around, you couldn’t tell, couldn’t fucking care. Every sense overwhelmed as you rutted your hips against them. Had them both cursing loudly as you fucked yourself frantically back down on their cocks. Desperate for the burning sting to disappear, needed it to melt away into pleasure.

Your mind was buzzing, blank, static, numb. Everything and nothing at once. Couldn’t do anything else but move your hips and paw powerlessly at Simon’s chest. Pant moist into their necks, bodies slipping on each other with your sweat.

Until they took over for you, held you in place as they slammed into you in sync. Bottomed out at the same time, made your body swell with their fat cocks. Had no choice but to let them use you, lolling helplessly between them.

John banded his arm around your abdomen and pressed his palm against your core, making the pressure from Simon’s thrust more intense.

“Can fuckin’ feel you inside her, Si.”

“Yeah?” Simon breathed, leaning forward to bruise his lips against the other man’s, but managed to keep their pace despite it all, “How does she feel? Tell me, Johnny.”

“So fuckin’ warm,” John groaned, voice gruff like he was slowly losing control, “Squeezin’ the life outta me.”

“She’s takin’ us so well, ain’t she, Johnny?” Simon grunted, watching you try your best to meet their thrusts, “So desperate and pretty for more.”

“Simon, I’m gonna cum soon,” John said, hips stuttering inside your walls.

“No. She’s going to finish first.” Simon commanded, gripping John’s hip tightly to make him continue his onslaught.

They pistoned their hips faster, fucking into you with all their might. Breath punched straight out of your lungs. Pain dissipated into complete bliss, clenching your walls around them as if to keep them inside you. Felt so full you were afraid you were constantly going to feel empty now. Only feel complete once they were both stuffing you with their cocks.

Fucking you so rough you didn’t know where John started and Simon ended. Didn’t know what hands were on your hips, on your jaw, squishing your ass, pinching your nipples. Didn’t know whose mouth was on your neck, whose was on your mouth, suffocating you completely with them. Felt as if you were fusing as one, your breaths and overstimulated walls theirs, their saliva and praises yours.

“Simon, John. Gonna, gonna cum,” You croaked, every nerve in your body ripped to shreds, both of them forcing you to morph your body to them, “P-Please, so close.”

“Please, lass,” John gritted, “One more time, yeah? Give us one more.”

You were sobbing, choking on your tears as you came so hard your voice was torn from your throat. Gaping at the ceiling as you threw your head back on John’s shoulder. Tightening around them with such a strong grip they could barely move. Tried to fuck you through it the best you would allow.

You couldn’t even remember the next few seconds, body going completely limp as John came inside your ass, buried to the hilt as he filled you to the brim. Pulsating walls coaxing his cum out of him, swollen flesh fluttering around him, taking each drop with eager acceptance.

Thrashing as they continued to thrust in your walls, John fucking his cum into your ass. Strokes stuttered and broken from the overstimulation, not quite managing to match Simon’s thrusts anymore. But Simon didn’t force him to for much longer, buried himself deep within your pussy, and came with a feral groan. Pumped ropes in your puffy walls, pulsating balls pressed to your ass and cunt as they both emptied their desires inside you.

You were limp, collapsing onto Simon’s chest as every muscle in your body tensed. Convulsed. Rippled. Shaking as you came down from three orgasms, tears streaming down your face as your body was spent. Exhausted, worn out, and overused. However, your veins were drowning every painful sensation away, tingling and washed away to bliss.

Both of their hands were petting you, once again cooing praises and soft words into your skin. Wiping your tears away, kissing and licking the salty beads of your sweat and tears clean. Warning you before they slid out of your walls, their cum dripping down your legs. Left you painfully empty, almost made you sob harder at the lack of pressure inside you.

They didn’t leave you alone for long, running you a warm bath before carrying you to their bathroom. Johnny joined you, somehow the both of you fitting into the tub like puzzle pieces. Simon sat on the counter, watching the two of you.

The warm water soothed the ache slowly beginning to build in your limbs and muscles. Knew you were going to be agonizingly sore in a few hours, probably barely be able to move or pee for that matter, but you didn’t even mind, it would be worth it all.

“Were we too rough, Bonnie?” Johnny asked, palms brushing up your arms and shoulders.

Flesh that was bruised and stained in their hickeys. Red splotches, teeth marks, and purple bruises adorning every piece of skin you could see.

You shook your head, voice coming out hoarse and scratchy, “No, no. Felt amazing; don’t think I’ll be able to do a round two anytime soon, though.”

Both men chuckled, “Well, we owe you a new pair of panties anyway, don’t we?”

The set they bought you, thigh highs and all torn and stained in all your fluids. Ruined and destroyed on their bedroom floor, but you didn’t even care. Pleased to know that whatever it was between the three of you wouldn’t end there.

Tag list: @avatar-lover @cheese-pull @entityunbound @theheartcollecter @leon-thot-kennedy @yunho-leeknow @star-buck-barnes @bluebarrybubblez @codeseven @other-fandoms-reblogs

Thank you for all the love & support everyone has given me for this fic! I’m so happy you guys have liked it thus far! 🩷🍒🎀

Cross posted in my ao3 here!

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grossitsluca · 4 months ago

Text

PORN DIRECTOR KÖNIG

nsfw. 40s könig. come eating. pussy slapping. voyeurism. manhandling. degradation. squirting. sex work.

you never planned on doing porn.

you don't think anyone does, really. you had a whole different life mapped out— degree, stable job, retirement.

but college was bleeding you dry. bills stacked faster than you could pay them, textbooks cost more than your monthly groceries, and your financial aid office had the efficiency of a broken vending machine. part-time jobs barely kept the lights on. dinner was whatever was cheap and lasted the longest.

you worked, studied, scraped by, but it felt more like drowning in slow motion.

camming started as an experiment. a shot in the dark born from desperation.

you bought a cheap ring light from amazon, found a secondhand webcam on facebook marketplace, and set up your little filming space in the corner of your apartment. it was nothing fancy. the lighting was bad, the camera wasn’t great, and instead of a tripod you had a stack of books.

but it worked.

you slipped into the only matching lingerie set you owned— soft pink lace, delicate ribbons, tiny bows stitched in all the right places. sheer enough to tease, but still leaving just enough to the imagination. the bra straps slipped down your shoulders as you posed in front of the mirror, lips parted, fingers playing with the waistband of your panties.

picking the best ones, you captioned them with something playful then posted them to onlyfans, shut your laptop, and forgot about it. you weren’t expecting much. maybe a few subscribers, a little extra cash, nothing major.

then, your account blew up.

someone with a bit of reach had apparently found your photos and posted them to a a ddlg subreddit, and suddenly you were everywhere.

at first, you didn’t notice. but when you woke up to hundreds of new notifications, dms, and tips flooding in overnight, you started digging.

that’s when you saw it. a post on reddit. thousands of upvotes. hundreds of comments dissecting your photos in excruciating detail.

[r/ddlg] found this new onlyfans girl and i'm losing my mind. she’s so soft. look at her. look at her.

🔺14.3k upvotes 💬 793 comment

u/daddysfavorite456: this is the most perfect little babygirl i’ve ever seen wtf

🔺6.2k

u/sirspanksalot: the way she’s tugging her panties down just a little… i need a moment

🔺4.9k

u/subsugarplum: her little pout in the third pic is actually ruining my life

🔺3.3k

u/softdom_daddy: how do we make sure she never pays for anything again in her life?

🔺7.1k

your breath caught in your throat as you scrolled. every detail of your photos was being analyzed. obsessed over.

the way you tilted your head just slightly, eyes wide and doe-like. the way your fingers curled in the hem of your panties, like you were hesitating. like you needed permission. the little pout in the last photo, lower lip caught between your teeth, the faintest furrow in your brows.

suddenly, your subscriber count was doubling by the hour.

new subscribers flooded in overnight. your follower count jumped by thousands. dms piled up, requests, tips, compliments, outright begging.

"you're perfect. please let me take care of you." ($20 tip)

"you’re the softest little thing i’ve ever seen." ($50 tip)

"tell me you do custom videos. i’ll pay whatever." ($100 tip)

the sudden influx of attention was overwhelming. you barely had time to process it before people were demanding more.

demand skyrocketed. they were practically clawing at your metaphorical door, begging for more content, more variety— more, more, more.

for now, solo work was fine. it was safe. comfortable. easy to control. but you knew it wouldn’t be enough forever. you saw it in the comments, in the messages, in the ever-growing list of requests. they wanted more than just you and a camera. they wanted another presence. another body in the frame.

you debated your options. a studio would be the safest bet. you had the budget now— painstakingly built, every small tip, every renewal adding up until you finally had enough that you didn't need to comprise comfort.

but finding the right studio was another thing entirely.

you didn’t want the overproduced, garish lights and cheap theatrics of mainstream porn. you wanted subtlety. intimacy. something with taste. good lighting, soft edits, angles that captured the feeling rather than just the act.

something that matched the persona you had so carefully built.

you thought about it for weeks before finally bringing it up to valeria, a girl you often had collabs with.

she tilted her head when you mentioned it. "professional production..? you know there are a lot of seedy guys out there."

you nodded, worrying your lip between your teeth. you’d done enough research to know that most so-called "professional" setups were just glorified scams, with sleazy directors who treated performers like props.

valeria watched you for a second, then clicked her tongue. "but, if you ever actually follow through, i know a guy. a lot of the girls have worked with him before. big name in the business. respects his actors. good guy." she pulled out her phone. "i’ll send you his portfolio. put in a good word."

you meet könig a few weeks later, after countless back-and-forth emails, late-night calls hammering out details, discussions about setups, plot points, pricing. every conversation had been strictly professional so far and you appreciated the distinct lack of attempts to try and get in your pants.

you don’t expect to spot him the moment you step into the airbnb you rented for the shoot, but there he is, standing head and shoulders above the rest of the crew. and the first thing that strikes you isn’t his height (though jesus, he’s massive). it’s how out of place he looks.

he doesn’t carry himself like someone in the industry. doesn’t exude that easy sleaze, that over-familiar smirk you’ve come to expect from men in this business. no tight black tee straining over biceps, no carefully curated air of supremacy with just a hint of nicotine.

instead, he looks like someone’s dad who got lost on his way to a hardware store and somehow ended up in the adult industry instead.

his glasses are perched high on the bridge of his nose, pushed up with the absentminded shove of a knuckle. his sweater— soft, thick, comfortable— hangs loose on his frame, sleeves pushed up to reveal thick forearms dusted with silver hair. he’s dressed like he should be standing at a backyard grill, not directing an erotic film.

he’s older than you expected. forty, according to his portfolio, and he wears it well. silver threading through black, crow’s feet at the corners of sharp, washed-out blue eyes. his nose is crooked— like it had been broken once and never quite set right— makes his face look lived-in, a little rough around the edges. his stubble is light, a soft dusting of salt and pepper.

he looks warm.

he’s talking to someone. one of the crew, maybe, head dipped slightly, listening intently. but even hunched, even relaxed, his sheer size makes him loom.

and then the door clicks shut behind you, and he hears it. könig's head lifts, pale blue eyes settling on you in an instant.

he excuses himself with a quiet murmur. hands tucked into the front pocket of his pants, broad shoulders rolling slightly like he’s trying to make himself smaller, less imposing.

it doesn’t work.

“good to finally meet you,” he says, accent curling soft in his words.

oh, you think. you hadn’t expected that, either.

his voice is deep, just shy of being harsh. it's a far cry from the sharp tone you’d imagined after hearing him speak over the phone. there’s something smoother about it in person, a warmth undercutting the rough edges.

you shift the tray of coffee in your hands, balancing it carefully before setting it down on the small folding table near the entrance.

“brought coffee for everyone,” you say, wringing your hands because you refuse to brush them off on your dress.

he glances down at the cups, and for a second you think you see something soften in his expression.

“thoughtful,” he murmurs, and though his face remains unreadable, you can hear the approval in his voice.

you exhale, trying to shake off the nervous energy thrumming in your chest, and clear your throat. “figured caffeine would help. don’t wanna be the reason your crew collapses mid-shoot.”

könig huffs something close to a chuckle, tipping his head toward the set-up behind him. “they’ve worked under worse conditions.”

you’re not sure what that means, but before you can ask, he gestures for you to follow him further into the space.

the next few minutes are easy. professional. you go over the shot list, the angles he’s planning, how he likes to work— efficient and minimal retakes unless absolutely necessary. he asks about your preferences, what you don’t want, what you do.

it’s…comfortable. smoother than you expected. he’s patient, but direct. no wasted words, no unnecessary small talk, just the work. you like that.

and then your phone rings.

you pull it from your pocket without thinking, glancing at the name on the screen. simon riley. your co-star. you press accept, bringing the phone to your ear.

“hey, you on your way?” you ask, already stepping away from könig, mind half on the conversation you’d just been having.

but simon doesn’t answer right away. there’s a beat of silence. “can’t make it.”

your stomach drops. you stop short, pulse spiking. “what?”

“somethin’ came up. won’t be able to get there.”

you glance at könig, breath stalling in your throat. this cannot be happening.

“simon, i can’t reschedule,” you hiss, stepping further away, out of earshot. “i already paid for the location, the crew’s already here-”

“nothin’ i can do, sweetheart,” he interrupts, not unkind. “’m sorry.”

but sorry doesn’t fix this. sorry doesn’t change the fact that if you don’t shoot today, you’re out thousands. your grip tightens around your phone. “simon, please-”

the line clicks.

he’s gone.

panic creeps up your spine, cold sweat starting to form on your palms. you can’t not shoot today. you can’t afford it. the budget’s already stretched thin, and a reschedule isn’t just inconvenient— it’s impossible.

you drag a hand to wipe the sweat on your forehead.

könig’s eyes are on you and you can feel the heat of his gaze. when you turn, he asks, “problem?”

you open your mouth, hesitate. because what the fuck are you supposed to say? every option you can think of results in you losing a few hundred dollars at the minimum.

you figure the truth is the best option you've got. “simon's out.”

könig watches as your fingers tighten around your phone, knuckles turning white. you press your lips together, trembling just slightly before biting down.

he tilts his head, slow. "know anyone that can sub in?"

you shake your head immediately, too fast, too frantic. a sharp inhale makes your shoulders rise, lashes fluttering against the unshed tears that suddenly gloss your eyes.

fuck.

you’re going to cry.

könig shouldn’t be looking this closely.

shouldn’t be cataloging every shift of your body. shouldn’t be tracking how your throat works as you swallow, how the delicate line of your jaw tenses under pressure.

it’s detail that shouldn’t register. detail that has no purpose. no place. no right to send his thoughts careening somewhere they have no business going.

but there they go anyway.

because he's been watching you.

not in a way that's creepy— könig tells himself that, over and over. he was just a professional doing his research, getting a feel for his clients. it’s good business practice, staying informed, making sure he knows who he’s working with, what they bring to the table.

and if that research led him to your socials, to hours of footage in soft, honeyed lighting, to endless clips of you sprawled out on pristine white sheets as you mewled into the camera— well. that was just part of the job, wasn’t it?

nothing personal. certainly nothing unprofessional.

but the truth, the thing he never says out loud, not even to himself is that he’s spent far too many nights with his phone in one hand and his cock in the other, watching you through the screen.

watching you in those tiny lingerie sets. pink and white lace, frilly little bows, the kind of girlish softness that makes his teeth ache.

könig's watched every fucking video. every stream. every post. hours spent with his laptop open, pants shoved down around his hips, hand working his cock as you bat your lashes and moan so sweetly it makes his head spin.

‘am i a good girl?’ you breathe into the mic, like you’re talking right to him. like you know.

and god, does he know you.

he’s studied you. learned you. mapped out every twitch, every tell, every fleeting flicker of pleasure that crosses your pretty face. the way your brows pinch together when you’re getting desperate. the way your lips part right before you come, glossy and swollen, tongue darting out to wet them like you want something in your mouth, like you’re inviting someone to grab you by the jaw and fuck your throat until you can’t think.

he’s seen how your thighs start to tremble when you edge yourself too long. how your back arches off the sheets when you finally let go, hips rolling into your own hand, breath catching in your throat as you fall apart in a mess of shuddery gasps.

könig has jerked off to all of it.

not just once. not just twice.

so many times he’s lost count.

sometimes slow, drawing it out to hear that little whimper you make at the end— the one that sounds like you’ve been fucked dumb.

sometimes rough. desperate. chasing his own release with one hand fisted in the sheets and the other pumping his cock.

it drives him fucking crazy.

it’s worse up close. worse when you shift on your feet, looking up at him from beneath your lashes, trying to hold yourself together.

stop.

he clenches his fists. drags in a breath through his nose. he is not some fucking rookie. not some kid who can’t keep his head straight.

but then you make a sound that crawls under his skin and sinks deep. and suddenly his thoughts are careening somewhere they shouldn’t go—

places where that breathy little sound is choked out against his palm. where those fingers twisting at your sleeves are scrabbling at his belt instead, pulling, fumbling, desperate.

his cock twitches.

jesus christ.

it’s perverse. it’s wrong. twenty years between you. he shouldn't even be thinking about you like this. but then he thinks about how small your hands would look trying to wrap around his cock. how easily he could press you up against the nearest wall, let you feel how bad he wants you, let you know exactly what you do to him—

and yeah.

he’s fucked.

his grip tightens on the coffee cup, knuckles white, cardboard crumpling in his palm.

"we can reschedule." it’s the logical thing to say. the right thing.

but you stiffen immediately, shaking your head almost violently, like the mere suggestion hurts.

"i can’t." your voice wobbles. "i don’t have the budget for it. the airbnb, the crew- if we don’t shoot today, it’s done. i lose it."

he can hear the distraught in your voice, the panic creeping in, rising in your throat. and könig— könig has never been good at ignoring that kind of thing.

his jaw tightens. his fingers flex. his pulse pounds in his ears. and before he can think better of it—

"i can do it."

your head jerks up, eyes locking onto his. wide. startled.

"what?"

könig lifts a broad shoulder, deceptively casual, ignoring how his pulse is hammering in his throat. acting as if he didn’t just offer himself up like it was nothing.

"i can do it," he repeats. "you need a scene partner."

he pauses, just long enough to make sure you’re really listening before he adds, pointed: "i’ve done worse for less."

it’s true too. könig had started shooting for money, not for passion, not for art. there were years where he took any job that paid, no matter how grimy, no matter how degrading. no dignity in it, no careful framing, no thoughtful direction. just harsh lighting, rough hands, the sound of too many bodies shifting in too little space.

it’s not like that anymore.

now, he works for himself. he makes art, in his own way. he only takes projects that meet his standards, only shoots what he knows will look good.

and this, you, would look incredible.

"are you-" you swallow hard, throat working, voice tight. "you’re serious?"

könig lets out a short, amused breath, tilting his head. "wouldn’t offer if i wasn’t."

your gaze flickers down to his mouth, just for a second, before snapping back up.

he notices. of course he fucking notices.

you hesitate, worrying your lip between your teeth, and he wants— god, he wants.

he lifts his coffee, takes a slow sip. watches you.

"think it through," he says, letting the accent curl around the words. "do you trust me?"

you stare at him, breath coming in short, uneven pulls. your fingers tighten around your phone.

and then, even though you probably shouldn't, you nod.

this is insane, is all you can think as your hands smooth down the dress, fingertips catching on the fabric’s delicate weave. it sways when you move, hem teasing the tops of your thighs.

the crew picked it because it feels normal, something someone’s wife might wear on a lazy sunday, waiting for her husband to walk through the door. not lingerie, not tight or short or scandalous. innocent.

somehow, that makes it worse.

the set sprawls before you, carefully crafted to mimic home. the couch sits comfortably worn— or at least looks like it, upholstery creased just enough to suggest years of use. a blanket lies draped over the back, fringes brushed out to seem effortless.

the coffee table holds small artifacts of a life: a half-empty mug with a faint lipstick stain, a book splayed open, pages curled, a pair of keys glinting under the warm overhead glow. off to the side, a framed photo perches, two strangers caught in mid-laugh, frozen happiness you’re supposed to claim as yours.

the lighting bathes it all in amber. soft, forgiving. like sunset spilling through a window that doesn’t exist. everything is designed to feel. to pull the viewer into a scene that isn’t real but wants to be. warmth. comfort. longing.

your pulse trips. nerves coil tight under your. stepping out, you inhale–

and there he is.

könig stands beside the couch, posture loose, almost as if he’s holding himself back from something. the uniform strains against him, fabric pulled taut across broad shoulders and the solid line of his chest. it’s glaringly obvious that it wasn’t tailored for a man like him— you doubt anything ever is— but he wears it like it belongs to him anyway. the belt grips a tapered waist, dog tags resting cold against his sternum. they glint when he shifts, catching the warmth of the lights.

he’s big. that part you knew. everyone knows. but there’s something about seeing him like this, the bulk of him filling the space, boots planted, arms crossed, sleeves clinging to thick forearms, that makes your breath catch in your throat.

he looks like he could hold the world in his hands. break it if he wanted.

then he lifts his head. and his gaze finds you.

it hits like a physical weight, gravity pulling you closer.

his eyes track the line of your body. starting from your face, drifting down, and back up again. for a moment you assume he’s taking inventory, cataloguing details you didn’t know you were offering.

your skin prickles under the attention. heat pooling low, spreading outwards.

könig’s jaw shifts. a muscle ticks. his fingers flex where they rest against his bicep, knuckles pale for half a second before he eases them loose.

you swallow. "do i look okay?"

silence stretches. then: "you look perfect."

his voice sounds like it's been scraped raw from something you can’t name. and you know you shouldn’t take his words to heart. shouldn’t make something out of nothing. he was just being polite—

but god, he doesn’t stop looking.

you breathe out. "are we ready?"

that seems to snap him out. könig exhales, nostrils flaring. “yeah," he says, looking away.. "we’re ready."

you nod and he turns, clapping his hands together.

"quiet on set!" his voice cuts through the chatter. "lights- ready? camera?"

a muffled ‘rolling!’ comes from behind the equipment.

he glances back, stepping into place. "sound?"

"speed!"

he nods, shoulders shifting under the snug uniform. "all right. action on me. three... two..."

his gaze flickers forward, locks onto you. his hand lifts, a silent ‘ready?’

you nod.

"action!"

the front door creaks open.

you see him first— broad shoulders filling the doorway, boots heavy against the worn rug you picked out last fall. his bag drops with a dull thump, keys jangling, and for a beat, you just stand there, watching.

it doesn't feel real. something out of a dream. your husband looks older somehow. tired. lines carved a little deeper around his eyes, hair at his temples brushed with more gray than before.

it's longer now too, the ends curling where sweat and travel have left it mussed.

then his gaze lifts, blue catching yours. and that’s all it takes.

you move.

your feet carry you faster than you realize, dress fluttering against your legs as you throw yourself into him.

könig catches you with a small grunt, part effort, part relief, hardly moving from his spot. strong arms close around you as he lifts you off the floor with an ease that's almost unfair.

his hand finds the back of your thigh, fingers splayed wide. "easy, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice rough from disuse, deepened by exhaustion and age. there’s an edge to it, earned from years of barking orders and nicotine abuse. "still getting old, you know."

you huff a breath that’s almost a laugh. "you’re not that old."

"hm." könig presses his face into your hair. "tell that to my back."

your chest tightens. god, you missed him. missed the way he smells— soap, leather, that faint trace of cologne you’d tucked into his bag months ago, almost worn off, but still miraculously there. you press your nose to his neck, breathing him in, and whisper, "missed you."

"missed you more." when he pulls back, his gaze traces every line of your face, eyes crinkling at the corners. "lemme take a good look at you, baby."

heat blooms in your cheeks, but you let him. there’s something reverent about his gaze when you meet his eyes.

then, he kisses you.

and fuck.

it’s messy. warm. his mouth is rough against yours, stubble scraping your skin, tasting like coffee burned down to the dregs.

"god," you breathe, voice catching on a gasp. "i love you."

könig chuckles, pressing his forehead to yours. "love you too," he murmurs, using that voice he saves for early mornings when you’re tucked against him, trading lazy kisses and whispered secrets.

his hands slide down to your hips, pulling you close. the world tilts, narrows, until there’s nothing but him. his body, his breath, the scratch of his stubble when he tilts his head, brushing his nose against yours.

then his fingers slip under your dress. his breath hitches the moment he finds you bare, his touch grazing soft folds, sticky and warm with slick.

"no panties?" his voice dips somewhere between a laugh and a growl.

heat blooms in your stomach. you bite your lip, shrugging. "figured you'd appreciate it."

his gaze darkens, blue eclipsed by black. "oh, do i."

könig’s fingers slide between your folds, dragging through the slick mess you’ve already made. you flinch at the contact, hips twitching toward him before you can catch yourself.

he pushes it in, slow. the stretch punches a gasp out of you, walls fluttering around the intrusion. he pauses, ignores your whine, brows drawing together, finger knuckle-deep. "did you get tighter?"

his voice is soft, almost like he’s talking more to himself than you, words slipping out under his breath.

his finger curls, pressing snug against your walls, testing just how much resistance it meets.

you whimper, thighs twitching, nails digging into the fabric of his jacket. "m-maybe if you fucked me more, i wouldn’t be."

the words tumble out before you can think to stop them. your pulse skips as you process what you just said. heat floods your face.

könig’s head tilts. his eyes flick up, narrowing, — not angry, not exactly— but his stare steals the breath from your lungs all the same. your lips part, trying to fumble out an apology stuck at the back of your throat when—

slap.

he pulls his finger free and smacks your pussy.

you squeak, body jerking as the sting blooms quick and hot between your legs, warmth spreading through your skin, rushing up your spine. you’re caught between shock and the low, simmering heat that pools in your belly.

"careful," könig warns although his tone is deceptively light. his fingers tap against your clit in soft, featherlight pulses of teasing pressure that makes your thighs jump. "keep that attitude and i’ll slap this pretty little thing five times. make you count every single one. s’that what you want?"

your cunt clenches, slick dribbling down to coat his knuckles. he feels it, of course he does. feels how your body betrays you, responding before your mind can catch up.

chest heaving, you shake your head, breath shivering out of you. "no-"

"no?" he echoes a soft mockery, fingers dragging through the mess between your thighs, spreading it just to hear the wet sound it makes echo in the space between you. "then behave, sweetheart. don’t make me teach you."

your heart pounds, breath coming in little gasps as you offer him a jerky nod. könig only watches with lazy half-lidded eyes.

"now," he murmurs, finger filling you again. "gonna ask one more time. have you gotten tighter..." his thumb brushes your clit, just enough to make you twitch, "...or have i just left you empty for too long?"

heat surges through you. your hands clutch at his jacket, grounding yourself in the weight of him. your face burns.

"you were gone for so long," you whisper, voice small, shame curling in your stomach.

he sighs. something in his gaze softens, guilt threading through his voice. "i know, baby." his forehead presses against yours. “missed you too."

you sniffle, nuzzling into his shoulder. "y-you can’t go away that long again..." the words tremble, cracking at the edges.

he kisses your temple, breath warm against your skin. "i won’t," he lies, gentle. "let me stretch you out, yeah?"

könig guides you further into your home, coaxing you down on the couch. könig kneels between your legs, broad hands spreading you open and drinking in the sight of you laid out before him.

"look at you," he murmurs, thumb dragging through your folds, gathering your slick up to rub slow circles against your clit. "so wet for me already. miss having me inside, huh?"

your fingers clutch at the cushions as he begins to fill you, head tipping back. "yes-"

"you gotta watch, pretty," könig interrupts, fingers tilting your chin back down.

your gaze drops, breath catching when you see it— his thick fingers buried deep inside you, slick dribbling down his knuckles. the gold band around his finger shines beneath the mess you’ve made, drenched, the sight obscene and somehow more intimate than you’re prepared for. your walls flutter around him, clenching down like your body’s desperate to keep him there.

"look at that.” he grind. "look at your cute little cunny... makin’ a mess all over me."

your cheeks burn. you squirm, trying to close your thighs, but his other hand tightens on your hip, keeping you spread. "no hiding," he says. "told you to watch."

so you do.

you watch the slow drag of his fingers pulling out, coated in slick that strings between you. your cunt clenches around nothing, throbbing, and you let out a soft, desperate whimper. könig hums, pleased, pressing back in. "look how well you take me," he says, dragging against that spot inside that makes your vision blur.

you whimper, head spinning, hips grinding down onto his hand. "feels so good-"

"yeah?" he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh. "gonna let me in now, sweetheart? let me fill you up nice and slow?"

you nod, frantic, words lost to the heat coiling low in your stomach. könig smiles, pulling his fingers free. you whine at the loss.

"shh," he soothes, wiping his slick-covered fingers against the head of his cock, spreading you over himself. "gonna take care of you. just lay back and be good for me, yeah?"

his hands grip your thighs, pressing them up toward your chest, folding you beneath him. your skin burns under the pressure, nerves sparking with every shift of his weight. the blunt head of his cock nudges against your entrance. he’s patient, achingly so— dragging it along your folds, gathering your slick, smearing it along his length until you’re soaked enough that he doesn’t have to rip you open.

könig’s gaze drops to where you’re spread open for him. "ready?"

you nod, breath catching in your throat, but it’s barely a sound, barely a thought when he starts to press in. he breaches you, the thick crown of his cock pushing past your entrance. your cunt clenches on instinct, trying to force him out, but könig presses on.

every inch feels like fire licking up your spine, burning through every nerve until you’re nothing but sensation.

"gonna fill you up, sweetheart.” his voice is a low rumble that vibrates through your bones. "stretch you out every day i’m home-" he drives forward another inch, making your back arch, "-’til this pretty cunt just opens up for me."

you can’t speak. can’t think. everything narrows down to the drag of him inside you, veins and ridges catching on the soft walls of your cunt. your mind spins, vision blurring as your hips jerk, instinctively trying to escape the overwhelming fullness. his fingers bite into your thighs, holding you in place.

"uh-uh," he murmurs, dark amusement curling at the edges of his words. "don’t run, baby. you wanted this."

he braces himself, broad shoulders tense above you as he tries to sink deeper. but even with how wet you are, how pliant you’ve gone beneath him, your body refuses to give. his hips stutter, pushing, pushing— yet still, there’s that impossible last inches he can’t force past.

“p-please- need it, need you-” the words spill out as he pauses, pulling back an inch.

"i know, baby, i know," he pants, forehead pressing to yours, sweat slick between you, before rolling his hips back in, trying his damn best to bottom out, but your cunt clenches stubbornly. frustration twists across his face, the sight of you writhing beneath him, cunt stretched wide and still too tight to take him fully— it drives him insane.

"gonna have to fix that," he murmurs, thumb brushing a tear from your cheek.

you nod, dazed, tears slipping down your temples as you sob out a choked, "yes- yes, please-"

"shh," könig soothes, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. "you’re doin’ so good, baby. takin’ me so well. just need to open you up a little more, yeah?"

könig adjusts his grip, hands sliding beneath your knees, lifting you with ease. before you can even register the shift, he’s pulling you up against his chest, arms hooking beneath your legs, locking you back in a full nelson.

your breath stutters, eyes going wide as your body is left entirely at his mercy, weightless in his grip, spread open around him.

könig’s lips graze your ear. "gonna let gravity help us, yeah? lil bit of science. let’s see if this pretty little cunt can take all of me now."

your toes curl, breath hitching as he angles his hips, smearing your slick between you.

then he lets gravity do most of the work.

your breath leaves you in a shattered moan as your body sinks down, forced open as he drops you down on his cock. your walls flutter, clenching around him, stretched impossibly wide, struggling to take him, but he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let you squirm away.

"that’s it," könig groans, arms flexing as he holds you still, keeps you spread. "so fuckin’ good for me, baby. lettin’ me stretch you open- gonna make you take it all."

you whimper, drool slipping from the corner of your lips, eyes rolling back as the last stubborn inch finally, finally sinks in, his cock seated fully inside you for the first time.

"fuck," könig grits out. "that’s my girl. knew you could take it, baby. knew you just needed a little help."

könig doesn’t give you much of a chance to adjust. the moment he thinks you're ready, his arms tighten, muscles flexing as he hauls you up before slamming you back down.

you jolt, cunt forced to stretch and squeeze around him with every thrust. his strength controls everything— the pace, the depth, the way you bounce like a ragdoll, helpless to slow him down. he’s slamming himself inside, spearing you open over and over, forcing you to stretch wider than you ever have.

you can’t keep up. your limbs go slack, muscles useless, brain short-circuiting. your vision blurs, eyes rolling back, drool slipping from the corner of your lips as your mouth falls open in a silent scream.

könig chuckles, pleased, watching the way you’ve gone completely limp in his arms. "gonna stretch you out like this every single day. keep you full, fuck you dumb, make sure this little cunt remembers who it belongs to."

your body convulses, wracked with sensation too intense to hold in. könig keeps moving, fucking you onto his cock like he’s trying to break you in, to shape your cunt to his cock.

"n-no-" your voice barely comes out. a sob caught in your throat as your fingers claw weakly at his forearms. your legs shake, eyes welling up, tears spilling hot down your cheeks. "g-gonna pee," you whimper, body locking up.

"no, baby." he drags you down harder, grinding the thick head of his cock against that perfect spot inside you. "you’re gonna cum. gonna make a mess all over me, aren't you?"

your sob turns into a choked wail as you gush, squirting hard, the release almost violent, soaking könig's thighs, dripping down to form a puddle on the floor beneath you.

könig watches you fall apart with hooded eyes, holding you up as your body jerks and trembles in his arms. "good girl," he praises, sounding utterly enthralled by the mess you’ve made. "fuckin’ knew you’d soak me- knew you were just a little messy thing."

you slump against him, muscles useless. the aftershocks have you so dazed that you barely register the shift before you’re being turned, pressed down against the floor, cheek squished against the slick puddle you just made.

"könig-" you whimper, trying to lift yourself, but his broad hand presses between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, keeping you open.

he ignores you, fingers digging into your hips, adjusting your position, spreading you wider. he lines himself up and pushes in, stuffing you to the brim in one deep thrust. your fingers claw at the wet floor beneath you, the slick sound of him sinking into you obscene in the quiet.

"good fuckin’ girl," he drags his cock out before slamming back in, his thighs slapping against your ass. "just let me use you, yeah? just take it like my perfect little cumdump."

you sob into the mess beneath you. könig presses your face harder against it, his broad palm splayed between your shoulder blades, keeping you pinned.

"lick it up," he orders, tone smooth, assured, the kind of voice that expects obedience.

your whole body burns, but the heat between your legs is hotter. könig feels the way you clench around him at the command, the way your body betrays you before your lips can even form a protest.

"kö-”

“don’t make me say it twice, sweetheart," he warns, hips pulling back, dragging his cock out until only the tip stretches you open.

"what’s the matter?" he mocks. "you were so eager to make this mess- now you’re going shy?"

your breath shudders out in a small whimper before you obey, lowering your head, tongue flicking out, just barely grazing the puddle beneath you.

könig clicks his tongue. "that’s not licking, that’s teasing."

his hips snap forward, knocking you further into the mess, forcing your mouth against it. your lips part with a gasp, and könig watches, eyes dark and hungry, as you taste yourself properly for the first time.

"there we go," he hums, smug satisfaction. "now clean up every drop."

your cheeks burn as you press your tongue flat to the floor, licking a slow, tentative stripe through the mess. the taste floods your mouth and your stomach twists— but the weight of könig’s cock inside you, the way he keeps you full and stretched and pinned beneath him, sends another rush of slick dripping down your thighs.

he notices. of course he notices.

"oh, sweetheart," he breathes. "you like this, don’t you?"

your body betrays you again, a little shiver running down your spine, your cunt fluttering around him.

"mm, you do." he chuckles, dragging his fingers through your hair, tightening his grip. "filthy little thing. you’re gettin’ off on this."

you squeeze your eyes shut, shame crawling up your throat.

"könig-"

"uh-uh," he interrupts, grip tightening, making you whimper. "keep licking, schatz. don’t stop ‘til it’s gone."

your tongue flicks out again, lapping up another mouthful, swallowing it down even as heat prickles behind your eyes.

könig groans at the sight, his free hand stroking down your spine, over the curve of your ass. "that’s it, baby," he breathes. "such a good little slut for me."

you whimper, thighs squeezing together, hips rocking subtly against him, desperate for friction, for anything.

he notices that, too. "oh, you poor thing," he coos, all false sympathy, fingers stroking your cheek where it’s damp with tears. "s’this gettin’ you all worked up?"

könig pulls back just a little, dragging his length through your overstretched walls. "you gonna come just from this?" he asks, rolling his hips. your body tenses, toes curling. "from licking your mess off the floor like a good little bitch?"

your face burns, whole body trembling. too full, too overwhelmed, too much— and yet, you nod, a choked little sob escaping your lips.

his pace stutters, burying himself to the hilt with a ragged groan, holding you still as he spills inside, his cock twitching, pumping thick ropes of cum into your swollen cunt. "fuck," he pants, chest heaving, his weight bearing down on you. "so good, baby. took me so fuckin’ well."

his cum is hot inside you, sticky, leaking, seeping out around his cock as he slowly pulls back, watching his spend start to slip from your overstretched hole. könig hums, almost thoughtful. he presses a broad palm against your pussy, scooping it up, pushing it back in with two thick fingers, shoving his spend as deep as it’ll go. "keep it in,” he says almost absentmindedly. he lifts his hand after a moment, tilting his head as he examines the way it drips from his fingers.

his free hand cups your jaw, tilting your face up. your lips part before he even has to tell you. "clean it up," he slides his ring finger past your lips.

your lashes flutter, heat prickling up your spine as you close your lips around him, sucking gently, swirling your tongue over the ridges of his finger, tasting yourself, tasting him.

könig groans, thumb stroking over your cheek, watching your lips stretch around the digit, tongue flicking against the band wrapped around his finger.

"good girl," he breathes, eyes hooded, cock twitching against your slick folds, already stirring again, already wanting more.

he presses his finger deeper, until it nudges against the back of your throat, until your breath stutters and your eyes go hazy, wet.

"so pretty like this.” his other hand slips between your legs again, rubbing slow circles over your swollen clit. "gonna keep you like this forever, wife. nice and full."

he pulls his finger from your mouth with a soft pop, watching the way your tongue flicks out after it, lips wet, eyes dazed. "gonna make you a mommy.” he grins. “fill you up every night until it takes.”

“-and cut!”

#this is so yummy #könig x reader

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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forgot this blog existed i’ll write smth soon

#cod fanfic

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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Catching Soap taking pics of you in an airport terminal...

You try to ignore it. Maybe he was taking a picture of the airport in general, maybe it was a selfie- either way, you’re not about to confront a man that looks like bootcamp and protein powder incarnate in the case that he is.

Once boarded, you find yourself beside a kind-looking older woman that lets you have the window seat, the prior incident readily forgotten as you settle in. A flight attendant crouches beside her, but you pay it no mind, too busy prepping your in-flight comforts to watch on while the woman gathers her belongings and vacates the seat.

You lean back, waiting for take-off.

"-here you are, Sergeant- once again, we're deeply sorry about the seating mix-up with your partner- a-and thank you for your service, we hope you'll continue to fly with us."

That snaps you out of your thoughts.

Looking up, you find the man from earlier staring down at you with a pleased grin. After a beat, his head swings back around to the flight attendant.

"Dinnae worry 'bout tha'- just glad it got sorted."

He tosses his carry-on overhead, arms bulging with the movement before he plops himself down into the seat beside you, an exasperated grunt passing his lips. He lifts the seperating arm rest, thick legs spreading out so your thighs touch.

"-um?"

He clicks his tongue and jerks his knee into yours. "Saw ye' looking at me in the terminal, would be a shame t'leave ye' be, aye?"

#so hot and sexy #johnny cod #need this

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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childhood girlfriend trope but with simon-ghost-riley. In his eyes you're everything to him and everything for him. you both grew apart years ago when he left for the military, yet you still remember the heartbreak that you had when he showed you a college selection letter? no it certainly wasn't and you were definitely clear that it wasn't a college selection letter after seeing the infamous SAS insignia with the motto 'who dares wins'. you wanted to slap simon square in the face, he was only 19 and so were you; promises you made about moving in together, building a small little family together which were either forgotten by him or abandoned by him. sure you sobbed for a few weeks after he left and maybe hated him for the a few months but after a while you grew tired of it, because if he did care for you and your love he would have atleast sent letters asking about your well being, so you set out to find love within someone else's embrace. and after 15 years, when your husband decides to invite his team over for dinner,now imagine the sheer shock on simon's face when his captain introduces you as his wife.

#oooooh #this is so yummy #cod fanfic

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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people who use dog as a metaphor for love or loyalty or hunger or desperation or violence or devotion, I am kissing you on the mouth with tongue

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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queen. i loved the johnny & parcel girl fic so much. may we know if she did end up giving him wee bairns 🥺

thank you queen! i was looking for a reason to keep writing for this one 😭

pt2 to this

The sound of the front door being shut felt like being tossed a buoy while drowning in the sea. You closed your eyes in relief as you stood up from the carpeted floor, back aching and knees cracking.

“Johnny! You back?” It had been a long day of you watching the kids while your husband was at work and you now wanted nothing more than to put your feet up and just relax. Your youngest girl wasn’t old enough to go to nursery, and the thought of separating her from her older sister seemed unfair. Besides, you were on maternity leave now, and there was something so rewarding about looking after them both as they played and grew.

“Johnny?” You yawned, as you bent over to pick up the youngest, the other one content to play with her light up toys on the floor. “Are you back yet?” There was no reply. Usually he comes in shouting about how he much he “missed his three lassies” but today, there was no noise. A slight shiver ran up your spine. What if that wasn’t your husband? The feeling of nausea crept its way into your stomach, your throat closing up as you slowed down your breathing.

You whispered to your other girl, to stand up, slowly and quietly, telling her not to make a sound, there’s a new game you’re playing about who can be quietest the most. Keeping your eyes on the door, you usher for her to go sit behind the sofa in the room. But then the door starts to open, ever so slightly, and you freeze. Your grip on your baby tightens and your hand on your toddler becomes firmer. The door continues to move, the creaking sound growing louder and louder, more and more light flooding into the room, until the door suddenly widens, a sharp sound of fear leaving your mouth. And you see him.

“John MacTavish, I hate you.” And the sound of his cackling fills the room. He spends the next minute or so, laughing at himself, doubling over and even holding onto the door frame for support in his laughing fit.

“Sorry, lass, am sorry, didnae mean to scare you so.” He says after he calms down, even though you can tell from the smirk on his face that he absolutely did mean to scare you like this. Here you were, tired and now scared shitless and he still thinks he’s funny. Well, two could play at that game. You leave him in the doorway, still feeling smug and just simply walk past him, into the kitchen.

Half an hour goes by and Johnny has started to realise that you’re serious, probably due to the fact that you plated everyone else’s dinner but his. It’s not like you didn’t let him eat, just that you let him do it himself for once. Another half an hour and Johnny has began to panic. He wouldn’t have pulled such a stupid joke if he knew you’d be giving him the silent treatment.

Two hours later and you’ve settled both the kids in for bed in their room, adjusting the baby monitor, just to be sure. You walk past Johnny, not sparing him a second glance as you head towards the bathroom. A twenty minute shower later and another ten minutes spent on your skincare, you decide it’s time to head back to your bedroom. You could have been back earlier, but you purposely dragged it out to teach Johnny a lesson.

You turn off the hallway lights before opening the door to yours and Johnny’s bedroom, only to be met with the sight of Johnny kneeling on the floor, blocking your way in.

“Excuse me.” You say pointedly, and try to shift that mountain of a man with your leg. Obviously, you failed. But that’s when he starts.

“Am so sorry lass, wasnae thinking, shouldn’t have done tha’ to you. Wasnae thinking about my beautiful wife who spends her day looking after our family. Won’t do it again, ah swear.” The worst part is he actually sounds sincere, because for you, the look on his face as he watches you walk by him without any acknowledgment was rather fun. He looked scared shitless when he understood the gravity of the situation, which you have to admit make you laugh inside. But if he actually means this apology, then you have no choice to forgive him. Shame.

“Johnny get up.” His face lights up once he hears you call his nickname, and he knows he’s in the clear now, which he celebrates by immediately pouncing on your lips, murmuring about he’s been thinking of kissing you all day. To be honest, so have you, but you don’t tell him that.

“You know, if you hadn’t apologised, you would have slept on the couch.” And that scared look on his face returns.

#cod fanfic #johnny mctavish x reader #fluff #cod fluff #cod x you #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #johnny mactavish #johnny cod

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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chubby!puppygirl x owner!price

Price is getting older, retired from the SAS now. his work never allowed him to settle down meaning no wife, no girlfriend, not even a casual hookup. so after hours of stroking his cock to puppygirl porn, he decides he should get one for himself. maybe make some home videos.

he browses local shelters. most the pup hybrids are the same. all thin and muscular. their bodies profiled by sharp angles and sharper teeth. then he sees you.

your picture is sweet. a sweet smile, floppy ears, sharp eyes. your tail is blur, clearly wagging it at the time they took your picture. he clicks on your profile, he has to know more.

‘one of our newer rescues! she’s a sweet girl, but too smart for her own good! this pup would best be suited to a household that can give her lots of attention and training to avoid misbehaviour. ’

a smile quirks at his lips. perfect. pretty, smart, and a little needy.

you’ve got a soft body- rolls and curves that he desperately wants to grope. he can imagine it now, you’d be sat pretty in his lap cockwarming him. he’d stretch your tight cunt, grope and squeeze at your tits, slap your clit when you squirm.

within a week, he’s adopted you.

the first few weeks fly by. a month in and you’re fully settled. price treats you well, extremely well. praises almost everything you do, constantly pets and kisses you, feeds you the highest quality food. devours your cunt every night.

he’s made you drunk on him. every morning you wake up nuzzled in his arms. within ten minutes he’s shoved his fingers into your soft cunt, rutting his hips into your ass. prices voice low and growl as he praises you; “fuck, pup. so fuckin wet for me. my good girl. cmon, cum for me, show me how needy you are.”

afterwards, he feeds you. makes you whatever you like. once youre full and happy, tail wagging back and forth, he shoves you under the table. sits you on your knees between his legs. price tangles a hand in your hair, eases himself into your throat. your ‘morning treat.’

breakfast is followed by a walk. he is ex-military, old habits die hard. by the time you get back, you’re sweaty, body worn out and tired. ready for a shower.

this is prices favourite time of day. he takes you into the shower, gently washes your body. soaps you up in sweet smelling bubbles, washes you down with warm water.

the whole time, he’s squeezing your soft body. knows exactly where to grope you to make you squeak.

the part he loves the most though? when he spreads your chubby thighs, changes the shower setting, and sprays water directly on your clit. he bites and sucks the fat of your tits, grumbles against the soft skin.

“cmon pup, gotta make sure you’re clean. be a good girl, spread your legs f’me… atta girl”

every moment of your day, you’re lavished with attention and praise. so when you act up, break the rules, disrespect him? his punishments hit hard.

he gets up before you do, already gone on his morning run. he makes you food, but leaves it on the bench. he doesn’t so much as look at you for the first half of the day, let alone speak a word.

it’s only when you’re crying at his feet, grinding your wet aching cunt against his boot that he bothers to look at you.

with a hand in your hair, he tilts your head. the sight of tears running down your chubby cheeks making him rock fucking hard.

he uses the other hand to squish your cheeks together, eyes stern and cold, voice flat as he speaks. “What did you do wrong?”

he doesn’t let go, making you talk through a forced pout. he waits until you’re begging and sobbing, eyes needy and desperate before he gives in.

price pulls you up over his knee, big hands a little too rough with you. he pushes your panties down, exposing your cunt. lets out a groan as he slowly toys with your soft clit. you’re fucking dripping.

“Mhm, i know puppy. you’re sorry. didn’t mean to make me mad, huh?” he smirks as you nod. he’s practically drooling at how your thighs surround his hand, the fat burying it.

he waits till you're relaxed before he pulls his hand back, delivering a stinging spank. he keeps his other on your neck, forcing you still.

Price continues to spank you, making you count each one. grinding his tent against your tummy as he turns your ass red, only getting harder as your tears wet his jeans.

he makes you count in intervals of ten. spanks you red and raw, then after 10, strokes your pretty pussy. he gets you nice and relaxed, acts as if it’s over, then repeats.

he only stops once you’re shaking and sobbing, his jeans completely soaked with slick and tears.

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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This is so niche, so so niche, but has anyone ever heard of the 'pedal pump/car stuck girls' kink where men pay for videos of women who have car trouble?

Anyway, that's Price. I will not be taking questions.

I will, however, elaborate. The first time he sees one, it has him clenching his knuckles and sucking in through his teeth. Pretty girl flooding her engine and gazing dolefully at her dash camera, eyebrows pinched and confused. Soon, he falls down the rabbit hole.

Eventually, he settles on one creator. A smaller one, unassuming. Her footage isn't well-produced and edited. She's not made-up and plucked and preened. She looks like any of the women he drives past on the street. She's perfect—

He subscribes. Clicks on the VIP package which offers the opportunity to chat and send requests.

[27.12.24]

>>JP141CE: That blue dress is beautiful on you. Wear it in the next video.

[13.01.25]

>>JP141CE: You need to adjust your seat angle. Gonna give yourself an injury if you make a hard stop.

[24.01.25]

>>JP141CE: Take the camera out of the car, sweetheart. Let us see you pop the hood and try to fix it.

Your camera work is shaky with you clamouring out and edging around the door. But if he pauses at just the right frame—

There. Your license plate.

Got you.

#fav #price x reader #cod #need him

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grossitsluca · 5 months ago

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hold my neck between your teeth

price x reader, price x reader x nikolai, pricenik, 2.7k, 18+ summary: When you agreed to marry John, you knew there was someone else. You could deal with that, as long as he agreed to one simple request. ((the fic I have lovingly dubbed the amuse bouche to this saturday.)) content: f!reader, alcohol, breeding kink, cuckolding, technically cheating, unprotected sex banners by @/cafekitsune

When you marry John something in the back of your mind knows there’s something else — someone else. But he’s perfect, attentive, a man you want to spend the rest of your life with, which you hadn’t thought possible after your history of exes. It's not the game changer it should be. So you decide you'll accept it. You only have one rule. Never in the bed you share.

John holds your gaze when you tell him.

He agrees, and you don't let yourself linger on thoughts of him with another woman. You say yes when he asks you to marry him before the year is out, agree to a small wedding, as long as you get to decide on the venue.

It's perfect.

You just don't think about her.

And when John is home, he's the perfect husband. He brings you home gifts, you have dates, and it doesn't get stale. He lets you plan dinners out at nice restaurants, goes to book signings with you and lets you tell him all about the series on the way over. His team's a big part of his life and while John never goes into detail, would never share confidential information, it's lovely to hear your husband talk about his men. And Kate. You'd even had a dinner with his friend and her wife, happy to meet one of the people who it seemed like belonged to a different world.

It was harder to get the boys to your house, John said, but he told you about them. Gaz, Johnny, Nik, Simon. His boys, his brothers in arms, and oldest friend. You can tell how much they all mean to him, with how he focuses on each day Gaz getting sharper, quicker, likely soon to take his place and put him into an early retirement. But he smiles when he says it. Simon's becoming more like his old self, it sounds like, and whatever that man was like, John's proud of him. Happy for what they've been able to accomplish within his team. And despite Johnny's rash nature, how he could snap, he was smart kid. Smarter than he let himself get credit for. It reminded you of that Discworld novel. "You are my little lads and I will look after you." And John looked after you too.

Whenever there was talk of Nik, his voice took a fondness, a care, that made you love the man. You didn't ask solely about him, didn't think there was a preference, but there was something about when John talked about him, something that made you smile, had your hand reaching for his, and turning to kiss the corner of his lips.

You're a year and a half into your marriage, when John comes back from his a job, something different. You can't put your finger on it, a stiffness to his spine that coupled with the furrow of his brow makes your stomach twist. The air feels tense and every time you open your mouth to offer comfort, the words twist together on your tongue.

He excuses himself after dinner, and for the first time in years you think about her. There's a pit in your stomach as you think about how she can make him feel better when you can't. For the first time in a long time, you felt small. Being with John had never made you feel small before. Not like other relationships, not like how your grandmother always shushed you.

You don't mean to bite through the inside of your lip but the hot coppery liquid has you rushing to the bathroom to dab the wound, try and keep it dry as possible.

Waking up to an empty bed with John's home is foreign. He was here, but not here, with you.

He comes home half a week later, the weight off his shoulders. He twines his fingers with yours, sliding between you and the cushion of the sofa as he seems to slump against you. His lips trail up your neck as he finally opens up about his boys. It'd been a rough one. It had gone ass over teakettle right at the end, and he'd just needed time. He'd gone to see Nik, he promises as his hand slides up your old uni shirt and you want desperately to believe him. When his other hand slides into the front of your sleep shorts, rough finger parting your folds to expertly strum at your clit, you find yourself nodding as he tells you how perfect you are, how wet your cunt felt to his fingers, always so ready for him. How he didn't deserve you.

You let him fuck you without a condom, ignoring the uncomfortable ache in your right hip at the angle you have to bend to get him inside you just right, nails scratching into his back. Like you're trying to remind everyone he's yours.

He helps you into his shirt, carries you to bed and kisses your jaw, your neck, your shoulders as you drift off. His cologne was heavy on it, rich but sharp. Had he gotten a new one? You press your face against it as you curl up, feeling his hands slide beneath it, pushing it high enough so he could hook your leg over his comfortably, hand warm on your sore hip, massaging it as he fucks into you one more time.

Of course, the next day he's called back in. Leaving before you're even fully awake, just barely aware of his lips on yours as he grouses about work.

No rest for the wicked, luv.

You try and tell him you love him as you drift back to sleep.

That night you hold his shirt to your nose as you desperately fuck yourself with your favorite dildo, already missing John. Because he hadn't really even been home.

He's quiet again when he returns home, scent almost completely replaced with your own. It'd just been him, Gaz, and Nik. But Gaz'd gotten nicked. John rubs his thumb across your shoulder as he kisses your spine. Nik always stayed cool under pressure, could reel his brain back. His thick fingers slide through the mess of cum and your own release as he plays with your swelling clit. He tells you he doesn't know if he'd be able to keep it together if it weren't for you. His home.

It's so easy to listen as his scent washes over you again. Spiced and deep. Even though none of his bottles smelled like it.

You hold onto his shoulders as you ride him once more before bed. Part of you praying this time you'll get pregnant. Have something to remind him that if you were his, he was yours.

That night he says he has some paperwork left at base, but he's made a dinner reservation. Wants it to be a surprise. John lays out the red dress he'd asked you to marry him in, and you giggle, kiss him eagerly as you tell him you can't wait.

The work day can't go fast enough. It seems like every stupid problem someone else had put off had reared their ugly heads just to bite you in the ass. The only thing that gets you through the day is the thought of dinner.

When you finally finishing doing your make up after fighting with your contacts – how had one flipped behind your eyelid? They hadn't done that since you were a sloppy teen just trying to jab them in and get to school – you wrap your dress together and freeze as you stare at yourself in the mirror.

Two years and your tits threaten to spill out, soft stomach a little softer since the last time you'd worn it. Tilting your hips, you try to stand straighter, poised.

What if she looked better?

You can't get the dress off fast enough, face burning as you find a black cocktail dress that doesn't threaten to flash anyone. A small touch up to your eyeshadow and the car John had sent for you had arrived.

“I was hoping you’d wear the red dress,” John greets, placing a light kiss to your temple.

When you’d been leaning to give him a kiss.

Your throat feels tight as you drop your eyes, murmur that it hadn't fit right. When he raises a brow, you pretend you don't see to focus on examining the menu. Which is when you notice the third seat at your table.

“I don’t want to meet anyone, John” you whisper, nails digging into your palms as you glance up at him. Pleading. You can’t do this if this is when he introduces you to the other woman. The one he must have been with before you’d met him. The one who he went to when you weren't enough. You can't handle this today, and you desperately don’t want to cry in public.

When John reaches for your hand, you instinctively draw back, elbow connecting with another patron's thigh and hot embarrassment is burning your face as you turn to apologize.

The large man flashes you a toothy grin, and you can only blink owlishly up at him as he shakes John's hand before pulling him into a brief hug. When his attention turns towards you again, you quickly blink back your tears as he kisses your hand before leaning in to kiss each cheek. You can still feel heat in your cheeks as John introduces you to Nik, clenching your thighs together as his cologne stays with you. Rich and spicy with a sharp citrus.

Nik coos, praises you when you talk about your work and you know you should stop after your third glass of wine, but his presence is so comforting. And John is laughing by your side, kissing your neck so gently that you almost want to call it a night to let your husband fuck your brains out.

But Nik is...captivating.

A hand inches up the skirt of your dress and it take a moment before you realize John's on the wrong side for that.

When you jump a little in your seat, John hushes you gently, mustache and beard tickling as he whispers into your ear. About how good you are, how long he's wanted to introduce you to Nik but it was never the right time. But now you finally had and they could share you. You were a good girl who knew how to share, didn't you?

And finally you understood.

Nik's face is buried in your pussy as John keeps your thighs open, knees hooked under yours and hips gently rocking in unison with the other man's movements. You can't help but throw your head back in a moan as two thick fingers take his tongue's place, curling just right and expertly finding that soft spongy spot inside of you that made your thighs quake, his nose nudging against your clit.

“So good for me, luv, can see how good you are for him, too,” the deep voice of your husband rumbles against your back as you stutter moans, hips bucking against the dark hair man's mouth.

Between your parted thighs, Nik hums agreements against the stretched rim of your cunt.

His fingers stretch, and you don't think you've orgasmed that fast in your life, crying out desperately as you thrust against Nik's mouth, his fingers, lost in the feeling of John's chest against your back as another man greedily laps at your release.

The realization that you just came because a man other than your husband, who was so tenderly holding you in his arms, lips on your shoulders as Nik idly strokes your inside so gently.

“'m sorry,” you moan softly, turning to kiss John's cheek, “didn't mean to come so fast, baby.”

If John minds, he doesn't show it. His lips meet yours before his eyes drop, before he pulls away.

Your confusion is short lived as Nik kisses your other shoulder, pulling your own attention away from your husband before you tiredly notice his raised hand, fingers wet with your come, brought to John's mouth.

“So good for us, your pretty little wife,” his accent seems thicker, or maybe that's just a trick of your brain and he's always sounded this delicious.

“So good,” John moans around the fingers dragging across his tongue.

You don't think you'd ever seen anything so hot, and instinctively you lean forward, tongue joining John's as you lap at Nik's thick digits.

Behind you, he groans low, and John takes the opportunity to find your tongue.

When Nik pulls back, you moan at the loss, confusion furrowing your brows before the Russian cradles the back of your head, easily moving you so that his lips met yours, other hand creeping back down your sides, between your legs. “Be good for me, yes, sweet girl?”

“But John-” You start weakly, trying to turn back to your husband before he finally takes the opportunity to push your dress down, exposing your tits as you arch back against him, palming eagerly against you.

“Oh, don't you worry, luv, you be Nik's good girl, he's waited a long time for his turn,” John's words send an immediate jolt of pleasure to your core, face warming before you nod, kissing his chin before you turn back to Nik.

He wastes no time laying you out beside John, propping your hips up with a pillow as he eases your legs higher, settling down heavily behind your thighs. When you try to peak down, to get a good look at his cock, he buries himself in you to the hilt, knocking the air from your lungs in a gasp. A moan stutters out from your lips, before your teeth clamp down, face burning in embarrassment at the airy sound that he'd fucked out of you.

It had been so long since you'd been with someone other than your husband, or your toys. Nik’s cock was shorter than John’s but thicker, stretching you out just right as he ground against your swollen clit.

Another moan escaped as he immediately began to thrust into you, steady rhythm using his weight to make each movement feel deeper than the last.

“S- so good, fuck, Nik, you feel so good,” each word followed the rock of his body against your, punctuated by his balls slapping against your ass, sounding wetter and wetter each time. The gold chain he'd left on bobbed against your throat as his fingers wound themselves in your hair.

Just as his lips curl up, dark eyes darker somehow as he gazed down at you.

“Do you want me to cum in her? Fuck her so full there's no way I won't give her a fat baby? You want me to knock your pretty wife up, John? Raise my baby as your own?” His voice is thick as grins down at you.

Whatever he was cooing down to you couldn’t even begin to imagine, as he briefly pulled back, out, so he could wrap your legs around his waist, thick arm sliding beneath your ass to bring you closer to him with each snap of his hips. You’re too focused on the short, quick rhythm his thrusts have taken. His fat balls are slapping against your ass each time your pussy sloppily takes him back inside of you. While he toys with your left nipple, he latches onto your right, making you moan. Your hips are frantically meeting his as you curl your fingers in his thick hair.

“Yes, say yes for me, luv,” John’s voice startles you, causing the both of you to moan as you instinctively clench down on the thick cock you’re currently spread on. Nodding along, you tilt your hips so that Nik hits that lovely spot inside of you, his entire dick spearing you just right.

“Yes,” you begin to chant immediately, “yes, yes, yes, please Nik, fuck, so good.”

A shriek of a moan slips free as Nik's bites gently into your stiff nipple, hips jerking flush against his as you climax, legs wrapping tightly around his own, keeping him firmly against you as your orgasm crashes down on you, hot spurts filling you as Nik begins to empty his churning balls into you.

His weight presses you firmly to the mattress as you sleepily smile up at John. “Love you,” your words are heavy, hips idly rocking against Nik's.

“Love you too, darlin',” John's tongue darts out to wet his lips, blue eyes so dark as his grin spreads. “Happy anniversary, Nik.”

#price x reader #cod smut #cod nikolai #fav

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