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when your need grows teeth | John Price x f!Reader

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than let it go. It starts when you ask him to pick up your birth control—like dangling a piece of bloody meat in front of a starving dog. Of course he's going to take a bite. He thinks you ought to have known this by now.

SMUT 18+ | gratuitous smut; HEAVY breeding kink, breeding; Dom!John Price; p-in-v sex, unsafe sex; rough sex; mentions of spanking; mutual manipulation; this is roughly 10k of John Plotting and fucking you; John is: unhinged, obsessive, possessive, and Scheming. mentions of birth control tampering but nothing is followed through. No. He’s going to knock you up the old-fashioned way—by making you beg for it.

AO3 MIRROR

John has always had this desire—this awful, instinctual drive in the back of his head to knock someone up. Get them fat, swollen with his child. His.

And maybe that's the crux of it. Possession. To have something of the most rooted kind. To irrevocably change someone—their anatomy, their body, the chemistry in their brain, their status in life from them (single no dependents) to mother (mother of his child), their very atoms—and create life from the combined parts.

It's this almost fantastical beast, this unreachable dream for him.

It's his Shangri-la. His castle in Spain.

He's not under any disillusionment that this idea of fatherhood, of parenthood, is slightly skewed. That most men who want children don't feel this overwhelmingly greedy desire to fundamentally alter someone in such an irreversible way. It's not quite ownership, but it's the same ilk. A bastardised, unwanted child of it.

And it's not just this idea of claimation—to forever be the father of their child, even if neither of them stays together; a piece of him will always be there, parasitic, no matter what—but something deeper. Something a bit less—egregious.

This is, and always has been, about yearning.

John's the type of man to lock his jaws around what's his, preferring instead to ruin things, puncture it full of holes, and litter it with scars, rather than to let it go.

Marriage, he finds, is breakable. Divorce, separation. He's always on his worst behaviour in the initial stages of dating, so it's never something he has to entertain since no one ever sticks around long enough for it to be on the table, much less the menu, but the idea of it—of signing papers, of hashing out the split, of being known as ex-husband—leaves a bitter tang between his teeth. It won't do. He needs permanence. Perpetuity.

Nothing says forever quite like a child, does it?

And sure—he’s aware that countermeasures exist: custody orders, sole custody, shared; allotted visitations; divisional lines in this new age that keep the parents from ever interacting—but while you can get divorced, you can't unmake a child, can you?

The child would never write him out, either.

Where deadbeats exist, it's important to note that their counterparts do, too. The ones like him who will gouge their eyes out of their skulls before they ever let what happened to them growing up trickle down and impact their child, polluting the pool.

Simply put: John Price knows he'd be the best dad there is because he's stubborn that way.

It helps, he supposes, that he really only has so much love to give out to the world, and greedily, he stashed the entirety of it away in a box to give to his would-be wife and their child. An overwhelming deluge that promises happiness should it ever be unlocked. Pandora's box, perhaps—down to the very essence because if John Price were to ever love someone, then it's probably in their best interest to run from it, this gaping, needy chasm.

Not that it would ever be a possibility, of course—he’s much too good at compartmentalisation, in taking out his anger, his viciousness, on the ugly world he drenches himself in, the one his hands have a tangible cause and effect principle in place that will forever feed that starving beast inside of him.

Ergo—he’s a staunch supporter of the theory: happy wife, happy life. Though where those men think in a box stuffed full of emotional intimacy, flowers, chocolate, maintaining love, all-consuming and enduring, he takes it to extremes that would have them cowering a little bit. Maybe a lot.

But that's fine. He only has to make sure his family is happy. No one else matters, save a select few who have a seat at his table during Sunday dinners.

The rest, though? Spare parts.

(The ice-cold resolve in those two words is apodictic, brass bound, and he's sure if his higher-ups knew about it, well—

His chest candy would be a hole in the ground. Put the rabid dog down before it has a chance to bite.)

But that all-consuming, devouring, obsessive love he has to give, that begs to be let free, is the reason why it's so tightly leashed. Locked up in a box. Untouchable. Inaccessible.

It's why he isn't married.

Ghost once asked him why the women he dated were older. Much older. Menopausal (always). And he'd said something to the effect of it being his type. Older women who wouldn't cower away from the acrid burn of him, who wouldn't hurt their delicate little hands on his gritty surface.

But the real reason is because he knows better.

He's a starving dog, and it's just bad form to dangle a piece of meat in front of it. Especially when the hand holding it is his own.

Don't bite the hand that feeds you, and all.

(The keen look in Ghost's eyes told him that, perhaps, the man already knew the reason when he asked, and was just satiating himself with kinship—the dark, awful look on Simon's ugly mug after the dredging the underbelly of Price’s rotten, mouldering mudfloor of things unsaid spoke volumes.

They'd both nodded. Content, then. And promptly ordered a shot of whisky to drown the salivation, the hunger, from clogging their throats. Killing the urge to bite.

A pair of packless, stray dogs.)

But then he found you, and all his careful planning, all his distance, blew up in his face.

It's always been on his mind since then. Lingering in his periphery—this fevered, tantalising vision of you, round and swollen with his child.

It's unattainable, of course. A fantasy.

Though, this—you throwing up in the washroom of his penthouse, undoubtedly knocked up by his machinations—is probably because he kept that desire too close to where he hides his questionable mortality, the one that allows him to throw innocent people to their deaths, and send mothers and fathers to an early grave just so he can rip his fists apart on their bastard offspring in his own brand of catharsis that always bites back when they grow up, hankering for revenge.

He's always been good at snatching dreams out of the air, clenching them tight in his fists. Taming chimerical wants, whims, until they were docile, domesticated. Making realities out of fiction.

And really—he’s just not a good man.

He thought you'd have known this by now.

He remembers the first time he growled the words into your ear as he came, your cunt clenching around him like a vice. Desperate for it, he teased after, fingers fucking into your sloppy, leaking hole. Pushing his spend back into you. Half-drunk on the taste of you still clinging to his beard, but mostly just mesmerised by the sight of you—pretty pussy all ruined, swollen from the vicious, hateful pounding he gave it, and dipping with his cum like a faucet.

(It pissed him off—still does, really—when you waste it like this.)

Gonna fill you up, he snarled, low and wrecked. Gonna make it take—

It was a fantasy. Still is. But the way it took root in the garden of your bedroom, like it belonged—native flora, he thinks, a touch mad with it—had something ugly, oil slick, rearing up from that untouchable place in his head.

He could really blame you for it—and does. The way your ankles locked tight around his thighs, hands reaching, grabbing at his waist, clawing at his asscheeks to press him in deeper, deeper still, as he came inside of you, cock lodged right against your plug, had that untameable beast cocking its head in consideration after you danced too close to it, waking it from his long, restful slumber.

You wanted it. Ached for it. He could feel it in the way your walls tightened around him, practically starving for it. Your pretty, glossy eyes rolling back into your head. Drool running down your chin. A litany of pleas spilled from your kiss-bruised lips, begging him for it. Please, John. Please. Please—

Who was he to deny you?

Even if you made a big, flustered show of waving it off—not something I've ever imagined for myself, you know? and–and your lifestyle, what you do—is something like that even possible for us?—he saw how it curled around your shoulders, dipping its silver tongue into your ear. Germinating.

He let it. Encouraged it.

“Something to talk about later,” he indulged, reaching over for a cigar just to smother the urge to breed you stupid. To tie you to his bedposts and keep you full until your belly was swelling with more than just the absurd volume of his seed he pumped inside of you.

And, oh—

The uneasy smile on your face reeked of disappointment.

Fuck. Fuck—

John went to the washroom after that, heart pounding out of his chest, and jabbed the lit end of his cigar into his thigh to kill the fever in his veins. To rewrite the desperate, ugly howling in his head with pain instead.

It worked. Works—

Until you came to him, all watery-eyed and worried, and told him to please, please stop falling asleep with a lit cigar because you think you might just go mad if you lost him to a cigarette fire. And doesn't he see how silly it is, these burns look so bad, John, and I worry—

His teeth ached. He smiled, but it felt like a grimace. A dog holding back the instinct to bare its teeth.

“Sure, love,” he'd said, and started taking out his anger on your cunt instead, fucking you deep, and stupid. Getting you all cockdrunk, and hungry for the dream that spoiled so badly in the back of his head, he's sure a proper man would call it a nightmare. “Anything you want.”

(Brassbound. Apodictic. You know that, he knows you know that, so imagine his surprise when you come to him, all soft and tender, and ask him to pick up your birth control as if he hadn't spent the better part of two years grumbling every fucking time you took it and wasn't on the verge of tossing the damn bottle out the window, and fucking you until it took—

But—you do know that, don't you?

Well, then. Whatever his lady wants, right? Right.)

“Can you stop by the pharmacy on your way home tonight?”

He hums, fiddling with the belt of his slacks in front of the mirror. “Sure, love. You feelin’ sick?”

“No,” you murmur, sliding behind him on your way to the washroom, wearing nothing but a towel tucked under your arms. “I need my refill. For birth control.”

His hands still. A gnarled, rotted tendril curls over the edge of the cesspool, murky, ink black water splashing all over the place. “Oh, yeah? Still taking that, hm?”

You fluster. Hands waving, chock full of nervous, emotive energy you can't seem to shake off. “Well—yes. I mean, obviously.”

And he'd leave it there, let the spillage dry on the hot pavement, if you hadn't glanced back at him, all damp keenness, slightly skittish, and asked, feather-soft and utterly fragile, “right?”

Right? A question, he notes. Not a statement.

He licks his teeth. Tastes something rancid in the gaps.

“Mm. I suppose so.” He leaves it vague, but drenches it in the heavy weight of his disappointment. Anchors dragging it down. You flit around the space like a house-locked bird, slamming into the walls and ceiling as you try—blind and panicked—to find an escape. Any escape.

He finds the whole thing utterly charming. Especially when you realise he pitched himself in front of the only exit, thick, heavy hands curled around his belt, cock outlined against his slacks, already thickened, drooling in his pants.

There's gasp—wet, and sharp—as you take him in. The liquid of his eyes as his want bleeds out of his skull. The flush on his cheeks, the twitch of his cock at the mere mention of you not taking your silly little pills.

John lets it sit for a moment, taking in greedy lungfuls of your unease as you glance everywhere but at him, as if looking in his direction, breathing in this toxic miasma will give you a contact high. Infectious. Gnarled.

The little seed that started germinating blooms.

He fights back the urge to grin, all teeth. Madness staining them black.

“It's—it’s on—” and fuck, he's never seen you so unsure before, this nervous. You handle him like a wrangler, wrassling his brutish dominance until it's putty in your hands, splitting his head into pieces and galvanising the madness inside until it's scripture for you to peek at whenever you need guidance, insight into him, his essence, his being.

Your dyadic has always been built on permeance.

John doesn't think there's a single person alive who understands him as much as you do. The only person who seems content to gorge yourself on his rotted marrow like it was a delicacy.

Seeing you like this rents his resolve in two.

“It's the pharmacy near the, uh, the school. The kindergarten.”

He chokes on a groan, and thinks he tears something in his throat with the strain of keeping it down. There's blood, ash, in the back of his throat.

“Alright, love. I'll pick it up.”

You smell it, and shiver.

It's giving meat to a starving dog, and saying, dog, don't take a bite.

And so, of course he does.

John picks up your prescription, tossing it in the passenger seat like it personally offended him. And it has. Does. It's what's standing in the way between what he wants, what he craves, and there's a distinct thrum of irritation welling inside of him. One that started when he had to bark out your name at the counter earlier, and the pharmacist looked at him, and calmly, kindly, explained what it was he was picking up.

Make sure she takes them once a day. Preferably at the same time. This brand of oral contraceptive can be taken with or without food—

Fuck off, he thought—thinks, even now, glowering into the tinted window of the pharmacy.

He grips the steering wheel tight until his scarred knuckles bleach white under the strain, and sits in the parking lot, staring, unseeingly, at the shops. Pensive. Thoughtful. It gnarls over his expression until he's the picture of that grizzly-like intensity you often accuse him of. All furrowed brows and a pinched, angry twist to his lips.

There's a series of complex equations running laps in his head. He's no stranger to this process, needing to make life or death decisions in less time it takes someone to snap their fingers, or tentatively stammer out his title.

This one is more linear than the rest. One plus one, so to speak. But the weight of it is profound. Heavier, even, than deciding between the success of his mission and the life of an innocent bystander.

(But he thinks he's just selfish like that.)

In his head, he debates the ethics of replacing all of these silly little tablets that stand in his way with sugar pills.

It would be the quickest path to the end, but the risk-reward ratio ebbs and flows the more he considers things without the miasmic influence of that abomination throwing itself at the walls of its enclosure, howling in an endless cacophony of do it, do itdoit—

A better man wouldn't even have such a temptation. He supposes that's what you deserve, but he already had this particular crisis a few months after he met you, and realised that the things he wanted to do to you would undoubtedly put him on a list. Slapped so hard with a restraining order, his ears would still be buzzing.

That something about you made his jowls twinge, and his teeth ache, and no amount of stay away from her, Price; she deserves better than you was going to keep his dirty hands from curling around your throat, leaving soot-stains on your skin in the shape of his fingerprints. Brandishing ownership in burst blood vessels; a pretty collar for you to wear because as much as you like to pretend otherwise—

You're a dog just like him.

In any case, he's the best choice for you. The only one who'd burn the world just to keep you warm, and that's what you really need. Protection.

And fuck—you toy with that particular urge that has always been etched in fine lines within the walls of bones; dipping your fingers into it, and spreading it over the apples of your cheek. Everything about you prickles along his hindbrain. Renders him from a modern man with modern ideals to an animal who can only speak in growls, snarls; pure primalism, all instinct.

You're made for each other down to the bone. He's sure he could split your head apart and find that your cranial sutures are perfectly mirrored. Made in the same image: you were grown from his missing rib, and he always meant to be cradled in the brackets of your thighs.

So, crisis of worthiness aside—because there are none, not anymore—he plots. Plans. Schemes. But his machinations keep catching on the soft fibrils of your wants.

John doesn't know what he'd do if you changed your mind.

(Or, rather, he does but that's another madness to unravel with his personal therapist.)

It's with this—the slight brandishing of his uncertainty in your certainty—that he gives up the idea, pocketing it for a later date, and drives home, back to you.

He doesn't toss the bag on the counter, but sets it up perfectly, placing it as close to the edge where the bin sits under it. All it would take is a breath of wind for it to fall into the trash.

That doesn't happen, though. You stare at the white, crinkled package for a moment as he sips on his tea, quietly contemplative. With your expression hidden from him, he has no idea what might be going through that pretty head of yours. Disappointment, he can only hope. And then you're reaching for it, fingers gripping the bag tightly in your fist. He hears the paper crumble. It sparks something inside his chest. A bloom of hope that you might just throw it out. Toss it in the bin—

You turn to him instead, knuckles white.

“Thanks,” you say, and the matter is dropped.

He goes to tuck that want back where it escaped, leaving slick trails of putrefying rot behind, but—

John peeks in the vanity later that evening, but where he expects to see the little rectangular package sitting in its usual spot between his aftershave and the mouthwash, he finds nothing. Just an empty spot on the ledge, spotlit by the lack of dust. A clean square of white paint, undisturbed.

His jaw twinges. He wonders if you're hiding it from him, keeping it safe from his machinations, but then he finds it shoved in the drawer with his shaving kit, and the box of condoms he bought when you'd first started dating (for show, naturally—John had no intentions of using them and learned persuasion was your Achilles heel; that and you tended to get a little glossy-eyed whenever he growled filth in your ear, the smell of your cunt heavy on his breath).

The package is crinkled like you squeezed it tight in your little fist before you tossed it in.

You're always meticulous in the way you put things in their places. Even the junk drawer is organised, all neat.

This speaks volumes, but he's not quite sure what it says. They are still here, though. Accessible. One is missing from the pack. It dampens his mood.

He picks up his toothbrush, and runs through those calculations again to see how he can convince you to skip the one you're meant to take tomorrow. And the next day, and the next, and the next—

He stays awake as you sleep beside him, looking into how many days you can miss before your brand of birth control stops being effective.

Seven pills in a row.

He files it away, lost in thought.

The next morning, he leaves his phone open on the bedside table with the article pulled up. He kisses you awake before he leaves to shower, humming something soft under his breath.

When he returns, he finds you sitting up in bed with your knees drawn to your chest. There's something pensive about the look on your face. Paper soft, as though it would all blow away at a mere whisper.

You regard him almost cooly but something raw, fractured splits over the ravine. A waterfall of midnight black sludge rains down.

(He wonders if it tastes of the same rot, the same madness, as the basin of the untouched recesses of his head—)

“I'm working late tonight,” you murmur after a measured beat, and he can't place your tone. “Maybe we can watch a movie when I get home.”

John nods, and your eyes drop, scaling down his bare, broad chest as he breathes in the flint staining the air. Your gaze is white-hot when it bludgeons into him, feverish.

It doesn't take much beckoning at all to have him crawling toward you, towel ripped from his hips and thrown somewhere in the aether.

As he steals the madness from your tongue, his eyes flicker to the phone still sitting on the table. It looks perfectly untouched. The screen is off.

That, too, he files away.

John comes to the succinct conclusion that the only means he has in his arsenal to get what he wants—legally, and somewhat morally, anyway—is persuasion.

There's no recourse if he can water that burgeoning plant inside of you, make it seem like this is something you want, too. A family. With him.

(Only him.)

He knows that you see things quite similarly to him. Wherein love is desire. Desire is hunger. And there's nothing more profound to you than to eat the person you love alive. Consumption of every part—the good, the beautiful, the bad, the ugly, and the rotted: skin, fat, muscles, blood, and bones. All of it.

So, even if somewhere down the road you think you hate him for this, it'll be fine. He'll just consume that, too.

John Price is a tenacious man. Stubborn.

(Bullish, he hears around the barracks. Fuckin’ stubborn prick, too.)

It helps that this line of work is perfectly suited for such a peremptory drive to the finish line, no matter the cost. Utilitarian to a fault, despite his rather recalcitrant disposition. It's how he gets his way more often than not. Brutish dominance. Loutish suppression.

But a near reckless, suicidal loyalty that attracts the sort of beasts this line of work needs.

But that's work, not this. Not trying to convince you, his sugar-sweet (and viciously diabolical) lover, to bear the burden of giving him a family because society says it's uncouth (and illegal, morally reprehensible, villainous) for him to chain you to his bed to keep the darker parts of himself that want to rip into anyone who had the pleasure—pleasure that no longer belongs to them—of looking at you.

That's all for him.

(Nasty old bastard.)

And, of course, because he's ready. Everything clicks. Locks into place. There's no one else out there for him.

Really, though—it's your fault for prodding that beast in the first place. For letting inside your house, your bed. For thinking it could be tamed. And so. You should accept responsibility for it.

(Nasty, nasty—)

But just as much as you know him, he knows you. You'll give him a litany of reasons why this shouldn't happen, and none of them will be because this isn't what you want. It'll be filled with reasons why you think he doesn't.

And that simply won't do.

So, he plots. Plans.

The thing is. No one ever taught him how to hold things in his hands without crushing it.

He doesn't think he can be delicate. Gentle. There's no way to gently nudge you into this. No.

He'll convince you to yield the same way a tsunami convinces a house to move out of the way.

Buried to the hilt in your cunt, he growls gospels into your ear about this beautiful Shangri-la, this sprawling castle he has in Spain until you're clenching down around him tight, conditioning your body to come at the thought of swelling with his child. About letting his seed take root, letting him knock you up.

It's a crass image that he spits into your head—fuck you until it takes, love; breed this pretty cunt every day until you're fat and swollen—serves as the positive reinforcement to his classical conditioning. He'll turn you into one of Pavlov's mutts, salivating at the sound of him groaning into your ear as he fills your pussy up to the brim. He'll reshape you, change your wants until you only come around his cock when he's spitting his release against the plug of your womb.

And when you make to get up, letting all his spend slip from your sloppy cunt to take your pill, he pulls you closer under the guise of wanting to feel your body on his, murmuring diabolical compromises he has no intention of letting you see through.

“Later,” he rasps, pulling you closer. His mouth slots across your temple. “Just take it later, sweetheart. Later.”

“But—”

“It’ll be fine.”

And, as if you'd been waiting for that reassurance, you melt into his hands, wet putty.

(you take the bloody pill later, and he adds that to his mental calendar, adjusting the maths. He supposes he’ll just have to try harder next time.)

John's desire for you is overwhelming, all-encompassing, and he schemes around his wandering hands, bullying into your messy cunt only moments before your alarm is meant to go off, reminding you to take your pill, reinforcing that irritating little wall that keeps his come from reaching your womb.

It goes off, but he hardly hears it over the roaring in his ears, the sweet, sweet litany of moans that slip out, staining the pillow with your pleasure. He just keeps fucking you through it, growling mindlessly into your ears about how badly he wants to come inside of you. His warnings, threats, about how close he is intertwining with your desperate begging for him to come, come inside me, John is the most beautiful harmonisation he'd ever heard, and it sews itself into his marrow, polluting the ugliness inside with a new, fresh hell for him to torture himself with. That delicious pleasure-pain that drives him mad—

He fills you up, palm pressed taut to your lower belly as he spits his virile release deep into your cunt. He can feel the heavy outline of his cock against your skin, stuffed full of him, and it's this—the way he moulds your body around him, cock visible through your flesh—that makes his eyes roll back into his head. Makes the urge to fuck, to breed, to claim bludgeon into him, shattering reason, logic. He wants to change you, irrevocably. Forever. To mar you with his touch, his essence.

“Mine,” he chokes out, ugly and raw. It's a mangled mess in his throat. A threat. “All fucking mine, aren't you, love? All mine—”

His words seem to throw you into another climax, cunt clenching greedily down around him as he softens inside of you, plugging you up. You liked that, he notes, purs. The notion brands itself across his resolve, reshaping it into something that would make anyone else recoil in fear, disgust.

But you preen at this creature that bares its fangs at you, snaps wicked teeth against your jugular. Fingers threading through its hair, shushing it, soothing it, as you pull it back into your embrace, head tucked against your chest. You lull it into complacency with the heavy thud of your heart, your sweet, earthy scent.

What a pair, he thinks, and clamps his hands around your wrist when you murmur something about taking your pill now. Need to take it before it gets too late, John—

He makes his move, distracts you with his mouth, his tongue.

“Just take it after,” he murmurs into your pussy, thighs bracketing around his head. His hands pull your waist down, pressing you harder against his mouth. “Later, love. It'll be fine—”

“But, John—”

The protest dies, turns to ash, when he grunts, sealing his lips around your clit, bullying it with the rasping press of tongue until you're arching your back, riding his face. Thoughts of your silly pill are gone, swallowed by him as you gush, drenching his mouth in your slick.

And after, when you make to get up again, he pulls you close instead, voice curling around you like smoke when he tells you to take it after.

“No, love. Stay in bed with me,” he peppers kisses to your cheek, your jaw, chin, sweetening his words, and folds you into the tight embrace of his arms. “Take it in the morning. It'll be fine to miss a day.”

You level him with something that shadows the ravines in your gaze with pure, unadulterated scepticism, but as he scouts the canyons, the valleys, the pretty craters that make up the composite of your eyes, he finds no discernible trace of wariness, uncertainty. The terse line in his shoulders ease.

But while fossicking around he unearths something else. Something a bit more enigmatic, calculative, than doubt. Equivocal, slippery, it runs from him when he tries to give chase, tucking itself back into the harsh tenebrous that shades the landscape.

He hums, wanting to ask, but you sigh in quasi-acquiescence, and burrow deeper into his embrace.

“Fine,” you huff, but he tastes a purring sense of satisfaction in the air. “I'll take it tomorrow instead.”

“Good girl.” The praise slips out, low and gritty, perfumed with his heavy greed.

You shiver against him. The hitch in your throat is quiet in the bedroom, but to him, it sounds like a gunshot.

John keeps meticulous track of the empty pill slots, and notes with a sticky, resinous sense of glee that the numbers are becoming muddled, skewed. Later becomes tomorrow, and your soft acquiesce has days skipped. Missed.

You can't double up, you huff to him, mournfully slinking into the bed. It's nearly one in the morning. Technically, a brand new day. I absolutely have to take it tomorrow, John. Make sure you remind me—

There's something pointed in your tone. Something oil-slick. He nods, bites back a grin.

“Sure,” he pulls you close, breathes in the sweet, loamy scent of you—sweat and sex and the lingering remnants of your perfume, your soap—and lets it stain his lungs. “I can do that.”

You say nothing at all when he doesn't bring it up until well past midnight the next day, offering little more than an exasperated groan, and a huffy roll of your eyes, as if this was just a missed dinner with friends and not a life-changing misstep.

(The beast purrs. He places his hand over his chest, and feels the rumble under his skin.)

“Need to be more responsible than this, John,” you say, squirming in his hold to try and rush to the washroom to take that pesky little pill.

“Sorry, love,” he offers, and means none of it. Clings tighter to you. “Got a bit carried away today, is all.”

“It's not your fault—” something curls out from a dark crevasse when you look at him. “I've been so—off lately, you know? Must be the new batch. Maybe I should call my doctor.”

He stills. Body tensing, coiling. John tries to speak, but the words are ash on his tongue. He clears his throat.

“Could stop taking it.”

It crackles in the air. Hangs heavy like a stormcloud.

You blink, stunned. But it's artificial, hollow. Pulled from a wicker basket where you keep all your different skins.

“You mean—what? Stop it all together—?”

You flit in the space once more, but it's less of an injured bird searching for an escape, he realises suddenly, and more of—

A boomslang.

One rearing up, searching for the perfect place to strike.

Wishful thinking, though, because you're flustered and skittish once more, a small prey animal he isn't sure what he wants to do the most—sink his teeth into you, tear you into pieces, and devour you whole, or hide you away from the world.

“I can look for something else in the meantime,” you sound shy, hesitant, and it prickles across his skin. “But we'd need to be careful, you know. Otherwise you might actually get me pregnant.”

He tries to swallow his groan. Chokes on it instead.

“Sure, sure—” he hacks into his palm. “Of course, love. We'll be safe. I'll pull out—”

Naturally, he doesn't. Makes no effort to even try despite promising you he is.

“Not my fault your pussy won't let go of me, love,” he grumbles, hand cupping your weeping sex in his palm. The heat of you is searing. Blistering. He thinks he could happily melt inside of it for the rest of his life, and leans down to whisper his devotion into your come-slicked folds, the bitter tang of you, of him, admixing on his tongue. An elixir he could drown in.

You huff at him after, all glossy-eyed and sex-drunk, and tell him to please try harder, John, I'll have to get plan b tomorrow—

You don't, but the threat of it, the possibility, lingers in the back of his mind, souring his thoughts.

Next time, and I'll have to, John, you say, featherlight, lips pressed against the head of his cock. A warning, a goddamn tease—

His voice is strained, pinched. “Of course, love,” and he guides your mouth back to his cock, letting the matter fall into pieces when you suck on the sensitive head, tongue licking, coy and kittenish, over his frenulum.

It's only later, when watches you swallow down his come, that the beast slinks out of the shadows, pocketing the fragments.

You're off birth control—barely any scheming words of whispered concern needed—but the idea of you taking a little pill to wipe away his efforts has him pulling back. Recalibrating his plans.

He decides on a different route to the same end.

Damnation at your own hand.

John, for his credit, does begin to pull out after that—albeit, with a great deal of agonised reluctance—and instead comes all over your pretty face.

With thick ropes of his pearlescent spend dripping down the apples of your heated cheeks, he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful than this.

And one with more opportunity.

Slowly, he swipes at it with his thumb and then promptly brings it down, hard, on your clit. You flinch, mewling at the overstimulation, and the threat he brings so close to your raw, unprotected sex. It's dangerous. This thin line he dances along could snap at any moment. Could rain hellfire and fury over his broad shoulders, unmake all the progress he'd steadily built up.

He walks the precipice, anyway. He pulls his hand away, and brings two fingers up to curve over your cheeks. His thumb, stained with your slick and his come, slides across your bottom lip.

The pout you give him—all wet-eyed lachrymose—has his spent cock twitching against his sticky thigh. “Fuck, love. Gonna send me to an early grave if you keep starin’ at me like that.”

“You're cracked,” you slur around his thumb. In retaliation, he digs it into your tongue, and preens—full of nasty, gnarled satisfaction—when your eyes flutter, rolling into the back of your head at the taste.

With this brief distraction, he drops his come-stained fingers to your mound, and rubs along the swollen rim of your hole. Just touching, pressing. A tease, a whisper.

You tense. “John—” it's muffled around his thumb, and he isn't sure if it's a warning or a plea.

He pushes the tips in, barely to the first knuckle, and just pets around your rim.

It's a battle of wills, now. “No more than this,” he promises, and the undercurrent of his threat rents the air. Makes you bristle.

You always loved a challenge—especially coming from him.

“Just the tip?” You tease, spittle running down your chin. Your eyes are dark—midnight skies, ink black—and he's struck by the afterimage of himself in those pools. Made in the same image.

He grunts, slides into the first knuckle, and scissors them apart.

“John—” it's breathless. Your teeth spear his thumb, tight around his bone. He wants nothing more than to have you bite down hard, scar his bones with the gnawed meteors of your desire. Your desperation. “Fuck—please—”

You give in so prettily, and he barely has a moment to think about how quick it's been when you angle your hips, hand falling to grip his wrist tight as you slide down his fingers, all the way to the last knuckle.

You clench around him like a vice. A pretty bow. He fucks you with his fingers, meeting your shallow thrusts with ones of his own, slamming viciously into your pussy as he coos adorations into your ear.

With his other hand, he reaches down and fists himself over your bare mound, pressing the tip against your clit where it weeps prespend over your flesh. His thumb sweeps across what spills out, dragging it back down to your sopping hole, pushing it inside.

It's probably not enough to reach your womb, to get you pregnant, but he clings to that tantalising fantasy as he drills his fingers into you until you come, breathlessly begging him to fuck you harder, to fill you up—

He isn't even fucking you with his cock, and you still beg him for it.

John pushes the tip into your slit, fingers still buried deep inside of your throbbing pussy, and groans with the force of his release. It makes him dizzy, almost nauseous with it, filling his head with nothing but the sweet, wounded sound of your moans filling the room, and the wet squelch of his fingers pulling out of you.

When he catches the threads of cognisance in his fingers once more, he leans back on his haunches, chest heaving, and brands the messy sight of your pussy fluttering, clenching around nothing, as his spend drips down your slit, over your hole, and pools in the sheets below.

He's not sure if heaven exists, but he knows the sight of you, breathless and whimpering on his bed, is the closest a man like him will ever come to seeing it.

The push-pull of this little game stretches on.

Price likes to see just how far he toe the line before you're whimpering into the sheets, telling him don't, John, don't come inside me, I'm not anything, John—and he's ripping himself away from the tight clutch of your wet, hot cunt, and coming all over you.

The illicit tease of barely pulling out in time, and then scooping up the mess he makes on your face, your breasts, your belly, your ass, lower back, thighs, and spooning it into your pussy until it's a fixture in your bedroom ritual.

And maybe it's the threat of it all, of playing such a dangerous game, seems to cudgel under his skin the most, ripping apart the thin veneer of that man he once pretended to be—righteous and good—shedding it off with each hiccupped gasp you make when he presses his come-slicked fingers inside of you, murmuring guttural words of affection in the shape of impish mockery (want it bad, don't you, sweet thing; so fuckin’ greedy for it, love—).

He likes it the most when he can fuck you stupid on his fingers. Cockdrunk, and come-starved (because you are, of course; he hasn't come inside of your cunt in weeks, and doesn't miss the mournfully pitiful whines you give when he pulls out, depriving you of the pleasure of feeling him come inside you), you're too blissed out, swimming in pleasure, to think about what he's doing.

In fact, he doesn't really give you much of a chance to think at all.

The next few weeks are filled with him fucking you each night brutally, viciously, snarling low in your ear about how bad he wants to come in you, stuff you full, and then keep you plugged up all night with his cock that it takes, and then pulling out right before, committing the sight of your betrayed expression to memory where it'll sit like a trophy when you finally break.

You make an appointment with your gynaecologist, and circle the date on his calendar.

John notes it down. Tucks it away.

And then he amps up the pressure.

John's fingers root behind your knees, pushing your thighs apart as he settles between them. His gaze drills into your bare cunt, slick and wet, and so ready for him. Eager for it.

He'd counted the days, and knows that if there's ever the absolute worst time to have unprotected sex, to come inside of you, is now.

Which, of course, means he has to. The clause in that is ironclad. Apodictic.

“Bit dangerous,” he rasps, and lifts your leg up, resting your ankle on his shoulder. You fluster beneath him, panting and pretty, and fuck—he’s not pulling out of your pussy tonight at all. “Should I pull out?”

It's a tease. A test.

He reaches down as he says the words, gripping his cock and bringing it down against your wet heat. The bare, blunt head of his cocks slaps against your clit, and you arch, keening. Nails bite into the thick muscles of his biceps, and he leans into the sharp sting. Letting it ground him. Centre him.

This will be your cacoëthes.

He's been depriving you for weeks, and John knows that you're wanting for it. Desperate. The little twitches your hips give, as if begging him to fill you up, are proof enough of how much you want this.

This. The dream he dripped into your ears, hot oil congealing over your frontal lobe; infectious and thick. You can try to chisel it off, but the pollution is already damning. Ruining.

You want this. He wears the axiom like armour.

And you beg for it—eyes shaded in gut wrenchingly beautiful lachrymose—and John snuffles closer, inching the weeping head of his cock into your tight, warm heat.

The sight of splitting you open is something he never grows tired of. Something that, without fail, makes his balls ache. His chest thrum. Blood turns to ichor. To wine. He's drunk on the contrast made between you—a garish chiaroscuro of your pretty pussy, soft and sickly sweet—almost nauseatingly so—swallowing down the fat, girthy length of his cock. The thick streams of veins running along the flushed, heavy shaft against your puffy, soft folds is almost hideous. Sinful. He can't equate it to anything else except corruption. The horrific beast sullying the princess.

And fuck—

The thought alone makes him throb.

He's sullied you plenty, he reckons, and yet you always look so sweet. Especially now, when your rim is stretched taut around the thick of him, pussy squeezing, clenching around him in a vice, as if you weren't sure to push him out or pull him deeper.

John decides for you. Opting instead to push your knees down to your chest, nearly brushing your ears, and follows with the bulk of his body until he feels your breath rush out of your lungs. You struggle for a moment, gasping wetly into his ear as his weight—every bearish pound of it—rests on you in the perfect mating press. Your bite into his biceps, keening prettily into his ear as he bullies the full length of his cock into you. Spears you open. Splits you apart.

He can feel you gush around him, drenching his groin and thighs with your slick.

Like this—chest to chest, forced to breathe in the same air, the same madness—he likes to just stare at you, taking in the heat simmering under your skin, the sweat beading along your temple, the pinch in your brow as you struggle to adjust to the sheer width of him cudgelling you open. A battering ram you're forced to make room for.

He takes it all in, each flicker of emotion, each heaving gasp. Burns it into his memory. Lets it soften the iron around his heart. Keeps it there, nestled in the cradle of his limited love, held aloft by indelicate, bearish hands. This sweet thing.

He can't wait to ruin it.

If these weeks leading up to this were lovemaking, fucking, then this, this, is mating. Animalistic. Primal. He pushes in as deep as he can, until the tip kisses the ripened seal of your womb, and grinds his hips cruelly into the cradle of your thighs.

Your nails leave bloodied indents in his flesh. A scar he'll proudly bear the mark of. A tattoo of the time when he turned you into something new.

His balls are soaked. The sheets, too. He mocks you for it, a rasping growl lodged deep in his throat, taunting you about how fucking wet you are for him. How badly you need it.

“Gotta plug you up, hm?” He grunts, and sets a pace that serves only to accentuate the sloppy, messy squelch of your cunt.

His cock pistoning into you, alternating between deep, full thrusts that knock the air from your lungs, and heavy, slow plunges meant to badger the blunt head of his cock against your walls.

You seem to like it best when he shifts his weight between each thigh, content to just grind into you. Make you feel every inch of him. You cling to him, yowling in his ear about how good it feels, how much you love this, love his cock—

The thick bed of wry, umber curls on his chest, stomach, and groin grow slick with sweat from the intensity of it all, from the shared heat. Pressed tight against you, he feels every quiver. Every flinch. Each moan is made known in a slight reverberation across his skin before he hears it.

Drenched in sweat, glued to you as he fucks you into the mattress, John feels very much like the beast making a house out of a twisted whim in his head. Feverish, sick, he drives into you with the single minded goal of filling that home up with three. Then four. Five—

As many as you'll let him.

And he almost loses himself to that thought alone. Dancing sugar plums that make his balls tighten. He stems the flood by pulling out of you, letting his heavy cock slap against your sticky, soaked cunt as he heaves into your hairline, sucking in the heady loam, the humus, of your scent.

The whimper you make when he pulls out of you sounds like a wounded animal, and the noise tickles across his hindbrain. His jaw aches. He bites down on a snarl as you thrash against him, mindless with the need to have him inside of you. It brings a nasty, vicious curl to the ends of his mouth, and he doesn't even bother trying to tamper it down. John lifts his head and lets you see his foaming muzzle, drooling with thick globes of saliva.

“Stay still,” he growls, low and dangerous. It's as much of a warning as it is a command, and the way you react, tensing, coiling tight—the flash of unease. Shock. And then the need. Achy, heavy. He feels it against his jugular when you shiver, moaning his name into the space between you where it reeks of desperation.

To soften the submissive tremble in your jaw—and maybe to temper down the challenging talons sharpening in your gaze—he nuzzles his cheek against yours, peppers wet kisses to your skin. He licks across your jaw, bites down on your flesh.

He tastes salt and sin on your skin.

(His eyes roll so far back into his skull he thinks he might get lost.)

“Gonna cum on your pretty cunt if you don't stop squirming, love.”

And John loves you most for your waspish intelligence—the ire smouldering in your throat. The way you bite back just as hard, never afraid to bear teeth when he snarls. He doesn't think he could ever love someone too soft—not without tearing them to pieces. To shreds.

But you wear plush, tender conchoidal skin over jagged, rough obsidian. He'll ruin himself if he ever tries to rip you apart.

Like this, though—you melt.

All that keen, vicious intelligence snuffed out. His scheming Cleopatra tamed on his cock.

Your heels dig into the back of his thighs, urging him closer to your sex. “Come on, John, just fuck me, fuck me already—”

(Tamed, though, perhaps being a misnomer.)

He huffs into your neck. “Impatient little quean.”

It gets him a sharp bite to the tip of his ear, and the floor roars so loudly in his veins, he gets dizzy from it.

“Fuck—”

He's pressing back into you again, into your warm, tight heat, and it's nirvana kissing his nerves. Liquifying his spine. He rolls into you with a weighted groan, buried to the hilt once more.

But even with the respite, he knows he won't last.

John needs you fucked stupid, docile and soft just for him, and sets out to do just that. Pounding into you with a spiteful twist of his hips that he knows will leave you a little sore, and tender tomorrow. But the idea of spreading your puffy, achy folds apart and soothing the slight hurt with his tongue for hours until you're sobbing into the cushions quells any hesitation that rears, begging him to slow down.

Go easy on your pretty cunt.

(As if.)

John batters into you until your eyes glaze over, and your chin, cheeks, smear with drool. Until the challenge in midnight black melts into submission. Docile, and malleable. Perfect for him to mould. Shape.

Reshape.

He glues to you, touch starved and tactile, and basks in the liquid heat that blooms from deep within you.

“Gonna cum soon,” he snarls, broken by the heave in his chest as he fucks into you, starved. “Gotta pull out, love—”

You're gripping him tighter, anchoring him to your body. You haven't come yet. Something he dangles in front of you like a threat.

He watches the slow crawl of realisation crest over your messy face, and thinks he falls just a little bit more in love with you at the sight of your little pout.

Loves, even more, the way it breaks apart when he pounds into you harder, viciously, watching drool dribble off your chin, and reason leak from your ears—

“Please, John—” the sound of your whimpering has him grunting, head dizzy with the saccharine sweet taste of it on his tongue. “Please, please—come inside me. I–I want you to–to fill me up—”

“Yeah?” He taunts, mean and breathless. “Want me to come inside your sloppy cunt? Dangerous, ain't it? Jus’ might take, sweet thing. Is that what you want?”

You're howling a litany of sin into his ear, desperation drenches each clamour of his name, each orison uttered, begging him to come, to fill you up, and then—

“Fuck—I want it so bad—” his head is filled with static. Whitenoise. “Want it to take, John—”

He comes inside of you, cock pulsing so hard it feels like a sob. Filling you up. Wishing on all the stars that it takes—

As a reward for your good behaviour, he spreads you out over the sheets, and growls his approval into your sopping pussy, drenching himself with the taste, the smell, of you, promising to wear it like a perfume so everyone knows how good you are for him. Him, alone.

(His, his, his—)

When you come, you nearly smother him, and he thinks he sees a glimpse of nirvana in baby soft yellow before he's pulled back by your shaking hands brushing the hair off his sweat-slicked forehead.

“Are you okay, John—”

He rolls you under him, fucking into your drenched pussy like a man starved. That tantalising vision glues itself to his hindbrain, so close he can scent the fresh dew of fresh milk, and warm bread in his nose. Feel the bump of your stomach.

He's almost angry about it, about being ripped away from that dream, and takes his aggression out on your sloppy, leaking cunt. The way his come trickles out, staining the mattress below and the back of your thighs has him growling darkly into your nape.

“Keep it in,” he snarls, words sharpened on the whetstone of his need. “Keep it all inside, love.”

“Ah, John, John—” something falls from your split-slicked lips, and his fingers bite into your hips. Punishment for the slurred backtalk.

“I'll spank your ass if any of it leaks out—”

It does. Of course it does.

He bends you over his knee, and slaps his broad, rough palm over each cheek ten times before deliriously shoving two thick fingers into your sloppy cunt, stuffing his come back inside your tender, swollen hole, rough and mean, as you howl, squirming in his lap about how you promise you'll be good next time, John, please—I'll keep it all in, I swear, I—

“You fuckin’ better, love.” He groans, and thinks about cumming on your messy face, all slick with sweat, and drool, but decides against it. A waste, he thinks, and leans over you to shove the thick, twisting length of his angry cock inside you to the hilt just spit his release against your seal once more.

“That was…” You're still panting against his chest, eyes dazed, and body laxed. Melted wax over his chest. “Intense,” you settle on after a beat.

There's a hiccup in your breath when he hums, chest rumbling with the sound.

“Mm, but you liked it, didn't you?”

Of course you did. Of course. The evidence of it is drying, tacky and slick, on his groin, his thighs.

You burrow into his side, peeking at him from over the thick bed of wry curls that clot over his chest. “You're fucking me like you haven't in years, John. Makes me wonder if you have an agenda.”

He considers your words. The weight of them. Wonders just how much you've clued into, but huffs when he catches the same look in your eyes as the one reflected in his own.

Cheeky little—

“Can't I just want to fuck you? Not everything has to be about schemes, love.”

The oil of his lies, the sticky resin of his evasion makes you huff into his skin.

In all his meticulous planning, he'd picked up several books on this particular topic, and scoured every available, reputable, site he could find. John knows what to look out for by now, and keeps a keen eye on you—one that very quickly dips into obsessiveness, but you're kind enough to call it overbearing.

Jesus Christ, John, why are you asking me how many times I pissed today?

He just needs to wait things out.

But rather irritatingly, he's called away overseas for the next week.

Ah, well. He'll have to try harder next time.

He arrives in Heathrow mid-morning, and follows Laswell into the office. There's a mountain of reports to fill out—things that, rather irritatingly, require his signature—and resolves to spend the rest of the day hunched over at his desk, even though there's an itch in the back of his skull demanding he go home.

It is always like this, though—both the post-mission ritual of banal paperwork that seems almost comical considering what he'd just done, and the undeniable urge to flee back into the sanctuary of your shared home.

His bones ache for it.

Laswell huffs when he lingers by the exit, and he swallows a groan.

While he was away, you'd been silent. Moreso than usual.

Where he'd have expected an update on what was going on—the mundanity of your life that he clings to when the beast in his head whets its talons a little too sharp, digs into a little too deep—you’ve gone silent. Not radio. Not completely. But the information you give is sparse. Cagey.

You don't tell him about the visit to the gynaecologist, offering nothing but a quiet hum into the receiver, all blase and nonchalant, and a simple, equivocal: “good.”

He tucks it away, lets the matter drop.

If he timed things correctly—barring your impish prevarication aside—then something will begin to show soon. You would have mentioned something. Some nominal change to your physical well-being, but when pried, pressed, you huff.

“I'm good, John. When are you coming home, anyway?”

He raps his knuckles on his desk, still smarting from the punches he'd thrown recklessly this past week, too keyed up to let his anger simmer instead of boil, and thinks. About you. About this.

A week isn't a lot of time—he’s been called away for months in the past—but this feels like it's lingering. Time stretched and distorted. Elongated. And a part of him feels chipped, fractured after touchdown.

It wasn't as if this particular assignment was any more, or less, dangerous than the ones he went on before. If anything, it was comparatively mild. Muted. He honed into his training, and did his goddamn job. And yet—

Yet.

You lived in the spaces he occupied. The air he breathed. The water he drank.

He brought you with him, something he's never, ever, done before. Perched pretty on his shoulder, he heard your voice in his head with every step he took, every radio call.

But it was hallucinatory. Chimerical. You weren't there, you were here, but the problem lies in the lack of a divide that usually bifurcates the world into two fractions: his job and you.

It eats at him.

He brought you where he's never taken anyone before. Never let them in.

His thoughts were asunder. Pulled in all directions, but the centre was always you. His compass pointing north. He wants you. Needs you. His whole being has been recalibrated with the needle aimed toward you.

An alert on his phone shakes him from his reverie.

He reaches for it, slides his hand across the lockbar. The notification pops up. A message from his bank.

His card—the one he gave you, the one you've used all of once to buy a chocolate bar when he gruffly, surely, complained about you not spending his money—has been used.

Curious now, he opens his app, eyes scanning the threadbare purchases—all mostly interest fees and service charges, bar one. It was recently used at a drugstore for under twenty dollars.

He doesn't know what this means, what you're playing at. He makes to text you, but he gets an email next.

Thank you for your purchase; here is your e-receipt.

His heart does something strange in his chest. Turns in on itself. Goes all askew.

Not only are you using his card, you're using his account, too. He clicks it, eyes scanning through the purchases (only two), and blinks.

A card, and—

His want takes the shape of a hand, presses against his jugular.

—a pregnancy test.

He knew when he started this game that this was, of course, the inevitable outcome, but having it here, right in front of him—in that sneaky, noncommittal way you always do things; behind his back, and in the dark, like you enjoy watching him try and sniff out the truth—has his belly knotting up. Churning.

A pregnancy test.

Fuck—

(and out of all the ways to tell him, you cheeky little—)

He's up out of his chair before he's even aware that he's standing.

“Laswell,” he gets out, and can't be sure how his voice is so measured when his head is being shredded into pieces. “I'm out for the rest of the day. This whole bloody week, too—”

“Something bad happen?”

His hands shake when he pulls his jacket on, slips his car keys into his hands. “No. Quite the opposite, actually. I'm going to be a father. A bloody dad—”

It's on that sentiment when his voice breaks. Shatters. He clears his throat, blinks furiously. Fuck. Fuck. It's happening—

Shangri-la sits in his fist, taking the shape of an e-mailed receipt.

In his periphery, he sees Simon's head come up. Watching him. Measured.

Laswell, too, eyes him with a degree of wariness. He supposes to them this means the end of everything.

She breathes in. “Tuscany would be my choice.”

“Oh?” He tears his eyes away from the screen, gracing her with a steady, unflinching look. “Was thinking something a bit more local. Liverpool.”

It gets a scoff, one full of disgust. “She'll divorce you within the year.”

“I'm having a baby, Laswell. Not getting married.”

“Oh, no?” It's a challenge. “I seem to recall something about someone being a proper gentleman, or was that just the lie you told your unofficial missus?”

“We'll get married. That's not up for debate—” an intern makes an alarmed face, like perhaps it ought to be. Had he not been holding nirvana in his hand, he might be a bit more cautious with his madness. Too bloody bad. “Wherever she wants—Tuscany, Udaipur, fucking Siberia. I don't care. What I’m a bit more concerned with is my expectant wife.”

“Soon-to-be,” she volleys, just because she knows it's the sort of thing that will itch under his skin.

“Already is, Laswell.” He gripes, flat. “Or damn near close to it.”

“If she knows what's good for her, she'll say no.”

“Lucky me, then, that she doesn't.”

Lucky him, indeed.

On his way out, Ghost utters a heated congratulations to him, and John can see his gaze is absent. Turned inward, mind whirring. Reeling. He can hear the gears grind from where he stands, and if the ink-black madness in his lieutenant’s drifting, pensive eyes means much of anything, then John sends a silent hail mary to whatever unlucky person was misfortune enough to unleash the muzzle on that particular dog.

Well. It's not really his problem. Until it is. Until it becomes one. But since it's not something that'll impact him in the next five minutes, he tucks it away. “Thanks.”

He doesn't linger. Doesn't, really, even remember the ride home, head buzzing with thoughts that keep twisting around themselves, driving him mental. Things like, is it real? what if you were joking. what you weren't?

Oh, fuck—

You better not be.

But you wouldn't. You're conniving and wily, but you're not cruel.

This is happening, then.

You've been playing house with matches inside of a tinderbox. He shouldn't be surprised when it all goes up in flames, in smoke, but as he walks through the door, and glimpses the pregnancy test perched innocently on the counter beside a card—congrats, daddy (and the caricature of a man in a pinstripe suit nearly makes him gag)—he feels all the maligned pieces inside of crack.

It shifts—

You walk out, hand cupped protectively over your lower belly. Eyes gleaming like a wild cat crouched low in the tussocks surrounding the savannah, watching him an eager sense of anticipation, excitement, and just the slightest edge of what he can only imagine the unfortunate mate of a black widow sees before it's consumed. Spare parts.

It thrums inside of him. Ignites this wicker basket he calls a heart until it's cinder. Ash. Soot. He breathes it in. Tastes you on his tongue.

John doesn't have the words. Can't think beyond the steady brag of his burning heart.

His. His.

—and then it all falls into place.

Yours.

He dotes on you with an almost unhinged devotion, murmuring stilted, gruff words of muted affection into the shallow bump on your belly. Ones that you, politely, pretend not to hear.

A new bedtime ritual, one he adheres to with an almost obsessive need.

Until it becomes too much.

“Go and get my prenatal vitamins from the washroom, please. I just need five minutes without you smothering me, you stupid bear of a man.”

“You love it,” he grumbles, but acquiesces, giving your small, barely there bump a pat. “I'll be back soon.”

“Oh, no… please take your time.”

Despite the prickle in your tongue, your eyes are soft. Warm. Melting him just a little more.

John pulls away, and doesn't even pretend the reluctance to be apart is feigned.

“It's in the drawer,” you call, voice stretched. Echoing. “Next to your shaving cream.”

He pulls the drawer open, scanning the contents briefly, before finding the purple bottle in the back. Why you chose here of all places to put the bloody things—

His knuckles knock against the old box of condoms, tipping it over. There's a strange rattle as it falls, and his brows furrow at the noise.

Curiously, he reaches for it. Shakes it as he picks it up. The same sounds spill out. He pops the flap of the box open, peering inside, and—

A gruff chuckle crackles in his throat.

Inside the old box of condoms—the ones he never bothered to throw out, or use—is an accumulation of all the pills you'd meant to take.

His jowls ache. He rubs at his jaw with his hand, and feels the skittish patter of his heart thudding out of his skin. Madness in his veins.

John closes the drawer with his knee, and then tosses the box of condoms in the bin, leaving it for you to find later when you're inevitably wracked by another wave of morning sickness. A little shred of vindication for this little game you made him play.

Though he supposes turn-about is fair play, and the number of pills in the box is less than the months he spent scheming for this vision of his.

In the back of his head, the beast purrs.

“Do we need to play these games again for the next one,” he rasps. “Or can I just fuck you until it takes.”

You blink at him, wide and owlish. Full of faux innocence as you coax the beast out of hiding. “I don't know what you're talking about, John.”

More games, then. He thinks he might crack open your ribcage and rest his weary head on the frantic beat of your heart.

“Mm, don't know what I'd do without you,” he says, guns aching. He reaches for the pack of gum (no smoking around the baby or you'd toss him off the balcony), and pops a spearmint into his mouth. “Might live longer, I reckon, but—”

Your elbow digs into his side. “You sure about that?”

He just kisses your crown in response, and places his heavy, scarred hand over the curve of your belly. The beast inside purrs, content for now. Satiated.

When he looks into your midnight eyes, he finds your own beast slumbering away.

A match made in a tinderbox, he guesses, and kisses you until you're dizzy. His very own Shangri-la sitting pretty inside his bed, nestled in the castle in Spain you helped him build.

Will help him fill.

2K notes · View notes

soanis · 1 month

Text

room for three

Pairing: joel miller x f!reader x arthur morgan

Summary: When Joel and Arthur get caught in a storm and need a place to stay, they weren't expecting to find you—a temptress who offers them shelter in your cabin, and wants nothing more than for the two rugged cowboys to keep you warm.

Warnings: 18+ Explicit Smut MDNI Porn With Minimal Plot, Threesome (MFM, some MMF dynamics), oral (f receiving), v fingering, unprotected p in v, the boys take turns with you, multiple creampie, cumplay/eating, so much dirty talk, praise kink, ma'am/sir kinks, brief breeding kink. Red Dead universe, Cowboy!Joel. Lowkey getting throuple vibes so...we'll see if there's more parts to come.

Wordcount: 10.3k

A/N: thank you @joelsversion you made my brain rot just from mentioning joel x reader x arthur, this one is for YOU!!! And ty for being the devil on my shoulder for it and letting me spam you with snippets and thoughts in DMs hehehe ILY! also ty @cupofjoel for being another pair of eyes on it and giving me feedback & encouragement I needed!

When Joel teamed up on hunting down a bounty with Arthur, this was not how he expected it to go.

Halfway to the town where their target was last spotted, they’d taken a break from riding right as the sky opened up above their heads and a light drizzle started. Joel had gestured up towards the dark, angry clouds, insisting that they should ride harder to get to town before a storm started, but Arthur had brushed off his concerns, insisting that they’d be fine finding a place to hole up for the time being.

Then they were trekking through a more densely wooded area as the rain began to fall harder, the only thing stopping them from being completely soaked was the thick branches above their heads, leaves protecting them from being drenched as much as the hats on their heads.

Joel was letting out unhappy grunts every now and then as they continued to walk, searching for some cover with no avail, and Arthur groaned, tilting his head back to roll his eyes before glancing at his friend.

“Quit your moaning, will ya?” Arthur grumbled, and Joel’s eyes narrowed, shooting an irritated glare towards the man leading the way across the wet forest floor.

“Not moaning,” Joel muttered, the whole situation only reminding him why he was a lone wolf, and avoided every invitation extended to join the Van der Linde gang like it was the plague. Arthur was the only person he’d ever consider teaming up with, and only ever temporarily.

But now he was wishing he wouldn’t even do that, aching for a glass of whiskey and the conversation of Ellie, the little spitfire outlaw girl he’d recently taken under his wing back in the town they had just rode out from.

“Shoulda kept riding,” Joel mumbled, and Arthur’s head sharply turned so he could glare back over his shoulder at the comment.

“Well, not much to do about that now, is there?” Arthur shot back, the two men continuing to glare at each for a moment before Joel broke the gaze, shifting his glare out at the trees all around them while the rain continued to fall harder, and Arthur sighed. “Just keep looking, alright? There’s gotta be some cover ‘round here.”

A few more minutes of trekking that got increasingly more difficult turned up nothing, until the rustling of branches off to the side caught the attention of both men, who each whirled around quickly towards the sound, unhampered by their wet clothes as hands flew to revolvers in their respective holsters.

And that was when you appeared.

You were a pretty little thing, something that Joel was too embarrassed to ever admit was the first thing he noticed about you—which, in retrospect, was a very tame thought considering what was in store for the three of you that night.

A simple blouse and lightweight skirt clung to your frame due to the rain that had steadily begun to pour, a hunting rifle held steady in your grasp, though you weren’t pointing it at either of the outlaws. Instead it was pointed casually towards the ground, clearly intended to be used for hunting animals and not men, but the way your fingers twitched and tightened around the gun let both men know that you wouldn’t hesitate to aim it at either one if they reached fully for their own weapons.

Arthur was the first to slowly drop his hand, his silent show of meaning no harm no surprise to Joel—his friend had always had a soft spot for a pretty face, going so far as to make a fool of himself for a lady on more than one occasion (even if most of the time that was for just one lady).

Joel’s fingers hovered in the air around his revolver for a few moments longer, but as your eyes—sharp, calculating as they flickered between both men to gauge their intentions—followed Arthur’s hands as he raised them in the air to further show he had no ill will, your grip relaxed on your rifle, stance relaxing from its tensed position to draw if needed, and Joel finally let his hand fall back to his side as well.

“Howdy, Miss,” Arthur was also the first to speak in this odd situation they had found themselves in, facing the sudden appearance of a woman in these goddamned woods Arthur had gotten them trapped in, his hand coming up to tilt the brim of his drenched hat towards you in greeting as the rain beat on all your forms.

“Howdy there, cowboys,” you replied, leaning back slightly as your face relaxed from the sound of the man’s low rasp, glancing between both of the strange men a few more times before settling on the other one who hadn’t spoken yet.

“Evenin’,” Joel muttered, giving you a slight nod, revealing another deep timbre rumbling from an equally broad chest, and you looked back and forth between both men again.

Slowly, a brightness entered your eyes, joining that sharpness to create a gaze as enticing as the tiny smirk that curled onto full lips as you asked slowly, evenly, as if trying not to spook a horse or perhaps testing the waters, "And what are you two gentlemen doing out here all on your lonesomes?"

Arthur’s hands moved slowly then, trying equally as much not to spook you with any sudden movements as he rested them on his hips, adopting a more casual stance even as the rain continued to fall around you while he replied, “Got caught out in this frightful weather, I’m ‘fraid. Just lookin’ for somewhere warm and safe ‘till it passes over.”

"Oh?" you arched an eyebrow, that smirk twitching up to spread those pretty lips just a bit wider, before glancing back further in the woods. "Lucky for you. I got a cabin a little ways away, if y'all need a place to dry off and warm up.”

When you looked back at them, there was a mischievous twinkle in your eye now, your smirk shifting into something knowing, something that caused a flame to lick inside of Joel’s veins that he was fairly certain shouldn’t be there, but it was stoked higher as you added, “It's small, though. Hope there’s room for three.”

And then there was a wink from you after those words—a tiny, inconsequential thing. Could have meant anything.

But it sealed the fate for the three of you that night, and looking back at it now, Joel thinks you all knew it at that moment.

Something in the humid air shifted, a charge like that before thunder striking sparking to life between each of you, an addicting magnetism as Joel glanced towards Arthur from the corner of his eye, hoping to find something grounding in the man to deter his quickly wandering thoughts at that comment.

But just one look at his friend showed that he was probably far worse off than Joel. A smirk was slowly curling up half of Arthur’s lips as he gazed at you, thumbs moving to hook on his belt as he shifted back on his feet before turning his head slightly to meet Joel’s gaze.

The bastard must have seen what Joel was thinking just from that shared look, as Arthur’s smirk twitched into a dangerously wicked grin, one he quickly tried to cover up by rubbing a large hand over his chin, covering up his mouth with his palm to compose himself before glancing back towards you.

“That’d be mighty kind of you, miss,” Arthur drawled, giving you a deep nod to show that he did mean the words, even as the hints of that wickedness didn’t completely disappear from his face when his hand dropped. Though the grin had melted back into a tiny knowing smirk as he met your own mischievous gaze straight-on. “We’d both be nothin’ but a couple of fools to deny such hospitality right about now.”

“I believe you would be,” you replied easily, and Joel suspected both he and Arthur knew they were in for it when your eyes were just as knowing, smirk just as wicked while you turned to begin to head through the trees, gesturing with a nod of your head for them to follow as you introduced yourself.

“Arthur Morgan,” the outlaw introduced himself, still taking the lead in this conversation as he walked after you first, and Joel followed, helpless but to follow this tantalizing force of gravity, the growing tension in the air that was just as heavy as the storm that was brewing while they followed you to your home that you were offering to them for shelter. “This is my friend, Joel Miller.”

“Friend’s a strong word,” Joel spoke up finally for the second time since meeting you, and he was surprised by the bright laughter that left your lips to echo through the air towards where they were dutifully following behind you, sending a tingle down Joel’s spine, his gaze straying down your drenched form and locking in on the way your hips swayed while you expertly led the way through the forest.

"Pleasure to make your acquaintances, gentlemen," you said, your entire presence one of casual confidence, though there was something almost...seductive, some hidden innuendo in the way you called them gentlemen.

Like you knew they weren’t.

Like you knew exactly what they were thinking.

And when you shot another smirk back over your shoulder when the three of you broke through a clearing, a small cabin plainly in view—Joel realized that you weren’t just aware of the energy shift between you three, but that you were feeding it.

"Well?” you said with a sigh once you reached the door, tugging it open and offering the tempting promise of not being pelted by rain, and something even more satisfying when you shot them both a considerably suggestive smile. “Coming?”

Arthur’s hand found his face again, long fingers stroking across his chin as he glanced from you to Joel, that wicked smile dancing across his lips again, and heat coursed through Joel at the sight of his friend’s knowing grin, one that he felt himself slowly returning.

"Don't mind if I do,” Arthur murmured, keeping his gaze locked with Joel for just a moment longer, something unspoken passing between the two, the same way they always communicated before Arthur followed you into the one-room residence, and Joel followed, the two men allowing themselves to be swept up in the heat of your not so subtle flirtation, and whatever was to follow.

You closed the door behind the two men after they entered, leaving the three of you very much alone until the worst of the storm had passed.

Glancing back between the two broad-shouldered, rough and tough cowboys in your small home, you couldn’t help but hope that the storm would last all night.

"Thank you greatly for the kindness, ma’am,” said the more talkative one—Arthur Morgan, he had introduced himself, the man holding a tad more amiability than his friend, but just as equally rugged as his more silent, surly companion.

Were you a fool for inviting these two total strangers in like this?

Oh, absolutely.

Did you care when they were both taking turns not so subtly looking at you like you were the sweetest thing they’d seen in weeks, and they were nothing but a couple of starving men dying for just a taste?

Not a bit.

"But of course," you smiled at them both as they found spots in the center of the small cabin, being so kind as to set their weapons down on the tiny table you used for dining, still exchanging little knowing looks here and there that sent your pulse racing, head swimming with dark desire. "Couldn't leave two cowboys out in the woods when there's a storm brewin’."

You moved towards your quaint dining table to rest your own hunting rifle there—and if the path you took led you to brush your shoulder across Arthur’s sinfully broad chest, so be it.

The quiet, sharp intake of breath from the man as you grazed him was a very, very good sign, and you smirked to yourself as you peeled your jacket from the rest of your wet clothes, draping the clothing over the back of a chair before turning back to face the two.

Perhaps you were the lucky one.

“Now, gentlemen,” you started with a sigh, pushing your wet hair over to one shoulder, revealing the slope of your neck and the rain drops lingering on the skin there, your blood running hotter when the attention of both men snapped right to it at the movement. “There’s plenty of ways to warm up from the chill. I could get a fire going for y’all, if you please.”

There was another smile slowly slipping onto Arthur’s lips, and your heart was racing now, pounding in your chest as your eyes lingered on how surprisingly soft those lips looked before glancing over to his friend.

Joel’s eyebrow arched, his gaze dragging down how the layers of your clothes clung to your skin, openly appreciating the way it accentuated your curves as his low voice caressed your ears with a leading, “Or…?”

You smirked, glad he had taken the bait, and you kept your gaze locked with Joel’s when he looked back up at your face, even as you took a step closer to his friend while you repeated, “Or…”

Your footsteps stopped in front of the other man, chests brushing dangerously close as you pulled your eyes away from Joel to look up at Arthur, raising your own eyebrow as you took the opportunity to give an appreciative glance over the way his clothes stuck to his strong frame as you whispered huskily, “We could always see if there is room for three.”

With a tilt of your head to the side, you let Arthur’s gaze slip past over your shoulder to the small bed in the corner of the room, referencing your same sentiment you had alluded to with a wink earlier, your intentions then perfectly clear now with your sultry words.

A low rasp of a chuckle emitted from Arthur’s chest, and you could almost feel the vibrations of the sound with how close your chest was to his, and you found yourself leaning in closer, brushing your bodies together slightly and biting your lip at the feeling of the coarse fabric of his shirt rubbing against the drenched thin fabric of yours, nipples already hard through the fabric of your blouse and chemise at the hint of gentle friction combined with the previous cold.

“Mm,” a throaty hum echoed the chuckle, and you did feel the vibrations that time, pressed deliciously against your sensitive nipples as you pressed your chest further against Arthur’s as his eyes snapped down towards yours, gaze darkening as he surely felt the peaks of your nipples through his own soaked shirt. “Mr. Miller, I believe this pretty girl may want the both of us.”

There was an answering hum somewhere nearby, closer than where you had seen Joel standing before, and your breathing picked up a bit faster than before, chest continuing to brush against Arthur’s with each inhale and exhale as you heard his friend reply in a delicious murmur of that heady drawl, “I think you’re right about that, partner.”

“That what you want, Miss?” Arthur asked, keeping your attention glued to him even as you heard Joel’s boots echo against the ground with each slow step towards you. “A couple bodies to keep you warm tonight? Keep the chill outta your bones?”

You nodded slowly, tongue slipping out between your lips to wet your mouth, heat pooling in your veins and starting to coil in your lower stomach as Arthur watched your tongue closely until it disappeared back inside your mouth, but still his gaze was fixed intently on your lips as you murmured, “I suppose I do.”

Your lips curled into an innocent smile then, a purposefully sharp contrast to the lewd words that slipped from your wet lips next, "Will you and your handsome friend keep me warm tonight, Mr. Morgan?"

“Well, if that’s really what you desire, miss…” Arthur’s large hand grazed against your waist, and you sucked in a breath, eyelids fluttering when the heat of his palm enveloped your hip, long fingers dragging along where the soaked fabric of your blouse tucked under the hem of your skirt. “Then we’d be more than happy to keep you warm.”

Arthur’s head ducked down, lips grazing against your ear as he whispered in a dark rasp that sent contrasting feelings through you, a shiver through your body and a heat that made your thighs clench together, “For your hospitality, of course.”

“Of course,” you murmured, licking your lips again as a soft sigh of anticipation left them when Arthur’s lips grazed across the shell of your ear down to the lobe, pulling it just between his lips, keeping it pressed between them before grazing his teeth against it, and your eyes finally moved over his shoulder to find where his friend had ended up.

Joel was closer now, a foot or two away, his gaze darkened with an unspeakable primal need as he watched Arthur’s hand shift from your hip to slide across your back, finding the small of it to tug you fully against him, and the gasp that left your mouth when you felt Arthur’s body pressed to yours made Joel stiffen, hazel eyes flaring with a desire that kept getting darker, as deep and sinful as yours while you smirked at him.

"I think your friend likes watching us, Mr. Morgan,” you whispered, lowering your head to hover your face over Arthur’s neck, mouth parting slightly to brush your plump lower lip across his pulse point, earning a delicious groan from the man that was echoed by a quieter one from Joel as he stared at the point where your lips met Arthur’s skin. “Should we give him a show?"

Your hand curled around Arthur’s neck as his head lifted, fingers drawing languid circles where your lips had just been, and you watched as he glanced back over his shoulder, following your line of sight to Joel, and you felt a rush of dampness between your thighs as Arthur winked at Joel while whispering to you, “I think you may be onto somethin’, darlin’.”

That was all you needed to hear, smirking up at Arthur as he turned back to you before pulling him down, your lips meeting his in a slow, sensual kiss that exuded temptation and seduction. Your fingers stroked up and down the strength of his neck, licking along his lips before slowly slipping your tongue into his mouth, dragging it along his own tongue, kissing him deeply with the electrifying weight of Joel’s gaze on you both as you locked into a heady, passionate embrace.

It was exhilarating, being caught up in the arms of this ruggedly handsome stranger, liplocked in a soul damning way with such a captivated audience. So distracted by the heat of the kiss, you didn’t hear the footsteps getting closer until another hand was on your waist, taking the spot where Arthur’s hand was just before.

You moaned into Arthur’s mouth when you felt the caress of more strong fingers on your hip before they grabbed you tighter, Joel urging you towards him for his own turn, and you pulled your mouth from Arthur, eyes half-lidded as you only gave yourself enough time to find where Joel was standing next to you before leaning up to him.

Your lips met his now as you kissed Joel next, one hand still around Arthur's neck to feel the muscles tensing in it as your other hand went to wrap around the wet fabric of Joel’s shirt where it stuck to his collarbone, tugging him down further into the kiss that was just as hot and desperate as the one you shared with Arthur.

Now there was the intoxicating feeling of Arthur’s gaze on you as your tongue danced with Joel’s, the taste of both men mixing together on your lips. You moaned into Joel’s mouth this time when you felt Arthur’s hand slip down your back to your ass, grabbing a handful of soft flesh through your wet skirt and squeezing, your hips bucking up into Joel’s at the sensation.

“Needy little minx,” Arthur murmured as his fingers dug into your ass tighter, guiding your hips up to Joel’s again in a slow grind that pulled moans from both of your mouths, swallowed by one another as the kiss became even hotter, greedier as Joel’s palm found your other cheek, both men now lifting and pushing you up to grind against where Joel was hardening in his rain soaked pants.

When Arthur’s hand dropped from your rear, you almost whined from the loss of his touch until you felt the strong length of his body press up against your back, large hands on your hips to keep you between the two men. Arthur’s lips descended on your neck to lick along the length of it before softly biting down, pulling another moan from your mouth that Joel greedily swallowed before pulling back to suck on your bottom lip at the same moment Arthur wrapped his own lips around the skin he had just bit to suck a mark to form on you.

“Fuck,” you gasped when Joel’s lips released yours, letting your head fall back onto Arthur’s shoulder while he began to grind his hips into you from behind, matching the pace Joel had set grinding against your core.

You were near goddamn delirious from the feeling of being pressed between two clothed erections when Joel’s hand that was still squeezing your ass released it, his palm turning between your rear and Arthur’s hips pressed against it, and the answering grunt from Arthur that fell right against your ear let you know everything you needed to about what that hand was doing now.

“Christ, Joel,” Arthur's gruff voice grunted out against your ear, his lips finding the lobe to tug it between his teeth again while you felt him grind his hips against Joel’s palm, the faster pace of his bucking sending your own hips rocking against Joel’s faster, the three of you already deteriorating into moaning messes, finding a rhythm with each other that brought a build of equal pleasure, even with your drenched clothes still stuck to your skin.

As soon as the realization of still being completely dressed crossed your mind, your fingers were rising to the top of your blouse, trembling slightly from excitement as you began to unbutton it.

Your actions pulled a deep rumble of laughter from Joel’s chest, vibrating against your nipples that now only had the thin, transparent fabric of your chemise to cover them when you pulled your blouse out of the way, sending a delicious shockwave against you as you bucked your hips against his harder.

“Well, goddamn,” Joel rasped, his hand not trapped between your backside and Arthur’s rolling hips finding where your chemise was tucked into your skirt, quickly tugging the fabric out of the hem. "Look at you, pretty girl."

His palm slipped under the last layer of clothing to find your sternum, pressing flat against the exposed, damp skin. His long fingers began to trail up, tracing the curves of the undersides of your breasts as he murmured, “You’re just so desperate to be fucked, aren’t you? Desperate for us to ruin you together.”

Joel’s calloused palm slipped underneath one of your tits, cupping it gently as his thumb brushed against your hardened nipple, pulling a wanton whine from your throat, the sound pulling a devilish grin on his face. He repeated the stroke across your nipple a few more times before mumbling to the other man still behind you, “Take her other breast. Gotta warm her up before we have our way with her.”

“Yes sir,” Arthur submitted to the order immediately as Joel pushed your chemise above your breasts, bunching the fabric up in his large fist and ducking his head down to lap one of the sensitive buds into his hot mouth, and you gasped, body melting further back into Arthur’s while he lifted his own hand to completely envelop your other breast in his large palm.

The combination then of Joel’s tongue swirling around one of your nipples while Arthur rolled the other one between rough fingertips pulled the most sinfully desperate whimpers from your mouth, the dual stimulation on your breasts stoking the fire that was making your pussy pulse in time with your heartbeat until you were desperately trying to lift your leg around Joel’s waist to find more friction against his hips, whining again as the heavy fabric of your wet skirt got in the way.

“You need this off, sweet girl?” Arthur murmured against your ear, hot breath fanning against your face as he looked down at you, and you met his bright gaze to see it darkened with the most sinful desires, already nodding even as he continued to tease you, “You need some relief, don’t you? Need a release from that ache deep in your pretty little pussy.”

Joel groaned around the mouthful of your breast he had before detaching his lips from your nipple, a string of saliva stretching from it to his lips until it broke when his head lifted to look down at Arthur whispering his seduction to you.

“Mm, bet it’s such a pretty pussy,” Joel whispered, thumb stroking along your bottom lip, pulling it out to slip his thumb into your mouth as Arthur’s own thumb rubbed tight circles against your nipple, and you sucked Joel’s digit into your mouth, swirling your tongue against it in your haze of pleasure as he groaned to his friend, “Fuck, get her skirt off and take her to bed, Arthur. Need to see her all spread out for us.”

Arthur nodded, mumbling another “yes sir” as his hands moved to your waist, stepping back and gently tugging you with him, pushing the blouse off your arms, followed by your chemise over your head to be forgotten on the ground before your skirt quickly followed.

You were left you in only your dainty drawers, the fabric already sticking to where it covered your wet core where Arthur’s hand slipped to cup your sex through the thin cloth, pulling a moan from your kiss swollen lips as his rough drawl rumbled into your ear while he tugged you back towards the bed, “We’re gonna take such good care of you, sweetheart. Gonna take turns making you come until you can’t handle it no more.”

“Oh Lord, please,” you were mumbling as Arthur laid you back on the bed, eyes fixed on the way his rough fingers deftly popped open the button of his jeans, adjusting his pants to be more comfortable, his deep groan from the little bit of relief for his straining erection pulling a needy whine from your own throat.

“Don’t think He can hear you in here, miss,” Arthur mumbled as he slowly pulled off his suspenders and rolled up his sleeves, revealing the strong corded muscles in his arms before crawling onto the bed after you, hungry eyes following the rise and fall of your naked chest with each fast breath of anticipation you took. “Not over that storm keepin’ a couple dirty ol’ cowboys in with ya, and certainly not over all the moanin’ you’re ‘bout to make.”

His last few words fell between the valley of your breasts before his lips pressed there, leaving a searing hot path of desperate wet, open-mouthed kisses down it before licking a stripe back up, turning his head to lap up the breast Joel had just had in his mouth a moment before.

“Mm,” Arthur moaned around your nipple as he sucked it into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it and making your hips jerk up with a wanton moan, his chuckle sending vibrations and further pleasure up and down your spine before he pulled back to mumble, “Can taste you on her, Joel.”

“That so?” the other cowboy murmurs low, and you looked up through half-lidded eyes to see him approaching, shirt discarded to leave a toned chest and big arms that you were reaching out to touch, fingers deliriously swiping through the air for him as he chuckled at your reaction before leaning in closer, letting you have a touch when he came to stop beside your bed.

You couldn’t help but wonder in the back of your mind if there really was room for both of these big, strong men in your small bed with you, or if it would be broken and you’d all be moaning messes still chasing all your pleasures on the floor before the night was through.

Your fingers found Joel’s chest, and you bit your lip at the feeling of those muscles bunching up under your hand, dragging your touch up and along his collarbone, over his shoulder and down his arm, squeezing his bicep with a gentle dig of your nails into his muscle, pulling a grunt from the man before he leans over to gently pull you up.

“Make room for me, sweetheart,” he huskily commands you in a surprisingly gentle whisper, and you do as he says, sitting up and scooting forward, forcing Arthur to pull off of your breast with a wet pop and a grunt, though he also moves back until Joel is able to slide in underneath your body, the two men carefully adjusting around you until you were all relatively comfortable, with your body soon pressed between theirs once again.

Joel’s fingers found your chin, gently grasping it to turn your face and direct it up so he could kiss you again, a bit slower this time, but just as deep, almost teasing with the glide of his tongue over your top and bottom lip, making obscenely wet circles on your mouth with his saliva before slipping his tongue inside your mouth, drinking in your moans as Arthur leaned back in to suck your other nipple into his mouth and give it the same treatment as the first.

“You think she’s wet yet, partner?” Joel asked as his lips pulled back from yours, running the slope of that scarred nose across your cheek in an almost tender action before glancing towards Arthur, who was now peppering kisses down your exposed stomach to the top of your drawers, nose pressing against the wet fabric covering your cunt, inhaling deeply with a groan before his tongue darted out to lick a stripe up the drenched cloth covering your entrance.

“Fuck, she’s soaked, Joel,” Arthur rasped, fingers curling underneath the banding of the fabric to pull it down enough to be out of the way, groaning when he saw how dripping you already were for them, rough digits finding your folds to gently spread you for him, breath fanning against your hot cunt as your hips jerked with a desperate whine.

“Good girl,” Joel was whispering into your ear as Arthur pulled your drawers down your legs, and you swear you saw him ball them up and tuck them in the back of his faded jeans, but you were too distracted by his large palms enveloping your thighs a moment later, your eyes nearly rolling back into your head as Joel kept murmuring to you, “So ready for us, your pretty little pussy dripping and aching to be filled with us, hm? You just can’t wait for us to take our turns with you.”

Arthur’s palms find your inner thighs as Joel edges you on with his words, spreading you further apart for him as he scoots down the bed to settle between your thighs. His lips find your inner thigh, kissing and nipping at the soft skin there as Joel’s hand presses against your stomach, pulling you back against him further before slipping it down to run the rough pads of his fingers over your clit.

“Oh!” you gasp, trying to buck your hips up against his touch, but Arthur keeps you pinned to the mattress in between Joel’s strong thighs with his hands on your thighs, leaving you happily merciless to both men as they descend upon your pussy to give you the greatest night of pleasure of your entire life.

Joel’s rubbing slow, tight circles on your clit, playing with that low simmering heat in your stomach, building it up at a leisurely pace as Arthur’s fingers drag across your folds, collecting your slick before parting them enough to begin to sink a finger into your tight heat.

“Patience, sweet girl,” Joel murmurs against your ear as you try and roll your hips to meet his fingers on your clit and Arthur’s moving in and out of your pussy when he slowly starts to add another, pulling another wanton gasp that nearly turns into a strangled cry from you at the sensation of thick, rough fingers from two men on your pussy. “We’re gonna give you what you need. We’re gonna give it to you so many times, you won’t even know who you’re begging for.”

A cry definitely did leave your swollen lips that time when you feel a hot tongue find its way between your folds, licking along your pussy before slowly sinking inside to replace Arthur’s fingers when he pulls them out. His hands move to cup underneath your thighs, directing your hips to roll right up into his mouth as he slowly fucks you with his tongue, Joel’s fingers moving in a way that he’s already learned makes you writhe the most, picking up the pace as the heat in your lower stomach coils tighter, faster, hotter.

Joel grabs your hair with his other hand, tugging you back so his lips can descend on your mouth again, sucking your moans into his mouth when you suddenly feel the loss of his fingers on your clit. You were about to start crying, not wanting your orgasm to fade out of reach when it had just been so close, when you felt a hot tongue replace it.

You gasp, lips pulling back from Joel to look down, seeing his fingers tangled in Arthur’s hair, shoving his friend’s face down against your pussy. Arthur’s fingers slip back inside your cunt, thrusting up into you quickly as his tongue swirls around your clit, sucking it into his mouth as Joel keeps Arthur’s face pressed there with the hand grabbing his hair, and it only takes a few strokes of his tongue against your clit, flattening against the swollen bundle of nerves to rub against it quickly for you to be coming around his fingers.

“Fuck, look at that. So eager,” Arthur groans when he pulls his mouth back to give your clit a few more licks, watching greedily as you soak his fingers with your cum, continuing to thrust them into your pussy throughout your high with obscene, wet sounds each time they move in and out of your fluttering walls. “So fucking needy, coming for us so fast like that.”

“She wants a cock so bad, don’t you, baby?” Joel’s whispering in your ear, and you can feel his gaze on where Arthur keeps fingerfucking you, watching just as hotly, just as intensely as you soak his friend’s rough digits in your release, your thighs twitching from the aftershocks of the white hot orgasm. “Wants it so bad she needs two cowboys to fuck her so she’s truly satisfied.”

“More than happy to please ya, doll,” Arthur’s voice rumbles proudly from his chest as he finally slips his fingers out of your cunt, lifting them to his mouth to suck his soaked middle finger into his mouth, moaning at the taste before pulling it out and offering his index finger to Joel.

Your head falls back against Joel’s shoulder, glancing sideways with a whimper to watch Joel suck Arthur’s finger coated in your release into his mouth, beautiful hazel eyes fluttering shut with a moan around his friend’s rough digit. You watch Joel suck hard, hot desire coiling in your stomach again when Arthur grunts loudly at the sight and feeling.

When Arthur pulls his hand back, he reaches eagerly to his jeans, grabbing the waistband to tug it open further and push it down, working the damp fabric down over his strong thighs, and your lips part with need when you see his cock freed from its fabric constraints at last, tip leaking with precum, so big and ready to fuck you until you couldn’t think straight.

“Oh my god, yes,” you were murmuring deliriously as you watched Arthur reach down to stroke his cock, running his fingers covered in his and Joel’s saliva as well as your slick over it, spreading it along his twitching length before directing it to slide past your folds, notching the head against your entrance as you both began to breathe heavily at the imminent joining. “Please, please, pl—fuck!”

You cried out, back arching off of Joel’s chest before he quickly pulled you back against him, holding you steady as Arthur began to slowly sink into you with increasingly labored breaths, interspersed with long groans and raspy mumbles under his breath at how good you felt.

“I—oh, Christ, Joel. She’s so tight,” Arthur moaned as he continued to inch himself into you, stretching you out for what felt like forever, your pussy adjusting to his girth and length as you reached up to grab Arthur’s shoulders, digging your fingers into his shoulders for purchase and eliciting a louder grunt from the man filling you up.

“Gotta warm her up for me, partner. Stretch her pussy, make it fit.” Joel’s head ducks down next to your ear, lips brushing against it as his voice becomes softer when addressing you, a deep rumble shooting straight to your throbbing core while Arthur slowly fills it, gently encouraging you, “That’s it, take it, darlin’.”

You moan at his seductive rasp right in your ears, leaning back further against his chest as your thighs parted further, accepting Arthur in further by reflex, overwhelmed by the feeling of his cock inching into you while Joel whispered deliciously lewd things in your ear that would make even a whore blush.

“Yes, that’s it,” Joel sighed, his large palm finding one of your thighs to press you apart further, letting Arthur bottom out in you with a groan, nestled perfectly against your thighs, his pelvis rubbing against your clit and making your hips jerk up with a gasp. “Spread your legs for him, let him take you. Good girl.”

Lips parting, your head fell back onto Joel’s shoulder, eyes fluttering shut as you moaned in time with Arthur when he pulled out a few inches to thrust back in, bottoming out once more before doing it all over again.

And again, again, again, the cowboy on top of you slowly thrusting into you with quiet grunts of exertion, filling you up over and over with small rotations of his hips in a way that felt deliberate, as if he was carefully following Joel’s orders to stretch out every inch of your tight cunt completely in preparation for his friend’s cock after he had had his turn with you.

The thought of there being even more to come after this made you moan again, your hips rolling up to meet Arthur’s thrusts as they became quicker at your movements, his own strong hips punching forward to fuck into you hard enough to steal the breath from your lungs each time. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to pull him down further until the three of you were a moaning heap on your bed, Arthur fucking into you with earnest desperation as you could both feel Joel’s hot gaze narrowed in on where his friend’s cock filled you over and over with each strong thrust.

“God, look at you…the way you fill her up, fuck, Arthur. Seeing your big cock in that pretty little pussy…” Joel moaned, burying his face in your neck as his hips begin to roll up into you from behind, clothed erection pressing to your ass as he begins to grind against you, watching Arthur thrust into you with heavy lidded eyes to find the same rhythm that Arthur was fucking you with.

Arthur fucking whimpered at the praise, his lips finding your shoulder to start kissing, biting and sucking at the soft skin there, moans muffled against your skin as he bottomed out again to grind his pelvis against you, creating delicious friction in your clit combined with his cock twitching impossibly deep inside of you. Joel kept rutting against you from behind, his hand reaching around to thread through Arthur’s hair as both men moaned from the feeling of you stuffed in between them, the three of you using each other for hot, unspeakable pleasure.

“You want our cum, sweetheart? Want both of us to pump you full until you’re fucking stuffed?” Joel rasped into your ear as Arthur bucked into you with louder moans that felt hot against your skin, and you gasped, nodding desperately at the thought of being completely ravaged by both men, claimed by them both in the most primal, depraved way. You didn’t care about the consequences, you needed it. “You’ll have us dripping down your legs for days, that pussy is gonna remember our cocks when we’re gone. Won’t even know who's the daddy if we get you knocked up.”

The orgasm came suddenly at those filthy words, gripping your body and causing it to writhe between the men, pressed between the two broad bodies as you cried out their names one after another, your own climax immediately pulling Arthur into his own.

He tumbled into ecstasy after you, crushing you with his weight as he grunted and groaned into your ear with each pulse of his cock inside of you, filling you with his spend as your thighs twitched in time with his, your orgasms prolonged by the feeling of the other wrapped up in carnal bliss with you.

Joel was murmuring sweet nothings into your ear, praising you for how good you took it, how beautiful you look filled up with Arthur’s cum as his hand loosened in Arthur’s hair, stroking through the strands in a soothing manner as he took the time to also assure his friend that he was doing just as good as you, filling you up so well, that you both looked so pretty coming together.

After a moment to catch his breath, Arthur pulled his face up from your shoulder, skin flushed from the exertion of fucking you as he leaned down to press a few chaste kisses to your lips while he slowly slipped out of you, pulling your combined release with him. It trailed down your thighs, and Joel swiped his fingers along it, coating it along the puffy lips of your already thoroughly fucked pussy in the same moment Arthur also collected your slick and his cum from your other thigh.

“Lemme see your cock, Joel,” he grunted, and Joel’s head tilted back against the headboard of your bed with a moan, shifting underneath you to pull his jeans enough to free his own cock, and you gasped at the feeling of its hot, throbbing thickness pressed against your back before he slid it down between your folds, and Arthur gently took it in hand to cover it in his and your release.

“Mm, fuck,” Joel groaned, his hands finding your hips to rest your pussy against the head of his cock now, lips finding your ear to whisper in a deep rasp, “You ready for me next, darlin’?”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, and something about the phrase must have set him off, because Joel plunged into you in one stroke with a loud grunt, easing in completely with no resistance from all the preparation they had given you and Arthur’s cum still coating your walls.

“Christ, you should see how you look right now,” Arthur groaned as he kept your thighs apart this time, watching Joel fuck up into you, hardly taking any time before setting a fast and brutal pace, and you were sure Arthur must have quite the view indeed.

Your eyes were wide and glazed over as they met his, teary from multiple orgasms as your breasts bounced freely from Joel’s rough thrusts up into you, his cock filling you again and again so easily with Arthur’s cum still dripping from you.

As much as you wanted to keep watching the lingering heat in Arthur’s eyes as he watched Joel fuck you, the sensation of being this stuffed was too much, your eyes fluttering shut as you leaned back into Joel’s strong embrace as he just kept fucking you faster and faster, the bed creaking, headboard smacking against the wall of your cabin with each intense thrust.

“Just like that, good girl, fuck. So tight, keep doing that, ohh, Jesus…” Joel was gasping and grunting now as he fucked up into you from behind, arms circling around your front to grab you and press you back into him, and the feeling was already almost too much, only becoming more overwhelming when you felt a tongue find its way between your thighs.

“A-Arthur,” you moaned, mouth falling open as you felt the other cowboy kissing his way up your cum-slicked thighs to your clit, licking over it before sucking it into his mouth, and you cried out, body trying to thrash from reflex from being so completely surrounded by pleasure, but Joel was holding you tight to him as he bucked up into you mercilessly. “Joel…Arthur…ahh, fuck…”

You hardly registered another impending orgasm, not understanding how your body could take even more, but the walls of your pussy were starting to tighten anyway, Joel whimpering into your ear at the feeling of it.

“Oh fuck, ‘m not gonna last if you keep clenching around me like that darlin,’” Joel moaned into your ear, his hips rolling unevenly, thrusts sloppier as he panted the words, “Arthur, I’m ‘bout to cum. Gonna fill her up, stuff this pretty little pussy even more.”

“Do it, Joel,” Arthur rasped as he pulled back from your clit to place his hand there to keep stimulating you, his other hand shifting from where he was keeping your thighs apart to grab onto Joel’s thigh as they began to twitch, digging his dull fingernails against the tough skin of his friend’s muscular leg, causing Joel to buck up hard into you with a loud grunt. “Cum in her for me. For both of us.”

“I—Arthur—” Joel was trying to say something but utterly failing, yours and Arthur’s names falling from his lips in broken, stuttered moans as he grabbed your hips tightly, pulling them back against his hard enough to bruise as he snapped up into you, head falling back against the headboard with a groan as he came hard, filling you up to the brim just like his friend told him to until you were overflowing, three combined releases leaking from your stuffed pussy to coat his cock, stomach and your thighs.

You felt his release coating your walls as they fluttered around him, and your own head tilted back as well, trapped between Joel’s bucking hips as he came and Arthur’s fingers still working at you, no thoughts running through your mind other than the fact that you were now filled with the cum of both these strong, rugged men, and your mouth opened in a silent cry as another orgasm washed over you so completely that you think you blacked out for a few seconds.

When you came back to, your vision was blurry, blinking stars away from your eyes as you focused on the handsome face above you, Arthur gazing down at you with a faint hint of concern as his rough hand caressed your cheek.

“You okay there, darlin’?” he murmured, thumb stroking along your cheekbone as you met the surprising softness of his gaze, and you nodded slowly, a lazy grin forming on your lips as you felt Joel slip out of you, letting all the cum seep back out of your pussy onto the mattress.

A sigh slipped from your lips as you sank back into Joel’s chest as his hands rested gently on your thighs, his own calloused thumbs rubbing circles on your soft skin while Arthur ducked down to place his lips over yours in a kiss more gentle than any you had shared so far.

“Such a good girl,” he muttered through a soft exhale that you sucked into your own lungs through the kiss, his low rasp of praise making you feel all warm inside after how hard they had worked you, pleased with yourself that you had made them both feel as good as they made you feel. “Sweet, sweet gal. You did so well for us.”

“Mm, that’s right,” Joel murmured into your hair, nuzzling his face into your neck as you and Arthur kissed languidly. “What a perfect, pretty little thing we’ve found out in these woods. Gonna be hard not to keep you all to ourselves, ma’am.”

You laughed softly at that, humming into Arthur’s gentle kisses as Joel peppered his own soft kisses up and down your neck and to your shoulder. Somehow, you didn’t mind the thought of them keeping you to them that much. In fact, you quite enjoyed the idea of being their girl, the thought of them continuing to share you was…exhilarating.

Arthur pulled back from you, shifting to push himself off the bed, tucking himself away and doing his pants back up as you frowned, not even realizing how tired you were until you slurred out a quiet, “Where you goin’, mister?”

The cowboy laughed, a gentle, low chuckle that rumbled from that broad chest as he smiled back at you before moving over towards where you kept your wash basin.

“We wouldn’t be such upstanding gentlemen if we didn’t clean you up afterwards, would we?” he teased with a wink, and you bit your swollen lips, giggling as you turned yourself around, chest pressed to Joel’s to see he had his own little smile while he gazed at you.

You took your time kissing Joel then, making soft, content noises into his own swollen lips, wrapping yourself up in him in a languid, content way until Arthur returned and gently pulled you back to lay on the bed.

There was a moment of relief from not being pressed to Joel anymore, your sore muscles sinking into the mattress as Arthur set about wiping you down carefully with the wet cloth. Joel’s fingers would follow in the path of damp skin left by the rag, long fingers tracing and gently caressing you, soothing any marks either men left on you and laughing when Arthur would grumble in gruff annoyance that his friend was getting in the way of his work cleaning you up.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but you knew that both men were still with you when you did.

When you woke up, however, neither was anywhere to be seen, and you lifted your head from your pillows, glancing around the empty room with a growing frown.

If it wasn’t for the deep ache in your bones, the way you were naked underneath a blanket and the large dried cum stains still on the mattress underneath you, you would have thought the whole thing was some wild, feverish wet dream.

You stared at the blanket that slipped off you as you moved, a small smile curling on your lips as you realized one of the men must’ve laid it on you, even as both were now nowhere to be seen. The smile quickly faded as you lingered on that last thought, sighing as you struggled to push yourself up, your muscles exhausted and not working quite properly after the night before.

While you were in the midst of trying to sit on the edge of your bed, the door to your cabin opened, and your brain didn’t even have time to begin to panic about your vulnerable state as you quickly recognized the frame of who was standing in the doorway.

“Mornin’, sweet thing,” Arthur greeted you with a sly half-grin, and you found a smile tugging back onto your lips, a rush of what almost felt like giddiness at seeing him the morning after filling you as he strode into the room.

That was when the rich scent of a dark roast hit you, and you were already nearly moaning from the smell of the coffee before the rugged cowboy passed the tin cup to you.

“Joel’s not a fan of sharing his coffee but, well,” he shrugged, leaning back to hook a hand on his belt buckle, leaning back casually with a small smile as he glanced over you inhaling the steam before taking a sip. “Figured it was the least we could after working you so hard last night.”

“You say that like I didn’t want it,” you teased, both of you knowing that you were the one who had wanted it the most, the mischief twinkling in Arthur’s eyes—eyes that you were just now really looking at, finding yourself caught between calling them blue or green, but they were shockingly stunning nonetheless—matching your own as his gaze moved back down your body, lingering on your naked breasts, perky in the air with how the blanket had fallen to your waist.

“Oh, we know how badly you wanted it, sweetheart,” he murmured, licking his bottom lip slowly, and despite being so sore you were nearly in pain, you couldn’t help but lean forward, longing to know what other ways he and his friend could have you.

But then Arthur was leaning back, tearing his gaze from you as he reached up to adjust his hat, tugging the brim down to cover his eyes.

“I deeply apologize for having to run out on you like this ma’am, but…” he sighed heavily, boot scuffing as he tapped the toe against the ground a couple times, and you were surprised to see the man you had only seen as self-assured so far seeming suddenly…awkward? Or maybe ashamed? “We actually were on a job, and have a lot of catching up to do ‘cause of that storm.”

“Oh,” you said softly, giving a nod, because you did understand. This entire encounter had been a strange fever dream, but it only made sense that they had to get back to their lives, as you had to get back to yours. “‘Course. I understand, Mr. Morgan. I wish you both safe travels.”

“Mhm,” Arthur hummed, giving a nod as he shifted back, leaning back on his heels with the brim of his hat still covering most of his face with the way his head was turned down.

Both his hands had moved to his hips, and he stared at the ground for a moment, his silence pulling a frown on your face as you opened your mouth to speak before thinking, “Arthur—”

Before you could even blink, he was in front of you, leaning down with those rough palms grasping your face, pulling you up into a bruising kiss that stole the breath from your lungs.

You moaned into it, mind spinning from the sheer intensity of it as your lips locked, Arthur’s head turning to kiss you deeper, thick fingers slipping up into your hair as he swallowed your small, needy sounds of passion.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, sighing softly as he murmured your name, pulling your own sigh from you as you whispered his own name back to him before he pulled himself away.

“Hard to leave you, miss,” he said slowly, not hiding his face under his hat this time as he moved away, letting you see the conflict flash across his features as he pulled himself away from you. “And damn impossible to forget.”

You laughed, lifting a hand to try and cover the stupid little satisfied smile on your swollen lips, watching as Arthur leaned back out the door and barked out, “Hey, asshole! Say goodbye to the lady.”

“I’m going to,” the other deep voice responded in blatant irritation, and you tried to smother your giggle with your hand, but Arthur still glanced back at you, catching the sound and giving you a cheeky little wink in response before he was gone.

You had sipped a bit more coffee, gathering enough strength to finally stand, even as your knees were wobbly while you set about gathering your discarded clothes from the floor around the bed.

The sound of the door opening back up didn’t escape your attention, but you didn’t look over yet. Instead, a wicked smile grew on your face as you bent over to pick up your blouse, wiggling your ass for your other visitor, the smile only growing as you heard the quiet growl followed by a light smack to your left cheek in response to your teasing when he approached you.

“Little vixen,” Joel murmured as he took your elbow and pulled you up to face him, your chest colliding with his as his arms wrapped around your still naked form, holding you tight as his lips met yours much in the same way Arthur’s just did—hot, passionate, with a need that still lingered even after the wild night the three of you had shared.

You smiled up at him when you parted, pulling your blouse on, pleasantly surprised when Joel’s fingers found the hem of the cotton, thick fingers deftly buttoning up the shirt with quick precision.

“Mm, you do this often, Mr. Miller?” you purred, arching an eyebrow as you glanced over his face, liking the way the scar on his nose looked when his face pinched together slightly with amusement at your teasing. “Dressing up the girls after you ruin them for any men other than you and your handsome friend?”

His eyes met yours then, and even with the sly smirk curling up one half of his mouth, there was almost an uncertainty in that gaze, just a hint of that same self-conscious look you had seen from his friend moments before.

“You really gonna remember us after we’re gone, sweetheart?” Joel asked when he finished buttoning up your blouse, fingers curling around the collar and brushing against the soft skin of your neck as he leaned down closer to you, his hot breath mingling with yours, the smell of coffee on it invading your senses. “You gonna pine after the dirty old cowboys who found their way into your bed for a wild, stormy night?”

A soft laugh left your parted lips as you wrapped your arms around his neck, stomach flipping slightly at the choice of words as you shrugged a shoulder.

“Perhaps I will, sir,” you whisper, letting your lips graze against each other with each word you spoke without pressing them together fully, teasing a final kiss without making the move to seal it, knowing he’d be off to god knows where afterwards, probably to never see you again. “It’s not often you meet a couple of big bad men who know how to be perfect gentlemen.”

Joel paused, face pulling back from you slightly to gaze down at you with a frown at your adept observation.

“Bad—” he cut himself off, brows furrowed as his eyes darted over your face, seeming to struggle to find the right words before he finally came right out and asked, “How did you—”

“I’m not holed up in this cabin all the time, Joel Miller,” you said softly, trying not to spook him as your fingers danced along the beard on his chin, a bit longer than his friend’s, and you were glad you were successful in softening the blow of your revelation when he sank into your touch. “Your faces were familiar, but I recognized your friend’s name when he gave it. The Van der Linde gang aren’t exactly subtle.”

Joel sighed, shaking his head to himself as he mumbled something under his breath you didn’t catch, but his gaze returned to yours as he asked with an arch of his brow, “And that didn’t scare you away?”

You shrugged, a wicked grin crossing your face as your fingers ran through his hair, mentally tucking away his quiet grunt of pleasure from the feeling as you whispered, “Well, I have always wanted to fuck an outlaw.”

A laugh left Joel’s lips then, loud and genuinely amused, followed by a look of surprise on his own face after he made it.

You were curious as to why he was so surprised at his own laughter, but you didn’t want to waste another moment, leaning forward to capture his lips in yours in another kiss that went from hot and fast to something slower, tender almost, the feeling of his lips against yours lingering even after he pulled away.

When he did tear himself away from you, he did it with a smirk that lit a fire in your soul, one you didn’t think would ever burn out while he replied in a sly, almost smug voice, “Or two.”

Your own smirk matched his as you grazed your fingers across the scar on the bridge of his nose, then down his face before you pulled back to let him leave, though not without your own final say of, “Well, I guess there was room for three after all.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

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soanis · 2 months

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Please do your daily click!

This is a great way for people without any funds or no ways to contact their representatives can help out!! 🍉🍉🍉 (link below)

Free Palestine

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soanis · 2 months

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cw: smutty content, size kink . . . toji brainrot is a plague, we all thank @anthoosies !! 🐇

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈 𝐅𝐔𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐎... is a big guy.

his shoulders seem to stretch for miles. his tall frame looms over your own in a way that feels intimidating sometimes, and you're positive his waist has a better curve than yours when he's wearing his compression shirts. his hands are thick, and his fingers are hard; the skin of his hand has very little give from all the manual labor and meticulous part time jobs he's picked up. toji tries to keep them clean and soft for you— terrified that one day he'll graze your skin and leave a mark on accident.

naturally, you expected this the first time the two of you had sex.

your lover had already worked your body to the bone, lazy tongue lolling up and down your drenched cunt. you're eager, and he's terrified— terrified that he'll split you clean down the middle if he goes in without any prep. he looks so sexy like this, moonlight illuminating the curves and digs of his muscular stature.

you come down from another, gasping quietly. before toji can work on getting you to your fourth orgasm, you caress his face with a shaky hand.

"can take it... please, toji..." you beg, gentle hand coming up to rest on his arm.

"hon... i don't wanna hurt ya."

"y-you won't... if it does, i'll tell you."

and christ, was he big in bed too.

toji stripped his clothes off, strong body hovering above your own as he tries to ease himself inside of your spasming walls. but what shocked him more than anything was he wasn't even halfway in, and you had been stuffed to the brim with his length.

toji furrows his brows, gazing down at where he pulses inside of you... a soft belly bulge protrudes. the man isn't even halfway in, and you're here— squirming and pawing at his bare chest.

he can't even deny how hot the sight is, but is pulled from his thoughts when he catches your weary expression. tears bubble at your eyes, and mascara begins to run down your cheeks.

"toji..." you wail, nails digging into his shoulders helplessly.

the noise is so heartbreaking that he's tempted to pull out and never try having sex again, simply because the sight of you in such pain makes his heart shatter into a million shards.

"oh my god, i'm so sorry, baby. here, please—" toji begins, inching out before you frantically shake your head. you clench around him, and toji's hips jerk up into you. the two of you immediately moan, a singular groan being drawn from a single thrust.

it hurts now, but it'll feel better. toji had no idea how small you really were, hiding his face into your shoulder with a guilty sigh.

"'s big..." you whisper, words lost in a choked moan.

"i know, i know. i'm sorry." toji grunts. "you're doing so well, do you know that?"

you nod, and he presses a kiss to your cheek.

"just tell me when to move, okay?"

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soanis · 2 months

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The war in Sudan has reached its 10th month. The war has been met with a global indifference or there has been no desire to act from many world leaders.

8 million people have fled their homes and millions of Sudanese people have emergency food insecurity, with 5 million people on the brink of famine. even the neighbouring country Chad has had to declare a food insecurity emergency due to the mass amount of Sudanese people that have fled to Chad. (By no fault of their own of course)

Faced with a media blackout which is over a week at this point we need to continue to amplify the voices and plight of the Sudanese people.

#freesudan till it’s backwards 🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩

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soanis · 2 months

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The war in Sudan has reached its 10th month. The war has been met with a global indifference or there has been no desire to act from many world leaders.

Faced with a media blackout which is over a week at this point we need to continue to amplify the voices and plight of the Sudanese people.

#freesudan till it’s backwards 🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩🇸🇩

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soanis · 2 months

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(18+, toji x fem!reader)

yes toji is known for being the guy that loves rough sex. toe curling, sheet gripping, headboard breaking sex. ask anybody who's been with him and they'll tell you that rough sex is all he ever does. he likes fucking girls from behind, a bruising grip on this hips as he pounds into them mercilessly.

but for once, when it comes to you, it seems to be different.

sure, he's not above that sort of fucking. in fact, that's what he's used to. but when he sees you and your gentle smile something tugs at the pitiful excuse he has at a heart and he can't bare to see you bruised up because of his fingers.

it confuses him, but he wants to see your face when he's deep inside you. he wants to see the way your mouth opens cutely and the way you whine for him. he wants his mouth to mark you up, nothing else, and toji knows that you're changing him without realizing.

"f-fuck, toji, you're so..." god, you can't even form words with the way he fucks you, his dick reaching that spot inside you that nobody else can. it kisses your gummy walls as he drags it in and out, his hair falling into his face as his eyes are set at where your two bodies connect.

"yeah sweetheart, shit, jus' like that," he'd praise, kissing your cheeks, at the corners of your eyes in a gentle way as he thrust's into you. his eyes are dark, overridden with his lust and love for you.

the room smells like sweat and sex, your essence coating a ring around his dick as his thumb finds your clit. don't tell anybody but toji wants sex to be more than a quick experience for you, he wants it to mean something.

your fingers dig into his toned back, moving up to curl into his strands of hair, just the way he liked it.

if he could take a picture of you in this moment he could. he wished that he wasn't so emotionally constipated so that he could tell you just how you make him feel, to let you know that you've burrowed your way into his chest and he wants you to stay there forever.

"love you," you murmur against his lips, kissing his scar as your eyes pierce his. and it's whispered with such intensity that he feels like he's about to choke.

but he doesn't, roughly pressing his lips against yours as your teeth clash, wrapping your legs around his waist as he bring the two of you to your highs. the kiss is messy and he feels ten different emotions at once but all he can say is,

"i know," he presses a chaste kiss to the column of your throat, "you're mine, only mine." and it's his own claim, his own way to say that no matter what happens, he will always be yours

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soanis · 2 months

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soanis · 2 months

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how you can help palestine

*i regularly update this post with any new info i find so please always reblog the original post*

Donations

donations currently reaching gaza:

‼️ help buy e-sims for people in gaza

donate to get food packages to gaza - care for gaza

donate direct aid to gaza - ehab rida (longtime activist and volunteer, has been carrying out donations and humanitarian projects in gaza since 2021)

palestine children's relief fund

world food programme

aid to gaza - taawon/bank of palestine

help gaza’s children

female hygiene kits for gaza - pious project

donate to UNRWA

urgent humanitarian aid to palestinians - anera

medical aid for palestinians

urgent support for medical professionals in gaza

donate to ahmed (@/90-ghost on tumblr)

he is born, raised and based in gaza. please help him reach his goal of $50K to get his family to safety across the rafah border into egypt. as of right now… it’s $7.5K per person to evacuate gaza.

help journalist yousef escape gaza to treat his cancer

help mohamed evacuate gaza to get treatment for himself and his daughter

support palestinians: buy a keffiyeh from the last and only factory in palestine - hirbawi

secondary donations:

click to donate - arab.org

emergency relief for gaza - pious projects

palestine red crescent society

save palestine - islamic relief canada

send medical supplies to gaza - palestinian american medical association

help bring down israel's weapon trade - palaction

donate for the recovery of hisham awartani

one of the three palestinian students shot by a racist in vermont for wearing kufiyas and speaking arabic. hisham’s injuries have left him paralysed from below the chest.

Petitions

‼️ urge icj to invite gazan journalists to testify

international cultural workers to strike from german cultural institutions for their complicity in oppressing palestinians and promoting genocide - strike germany

petition to investigate war crimes committed by israeli military

demand ceasefire - amnesty international

open call for immediate ceasefire

american government call for immediate ceasefire

american government to stop funding israeli military

ceasefire and increase humanitarian assistance - oxfam au

petition to get canva to address their pro-israel stance

invoke the genocide convention to call for ceasefire in gaza - world beyond war

suspend israel from international sports - diem25

UK to expel israeli ambassador - change.org

gaza healthcare workers for nobel peace prize - change.org

teachers around the world demand ceasefire - teachers for palestine

president whitten: reinstate samia halaby retrospective NOW - action network

demand the immediate release of mansour shouman

location specific petitions

gaza call for lasting ceasefire - oxfam (UK)

end israeli occupation - parliament uk (UK)

email your MP - medical aid for palestine (UK)

protect gaza civilians - islamic relief (UK)

stop fuelling genocide - action network (USA)

@ biden: call for ceasefire now - move on (USA)

ceasefirenow.com - jewishvoiceofpeace (USA)

call congress and demand a ceasefire - uscpr (USA - they provide a script of what you should say, so don't worry about it)

note: you can call everyday. they tally the number of calls per issue. so more calls = higher chance for them to take action. p.s. you mainly go to voicemail so don’t worry about phone call anxiety. fight through it just this once please.

no forced displacement! - action network

australia call on israel to stop attacking palestinians - apan (AUS)

immediate ceasefire and increase in humanitarian aid in gaza - actionaid (AUS)

email your MPs - stand with palestine (AUS)

‼️ australian senate to investigate australian citizens in the IDF for war crimes allegations - fpm (AUS)

‼️ arms embargo on israel - cjpme (CANADA)

sign to send letter to MP for ceasefire - nccm (CANADA)

ceasefire now! - ijv (CANADA)

call on your local mayor and council to demand ceasefire - LeadNow (CANADA)

cessez-le-feu et un couloir humanitaire - le mouvement (FRANCE)

écrivez aux député-es et sénateurs-trices - association france palestine solidarité (FRANCE)

write to your député - assemblée nationale (FRANCE)

skydda civilbefolkningen i gaza! - mittskifte (SWEDEN)

singaporeans call for immediate ceasefire (SIN)

contact your elected reps and demand a ceasefire (GERMANY)

write to the EU demanding a ceasefire (EUROPE)

template of letters you can send (EU)

guide on how to contact your MPs in EU

p.s. if the template is outdated, just use it as a guide and add a few sentences here and there that reflect the current situation. i can’t find any recent templates so :/ at least this is something

multiple actions you can take to help palestine - plant een olifbloom (NETHERLANDS)

includes: links for donations, emails to MP, emails to media, links to petitions and demonstrations

den haag, maak nú werk van vrede in israël/Palestina - the right forum (NETHERLANDS)

māori call for palestine - ourActionStation (NZ)

deem israeli actions as war crimes - NZ parliament/pāremata aotearoa (NZ)

basta ao genocídio em Gaza! - awaaz (BRAZIL)

globo e grande mídia, parem de desumanizar civis palestinos - the intercept (BRAZIL)

manifesto ao governo brasileiro - petição pública (BRAZIL)

Campaigns

‼️ justice for palestine

reach out to countries to back up south africa’s invoke genocide convention at the ICJ

‼️ international criminal court

submit evidences of israeli war crimes

friends of al-aqsa

❥ UK-specific

urge your MP to speak up for palestine

hands off al-aqsa

stop administrative detention

petition for UK to stop arming israel

❥ International

boycott puma — email them to end their partnership with israel

boycott coca-cola

islamic relief canada

urge your MP to rally for ceasefire

decolonise palestine

poster campaign to raise awareness on the war crimes being committed against palestinians

text/call campaign for people living in USA

text RESIST @ 50409 to send a letter to your representatives to pass HR3103–a bill that prohibits tax dollars from going to israel

download 5Calls app to contact members of your congress | (more info)

fax campaign for people in the USA

go on this website to send 5 free faxes per day

here’s a link to a pre-written fax copy you can download to send (the first link on the linktree)

here’s a video that explains how to fax your senator (it’s very easy and all you need is a valid email address)

‼️ BDS movement

get involved in boycotting companies associated with israel

palestine diaspora network

global strike guide - join the global strike!

please let me know if you have any more links. i will add them in. and please reblog the original post!!

UPCOMING PROTESTS

PALESTINIAN LITERATURE READING LIST

PALESTINIAN BUSINESSES

156K notes · View notes

soanis · 3 months

Note

palestine flag themed dragon!!! from the river to the sea!!!!!!!

#24 - 自由和平巴勒斯坦 (freedom, peace, Palestine) - Within our lifetime, Palestine will be free. 🇵🇸

If you see this post, please take one or more of these actions right now:

DONATE-

eSims for Gaza

Palestine Action

Palestine Children's Relief Fund

Palestine Legal

Medical Aid for Palestinians

United Nations Relief and Works Agency

Contact your reps for an immediate ceasefire (USA, UK, Canada, Australia)

Click a button to generate donations for UNRWA

Educate yourself and follow contemporary Palestinian voices

Follow BDS's list of companies to boycott and tell your friends and family why you are boycotting.

Plan to join a protest in your area (worldwide)

8K notes · View notes

soanis · 3 months

Text

EXPERIENCE (m.)

könig x inexperienced!reader

tags: age gap, acquaintances to lovers, afab!reader but gn

cw: loss of virginity, cunnilingus, fingering, hand riding (hear me out), pussyjob, talking u thru it, praise, pet names (liebling, little one), size kink/difference, handjob, reassurance/encouragement kink, wet&messy, konig is uncut hehe, squirting

note: konig is in his 40s and reader is in their 20s!

;in which you live in the same building as a really hot, older, military man

9.5k

When you met König, you never expected the harmless interactions to ever evolve into anything substantial. He lived somewhere in the same apartment building as you did, though you didn’t know where exactly. Most times, you would find him in the elevator or cross paths with him in the lobby.

You knew he was in the military, most of the people living in the building were. It was close to the nearby base and had rent for a damn good price. The way he carried himself, back straight and body seemingly always at attention gave him away.

He was massive, standing much taller above you with broad shoulders and thick thighs. A lot of the time he was wearing a hood over his face, mostly when he was coming or going from work – which was seemingly all the time.

On the few occasions that you caught him without the hood, you could tell it was him solely by his build. There was no one else in the building who looked anything like that.

He was handsome, in a rugged, tired kind of way. He was a lot older than you were expecting him to be – probably in his early to mid forties, you guessed. He had salt and pepper hair, fine lines etched onto his face, and stern eyes from (no doubt) many years in the military.

You had never properly spoken to him before. Hell, you didn’t even know his name. You greeted him when you saw him and smiled in passing when you made eye contact. Occasionally, he would respond in an accented voice that you longed to ask about.

The event that changed everything was a fun little night out you had with your friends. You had maybe had a bit too much to drink before finally conceding at your friends’ behest to call yourself an Uber.

By the time you reach your apartment building, you’re still very buzzed and starting to feel a little nauseous. You stumble to the elevator and impatiently slam your thumb on the button over and over again, losing count as you do.

“It’s not going to come any faster,” an accented voice drones next to you, nearly making you jump out of your skin.

“You scared the shit out of me,” you wheeze, hand over your racing heart.

“You should be more aware of your surroundings then,” he says, “Especially when you are intoxicated.”

You huff through your nose, growing annoyed at the prospect of being lectured. The elevator grants mercy and dings before slowly opening. There's a rowdy group of men inside who quickly walk out of the elevator, seedy eyes immediately finding their way to you, scanning your body up and down as they pass by.

You feel that nauseous pit in your stomach twist as you finally step onto the elevator. Nothing to ruin your jovial mood from a nice evening more than a group of leering men. Living in an apartment building filled with soldiers, it wasn’t unusual to have them stare at you – didn’t mean you liked it.

You cross your arms over your chest as König steps on, the elevator creaking and groaning under his immense weight.

“What floor?” he asks softly, glancing at you over his shoulder as he stands in front of the button panel.

“3,” you mumble, leaning against the back wall. You watch him punch in the 3 but not anything else, making you raise a brow, “You live on 3 too?”

He shakes his head but doesn’t say another word. You narrow your eyes at his back, if he feels you looking, he doesn’t give it away. The elevator is plunged into silence aside from the quiet sound of the shaft moving up and up until it dings and the doors slide open.

He steps out first, standing in the threshold to keep the door from closing as you push yourself off the wall. Your head swims for a second and you stumble past him, keenly aware of his eyes on you.

You wander down the hallway, glancing over your shoulder to see him slowly stalking behind you. His arms hand limply by his sides, his fists clenched into fists but he remains a respectable distance.

“Why are you following me?” you ask, unable to hide the nervousness in your tone, “You said you don’t live on this floor.”

“Young recruits are tools,” he supplies simply, “I am making sure you make it to your door without any problems.”

That causes you to hum and for a little flutter in your stomach to manifest. You brush it off and pause at your door, pulling your keys out so unlock it. You push it open and step in, letting it hit your back to keep it from closing as you turn to look at your companion.

“Thank you…um…” you clear your throat and look at him expectantly.

“König,” he supplies simply, arms tucked behind his back, making him look even wider.

“König…” you repeat, feeling the words on your tongue, “Interesting name. Where are you from?”

“Austria,” he replies almost mechanically, “I will be going now.”

You don’t get to say another word before he’s stalking away and down the hallway, heavy footfalls practically rumbling the ground beneath him. You slowly close your door and lean against it, hand placed over your racing heart – when did that start up?

You blame it on your inexperience when it comes to men. You’d had a couple boyfriends, pretty standard for someone in their 20s. Your problem was none of them were ever good enough. The over-zealous types who wanted their dicks sucked as gratitude for paying for dinner. Then would turn around and either give you the most lackluster head of your life, barely any foreplay before trying to shove his dick into an unprepared hole.

You had never given them the chance, once they showed they were only interested in their own pleasure and would more than likely not even think about touching your clit or angling for your g-spot, you stopped them and kicked them out. More often than not, you woke up to a break-up text because of course you did.

So that was how you were still a virgin and more or less, at this point, given up on dating. You’d been single now for the better part of 6 months and had no intentions of giving any men your own age a shot at it.

But…you hadn’t considered an older man. Like König.

At that thought, you pushed yourself off the door and kicked your shoes off, intent on taking a shower to hopefully wash these drunken thoughts out of your head. So he’d been nice and walked you to your door, no questions asked, so what? Didn’t make him any different from men your age.

As you made it to the bathroom, you felt your stomach finally churn for the final time and found your head buried in the toilet. You cursed yourself for not listening to your friends, who apparently knew your own limits better than you did.

The next time you see König is just a few days later. You walk into the apartment’s gym on the ground floor, and there he is – sitting lifting weights. You pause when you see him, feeling that traitorous flutter in your chest you were sure you puked out that night you had learned his name.

You watch the way his biceps flex, bulging so large you’re sure not even two of your hands could wrap around the girth of it. There were some scars littering his skin, most of them white and raised from age but a few that still had that new tissue pink color. You also noticed some fading tattoos encircling his forearms. Fuck, he was hot.

You hung your head and scampered over to the treadmill, intent on getting your cardio up.

As you run, you notice a group waltz in, laughing and shoving each other. You glance over at them, rolling your eyes when some of them make eye contact and nudge their buddies. They lean in close and whisper to each other with shit eating grins on their faces and you find frustration building up so you try to ignore them.

“Quiet,” you hear an accented voice snap, full of authority, “You are disturbing everyone.”

The rowdy young men quiet down immediately and clear their throats, “S-Sorry, Colonel,” one of them utters.

‘Colonel? Is that high ranking?’ you find yourself wondering, making a mental note to look that up later.

Either way, König manages to make the gym peaceful once again and you finish your workout with no other hitches.

You grab your towel and dab at the sweat on your face and neck as you swiftly make your way out of the gym, completely unaware of the shadow following closely behind.

You slow to a stop at the elevator, punching the button to call it as you sip on your water bottle, mindlessly going over what else you need to do with your day. The shadow behind you remains stagnant, still and silent as it lurks behind your unsuspecting form as the elevator opens and you step on.

He follows, hefty weight causing the elevator to groan as usual. That gets your attention and you jump, placing a delicate hand over your racing heart just like you had before, eyes wide in shock at his appearance.

“You’re doing it on purpose now!” you whine at him and he has to fight back a smile at it.

“I told you that you needed to pay more attention to your surroundings,” he replies smoothly, pressing the 3 button for you before pressing 5 for himself.

“How is a guy as big as you able to be so quiet?” you ask softly, making note of the floor he lives on.

“Years of training,” he gives a quick response that you hum at. There is a beat of silence before he finds himself speaking again, “You never gave me your name.”

He sees the way you look at him in surprise and he almost wishes he could rip the words from the air as soon as he says them. He doesn’t want you to get the wrong idea that he actually wants to get to know you.

But you smile softly and give him your name with a kind nod of your head before the elevator grants him mercy and dings at the arrival on your floor.

“See you around, König,” you say as you step off.

He doesn’t respond.

Once back in the safety of your apartment, you find yourself going through the entire interaction in your head over and over again. Your heart races as you think back on him.

It's as you’re making dinner for yourself that you finally have the coherent thought of revelation that you may have a crush on König.

The revelation is almost enough to have you groaning out of frustration into the quiet sanctity of your apartment but you manage to refrain. But you can’t deny you don’t quite know what to do about it now. You had sworn off of men but…that was men your own age. König was…older than you, surely at least 15 years your senior, possibly more. You figure it couldn’t hurt to ask him out for some coffee one of these days.

Except, the next time you see König is almost 2 weeks later. You don’t see hide nor hair of him at all. It definitely puts a damper on your confidence and you almost think your crush was just a fleeting little thing and for that you’re grateful for.

Until the elevator opens one day and there he is. He’s wearing his hood but his eyes look even more exhausted than usual – beyond the general tiredness that comes with age. You carefully step on, joining him in the downward descent to the lobby. It’s just the two of you and feel that fluttering in your chest start up again and your hands begin to sweat. You scour your brain for something to say — anything to start up a conversation after so long of not seeing him.

“Haven’t seen you around,” you mutter softly. He hums softly in acknowledgement but doesn’t supply much of a response beyond that, “Where have you been?” you try again.

“Deployed,” he finally responds after several seconds of silence.

You can’t find any way to respond or keep the conversation going but it’s sure that he has no intentions of doing so anyway. Still, it surprised you that he had been deployed, you hadn’t considered that. It made sense now that you thought about it.

The elevator opened and you both stepped out. He walked much faster than you, beelining out of the apartment and you briefly considered letting him go but another part of you wanted to stop him and ask him out.

You cursed to yourself and jogged forward, calling his name. He stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling for him. He looks down at you over his nose, a burning gaze that makes your nervousness spike. Perhaps it wasn’t such a good time after all.

“What?” he snaps, clearly impatient.

“Oh um…” you clear your throat and slow to a stop, “N-Nevermind…”

He huffs through his nose and resumes storming out of the apartment. You find yourself sighing deeply, following his lead. When you get outside, he’s nowhere to be seen and you once again find yourself wondering how a man of his size is so good at not being seen.

A few nights later, the weekend rolls around and you find yourself standing in that damned elevator with him once again. He’s maskless and it gives you pause before stepping on.

It’s silent for a few seconds before he says, “I am sorry for the other day.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, “Um…what do you mean?”

“I was not polite towards you,” he answers, casting a soft gaze towards you that makes your heart flutter, “I took my bad mood out on you and I should not have. So…I am sorry.”

“Oh…” you clear your throat and give him a smile, “it’s alright, König. I shouldn’t have bothered you with something silly.”

He frowns at you, “Something silly?”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him, smiling kindly at him.

He wants to ask you what you mean but the elevator door opens and you step out, making him realize that you reached your floor. You wave your goodbye to him as the doors close and he lets his head fall back with a sigh once he’s alone.

Yet another bad day weighed heavily on his shoulders when you came waltzing into the elevator, bright eyed and happy. His fists were clenched behind his back and he did his best to avoid looking at you, hoping you would take the hint and not speak to him like you usually did. It hadn’t been but a day since he had apologized to you for making an ass of himself in the lobby and he didn’t want to do the same thing so soon after.

But then you say something that sends it all crumbling down.

“Hey…” you start, fidgeting your fingers in front of you, “Would you like to get coffee sometime? Maybe lunch?”

You ask it so sweetly and softly. For some reason, that grates on his nerves even more than anything.

“What?” he snaps, cold and sharp in a way that makes you visibly freeze.

You look up at him like a deer caught in the headlights, “Um…w-well, I just…it’s…I would like to…”

Your nervous babbling only serves to piss him off even more as his glare narrows down on you, making you shrink in on yourself where you stand. Suddenly, the elevator feels much smaller than it had ever before – even with him filling most of the space as usual.

“You want to go out with me?” he spits, his accent growing stronger with every venomous word that he can’t seem to stop from spilling from his lips, “I am twice your age, what the hell makes you think I would want to date you?”

You swallow thickly around the lump forming in your throat and bite back the tears that threaten to form. He hears you sniffle and promptly snaps his head to look at you. Under the ugly, yellow light of the elevator he can see the tears trickling down your cheeks and he suddenly wants to slap himself into the next decade.

He wants to open his mouth so badly and apologize for being so cruel to you. He knows he could have told you no in a much softer way rather than making your feelings seem like something revolting or stupid. But the elevator doors open and you’re slipping out before he even has a chance. He decides not to chase after you.

It’s for the best, he assures himself.

It only takes a few days before he’s vehemently regretting not stopping you then and there.

It happens on a Friday night, the elevators are closing just as a hand jumps between them, sending them opening again. You step on, giggling in a way that tells him you’re just a little inebriated. You freeze when you see him standing there, maskless and cold gaze as he watches you tug a young man into the elevator behind you – clearly a little drunk himself.

You pointedly stand in front of König, keeping your back to him to show that you’re not even willing to look at him. König feels his heart clench painfully in his chest before it’s replaced by a wash of anger as he watches the young man paw at you. He slips his hand down your back to grope at your ass, making you giggle breathlessly before you’re batting his hands away with a little bat of your lashes.

König wishes he had an excuse to step off the elevator at the same time as you – anything to prolong his time with you. He’s never felt the desire to cockblock someone more in his whole entire life.

But he doesn’t move. He just watches you step off without a single glance in his direction before you’re vanishing around the corner and the elevator doors close silently, leaving König alone with his thoughts.

You couldn’t believe you brought this guy to your apartment. You especially couldn’t believe you were letting him strip you of your clothes and paw at your body like some kind of mindless dog. You had sworn to yourself that you were not going to fall into this trap again – a 20-something year old guy buying you a drink, complimenting you a little, teasing and groping you in the club until you caved and brought him home. It wasn’t your first go around – and it always ended the same way.

But you were drunk and you needed to get your mind off that stupid, giant Austrian military man that lived in your building. And wouldn’t you know it, he was on the elevator as soon as you got in. It was almost enough to sober you up, your wounded pride and feelings still so prevalent even after a few days of nursing the hurt.

You could only hope that this would relieve you of your hurt feelings.

Unfortunately, you quickly realized that this was a mistake.

As soon as he started groping you, spreading your legs and trying to stuff his cock inside you without so much as a single finger of prep – you knew this wasn’t going to happen.

You tried to lead him, thinking maybe he was a little too tipsy to actually think about it.

“How about a little prep, hm?” you ask softly.

He pauses what he’s doing and you can practically see the gears turning in his head, “Oh…you’re one of those…”

He says it in disgust and you feel yourself bristle in annoyance, “One of what?”

“You want me to eat you out, right?” he scoffs, rolling his eyes, “That shit’s gross, c’mon just let me stick it in, already.” It was that moment that you felt any minute desire you had to have sex evaporate.

You don’t even bother walking the guy out, leaving him to limp to the elevator in shame with a hard cock and blue balls.

It takes you a few days to find it in yourself to crawl out of your apartment. The only reason you actually do leave is because you’re in need of food – your little supply of ramen has depleted and you have to bite the bullet.

After your little shopping trip at the nearby convenience store, you find yourself waiting for the elevator when a dark shadow looms over you. You feel a pit of dread in your stomach as you smell the musky, sweet scent of his cologne. But you don’t dare acknowledge his presence.

He doesn’t give you long to ignore him, however, before he’s talking to you.

“How was your little date?” he asks, voice dripping in a tone of condescension that immediately puts you on edge.

“What’s it to you?” you hiss, still not daring to look at him.

He scoffs, “You went and found yourself a little toy to play with awfully fast. Seems your interest in me wore off quickly, no?”

That gets you to finally turn around, meeting his cold, indifferent gaze with your hot, teary one. You miss the look of surprise that flashes over his face.

“What is your problem?” you snap, “You rejected me, what the hell do you care what I do? And for your information, the date was shit. He was shit, like I should have expected any difference. God, I really am a fucking idiot,” you find yourself rambling, a lamenting spiel that you can’t seem to stop no matter how badly you want to, “Just like every prick before him, he was selfish and revolting. I thought I could finally get fucking laid and just call it a day but no, my stupid standards are too high and I find myself asking out the hot older guy in my building only for him to find me revolting!”

By the time you’re done ranting, the doors open and you storm out of the elevator, angrily gripping your bag of groceries. König is frozen where he stands, watching you leave as the doors slowly close – almost begging him to put his hand between them and stop them so he can chase after you.

But he doesn’t.

It’s creeping up on midnight when there’s a knock on your apartment door. You’re curled up on the couch, watching some random show that you weren’t really invested in but couldn’t be bothered to change.

The knock makes you jump, startled, but get up nonetheless. A quick peek in the peephole tells you exactly who it is before you even open it.

You briefly consider not opening it period but find yourself opening it before you actually settle on a decision.

König stands in front of you, a bouquet of flowers clutched in his hand, looking comically small. The sight is almost enough to get you to crack a smile. Almost.

But the residual hurt from the last few interactions you’ve had with him is enough to keep you stoic. You raise a brow and you practically see his confidence falter. A pang of guilt goes through you at the sight and you step aside, waving him in with a quiet huff.

He closes the door behind him softly, kicking his boots off as he watches you wander into the living room. You take a seat on your couch, covering yourself with your throw blanket once again as you watch him wander in, gazing around at your decor before finally settling on you.

“Um…” He clears his throat nervously and places the flowers on your coffee table, “I think that we should talk…”

“Should we?” you quip back.

He sighs, broad shoulders heaving with the movement before he takes a seat beside you, taking up a hefty amount of space on your small couch.

“I want to apologize,” he says softly, folding his hands in his lap, “When you asked me out…I-I should not have spoken to you like that.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest, “If that’s all this is about, König, then you can go. I-I don’t really want to hear a half-assed apology about the way you rejected me. You’re not interested, let’s just move on from it. I’ll get over it.”

He shakes his head quickly and curses under his breath, a word you don’t understand – German, your brain supplies, helpfully.

“You are wrong,” he says, “I do not want you to get over it because I am interested.”

The gets you to perk up, eyes wide, “What do you mean? You said you–”

“I know what I said,” he mutters, “I am…twice your age…”

“So you mentioned before…” you reply.

“I do not think…you should be with someone old like me,” he continues softly, “You should be with someone your own age. That is what I thought. It is not that I don’t find you attractive; I think you’re sweet and lovely. But it's just…our age difference…”

“König,” you stop him from continuing, “I’m capable of making my own decisions.”

“I understand that but…” he trails off, casting a sideways glance across the room, away from you.

“I’ve tried dating men my own age, König,” you say, “It always ends the same – I send them home blue balled.”

He huffs out a laugh through his nose and finally sets his gaze back on you, “Why do you do that?”

“I don’t plan to…” you begin, running your hand along the soft fabric of your blanket, “it’s just that...I bring them home and then we start getting into it and it fucking sucks!”

“Sucks..?” The question is soft and drawn out.

“He wants to fuck my throat and won’t even give me his fingers before trying to stick his dick in,” you spit, angrily glaring at the tv as you remember all your shit encounters, “I’ve never even let one of them go all the way.”

“You’re a virgin…?” he asks.

You shrug your shoulders, “I guess. I mean I’ve had shitty oral and stuff but…”

“I see…” he trails off, shifting in his seat, hands still folded in his lap, “Well, I would like to take you out for a date after all.”

You find a smile spreading across your face faster than you can stop it. You jump to your knees and throw your arms around his shoulders with a squeal of happiness, “Really? You mean it?”

He laughs breathlessly, a husky little sound that makes your heart race, “Does this weekend work for you?”

You eagerly nod your head and lean in. You catch the way his eyes widen briefly before your lips meet. You think he’s going to pull away from you but instead he cups the back of your head and deepens the kiss.

You feel a shiver go through you at the feeling of his big, strong hand holding you there in the kiss. You couldn’t keep yourself from getting wet even if you wanted to.

With your hands pressed against his firm chest, you toss one leg over his lap and find yourself seated on top of him. He breaks the kiss at that, hands migrating to your waist where he mindlessly strokes his thumb over the skin exposed by the way your shirt rode up.

You lean down and kiss him again and he groans against your mouth. You grind down against him in response to the throb that makes your pussy clench around nothing. You whimper into the kiss when he suddenly stops your movements with a firm grip.

“We shouldn’t, liebling,” he whispers softly.

“Why not?” you whine, settling in his lips. You briefly realize that you can feel something hard beneath you and that makes you start dripping in your panties, “Don’t you want to?”

“I-I do…” he assures, “I just…want to properly court you…”

He couldn’t get any sweeter if he tried. Still, you quip back with a teasing little smile, “Wow, you are a lot older than me, huh?”

You feel giddy when the sweet look in his eyes melts away into something darker. One hand clasps the back of your head before he pulls you in for a much rougher kiss. You keen as you feel the way he exudes experience – the kiss like nothing you have ever experienced before.

The way he moves his lips and slips his tongue into your mouth to taste your mouth, it’s not gross or too much the way it sometimes is with men who don’t know what they’re doing.you find yourself moaning into the kiss before you even realize it.

He pulls away at that, a heady look in his pretty, blue eyes. You find yourself briefly lamenting the loss of his mouth but that thought disappears quickly when he moves to begin peppering kisses along the length of your neck, making sure to nip at your jaw and kiss your shoulder.

He tugs the hem of your t-shirt down just a bit so he can have access to your collar bones, nipping and kissing there as well. Your head falls back as you surrender yourself to him completely.

“Oh,” he coos softly, lips brushing against your ear, “You are just so sweet for me, aren’t you, little one?”

You practically whimper at his words as his hands slip under the hem of your shirt, fingertips barely grazing your skin. You squirm in his lap as his touch tickles you on his way up to your breasts, skirting over your ribs before fully cupping them in his roughened palms.

You sigh into the quiet room, arching your back to press deeper into his hands. His thumbs graze over your nipples and you moan.

Sure, you’ve had guys grope your tits before but it had never felt like this. The mindless squishing and squeezing was replaced with soft cupping and gentle brushes over your nipples until they hardened followed by pinches and flicks that left you absolutely dripping in your panties.

He takes mercy on you quickly, one hand sliding down your body to slide under your sweatpants and beneath your panties. Your hands grip his shoulders, blunt nails biting into them when one broad finger slides down, the sticky noise of your folds separating enough to send heat rushing to your cheeks.

“You’re so wet,” he whispers in a tone so soft you almost think it wasn’t meant for you, but then he tacks on, “Do you hear it?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimper, embarrassment flooding through you at the sticky, clicking noises that come along with his prodding, “N-Never been this wet before, König…”

That causes him to pause, blue eyes gazing at you through his eyelashes, “Is that so..?” You desperately nod your head, slowly beginning to rock your hips against his hand, but he doesn’t move again and you whine, “Has anyone ever made you cum on their fingers?”

“J-Just me,” you answer breathlessly without a second thought.

He hums thoughtfully and after a second, he begins moving his hand again. This time he introduces more fingers, spreading your folds apart with his index and ring so he can pet your hardened clit with his middle. The feeling makes tremors run through your body and he huffs a laugh, “I guess I will show you what it feels like then, yeah?”

He doesn’t give you a moment to think let alone answer before his middle finger is sliding into you. The one digit alone is enough to stretch you, given how massive he is in whole. He crooks his finger forward and a moan rips from your chest when he hits that gooey little spot inside you.

“A-Another, please, König!” you beg shamelessly.

“Shh,” he hushes, shaking his head, “Let me work you open on this and then you can have more.”

You practically wail in despair, letting your forehead drop forward onto his shoulder. You suddenly wish you had rid yourself of your clothes so you could see the way his hand worked against you. All you could see now was the faint movement under your pants but the mental image of that thick finger inside you, slick with your juices was enough to have you clenching desperately around him.

After a moment, he adds a second finger and you feel like you’re in heaven. The stretch is phenomenal and his palm bumps against your clit every time he sinks them into the last knuckle.

However, before he can set a rhythm to really start getting you off, he stops. You angrily lean back and glare at him – the sight has his lips quirking up.

“Ride my fingers,” he orders you, leaving no room for arguing.

You can tell he’s not going to give you anything unless you take it for yourself so you sit up higher on your knees so you can have the clearance to move. Your hands remain on his shoulders, clinging to him for stability as you clumsily begin to rock your hips. The only time you’ve ever done these movements is when you tried humping your pillow once after seeing it in some porn. It didn’t really do much for you so you never tried again.

König can tell your movements are clumsy and it makes his cock throb against his thigh. He helps you along, crooking his fingers just right to grind the tips against that sweet little spot inside you. It makes you moan beautifully and he files the noise away.

His other hand comes up to grip your hip, steadying you as you continue to hump his fingers. You’re growing more and more frustrated as you quickly realize that you’re not able to make it feel as good as he had earlier. The tearful little gaze you give him has him breaking, using the hand on your hip guiding you into more seamless movements.

“Like this, liebling,” he directs softly, “Grind down like that, mhm, give that little clit some love, yeah?”

You become increasingly breathless as you work yourself higher and higher under his expert guidance. He can feel your juices dripping down his wrist, the snug hold around his fingers growing even tighter with every little rut of your hips.

“You’re so precious,” he coos, feeling the way you clench up at the sound of his voice. Your body is so honest, telling him what you like without you having to say anything, “You’re going to cum, I can feel it. Be good and give it to me, yeah?”

You surge forward and desperately kiss him, one hand reaching down and gripping his wrist. It takes only a few more, desperate thrusts of your hips for you to topple over that edge. Your body trembles on his lap and you cry out in pleasure.

He moans alongside you, watching with rapt attention as you cum all over his fingers just like he told you to.

You slump against him as you come down and he pulls his hands out of your pants. He presses a kiss against your temple in silent praise, hands rubbing your back to soothe you through the aftershocks that run through your body.

You lean back and meet his gaze, an opportunity he takes to slip his cum-soaked fingers into his mouth. At that, you surge forward and kiss him, running your hands down his body to pull at the button of his jeans. He grunts into your mouth, brows furrowing at the release of pressure when you tug the zipper down.

You’re absolutely speechless when you finally pull his cock free. He watches in poorly concealed pride as you gawk at the length in your hand. You give him a slow and tedious tug, watching the foreskin roll over his head, forcing a bead of precum from the tip.

“You’re so…big,” you whisper breathlessly.

“I know,” he grunts, unable to hide the ebbs of pleasure you give him as you play with his cock.

“Cocky,” you tease softly, continuing with your soft touches.

“N-Not cocky,” he whispers, licking his suddenly dry hips, “Just aware of my size.”

You drop your eyes back down to his cock, hot and heavy in your hand. Your fingers don't even touch each other when wrapped around him. Precum drips from the tip, leaking down the side to meet your palm and aid in the movements.

He leans his head back against the couch, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows. It wasn’t often that he got to indulge in someone else’s hand. Your palm was so soft, much softer than his own, and delicate in your inexperience.

He reaches down with one his hands, wrapping around yours to make you squeeze tighter, “Just like that, little one, that’s how I like it.”

You could have drooled as he said it. His hand dwarfed yours and the sight made you clench around nothing, more slick leaking into your already ruined panties.

“Let me see you, liebling,” he whispers breathlessly, fingers hooking on the hem of your top.

You release his cock to lift your arms, letting him tug the fabric over your head. His hands are on your tits immediately, mouthing at your nipples without wasting a second.

“So pretty,” he coos with his mouth full, rolling his tongue over your nipple before nipping the bud with his lips.

He switches to the other one, wrapping his mouth around it, sucking sharply before pulling back, taking your nipple with him before releasing it with a pop. You watch with lidded eyes as he drools all over your tits. His cock flexes and twitches against your thigh as he plays with your tits.

Suddenly, with a firm grip on your waist, your whole world flips and you find yourself on your back on the couch with König on top of you. You lick your lips at the sight of his big, broad form hovering above you, caging you in as he leans down to kiss you again.

You sigh contentedly into his mouth, threading your fingers through his short, messy hair, using the grip to pin him against you. He lets you kiss him to your heart's content, only pulling back when you need air – a string of spit connecting your lips that breaks when he leans back between your thighs.

His fingers took into the band of your pants, tugging them down, taking your panties with them until you’re completely bared before him. He’s still completely clothed aside from his cock that rests against his abdomen, occasionally twitching as his eyes rake over your nude body.

“Tell me, liebling,” he says, strong hands running up the length of your thighs, “Has anyone ever eaten you out?”

You clumsily nod your head.

“Was it good?” he asks, biting back a smile when you shake your head.

“Guys always think it’s gross or something…” you whisper softly.

He hums softly, “That is because you’ve been messing with stupid little boys.”

“You gonna eat me out, König?” you ask him, biting your lip in a poorly concealed excited grin.

“Would you like me to?” as he asks, he slowly spreads your legs open. The position causes your folds to spread apart, opening you up for his greedy eyes.

You feel your breathing speed up as he kisses down your body, starting with your lips and ending right above your clit. You feel the little bud twitch in anticipation as he tongues the skin above it, giving you a sneak peek on what is so close to it.

“Tell me,” he says.

You whine, “Y-Yes, I want you to eat me out, König!”

He chuckles softly but doesn’t bother teasing you anymore. He meets your gaze and moves his tongue lower finally, sliding the flat of the muscle of your clit. You gasp and toss your head back into the cushions, eyes rolling back as he noisily slurps at your cunt.

“O-Oh god!” you wail, hiccuping out noises of pleasure that you can’t seem to quiet.

König is in heaven. It’s not every day that he gets the opportunity to eat such a pretty, inexperienced little cunt. Your reactions to everything are so strong and loud. Your pussy is loud too, squelching in the room, making an intoxicating melody with your moans. He moans against you, swallowing down everything your messy little pussy drools out for him.

“Th-That feels so good, König!” you sob, kicking your feet mindlessly against his back as he captures your clit in his mouth, suckling at the bud, “You’re so good, so good, oh god!”

Never in a million years did you think being eaten out could feel this good. The mindlessly, halfhearted licks and kisses you had received in the past did nothing to prepare you for what it felt like to really have a man’s tongue on you.

He pulls away suddenly, giving you a moment to actually breathe, “You taste so sweet, liebling.”

“König…” you whimper, looking up at him with lidded eyes, “Please, please don’t stop.”

You tug at his hair and attempt to pull his mouth back down on your pussy. You don’t care how pathetic and desperate it is, he has given you a taste of pleasure you’d never experienced before.

He has the audacity to laugh at you, brushing your hands away so he can sit up straight again. He scoots closer and you realize then that he is not planning to continue and it practically draws a sob out of you.

“We can focus on that another time, liebling,” he promises, making you clench around nothing, more slick dribbling out for him to see, “You are so messy, you know that? Never had someone make such a mess all over me before. You must really enjoy being eaten out, huh?”

You feel your face burn hot with shame at his words, shyly hiding your face away. He smiles softly at that, “Nothing to be ashamed of, liebling…I love it, I do.”

“Really?” you quiver out the question and he nods his head.

“Yes, little one,” he coos, “I’m glad that I can make it feel good for you.”

You practically feel hearts in your eyes as he says that. You don’t think you’ve ever had a man tell you that he actually cared and enjoyed your pleasure. That was the final nail in the coffin for you – you really should have been going after older men all this time.

He disrupts your thoughts by suddenly stripping his shirt off. Your mouth goes completely dry at the sight of his bared skin – firm muscle, hair speckled all over his torso, and numerous scars from untold stories of his time in the military. You take note of the faded tattoos that become visible on his pecs and biceps; you’d always noticed the tattoos on his arms but you’d never really been given the opportunity to look.

“You’re so handsome,” you whisper.

He pauses while ridding himself of his jeans and smiles, “Thank you, little one.”

When he’s completely bare to you, you slowly rake your eyes down the entirety of his newly exposed body. His cock hangs heavy under its own weight, glimmering at the tip with his precum. You’d never been with a guy who was uncut but the sight made you drool.

“Now, liebling,” he says suddenly, getting your attention. He scoots closer, spreading your legs as wide as he can before laying the hefty weight of his cock against your cunt. It’s hot and throbbing and your entire body trembles at the sight, “You have to understand something.”

“What..?” you ask, breathless and unable to look away from his cock.

“I am not like those little boys you were running around with,” he explains, hips slowly beginning to rut against you, length parting your folds and rubbing over your clit, drawing a sweet little moan from you, “I don’t stick my cock in a tight little cunt and blow my load, do you know what I’m saying?”

You shake your head, too lost in the sight and feeling of him practically fucking the outside of your pussy. He doesn’t stop the mind-numbing rolls of his hips, letting you get lost in the feeling of him stroking over your clit, saturating him in your cum.

“That means,” he sighs, reaching up to grip your throat, forcing you to look at him as he leaned over your body, sandwiching his cock between the two of you, “I don’t cum easily, liebling. I am a grown man, I will fuck you until you cannot cum anymore. Are you prepared for that?”

The fact this man was so confident in his abilities in bed has you clenching around nothing again. You were sure the guys you almost slept with would never have been able to have the pure confidence that came from König. He knew what he was doing – he knew how to make you cum and he was going to use that experience well. You knew his age played a factor in how long it would take him to cum and you couldn’t wait to experience it.

“I want it so bad, König,” you beg softly, “Please?”

“Very good,” he praised, “You’re so good for me.”

He finally gripped the base of his cock and you watched excitedly as he pressed the tip against your entrance. You reached down and wrapped your arms around your knees, pulling them back for him so he could comfortably begin pressing into you.

The stretch is beyond anything you’d ever felt before. You knew his cock was big but watching the bulbous tip press against you and slowly spread you wide open was something else entirely. It burned in a way that had you wincing, furrowed brows making your face pinch up, making König pause.

“It’s okay, little one,” he whispers, bringing a big thumb up to roll over your hard little clit, “Just relax for me, don’t clench up or it will hurt more.”

“I-It’s so big, König!” you wail helplessly, tearily staring up at him as he methodically works you open on his cock.

“I know,” he assures, still stroking your clit with the pad of his thumb, “But you can take it.”

You tearfully nod your head and do your best to relax your body, letting yourself sink into the couch.

“Good, liebling, very good,” he coos, “Just let me in, nice and slow. Doesn’t it feel nice? The little burn of being stretched open but the pleasure of having this pretty little clit played with? Just lay back and enjoy it, little one.”

He’s right, of course. The burn aches, yes, but the pain and pleasure mixes the more he rubs your clit. You clench around him, an involuntary reaction that causes the head of his cock to finally pop in. Your eyes widen as you watch your cunt swallow it and with a perfectly timed tap against your clit, your back arches and you’re cumming.

“O-Oh König!” you squeal, eyes rolling back into your head as you cum around the head of his cock and nothing else.

“Oh, that’s good,” he grins, “That’s perfect, little one.”

As you come down with a tremble in your thighs, you finally fix your gaze on him once again.His eyes are lidded and pupils are blown so wide you can’t even tell they’re blue anymore.

“That looked like a good one,” he comments almost flippantly before he rolls his hips forward, “Now you’re nice and ready for me.”

You choke on a gasp as he rolls his hips forward, fitting half of his cock inside your still spasming cunt. Your cum coats him in a slick sheen that aides in allowing him to pull back and slide back in, settling on fucking you on half his cock.

Your mouth falls open and you watch as a thick, milky ring forms around that fat middle part of his shaft, “M-More, König! Please!”

He knows you want all of him, want to know what it’s like to feel all of him stuffed deep inside you. But he knows you’re not quite ready for that yet, fucked out of your head from the intense orgasm he had just given you with ease.

“Not yet, liebling,” he coos, keeping his pace slow and steady, “Let’s work you open a little bit more, yeah?”

“No,” you whine, “Please, I want it all, König.”

“Aww, I know you do, little one,” he pants, already feeling dizzy from spearing you on his cock, “But I know what’s good for you, just listen to me and be good, okay?”

“Okay…” you pitifully whimper, sinking back into the couch.

You abandon your hold on your legs, letting them rest around his hips limply now. He continues moving like that, inching deeper and deeper into you with every thrust. Your cunt makes embarrassingly loud squishing noises the move he works his hips against you.

Before you know it, you’re watching with wide eyes and an open mouth as his pelvis presses against yours. Your eyes roll back in your head and your toes curl in pure pleasure as you finally experience the entirety of everything König has to offer.

You’re speared wide open and the head knocks against your cervix painfully but the little bit of pain only makes the pleasure that much sweeter.

“There we go, little one,” he coos sweetly, “I’m so proud of you, took all of my cock so well.”

He’s so big that he presses against every sweet little spot inside you without even trying. But, oh, his experience is crystal clear in the way he moves. He may be naturally gifted with a nice, fat cock but he knew how to use it.

Seamless, rhythmic thrusts had your brain going fuzzy before you even knew what was happening. You wouldn’t have been able to be quiet even if you wanted to. You knew you would be absolutely horrified to face your neighbors later because it would be impossible for them to not know you got fucked real good.

Suddenly, König leaned over you, resting one forearm above your head to hold his weight off of you. The position caused his pelvis against your clit every time he sunk balls deep. Sticky strings of your cum stuck to his skin but he didn’t seem to even notice how wet you were.

But, oh, he did. He was absolutely obsessed with the way you creamed and gushed around him. A nice, pliant little pussy that was more than eager to swallow every inch of his cock.

The change in position had you grappling onto him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you wailed into his shoulder. Every mind-numbing snap of his hips hit that gooey, tender spot inside you that had your entire body twitching from the pleasurable stimulation. Your nails bit into his back and he briefly thought about the prospect of his recruits seeing them.

“Are you going to cum for me?” he whispered in your ear, pressing a sweet kiss underneath your ear.

You nod your head, “Y-Yes! You’re gonna make me c-cum again, König!”

He chuckles under his breath, “I know I am, little one. I’m going to make you squirt.”

“C-Can’t,” you heave, twitchy legs kicking against his back.

“Yes, you can,” he assures, leaning away to sit up once again, “I can make you squirt, trust me.”

The whine you emit pitches into a squeal when he presses his palm against your lower stomach. You reached down in a panic to grab his wrist, not used to the strange feeling of him pressing down while he fucks you.

“W-Wait!” you wail.

“Wait for what?” he asks, but doesn’t slow even a bit in his movements.

“F-Feels weird!” you gasp, hiccuping as you squeeze his wrist.

“I know,” he grunts, brows furrowing at the feeling of you clenching around him, “It’s supposed to. Just lay back and let it happen, liebling. I’ve got you.”

Your whole body trembles and your jaw drops as you meet his gaze, a look of wonder crossing your face as you feel an orgasm like you’ve never felt before crash over your body. It’s long, drawn out and almost painful from how good it feels. You squeeze tight around him, your clit twitching and pulsing, completely untouched as he makes you squirt. It splashes against his abdomen and drips down his thighs.

“There we go,” he laughs, a sound that sends a flush of embarrassment to your face, “See? I told you you could do it.”

“König…” you slur, feeling as if you’ve been fucked completely braindead.

It finally dawned on you that you would never, ever be fucked by anyone as good as König has fucked you. The first cock you’ve ever been stuffed full of and he made you squirt with terrifying ease. You were completely ruined, no dick would ever be able to compare to his.

He sees the way your gaze turns completely enamored, looking at him like he hung the moon and stars. He grins, sharp canines poking out as he leans down again, kissing your temple.

“What is it, baby?” he coos, “Dick so good it’s got you in love?”

You keen at the pure condescension that drips from his voice. But he’s not wrong, you can practically feel the hearts in your eyes as you gaze up at him.

You have no idea how long you’ve been pinned beneath him, speared open on his cock while he fucks you absolutely stupid. You notice the change in him quite suddenly. His deep, concentrated thrust changed into something less calculated, messy almost. He loses his rhythm and falters in his pace.

“I’m going to cum, liebling,” he grunts, tone pitchy and gruff, “Where do you want it?”

“Inside!” you immediately cry, not missing a beat. He sees your eyes light up at the prospect of being filled up completely by his cum. You’re so sure it’s going to be a lot, you want to feel it drip out of you as a reminder that he had claimed you.

“Is it safe?” he huffs, but you can feel his cock twitch inside you at the idea of cumming inside you.

You desperately nod your head and he allows himself to fall over that edge. He teeters on his knees before collapsing with his hands on either side of your head. He no longer tries to thrust, settling for desperate, deep grinds that stirs his cock within your walls. Your eyes roll back in your head at the feeling, another orgasm washing over you before you even realize you’re that close.

“Oh, fuck,” König gasps, voice breaking as your orgasm sends him over the edge.

You’re panting and whimpering, trembling as you feel the heat of his load filling you up. His cock twitches with every spurt of cum. It’s the best orgasm he’s had in a long time, his balls throbbing with every pump of cum his cock spits out.

It oozes from around the tight seal you have around him, dripping onto the couch. He’s trembling by the time the intense orgasm comes to an end. He opened his eyes, not even realizing he had closed them, to see you sleepily staring up at him with a dazed smile on your lips.

“Mein Gott…” he huffs out, lowering his body to press his lips against yours sweetly, “That was incredible, liebling.”

You beam under his praise and wrap your arms around his neck, “It was, wasn’t it?”

He chuckles and strokes his thumb against your cheek, “Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

“Sounds good,” you agree.

The care he gives you afterwards is like nothing you’ve ever experienced. He wipes your body down gently, careful not to rub your skin too hard. He stands with you in the shower, towering over you as he lathers your exhausted body with soap.

“Can we do that again sometime?” You ask softly when he crawls into bed beside you – which you were shocked about, but didn’t complain.

He raises a brow and chuckles, “Yes, liebling. But not right now, I could not go another round so soon.”

You giggle and snuggle into his broad chest, practically preening when he wraps you up snug against him. You sigh softly and speak up again, “Can we…still go on that date..?”

He’s quiet for a moment before you feel a kiss on the top of your head, “Of course, liebling. I would love to.”

You smile to yourself and close your eyes, content to fall asleep wrapped up in his arms. The last thing you feel before you succumb to sleep is another soft kiss against your head. You realize, sleepily, that you’ve never felt more cared for by a man in your life.

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