— gn!afab!reader ♱ dark content; noncon + smut, creep!könig, chubby!reader coded, somnophilia, breaking and entering, tentacles, double penetration (two in one), creampie, size kink.
ᝰ 1946 words. for all the octo!könig lovers <3
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
in a world where people still discriminate against hybrids, you don’t blame your octopus hybrid neighbour for keeping to himself. he’s a towering figure, 200 kilos of muscle with an imposing build, but his limbs move around like it’s his first day on earth. at least, around you, he seems to make himself smaller. he’ll hunch his shoulders and bend down so he’ll appear closer in height and size to you, his voice soft, gentle, and half an octave higher than his usual speaking voice. you know this because you’ve heard him talk on the phone through the thin walls in the dead of the night.
könig is what he calls himself. it means king in german. you learned that after he had introduced himself at your door three days after he moved in with the faint scent of smoke coming out of his apartment. he was trying to bake cupcakes for his fellow neighbours on the floor as a sign of goodwill and that he doesn’t mean any harm as a hybrid. apparently, he’d forgot to set a timer and he was trying to solve three rubiks cubes simultaneously to pass the time.
you don’t always see him—he’s a recluse, only ever coming out to throw the trash or pick up his mail—but he sees you.
he thinks you’re the most precious, littlest thing ever.
he can’t help himself, really. he knows that you’re an absolute darling who would help him without a second thought. you don’t look at him like he’s some kind of monster, always treating him with kindness and the same generosity that you’d treat others. with you, he can relax.
so he’s made it his personal mission to watch after you and your apartment. it’s easy for him to get into your apartment and make sure the locks are secure. entry and exit points are all filed into his brain, but sometimes he gets distracted by the little things in your home. photographs of you when you were little, the flowers in your vase, but his most curious indulgence is you when you’re asleep.
humans are known to be apex predators, the most intelligent of all mammal species, but ever since hybrids have come out of hiding, they’re no longer at the top of the food chain. naturally, it’s his duty to make sure you’re protected, and it’s a bonus that he gets to learn more about you.
you’re so peaceful when you sleep. particularly when you’re stressed or beyond exhausted, you fall into a sleep that’s deeper than your usual ones. one sniff in the air and he can already gauge how deeply you’re sleeping.
octopi are curious creatures, and könig isn’t an exception.
his tentacles would crawl out from underneath his shirt, rosy pink tendrils with suction cups along its lengths travelling slithering around your legs. the salt of your skin under the sweetness of your body wash tastes heavenly through his limbs that he finds himself growing hard from wondering what it’ll be like to taste you directly from his lips.
you have a habit of sleeping in just a shirt. no panties, no bra, nothing to protect you from the elements. many nights he’s wondered how you would react if one of his tentacles found you like this. he inches close enough to sit down on the floor by the foot of your bed, watching how the silvery moon casts an ethereal glow upon your body. you look so beautiful like this, so clueless and so vulnerable.
the plump of your ass is so nice and thick, he notes. one of könig’s tentacles gently caresses and massages them, icy eyes watching with nothing short of childlike wonder as he watches the flesh jiggle.
“beautiful,” he whispers to nobody else but himself. sometimes he can’t really control his tentacles. they shift and move according to his basal instincts and right now, all he wants to do is peel your legs open. you’re lying down on your side, one leg propped up, so he has the perfect view of your pussy.
thick lips bare and ready, with a short tuft of hair right above. he licks his lips subconsciously. his tentacles are already moving without his instruction. two of them wrap themselves around your thighs, caressing the plushy muscles before pulling them further apart to see your beautiful pearl nestled under its hood.
könig doesn’t bother restraining himself. a smaller tendril reaches out, its head a suction-like opening that wraps itself around where your clit would be. another one begins to caress the outside of your labia and he loves that he can taste your sweet nectar without making direct contact with his hands.
you’re just so small and fragile compared to him. he fears he’d accidentally hurt you and he doesn’t want to do that at all.
heat coils in the base of his spine as his sweatpants grow far too tight for his own liking. a soft murmur falls past your lips and you stir just the slightest bit. he watches you with rapt attention as you shift positions in your sleep, legs parting and body moving to land on your back.
your shirt rides up your soft belly, love handles practically begging to be touched. his tentacles are practically celebrating at your new position. they can venture more of you now, eager tendrils slithering up your sides, nudging at the fat of your hips, slinking up and disappearing underneath the fabric of your shirt to reach your breasts.
they curl around the fat mounds, suckling at your nipples but not hard enough to hurt you or jolt you awake. the juices that seep from the ends of his tentacles work as both an aphrodisiac and as sleeping juices—Einschlafhilfe?—that he can’t remember the name in english for some reason. they keep you asleep while your body reacts wantonly to his ministrations as he keeps exploring, all until he spots the glistening of your pussy mixing with his juices.
he lights up like a child on christmas day.
könig’s tentacles slither to your entrance, prodding curiously as if it’s the first time they’re near something as beautiful and fragile as you are. the sweetness of your essence leaves a lingering taste in the back of his mouth, the receptors in his tendrils working wonders away at your body.
he allows one of them to slip inside of you.
he clamps one hand over his mouth to muffle his moan while his other hand begins to palm his erection in his sweatpants.
you’re so warm and perfect.
the tentacle that ventures deep inside of your gummy walls isn’t big or thick, only about an inch in circumference. he’s not a monster—he wouldn’t feed you one of the average-sized ones from the beginning. he eases into you with slow and gentle pumps, the tendril curious enough to seek out your g-spot.
when a strangled moan is lodged in the back of your throat, hips wriggling just a fraction, his eyes flash to your form immediately. his movements stop immediately while his heart pounds dangerously in his chest—watching, waiting—but his cock jerks traitorously against his large palm at the prospect of getting caught.
thump, thump, thump.
his blood pounds deafeningly in his ears as he waits for you to wake up.
you don’t, and he relaxes with a slow exhale. that was a close call.
he slides a second tendril, slightly thicker than the first, into the warmth of your cunt. it’s a bit of a tight stretch, but he’ll have to work your body through it. his cock is larger in girth than these two tendrils combined, and he wants to fuck you. he wants to sink his cock inside of you and make you his mate.
but before any of that can happen, he chooses to help you get used to most of him before you can take all of him in.
your walls are tight and warm, wrapping around his tendrils like a vice, and when a sudden sharp gasp echoes in the darkness of your bedroom, he knows that his tentacles have found the right spot.
könig strokes his cock through his sweatpants as he watches the way your hole quivers and drools around his slick tentacles, salivating from the wondrous yet erotic sight. he loves watching the way your cunt struggles yet sucks them in every time they thrust outwards. they move as one tendril, purposely rubbing into your g-spot with every piston inwards.
he’s enamoured with the way the muscles in your thighs tremble, the way your face scrunches from the pleasure of his sinful violation. soft pants can be barely heard from his lips, hot and heavy against your ankle as more of his tendrils wrap around your body to pull you just a little closer to him.
the tiny tendril that found your clit sucks on it for even more simulation, heightening in strength whilst maintaining the speed of the suction. your body responds so perfectly for him, sweat covering your body in an otherworldly sheen. does it feel good when he fucks you nice and slow like this? maybe he should go a little faster—or perhaps harder? maybe harder. he’ll try fucking you harder.
his tendrils find an angle to fuck into your gummy walls deeper, throbbing with a visceral want and need until he hears a moan falling from your lips. shit, he almost came just from that. in exchange for your sweet moan, he whimpers, placing a tender kiss onto the inside of your knee. he’s crept closer to you now, his chest resting on your mattress while he remains kneeling from the foot of your bed.
he’s found himself pathetically humping the wooden bedframe like a horny teenager but he just can’t help himself. your pussy feels so good, so tight, so warm, and so perfect that he’s just so fucking close.
könig bites down on your duvet to muffle his moans. his knuckles are turning white from how hard he’s gripping the base of your bedframe to stop himself from rutting against the damn wood too hard. he just can’t control himself, you just feel so good–
his eyes squeeze shut as hot white spreads from the base of his spine to the rest of his body. his cum floods his boxers, too lost in the pleasure to realise that his tentacles have also shot their steaming, milky load into the warmth of your tight pussy.
fuck.
he quickly scrambles around in your room, tendrils hastily retreating back underneath his shirt as he finds some tissue on your nightstand. he carefully cleans you up, alarm bells ringing in his head. he had half a mind to throw his own cum in your trashcan, but against his better judgement, he throws it out the window instead.
he feels bad leaving you like this, chest rising and falling in your sleep from such an experience that he hopes is unique only to him. he hesitates as he stands over you, twiddling with his fingers nervously, before he leans down to plant a quick kiss to your forehead.
he leaves your room and slithers back into his apartment, making sure to lock your door so you wouldn’t be suspicious in the morning when you wake up.
what a thrilling experience!
könig stands in his shower with a giddy grin with the remnants of your slick on the back of his tongue. one of his tentacles slides around him, carrying a small souvenir from your room. he blinks when it registers in his head that it’s one of your used panties.
thinking about how man of honour!johnny "soap" mactavish would go out of his way to being maid of honour!reader's only helping hand during wedding preparations. he's always a handy guy, always so kind and keeping his hands and shoulders open in case anyone needs him.
your bestest friend, your platonic soulmate, your twin flame, is getting married to none other than kyle "gaz" garrick. while the almost-newlyweds are stressing over the incoming ceremonies, you are stressing over them stressing out—so you're doing your best to alleviate the pain.
of course, johnny helps out when he sees you looking far more stressed than the to-be-wed. you can't blame him for flirting with you when you pick up the rings and the dress, you're just so stunning in his eyes even with the wild hair and the "if you get in my way, i'll slit your throat" eyes. he's so patient with your little quirks when you're stressed. he'd buy you extras of your favourite food, dole out praises, and the occasional compliment on your appearance when you've lowered your guard. oh, and he makes sure you save money on patrol so he's driving you around with a smile and his hand on your knee, letting you control the music as you wish. you're just so stressed helping out your best friends getting married; he just wants to help you out.
even though the wedding's a success and everyone is having a good time, you're clutching onto your champagne flute like a lifeline. you're trying to make sure everyone is enjoying themselves and nobody is stepping in to ruin that for your best friend and their spouse.
so really, forgive johnny for pulling you away to a quiet corner in the back of the church to help you relax. forgive him for whispering sweet praises in your ear and making that annoying scottish accent of his sound soothing. forgive him for pinning you up against the wall with one leg over his shoulder, your fingers tugging into his soft, ridiculous mohawk. forgive him for sealing your saccharine moans with hot kisses while he shoves his cock into your pliant, dripping hole, rocking into you over and over until you're singing so sweetly for him.
"lemme take care o' you, bonnie," he'd groan into your ear. "f'give me father, jus' can't resist a pretty li'l thing like ya. too busy takin' care o' other people. lemme take care o' you, yeah?"
he'll just hope you forgive him for making you cum over and over on his cock until your legs are shaking, stained glass above your heads painting a kaleidoscope of colours on your beautiful body. he loves helping people out, especially when a cute little thing like you need his hands to loosen you up and his shoulders to support your legs when you're about to give out underneath him.
— gn!reader ♡ dark content + smut, reader's hole is referred to as "cunt", fauxcest, dad & uncle kink (icky!), mask / balaclava kink, bondage, oral (m receiving), mean!price and mean!ghost, p in hole, dacryphilia, degrading praise, dumbification, double penetration (mouf an' hole), implied gangbang, implied almost brothers!gaz and soap.
ᝰ 860 words. inspired by this post.
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
you look so pretty like this—wrists bound in a princess pink silk ribbon behind the back of your knees, ankles wrapped with the same material, where they’re pressed up to your chest; tears springing from your stunning eyes; a mix of spit, sweat, and precum staining your kiss-swollen lips; your pretty little cunt drooling down to ruin the sheets underneath you.
although your muscles and body burn from being bound like a sex toy for your lieutenant and captain, it doesn’t compare to the euphoric feeling of their cocks filling you up from both ends. you can’t see anything but the infamous skull balaclavas covering ghost and price’s faces above you.
“sucha nice valentine’s day here on base, eh?” your captain smirks as he languidly uses your throat, standing by the edge of the bed while your cheek is supported by the pillow underneath your head. “nice an’ warm mouth for my cock. y’gonna let me fill up your little cunt once uncle si’s had his fill, kid?”
a mix between a whine and a moan sends vibrations around price and he groans appreciatively.
“raised you well, didn’t i?”
“wettest fuckin’ cunt i’ve had, cap.” ghost’s thick forearms pin your hips down to the bed as he fucks you with wild abandon, muscles flexing from the effort. he doesn’t even bother to take it slow, angling his cock into the roof in your gummy walls that forms dark spots in your vision. your thighs shake and quiver, aching from the soreness of being in this position.
“whaddya say t’your uncle after he’s praised ya, kid?” the patronising drawl from price’s baritone voice earns a whimper stuck in the back of your throat. instead of pulling himself from the warm cavern of your mouth, he fucks himself deeper until you’re gagging around him, spit dribbling down the corners of your lips. hot tears spring from the corners of your eyes from how mean they’re being but it’s making your walls clench tighter around ghost.
“didn’t raise this kid well enough, apparently.” ghost chuckles. “c’mon, ‘m sure y’know how to say ‘thank you’, don’t cha? or ‘s your cunt doin’ that fer me, eh? gettin’ tighter than a damn vice when yer dad’s bein’ mean to ya.”
price finally takes a step back, thick fingers wrapped around his base as he slaps his cock against your slobbering tongue. you whimper at the loss of the heavy weight of his erection in your mouth. you can barely think of what’s happening other than the intensity of the pain and pleasure burning through your veins.
“t-thank you—hic!—thank you, uncle si. your cock feels so– hn– so good.” you manage to stammer, your voice hoarse and raw from being abused by price’s cock. “d-dad, please, want kyle an’– an’ soap, want ‘em t-to—hic!—oh, fuck, ‘m so close, uncle, please!”
“did i fuck ya dumb already?” a loud smack reverberates throughout the rooms, a satisfying sting that has your eyes rolling back and toes curling when ghost spanks your ass. “you’re a big, strong soldier, ain’t cha? use your damn words.”
“listen to him, kid. whaddya want? want your brothers to play with ya too? or d’you wanna cum?” price watches with amusement how your mouth tries to chase after his swollen cockhead even with how your head moves in time with ghost’s unrelenting thrusts. there’s a crinkle in the corners of his eyes from the open holes of the balaclava and he’s chuffing out a derisive chuckle at the view. “‘grats, lieutenant. fucked our sarge well an’ dumb.”
“you train good soldiers on the field, and you corrupt ‘em well in bed, cap’n.” ghost hisses as he presses the fat of your thighs up and mounts you, driving his cock deeper from this angle and you’re crying out his name. “tight—fuckin’—cunt, just fuckin’– shit– fuckin’ squeezin’ me. gonna milk your uncle’s cock dry, nothin’ but a dumb cumdumpster fer yer dad an’ me, huh?”
hot, desperate pants of “yes, yes, yes!”, barely coherent moans of his name and uncle are falling from your pouty lips as he bullies your g-spot. your mind is blank, pleasure coiling in the base of your spine, heat flooding through your system until you’re squealing—high-pitched and so pornographic—as you gush around him.
ghost follows suit, cumming with a loud groan that makes your walls tighten around his throbbing length. he spills his hot seed deep into you, thick ropes painting your walls white and overflowing, mixing with your arousal and essence as it drools down the base of his cock and his balls.
mid-orgasm, price forces his cock past your lips until you choke and gag, pulling your attention back to him. he laughs through the balaclava, the low sound muffled, when your eyes roll back. you're taking him in so well despite the sudden intrusion.
“we’ve barely even started and you’re already fucked this dumb, kid?” rough hands push locks of your hair back, almost lovingly, whilst he grinds his cock into the back of your throat. “be a good kid and make your dad cum with your mouth and i’ll consider bringing in your big brothers f’you.”
ᝰ 2,052 words. realised i really like writing about men who jerk off to you. no beta, just vibes.
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
one of simon’s favourite things about you is how freely you talk around him. when he was first getting to know you, you were much shyer. you can hold a conversation without him having to do the heavy lifting, and he is someone who prefers to listen rather than talk. the fact that you can get animated—oh, the faces you make sometimes—is why he loves hearing you talk about anything and everything.
over the course of time getting to know you, dating you, and getting into a relationship with you, he loves that you’re not afraid to communicate, especially if it might upset him. it took a lot of work from both sides to find a rhythm and level of comfort you’re willing to explore, but it’s all worth it.
he also loves hearing the sound of your voice. plain and simple. you’ve read him paragraphs from your favourite books, dramatised cringey lines in the shows you’re currently watching just to get a reaction out of him, and also talked his ear off about the latest accidental rabbit hole of research or conspiracy theory you’ve stumbled upon.
your voice, no matter how much you claim sounds ‘terrible’, is his favourite sound to listen to.
it’s the soothing balm to his weary soul after a long day of dealing with recruits and idiots back at base. it’s the soft, warm embrace when he’s far away on a mission, worlds apart from where you remain safe in your shared apartment.
but somewhere between simon’s attraction towards you and his love for your voice, the wires cross. sometimes.
he should seriously be paying attention to what you’re saying on the phone and not jerk off to your voice. he should, but he just misses the sound of your voice and you happen to sound so cute and whiney rattling off to him that he just can’t help himself.
a gentle palming over his sweats turned to wrapping his fingers around his veiny girth, pumping his fist up and down the length of his aching cock to the sound of you.
you—currently all cosy in bed, wearing one of his shirts and boxers while you’re talking his ear off about an accidentally deep dive on a new conspiracy theory. if he hadn’t missed you this much, he wouldn’t be jerking himself off while you talk about how the ‘real trees’ are actually ancient and the size of literal giants that today’s trees are biochemically engineered. like bananas.
it’s a miracle he’s holding up a conversation with you made up entirely of “‘s that right, love?”, “sounds real ‘nuff”, and “mhm, tell ‘em”s.
you just sound so fucking perfect and attractive when you’re heated over harmless things like these. it’s also one of the reasons why he enjoys getting a rise out of you so you can scold him and he’s standing there with a boner, before properly thanking you by fucking you ‘til you’re left with nothing but mindless, incoherent babbles.
simon tries to pace his breathing, not wanting to pant too heavily into the receiver. he relaxes his grip around his base but closes his fingers tighter around his swollen tip. his cock’s swollen in his hand, red and angry and dripping with precum that’s meant only for you.
his ochre eyes flutter shut as he pictures you in your shared bed. you’re guaranteed to be wearing one of his shirts, maybe his boxers because you love his scent on you. he’s never admitted it, but it drives him insane when his clothes start to smell like you.
he loves the little crease in your brow when you’re frowning, the small pout of your lip when you’re agitated. he loves the way you huff and fold your arms underneath your chest, the defiant narrowing of your eyes in his direction every time he teases you while you’re riled up. it’s hot.
he can tell you’re doing exactly those as you’re ranting to him in bed.
“i don’t think i could ever handle having a dragonfly as huge as a bus, bug. how am i going to fight against it if it wants to eat my food?” there’s a whine towards the end of your admittedly outlandish concern as you lament dramatically to him.
his cock twitches in his fist. fuck.
“they’re not goin’ to steal your spring rolls, baby.” simon manages to grunt out. he bites down on his lower lip to fight back a groan, massaging his tip as he tries to replicate how the back of your throat feels. he pictures exactly that in his head,
“you wouldn’t know that.” you argue with him and he doesn’t hold back the breathy chuckle that escapes him. “anyway, i was thinking of . . .” your words blur in his ears, melting into a smooth melody that does nothing but fan the flames of lust.
simon finds himself imagining what it’d be like for him to go down on you while you’re on your little rants. he knows you don’t like to show how flustered you get, but your body betrays you anyway.
“miss ya so much, darlin’.” he allows the confession to fall past his lips in a low groan.
“i miss you too, simon.” oh, how he loves the way his name sounds when you say it. “captain said it wouldn’t be longer than a week, right?”
“probably.” he brings his phone further from his mouth so he can lean forward to use his spit as lubrication on his erection. he loves it when you get messy with him, coating him with nothing but a mixture of your cum and juices. “can’t fuckin’ wait to get home t’you.”
and bury his nose in the crook of your neck. and to fuck you on every piece of furniture that you own to make up for lost time. and cook you a nice meal after that before cuddling up to you the whole day.
his breathing is getting laboured now, hot puffs almost vaporising against the cold air around him. every hitch of your breath, every stammer in your sentence, every slight falter in your focus in delivering your rants do nothing but spur him on.
“keep going, love.” his hips jerk slightly against his large hand. “let me hear ya. keep talkin’.”
so you do.
you keep talking, now about what you’ve been up to since you last called, and simon keeps fucking his fist to you.
if simon could crawl through the screen and make you lose your composure, he’d do it in a heartbeat. he’d make you keep going, force you to tell him all about everything whilst watching every single thing he does to your most sensitive parts.
he knows what makes your breath hitch. he knows where to caress to get you to stutter through your sentences. he knows where to wrap his lips around, what to massage, tease, and flick with his tongue to make you whine. he knows exactly where to pinch and roll and rub with his calloused fingers until you start begging for him.
he’ll stop if you stop talking.
he’ll continue when you can formulate a full and proper sentence, only to smile against your soft, pliant body once you start fumbling through them again.
you’ll start to get desperate for release and he’ll start to get hungry for your sweet moans. it wouldn’t take long until his coy game will be forgotten, until he’ll start working his mouth and hands all over his favourite spots on your body to caress and tease, until he’s drinking every last drop of your sweet nectar and you’re screaming his name over and over again until you’re gushing around his lips and digits.
“oh, then i spotted this little malinois baby at the shelter that we volunteer at. he was so growly and he reminded me of you so much.” you coo affectionately and he almost let a groan slip past. “after getting familiar with me, he was just the sweetest little guy ever.”
“yeah?” simon grunts roughly, his fist pumping up and down his leaking cock faster. he can feel his blood pounding in his ears, heart hammering against his chest as he tries his hardest to regulate his breathing through his mouth. sweat lines his forehead, dripping down his thick neck and down to the thin pillow underneath his head.
“yeah!” you chime with excitement before you continue talking.
it’s a miracle that price managed to find some cheap hotel in the outskirts to lay low in before they make their next move and close the mission. he’ll be home to you in three days but that’s three days too long.
heat coils in the base of his spine as he feels his orgasm climbing. fuck, he misses the warmth of your body, of your tight hole that squeezes him like a vice every time. he misses the way you moan his name, nails digging into his muscles and feeling that satisfactory burn of pain and pleasure that makes his cock throb and twitch while nestled deep inside you.
“simon?”
“yes, love?” he hopes that he sounds stable enough to you.
“check your messages.” your instruction leaves him a little confused but he obeys silently. his forearm is straining from the effort of fucking his fist.
“gimme a second, love.” simon allows himself to exhale and grunt when he brings his phone away from his ear. it’s a little smudged from his sweat but a quick wipe and a few buttons, he sees the notification in his messaging app with you.
with his thoughts void of anything else but pleasure and you, he mindlessly taps on your name.
“jesus, fuck–!” he chokes on his own breath and his orgasm comes surging all of a sudden as soon as his dark eyes land on the photo you sent him. all air is knocked out of his lungs, a soft gasp of your name finally heard from his parted lips. his hot white seed spurts all over his lower abdomen, catching in the trimmed hairs of the dark brown trail leading down to his cock.
his stomach contracts and relaxes as he tries to pace his breathing, coming down from the unexpected high. holy fuck, he’s lightheaded. he’s never cum this hard from just jerking off to your voice.
simon lifts his phone up just enough for him to steadily hold it above his face.
it’s a photo of you, in one of his shirts, with nothing else on. a mirror photo. you’re posed promiscuously over the edge of your shared bed. your round ass is in full, perfect view. he can see the length of your legs, the small dip of your lower back. every single one of his favourite parts of you can be seen, including the cheeky smirk in your face when you snapped it.
he finally allows himself to relax, a breathless chuckle escaping his lips as he brings his phone back to his ear.
“and how long have you known, love?” he really thought he’d done a good enough job at hiding it.
“simon, my love, we’ve been in a relationship for half a decade. i know when you’re jerking off to the sound of my voice.” you don’t sound mad at all, and he’s relieved. “and you also accidentally put yourself on speaker halfway, so i kinda heard it all.”
“wha’?” his bushy brows pinch into a frown and he pulls his phone back to his face to take a look. surely enough, he’s accidentally got the speaker on. “fuckin’ tech.”
he’s grumbling incoherencies while he brings his phone back to his ear.
“five minutes a good enough cooldown before i start teasing you?” simon can hear the teasing smile in your voice, that cheeky lilt never failing to make him smile.
“‘s like y’know me like the back ‘f your hand, love.” he unceremoniously kicks his boxers off as he shimmies to the edge of his bed. the cheap wood creaks underneath his weight as he shuffles to the small bathroom to clean himself up.
“oh, good. cause our lovense is fully charged and i’m making sure you take responsibility for cumming without me.”
— gn!reader ♱ dark content + smut, fauxcest, dad kink, praising dumbification if you squint, cockwarming, dubcon (?). 766 words.
⁶⁶⁶ 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝓢𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 — inspired by @superhoeva and @rawme-price's fauxecst and almost dad!price works <3 slowly getting the hang of writing again raaahhhh work and uni are kinda messing me up a lil
ⓘ requests / ask box info ◡̈
fauxdad!John Price is a filthy, filthy man for climbing into your bunk every night. Does it make him a filthy man to take advantage of how good of a soldier you are for him? You’d always take his orders without a second thought, without a single challenge. Maybe it makes him a filthy man to take advantage of your oral fixation sometimes. You’d get a little mouthy, chewing on a wooden pencil or constantly biting on the rubber straw that Gaz got you because there was a sale.
But surely it doesn’t make him a filthy man to use your warm, little mouth and throat for his cock when he’s busy with paperwork.
“‘S good for resistance training, kid.” He’d chastise you gently when you whine around his cock for a break. He pinches your nose slightly before giving your hair a gentle ruffle. He’s always so gentle with you—that doesn’t make him a filthy man, does it? “Gotta make sure my favourite’s a good soldier and a good kid, no?”
You always squirm whenever he calls you kid. He loves it. He loves the way you get a little shifty, the way you’d try to hide yourself and press your thighs together. He knows you get wet because then he’ll call you into his office for a uniform inspection. A uniform inspection is what he calls it, but it’s really to push his fat fingers and wet tongue into your hole so he can ‘check’ how much you love being called his kid.
You know he’ll eventually make you bend over on his desk when he’s done with his paperwork. It’s inevitable when you’re pressing your thighs and whimpering around the weight and size of his erection nestling in the wet cavern of your mouth, his cockhead nuzzling against the back of your throat every time you’re trying to adjust your position so you can sit comfortably but your thighs and calves are burning from kneeling on the pillows so much.
You swallow around his cock only to gag around it. Hot tears spring from the corners of your eyes as you whimper, looking up at him and pleading for him to give you a break.
“What’s that, kid? Speak up f’me.” Price gently drags you off of his cock and it feels like you can breathe lighter now.
“Dad, need a break.” Your words melt into a soft sigh the same moment you melt into his touch. His hand reaches out to cup your soft cheek, brushing the calloused pad of his thumb across your undereye. “Please, I’ve been good, haven’t I?”
“Been just the best, kid. Good job.” He can’t possibly be a filthy man when he’s so attuned to your needs. His hawklike gaze doesn’t miss the way you’re trying not to squirm under his heated gaze. Large hands hook underneath your armpits to hoist you up and he does it without even a single grunt of effort.
Your legs tremble from the ache of being in one position for too long, like a fawn learning how to walk. Price chuckles at the sight before he’s turning you around and pulling your pants down.
“Dad!” You begin to protest but he shushes you sweetly with a soft kiss to the low of your spine.
“Shh, just be a good kid and do as I say.” Price spits at your quivering hole and without a warning, he’s sinking you down onto his fat cock. Your high-pitched whine turns into a needy moan, a melody compared to the throaty groan coming from his chest when you bottom out. He’s already so deep inside of you that your thighs are beginning to tremble because his cock is pushing against your G-spot greedily. “Just sit still on Dad’s lap while I finish my work. Can you do that f’me?”
All you can do is moan meekly, nodding in agreement as you do your best not to grind your hips.There’s a small, nagging part of you that just wants to act out a little to see if he’ll still keep up with this sweet, nice Dad act.
As if sensing your mischief, Price grabs your hips, lifts you up halfway before slamming you back down in warning. A cry of his name is ripped from your throat, stars dotting your vision in the back of your eyelids from the sheer strength.
“Now be a good kid and sit still.” He gives your hip a gentle squeeze before his attention drifts back to the paperwork before you. You just hope that the one hour passes quickly.
❝pairing!❞ ⨾ older!creep!price x younger!darling!reader
❝word count!❞ ⨾ 9.5k
❝content warnings!❞ ⨾ DUBIOUS CONSENT, reader is called doll, pretty little thing, no gendered terms for reader but described to have a clit, p w/ some plot, reader is mid-late 20s, price has retired (~50s), reader is a server at a maid café, virgin!reader, infantilisation of reader, predatory vibes from price, oral (reader receiving), mild dumbification and dacryphilia if you squint, p in v, size difference,
❝writer's note!❞ ⨾ this was originally a zhongli fic that i wrote during my peak genshin days. iykyk. also, creepy older man!price lives rent free in my mind. this was written from price's pov so it's highly questionable behaviour on his end. enjoy :)
The first time that John came to the new maid café in the heart of London after visiting Simon, he was greeted by you. Your hair perfectly falls and frames your face and a bright, youthful smile adorns your features. Never had he been so enthralled before. your maid uniform fits you so perfectly. White frills dance with every graceful step that you take and he can’t help but watch every time you come and go. He truly doesn’t expect himself to be so easily distracted, especially with the years he spent in the SAS.
It has to be in the way that you carry yourself.
There's a melody that carries your steady voice when you speak. You always have your head held high, posture straight and perfect like you’d been trained perfectly by an actual maid. Yet you carry the poise of a royalty as you glide around the café.
There is always a calm, practiced smile on your face. No matter how terribly customers are treating you—namely entitled bastards who think the maids and butlers are objects to grope and grab—you’re always smiling back even if your words are dripping with potent poison.
You swoop in to save your coworkers from getting harassed by customers. You have a witty brain and a sharp, silver tongue that bites back with next to no effort. Your words flow with a harmonic eloquence that steals his breath away.
On top of all that, you’re so breathtakingly attractive.
All that he ever wants is to make you his. Somebody like you is hard to come by but he shouldn’t have a problem. Not when he notices your gaze lingering on him when you think he’s not paying attention or looking.
Joke’s on you, birdie. He’s always got his eye on the prettiest little thing in the room.
John knows that a maid café like the one you work at is not a place for him. If the rest of his military mates knew that this is the kind of establishment that he’s been frequenting the past few months, they wouldn’t let him live it down. A man like him doesn’t do cute, cosy, or lighthearted things. He’s too used to the dingy, seedy bars that reek of cheap whiskey; the dimly-lit restaurants where he knows every worker there by name.
Yet, he still finds himself searching for an excuse to return every time just to see you.
It’s all for your sake, really. One day you’ll know that you belong to him.
He knows that he can’t just jump on you instantly.
He needs to take his time, luring you in with a smile to let you know that he means no harm. He keeps his distance so you wouldn’t mistake him for some common creep. He talks to you, treats you with respect. The more he gets to know you, the more he feels compelled to take you away and seal you in his luxurious domain where nobody can dare to ever hurt you.
You're his precious jewel.
He knows that you don’t live in the maid uniform but a sick part of him wants you to. It has grown on him, per se. Over the course of a few weeks he’s been appearing at the café you work at, he learned that you’re taking a gap year so that you can afford to pursue graduate studies in either Berlin or Zürich. Employers in your field of study wouldn’t take you in, so this café initially became a backup plan to keep yourself afloat while you search for a nice job that you actually want to do. Over time, the job market got worse and you decided to just save up with what you can first.
John finds himself thinking that if you let him take care of you, you have no need to worry about the costs of, well, anything at all. It’s such a simple formula; become his, and everything else that you could possibly need will be delivered to you. His hands may be stained with blood and dirt from his years of serving but now that he’s retired, these will be the hands that’d go back to being stained just so you wouldn’t have to lift a single finger.
“Welcome home, Master Price!” Your silky voice caresses his cheeks in a tantalising bliss as you greet him at the door. It’s Tuesday, the first day of the week he’d always stop by for a drink and read by the window.
His eyes widen in surprise when it clicks that you’ve addressed him by his name. You’ve never done that. All maids and butlers under this establishment have one generic rule—to not address customers by name. You’ve only ever called him Master and only ever that, but this small detail that you look so adorably proud of has his heart fluttering.
Tilting his head to the side slightly, he surveys your features and all he sees is a smile so fond that he can’t help but reciprocate it.
You direct him to his usual seat by the floor-to-ceiling windows where he can watch people and buildings while he works. Or at least, that’s what he tells you. He's really just watching your reflection in the glass while you work.
“Will it be the usual, Master Price?” Your goddamn voice saying his name like that so sweetly is doing things to him that he has to adjust himself slightly after he settles down in his seat. Fuck’s sake. Do you even know how much you affect him?
The usual. Yes, the usual. A warm latte, extra shot, with a slice of mango lavender cake.
It’s what you had recommended to him on his first visit to the café and he’s been getting the same bloody thing ever since. He doesn’t even like the cake. It’s always too sweet, but it’s you who serves it to him every time so he finishes every last bit and evens out the sweetness with the latte.
“Yes, love. Thank you.” John watches as your eyes widen ever so slightly at the pet name that easily rolls off of his tongue. What surprises him is that he catches you beaming back at him; not in the same way you would give the common customer. Perhaps he does have a chance with taking you as his.
You leave his table with his order.
It makes his stomach do flips to know that you have his order remembered like the back of your adorable hands. The very same hands that he loves to observe as they set his cup and plate down on the table. The very same hands and wrists that are so small and dainty compared to his hulking, calloused ones. You must have a moisturiser that you usually use to keep your hands so soft and delicate. He can't help but wonder if his one hand would be more than enough to trap your wrists together to pin you in place.
John casts his glance beyond the window. It's roughly just before midday, before the crowds would come in and distract you from talking to him. Tuesdays are when the crowds aren’t as heavy as they would be on Fridays or Sundays. Most of the time, it’ll be just as barren as it is right now. It’s his favourite day to visit you.
Generous golden rays flood through the window panels, illuminating the minimalist interior. There are no more than four guests sitting in the café, widely spaced out and primarily minding their own business. He doesn’t mind being on his own, at least not until he’s able to talk to you.
After some time you finally arrive at his table with a wooden tray of his cake slice and drink. You set them right before him and he politely withdraws his arms from the table to allow you more space on this tiny table. It must be a rather amusing sight to see a lonely man of his size hulking over a quaint little café table.
“Enjoy your food, Master Price.” Before you can leave, he stops you by calling you by your name. You freeze in your spot before your gaze finally rests on his face. To coax you into a sense of familiarity and security, he gives you the gentlest smile he can give. “Y-Yes, Master Price?”
Oh, how he is absolutely rendered powerless against your sweet, sweet voice calling him that. He has to fight the strong urge to steal you away in broad daylight, to take you on that petite table for everyone to see that you belong to him.
“Care to join me?” He asks. You won’t say no. You can’t say no. He knows that you are aware of the position that he holds at this café. You’re aware of his power; there’s s no way that you can say no.
You nod with a timid smile on your face.
That’s it, he thinks. You’re coming to your senses.
You're so obedient for him that his heart is palpitating at an unhealthy rate. Gathering the skirt of your maid uniform, you tug it together so you can slide into the seat across him. You should know that he means no harm. You’ve practically known each other forever. A man like him can never hurt a pretty little thing like you. He wouldn’t even dare think about it!
“How are you doing, love?” His voice is low and deep, the baritone rumbling heavy in his chest as his large fingers wrap around the tiny cup. You relax in your seat and lean back slightly as if to convince yourself that it’s perfectly fine to engage with customers so freely. Why, of course it’s fine. He's no ordinary customer. Everyone in this quaint café knows that.
“Well, I think I might have enough to start thinking about grad school now,” you begin with a shy chuckle. Your gaze drops to your lap and you scratch the back of your neck. He smiles. You're so adorable when you get a little shy. Taking a sip of his matcha latte, he waits for you if you have anything to add on before he speaks. To his pleasure, you do. “The problem is, it’ll take me a little longer to finish grad school. I only have enough for part-time studies because I'm really impatient.”
Your comment garners light laughter from both ends. He places the cup back down on the table and tilts his head to the side slightly. He pretends to survey you, only wanting to take in your beauty. He loves the way your hair falls and frames your face. He loves the way your lips bow into a smile, the way your eyes can so easily be full of emotions one second and void of them the next.
“Well, juggling work and university can’t be the easiest thing in the world, love.” His brows furrow in concern. He can’t possibly let you do that. You’re his precious gem—you shouldn’t have to work too hard. If he had it any other way, he would make sure you enjoy not working at all.
“Yeah, well, I think I’ll have to get used to it.” You give a self-deprecating laugh. “In this world, where everything is getting expensive? You gotta do what you gotta do.”
“What if I told you that you would never need to worry about such menial things ever again?” He slowly articulates, his words floating through the air and into your ears. He knows that he’s gotten your attention from the way that your eyes are glimmering at the thought of never having to worry about money. It makes his chest swell with pride knowing that this idea is making you happy.
He never wants to put you in a tough spot. He adores you and he’ll do anything that eases any burden off of your shoulders. He’s no longer married and he never had any kids with his ex-wife. He has a lot of money and all the time in the world. Now, all that he needs to worry about is you.
“You don’t have to keep this job if you don’t want it. It just won’t be your primary source of income any more.” He takes your silence of surprise as an opportunity to continue. Surely this offer will sound attractive to you. You wouldn’t even need to lift a finger. Hell, he’ll hire an actual butler or maid for you to help around so all you need to do is focus on your studies.
“That . . . is certainly an interesting proposition. It benefits me greatly. Am I right to assume that you will be the one providing me the . . . money?” Yet another thing that makes him completely enamoured by you. Your brain moves far quicker than the common folk and he loves that.
“What a smart little thing you are,” he chuckles. He can sense the heat rising to your cheeks as your gaze quickly averts elsewhere in embarrassment. He's satisfied by how easily he holds such power over you. Leaning back in his seat, he intertwines his fingers and lets them rest on his lap. Just let him take care of it all for you. A pretty thing like you has no need to worry about things like money. “You don’t have to give me much in return; simply your presence and companionship.”
“So, a sugaring arrangement, to put it succinctly?”
“Well, I wouldn’t call it a sugaring arrangement, per se.” He smiles at your bluntness. He would never like to call this blossoming relationship with you something like that. It will be built on the foundation of his love for you, but for now, he will settle for a simple euphemism. “A contract between two consenting adults based on financial and emotional need, I would much prefer.”
“You’re way too generous.” Surprise laces your voice as you sit up a little straighter. He finds it adorable, the way your eyes light up while you war with yourself. You must be thinking of how this offer is too good to be true. It is too good to be true, isn’t it? But you’re too good to be true. A pretty little thing like you deserves to be taken care of.
It would be fun to have you around. He’ll cook and he’ll read to you, he’ll drive you around and pick you up from class, he’ll hold you tightly and he’d fuck you and breed your cunt full of his cum. You're such a sweet darling for him. He knows you’ll be such a good addition to his otherwise lonely home.
“I don’t offer you what I can’t give you, love.” John shrugs slightly. His icy blue gaze watches you watching him for the moment where he announces it’s a joke.
“Wait, you’re serious?” You almost gawk when you finally realise he’s not playing around.
“Yes, love.” He nods with a gentle smile. An older man like him is perfect for a sweet darling like you. He’s got years of experience, money, a pretty decent place to live in, and he practically knows you already. It’s be silly of you not to accept it.
“What . . . What’s the catch?”
“Catch?” Now it’s his turn to be surprised. “Why would there be one, love? I just think it’ll help you. I’d hate t’see you stress out too much. Plus, we’ve both known each other for quite a while, haven’t we, love?”
The gears are turning in your head as you process his proposition. John has to pretend to not sound too excited at the idea that having you in his home will finally be a reality. He leans back against the wooden backing of his chair, tilting his head to the side slightly as you think it over.
He doesn’t hide how he observes you, however. His icy gaze catches the way your brows pinch into a slight frown, the way you fidget with your fingers with a faraway gaze as you think.
“Okay.” He doesn’t hide the smile that slowly spreads across his bearded face. “Yeah. Yeah, I think . . . yeah, I’ll do it.”
“‘S that right, love?”
“Yeah.” You nod with a resolute smile. “How does this work? Do I sign a contract, is there a, uh, I don’t know, something?”
A contract? John would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought this far. Drafting up something in black and white would not only make it too easy to define their relationship, but it also sets a precedent. He doesn’t like precedents. He wants you to slowly realise over time that there’s no other person in this world who’s good enough for you. He wants you to come to the conclusion that John Price, ex-Captain of a private special ops group, is the perfect man who was put on this Earth to love and worship you the way you deserve.
“No, no,” he chuckles. “We can just talk about it. What your expectations are, and mine, perhaps even what you’d like out of it.”
You give him a look, as if flabbergasted and confused that it is that simple. For him, it is. It’s a no-brainer at all. He gives you an ample amount at the end of every week, and all you have to do is study hard and be good to him. He’ll take care of everything else. Your features eventually smoothen out into one of reception as you think it over.
“Okay.” You finally say after a moment. He exhales slowly through his lips, a breath he didn’t realise he had been holding, and smiles.
“Alright.” John leans forward and rests his forearms against the wooden table. “Let’s talk ‘bout it, shall we, doll?”
Two weeks passed much longer than he had anticipated.
It left him waiting and craving for you. It left him discovering some carnal desires he never would have thought of prior to this arrangement. He pictures you greeting him when he comes home after a run or some time out with his mates, in a poor excuse of what should be a maid uniform. He pictures you glassy-eyed and warm-cheeked with a collar around your neck and his name branded into the expensive leather. He pictures you submitting entirely to him, for him to ravage and devour to his heart’s content.
“Hello, Master Price!” You greet him teasingly with a smile. You have met him at your agreed upon location and time—at the café when your shift is over. He knows that you have a habit of changing out of your maid uniform when you’re done for the day.
He doesn’t realise that he’ll be missing the uniform so dearly but this change in your appearance is nothing he’d complain about, either. You look so comfortable in your clothing, and it boasts your personality that he adores so much. It’s cute, he thinks, how you’re able to be satisfied with such cheap cotton and fleece. Soon, you’ll be wearing nothing but the finest quality clothes he can give you.
“Hello, love.” He extends his hand out to you, a gentle smile of his own returned to you. You happily take it and as expected, your hand is so soft and smooth. His large one engulfs yours entirely when his fingers wrap around yours.
With his icy eyes trained on you, he brings your knuckles to his lips. His beard is sure to gently tickle your fingers when he kisses your knuckles gently. You try not to react too much but he notices the gentle twitch of your little fingers in surprise. He fights the smile of self-satisfaction threatening to spread across his face.
No, he mustn’t let himself get distracted just yet.
John Price has all the time in the world for that when you realise just how lavish and worry-free your life can be in his home. His gaze drops to your face, nervousness peeking through the crevices of your pupils. You're so adorable when you’re vulnerable to him. He prefers you like that. He likes you like that.
“Shall we?” He gestures towards the direction of his car with his free hand. He’s giving you all the opportunities to pull away and tell him to stop, but you don’t.
Instead, you obediently nod.
He guides you down the street, towards the richer part on this side of London, before stopping before a sleek black automobile. The pad of his index finger presses against what would normally be the manual key lock for the average car and it immediately hums to life. The doors of the cars open upwards and your first reaction is to gasp in surprise at the sudden movement. He quietly chuckles to himself.
Soon, you’ll be familiar with such rich technology that you wouldn’t bat an eyelid at such things again.
Like the gentleman he is, John helps you into the passenger seat and goes the extra mile to tuck you in safely and securely with the seatbelt. Even though he knows that you can do it on your own, he wants to do it for you. You don’t have to even lift your finger. Anything and everything will be taken care of by him. He'll serve the damn world on a silver platter if you even insinuate that you want it.
“You excited, love?” He notices the way you exhale softly through your plump lips. You must be swooning from the way he dotes on you so lovingly. He looks up at you through his lashes and you give him a small smile.
“More nervous. It’s my first time doing anything like this at all.”
“No need to be,” he reassures you, placing his large hand over yours. His thumb swiftly swipes over your soft knuckles to reinforce that he has you from this point forward. “I’ll guide you. Y’can trust me, love.”
You would be stupid to do otherwise.
He can shatter nations without batting an eyelid if you asked for it. There is nothing about him that you have to fear. He's an older, more experienced man. He knows how to treat a pretty thing like you. Boys your age wouldn’t know how to even look you in the eye correctly. He’s there for you, and he will be there for you.
After making sure that you’re neatly tucked into the passenger seat, John climbs into his seat behind the wheel. There’s no need for him to press a button; the doors of the car are immediately sinking downwards to keep both you and him safe. He hopes that the smell of fresh leather does not disturb you too much. He bought this automobile just for you when he realised you’d been taking the bus because getting a car is too expensive. At least you have one more vehicle to choose from in his garage.
“Feel free to pick the music.” He gestures to the stereo system while he buckles himself into the seat. “You can connect to the radio through bluetooth.” Simply explaining is not enough for him. He leans over until your shoulders touch, pressing on the settings icon on your phone screen and doing everything for you.
An unfamiliar tune fills the bass and speakers that surround the interior of the car. John is not one to indulge in pop culture or modern music. He has no need. He has you, and your voice is just the melody he would ever need to listen to. Part of him wants to enjoy this moment of solitude with you for the drive back to his lavish and lonely penthouse. Another part of him wants to talk to you, to listen to your voice over this music, to know more so that he knows everything about you.
Not that he has to. He knows a lot about you. You’re so easy to search up and read up on.
“So, John.” He would’ve felt less guilty if he didn’t
The volume lowers just enough so he can hear your voice clearly. He hums, eyes fixed on the road because he knows that if he looks over at you, he’ll be rendered immobile from your pretty eyes looking up at him.
Lord knows what he’s imagined with you looking at him like that.
“What are we gonna do when we arrive at your place?”
It appears that he has yet to tell you what he truly wants from you. A smile that he hopes warms you up curls from the corners of his lips.
“Of course the first thing is to make you feel comfortable. ‘M sure that the small apartment you live in has been subpar at most.” Uh oh. You did not know that he has all of the basic information about you. Your blood type, your ancestry, your immediate family members, your university, your current living quarters—all of the sort.
“How’d you know I live in a small apartment?” You question, though without a hint of malice.
“Hm? Y’don’t remember, love?” He feigns familiarity, turning to look at you for a brief second then focusing back on the road. “You’ve told me that you live alone and that London isn’t your hometown. Amongst other things”
“Shit, have I?” You chuckle brightly and shake it off easily. His heart almost stops at how light and tinkling your laugh is. That's a lie, but you don’t know it. “I must've forgotten. Man, does working in a café make me so exhausted I forget things. Speaking of, I'm so lucky I remembered to let my landlord know I'll be moving out soon. I don't have that many boxes so it should be a breeze.”
“Don’t cha worry ‘bout it, doll.” He turns the corner into the southeast of London and deep into the richer province. Lavish condominium buildings tower over the streets almost threateningly. Surely it must be so daunting for you. “I’ll arrange for movers and make sure it will all be taken care of. No need for you to lift a finger after workin’ for so long.”
“You're spoiling me too much, John!” His name comes with a teasing lilt upwards towards and it sends a shock straight through his cock. He shifts slightly in his seat, thankful that he spots the silver building he lives in right ahead. “I can handle it, I promise.”
“Don’t be silly, love.” His left hand reaches over to pat your thigh reassuringly. “I told you to leave everything to me, didn't I?”
You huff in defeat and fold your arms across your chest. He chuckles at your reaction. He has no need to turn to look in order to know that you look undoubtedly adorable.
The journey to his luxury condominium apartment resumes with light banter and hearty conversations. You tell him all about yourself. It's nothing that he doesn’t already know but it’s much sweeter hearing it from you than reading it off of black ink on a printed piece of paper. He's not a lunatic so naturally, he reciprocates the favour by telling you about himself.
Other than the obvious that he is an unmarried man, he tells you that he particularly enjoys botany. It isn’t to show off his intellect per se, but there’s an unreadable expression when he tells you that he took a diploma certification in said field because he wanted to some years back. He doesn’t hold back from sharing his military background either, in hopes that you’ll be impressed. A career like his isn’t exactly sunshine and rainbows but he makes it a point to not talk too much about the dirtier parts of what used to be his bread and butter.
He holds your hand when he helps you out of his lavish car in the equally lavish parking lot in the basement. He holds your hand when he guides you to the elevator, when the both of you continue chatting and stand shoulder-to-shoulder inside of it. He holds your hand when your eyes widen and your jaw drops as the doors open to reveal a stunning apartment.
John leads you into his home and lets go of your hand almost with a bit of regret. He didn’t mean to let go. His hand itches to hold your hand once more but he doesn’t want to overstay his welcome.
What throws him off is the fact that you frown back at him and grab his hand with a sense of profound conviction. You puff your chest out slightly and give him a look that says, “Don’t do that again.” He smiles to himself.
Oh, you.
So you know that he enjoys having you so close to him. In all honesty, his living arrangement isn’t the best thing to marvel at. Sure, it’s somewhat expensive and has a compelling view of the city that stretches to the harbour, but it’s truly nothing much to him. He only got it because it’s been in the market for so long because people were too daunted by the sheer price despite it steadily depreciating over the months it’s been there. A pity, really.
He loves seeing you all excited, he really does, but now he really wants you to get comfortable in this place he calls home. What else can he do other than completely defile you and devour you on every surface?
With one hand in his pockets, John brings you around in a tour of his apartment while you do your best to be as polite as possible as you can, venturing the space. Your comments don’t go unnoticed. It's almost saddening how someone like you is not used to living in a space as extravagant as you deserve to be in. You're better than everyone else; don’t you know that? You deserve far better than everyone else and only he can give you all that you ever want and need. Somebody of his stature deserves someone equal to him, and that someone is you.
All of these dangerous thoughts are clouding his mind. He wants—no, needs—to lay his claim on you. At the end of the day, humans are just beasts with superior intellect to animals, and this is just another primal urge that he needs to sate. He pictures you bent over his mahogany desk, taking his cock with the ghost of his hands on the curves of your ass. He pictures you with all kinds of toys used, making a mess out of yourself on your shared bed. He pictures you completely defiled and—
“John?” He snaps out of his trance. Were you saying something? He blinks several times and tries to ignore the dull burn in his veins. His gaze lands back onto you. “Are you okay?”
“Never better.” He squeezes your interlaced hands lightly. Suddenly he realises that you’re both near the privacy of his room. His body is moving faster than his brain. In the blink of an eye, he has you in the confines of his most intimate space. He can’t remember the last time he allowed someone in there. “This ‘s my room. If you’d like, we can share it when you’re more comfortable with it. You can move in whenever you’d like, I’ll arrange the necessary logistics for moving and whathaveyous. All y’gotta do is tell me, ‘kay, love?”
“I don't really enjoy sleeping on my own, so I think I'll take you up on that offer sooner than you think.” You look up at him with a bashful smile on your teasing lips and it tugs on his heartstrings a little. Are you being bold? His free hand reaches to briefly brush his knuckles along your cheekbone.
“I’ll be waiting for that.” His gaze falls to your smile and he shakily exhales through his nose. His touch lingers on your cheekbone, carefully sliding down until he cradles the side of your face. It's almost intriguing how you’re so small compared to him. It doesn't matter if it’s just a few inches difference; you’re forever going to be his little darling. Before he can control himself, he crashes his lips onto yours in a messy, feverish clash of mouth and teeth.
Your hand leaves his to fist at his button-up.
Are you pushing him away? Why are you pushing him away? Stubbornly he grabs you by your waist and pulls you flush to his body, lips trailing down your exposed neck. He can teach you to not defy him.
You have no reason to do so at all. All he wants to do is cherish you and protect you.
“J-John, stop!” You gasp in alarm.
He doesn’t stop.
He backs you up until your knees hit the edge of his bed and you fall.
“John, please, I– I haven't done this before. D-Don’t . . .” Your words stammer so cutely out of your mouth as you stare at him almost apprehensively. Fear? No, no, there’s no reason for you to be afraid.
He won’t hurt you.
You should know that by now.
“I won’t hurt you. Just let me take care of you. You’ll let me take care of you, won’t you, love?” His hands land on your thighs. The fabric of this cheap denim irritates him to no end. Again and again he tells himself, once you’re submitting to him, you’ll know that he wants nothing more than to bring you pleasure and all of the finest things in the world. “You’re all mine, aren’t you?” His words ring throughout the expanse of his bedroom.
You look so pretty sprawled out on the bed underneath him. Your hair bounces cutely as he lifts you up with no effort to move you further back until your head is properly supported by his silk pillows.
John takes your silence as submission and a pleased smile spreads across his lips. His hands slide underneath the oversized t-shirt that you wear. Such poor material. He takes no time in grabbing the hem of the fabric and pulling it over your head, revealing your covered chest that your arms immediately obscure. A frown appears on his face as he tilts his head to the side slightly.
“No need to hide from me, doll. ‘S just me. Y’know me, love,” he coos lightly. Leaning forward, he captures your lips in a chaste kiss—this time sickeningly sweet and calm compared to the first time—before they start trailing down the expanse of your neck. You're so stunning and he wants to show you just how much he loves you. With a tender grip on your wrists, one hand easily pins you down to the bed.
He was right, they fit so easily in his palm.
The large man towers over your form with his knee dangerously close to your crotch. His tie is loose and tickling your lower stomach, buttons halfway undone and threatening to expose the skin of his torso. His hot mouth wraps around your clothed chest and your breath hitches. Oh? Did you like that? Determined in making you break and submit wholly to him, he starts to further his advances.
With his free hand, he pushes the fabric that constricts your chest and marvels at the sight of your nipples.
“Look at you, baby. Absolutely stunning.” He groans before latching his mouth around your chest once again. The warm, wet muscle of his tongue starts rolling at the nub and your body temperature starts to slowly hike up with every passing second.
In between his index finger and thumb is your other nipple, calloused pads flicking and pressing gently to stimulate you further. He swathes his tongue over and over, cupping your chest until they’re so hard it hurts to touch. Your body quivers underneath him from the overstimulation, whimpering his name shakily. Out of concern, he pulls away and immediately rushes to cup your hands in both of his hands. “Is there something wrong? Did that not feel good, love?”
“N-No, just . . . don’t want this . .” You don’t want to? So not the nipples then. Nodding in understanding, he removes himself from your chest and begins to undo the button and zipper of your jeans with ease. Thick digits slide between the denim and your soft skin, finally pulling off the cheap fabric and revealing you wholly bare to him, save for your adorable cotton underwear.
“Let me take care of you, m’love.” John settles his head in between your thighs, resting his cheek against your pillowy flesh. A gentle, strategic kiss is placed right on where he hopes your clit would be and he doesn’t fail to notice the small, wet patch. “You respond so well to me, love. Your body knows tha’ you belong to me, and I to you.”
Your breath stutters as he slides his index finger between your underwear and wet cunt. Curling it into a hook, he pulls it to the side before gently blowing at your drenched folds. Your thighs quiver in response. Cute. A loud squeak comes from above and your hands immediately fly to his dark locks. The palms of your hand are pushing his head away from you and you keep muttering “No, no, no!”
He smiles to himself and chuckles, shaking his head. You're so adorable when you’re shy. Yet again he vows to you that he’ll take care of you well, that you’ll feel euphoria like never before. Any time that you need to hear it, he’ll be more than glad to repeat these words because he will always wholeheartedly mean them. When he feels your cute hands withdraw from pushing him away, there’s a swell of pride in his chest from being able to reassure you so easily.
See? You’re both such a good match for each other. So perfect.
It's been so long since he has obsessed over someone like this, since he’s touched someone so intimately like this. All that he hopes for is to bring you pleasure.
Beads of perspiration prickle at his hairline. The clothes that he dons are starting to become tight, constricting his movements and making himself more needy by the second. Refusing to fall victim to his own lustful vices, he chooses to focus on what’s right in front of him: you. You and your dripping cunt.
He starts by tonguing at your hole. The warm, wet muscle prods and teases your entrance while his thumbs spread your lips apart. Try as you might to clamp your thighs together, he’s far stronger than you are. He has you pinned down to the silk-blend bed sheets underneath with no room for you to squirm out of his grasp. Sharpening his tongue, he starts to flick gently from your awaiting cunt all the way to your clit. Finding the cute little bud is difficult, but the second you’re whimpering and your thighs are twitching a little bit more, he knows that he’s found it. A self-satisfied smile spreads across his face when he sees the little bud peeking out from its hood.
Shifting the position of his fingers so that his index and middle fingers are exposing you to him, his right arm wraps around your thigh to place his large palm flat against your lower tummy. The calloused pad of his thumb quickly finds your neglected nub, slowly rolling it in circles. His icy eyes are focused on the way you clench around nothing and he immediately shoves his tongue inside of you.
“J-John!” Your hips buck forward against his face and he languidly pumps the muscle in and out, reveling in your taste. The sounds that you’re making above him are straight up heavenly; just as he had expected from a divine beauty like you. Any more and he knows he’s going to lose any remaining ounce of self-control. “O-Oh, oh, shit! N-No, no!” You mewl, struggling to form coherent words. It sends a hot chill straight to his aching cock, begging to be touched and begging to be buried inside of your cunt.
You’re so warm around him; so tight and you taste sweeter than honey. Like a man starving, he alternates between licking your slick and spreading it all over your lips, and thrusting his tongue in and out of your pussy. It's a sensation that he’s never felt before, not even with his ex-wife.
He mentally recoils.
How dare he think about his wife when he has you sprawled out underneath him? You, a pretty little thing like you, who’s so much better than her in every facet possible?
“Fuck me, love, you taste so good.” The man finally comes up for air, panting hotly against your sensitive hole. “Could eat this sweet li’l cunt f’days, love.” His warm lips replace his thumb and wraps around your clit to suckle on it lightly, tongue rolling and flicking at the swollen pearl. This time, your reactions are much louder and stronger than the first time. Using this as the perfect opportunity, he slides his middle finger into you. Detaching his mouth to watch, lust-glazed eyes observe in wonder as you take him all the way to the knuckle.
“J-John . . John . . .”
“Fuck, don’t say m’name like that, doll.” He hisses, pumping the thick digit slowly. Slick drools all the way down to his knuckles, slowly trickling into the palm of his hand. He swallows thickly. “I won’t be able to control myself if you do.” He needs to prepare you for his cock. He knows that he is rather well-endowed, and being the one to take your virginity, he will have to be as gentle as possible.
That is, if he doesn’t accidentally throw caution out of the window.
As the sun slowly sinks into the horizon and basks the dull, grey room in a shimmering light, your naked body is glowing in gold. Your puffy cunt has never looked more delectable. With your needy moans that fill his ears like a timeless melody, he’s more than eager to have you cum on his tongue and fingers that very moment. Just how would you look like coming undone by his own hands, he wonders?
A second finger joins the first and you whimper at the stretch. John rises and peppers light, open-mouthed kisses from your lower belly, to your chest, up your neck, and finally one on your lips. He rests his weight on his forearm as he hovers over you, gazing lovingly into your tear-filled eyes. Does it feel so good that you’re in tears?
“You’re doing so well for me, love,” he coos, nosing at your cheek softly before placing another kiss on the same spot. “Gotta prep you, alright? Just a li’l bit more.”
You shakily nod, bottom lip quivering. You’re so obedient for him, such a good darling. He knows that he deserves you and nothing less, just as you deserve him.
John returns to his spot in between your legs, lips wrapping around the nod once again. Your gummy walls are so warm and tight around him. No matter how far he tries to scissor and stretch you out, you grip him like a stubborn vice and it has him moaning around you in delight. Your fingers tangle into his hair, grabbing his dark locks as if to pull him closer and he willingly complies. He curls his fingers, the tips trying to find the spot that’ll have you unravelling right before his eyes.
Dark brows furrowed in concentration until you cry out his name, back arching into the air. Ah, so that’s the right one. His eyes are trained on your face as your hips buck helplessly into his fingers, head thrown back and crying out for him over and over again. Another digit enters you and you squeal from the bigger stretch. His tongue flicks and rolls at your clit, suckling and gently nibbling as he brings you to your orgasm.
Are you close? Your walls are tightening around him a lot stronger this time and your entire body is quivering underneath him.
“J-John, John! F-Feels too good, ‘s too good! I'm gonna– gonna c– John!” Your praise immediately sets his whole body on fire as you gush around his fingers, choking out sobs and shuddering as he slows down the reckless pace of his fingers. You look so blissful when you cum and it reminds him of the neglected erection that is constricted against his slacks.
Fuck, he could cum just from watching and hearing you cum.
“There we go,” he lets you ride out your high, letting you calm down before finally withdrawing his three fingers from your cunt. He removes his lips from your throbbing clit to allow himself an unrestricted view of his cum-coated fingers, mixed with your slick and his spit. John rises to his knees, eyes glued to the shimmer on his digits before he takes his time to lap up your juices. His gaze is fixed on yours, and you’re already looking at him with his beard wet from your juices. An unrestrained groan rumbles deep in his chest as he collects all of it with his tongue, immersed with the taste of you.
“John . . . d-don’t . . . no, need you . . . want your cock, please?” You whimper shyly. Your chin tucks towards your chest in embarrassment as you spread your legs wider for him. Two of your cute fingers reach down to pull apart your puffy lips. The innocently lewd action made his cock heavily throb in his pants and he had to hold himself back from moaning out loud.
“Fuckin’ hell, love. You’ve been such a good darling for me, ain’t cha? Good li’l things like you d’serve a good reward.” Palms splayed flat on either side of you, he leans forward and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You always taste so sweet and it always fogs his mind up with smothering thoughts of you. You impatiently grab at the fabric of his button-up, nimble fingers fumbling to take off his shirt while you desperately press yourself up against him. He can't help but chuckle into the kiss, pulling away slightly to help you undress him. “Gettin’ impatient, are we?” When you fail to meet his eyes, his rumbling chuckle fills the air at your sudden bashfulness.
John leans back to shrug the fabric off of his shoulders, exposing a well-maintained yet slightly chubby physique with tattoos and healed scars from battle. He knows you’re watching, so he puts on a show for you. Large hands make quick work of his leather belt, the silver buckle clicking as he finally rids himself of all of his clothes. At long last he stands naked with his cock slapping against his abs, the mushroomy tip swollen and a furious scarlet. His calculating gaze falls on your face as your lips part in awe. Thick fingers wrap around the base of his cock and he inhales sharply to prevent moaning aloud.
“How . . How’s . . that’s not gonna fit!” You shake your head slowly, eyes darting between him and his heavy cock. He knew you were going to say that—gosh, he knows you so well. “Y-You’re gonna . . gonna tear me apart . . .”
“Don’t be silly, (name).” This is the first time he’s saying your name outright in the past day alone and it has you snapping your gaze to him immediately. Your eyes flutter and he doesn’t hide the cocky smirk. “You will fit. We’re made for each other, after all.” His tone is heavy and commanding that you can’t help but whimper and nod in agreement.
Precious spherules of precum are drooling from his tip. Ever the gentleman, he carefully scoops up your slick with his middle and ring fingers to spread it all over his cock and lube it up. He can never be too prepared. You whine from the brief contact and he can’t help but smile. When he’s sure that he has been properly lubricated, he lines himself up with your entrance.
You’ll finally be one with him and the idea of it alone has his cock twitching in his hand.
The tip of his head manages to barely make it past your entrance and you cry out his name from the sudden stretch.
A loud, guttural moan tumbles from his lips this time as your walls constrict so tightly around him. He swears that he’s stretched you out with his fingers, preparing you for the girth of his dick, so how can you still be so suffocatingly tight? Inch by inch he goes deeper into your cunt and he has to take a second when he’s halfway in. He chokes out a gasp, eyes screwing shut as he slowly tries to inhale deeply.
“Fuck, love. You’re so, so fuckin’ tight,” he hisses sharply.
“T-Too big! You’re tearing me– t-tearing me apart, John!” Tears spring from the corners of your eyes. “So . . . so big, ‘m gonna . . c-can’t!” The sight of you crying for him with his name chanted from your lips like a forbidden mantra unlocks something feral in him.
He continues to push himself in further and deeper, with you moaning without restraint and going slack-jawed underneath him. Your walls, while struggling to fit him in, are at the same time sucking him in like a vice.
After a tremendous amount of burning effort from both of you, he finally bottoms out with his testicles lightly slapping against the curve of your ass. His lungs are set ablaze from how hard it is to breathe now that he’s finally buried balls deep inside of you.
“See how fuckin’ hard y’make me, love?” John lowers his lips to your ear, his voice a low rumble that sits deep in his chest. “This feel good f’you? Y’like feelin’ my cock stretch y’out, pretty doll?”
Your eyes are watery, sniffling slightly as you nod.
“Use your words f’me, baby,” he encourages sweetly. He gently noses your jawline, kissing the gentle slope of your neck to calm you down as you get used to the stretch.
“Fuck, yes.”
“Good.” His forearms are on either side of your head as he watches your breathing start to even out. “Can I start moving, love?”
“Please, please, yes, please.” You’re so eager when you beg for him, nodding as you look up at him with those pretty eyes of yours. Fuck, it makes his cock twitch in your warm cunt.
Slowly, he begins to shallowly thrust in and out of you so that you can get used to his sheer weight and size faster. His eyes snap open to look at your face and his cock twitches again, drawing a low groan from him.
Your eyes are rolled back, drool mixing with tears as they drip down the corners of your lips. A layer of sweat thinly blankets your body with a glistening glow, nipples pert and chest heaving up and down from exerting your energy to be able to fit all of him in like a champ. Naturally it only means that you’re due for a reward.
“Such a good li’l darling for me,” he praises you softly in your ear. The palms of his hands slide to the back of your thighs to push your knees to your chest. Carefully manicured fingernails burn half-crescent marks into the plush flesh, calves resting snug on his shoulders. He's deeper now, he can feel it in the way his tip is kissing the roof of your cervix with every shallow thrust.
“S-So big, too– too big! So . . so deep, c-can’t anymore, John!” You’re so cute like this, when you’re reduced to nothing but a mess of babbling incoherencies. You keep telling him that it’s too much and that you can’t take it any more but the pulsating flutter of your walls say otherwise. Slowly, he starts to build up the speed of his thrusts, easing into it before he keeps at a steady pace. “J-John, John, John!”
Your pert nipples bounce with every sharp thrust, his grunts heavy and quiet as he bites down on his bottom lip. A dull burn settles in the pit of his stomach, the muscles in his thighs aching and burning as he drinks in the sight of you being fucked dumb like this. You ceaselessly chant his name, head thrown back in ecstasy, fingers digging into the bed sheets and white-knuckling them. Your gummy walls are so warm and tight around him, practically sucking him back every time his hips withdraw.
It’s a pace that melts his brain as he finally loses himself in the pleasure of your body. you respond so perfectly to him; you’re so pliant, so obedient. There is truly not a better sight than watching your cunt take him to the hilt. His eyes zero in on the way his cock disappears into your heat so effortlessly. He's intoxicated with the amount of slick that coats his erection and his thighs, some of it even getting caught in the bristles of the rich, onyx hair trailing along his navel.
“Did you know? It always makes me feel such vulgar things when you call me ‘Master Price,” he growls, mindlessly ploughing into you with reckless abandon. You feel too good around him. It's intoxicating. You’re intoxicating. “Every time, it ignites something inside of me that I can never ignore.”
“M-Mas– Master Price!” you scream helplessly before your words dissolve into mindless babbles.
This time, he has no reason to hold back. a dark shadow casts over his topaz eyes and he stills inside of you. With his steady grip on your body, he picks you up and flips you over onto your stomach. As soon as he’s sure that your cheek is flat against the pillow and your neck is supported properly, he completely lets himself go and piston his hips against yours with reckless abandon.
He watches as the flesh of your ass jiggles upon impact. The sound of skin slapping fills the room, lewdly amplified with your squeals, mewls and moans. Droplets of sweat drip onto your back and shoulder blades as he growls menacingly. his left hand brings your hips down to meet his, heavy balls slapping noisily against your puffy lips.
“Fuck, fuck!” There's a coil in his abdomen that threatens to snap but he’s eager to make you cum once again. His free hand slides underneath your body to find your neglected bud. The calloused pads of his fingers lightly tap and roll at your clit, pulling more lustful reactions from you as your body twitches underneath him. “So fucking tight, do you have any idea what you fucking do to me? Perfect little cunt, all fucking mine.”
“‘S too much, oh fuck! M-Master Price please please please, m-mercy, have mercy!” You helplessly beg, gasping and sobbing into the pillow with tear-stained cheeks. If anything, it only makes his cock twitch and a dull burning sensation crawl down his spine.
“Fucking a pretty thing like you—fuck!—‘s too good to be true, but your tight cunt is taking it so well.” Vulgarities are freely tumbling from his lips as his body tingles, signalling his own salute to come. He taps and flicks at your clit a little more to encourage you to cum. there’s no way he’s cumming before you do. “So perfect, all made for me, right? Shit, will you cum for me, pretty? Are you close? Make a mess on your master’s cock, go on.”
“‘M gonna cum! Gonna cum, can’t take it, gonna cum, gonna cum!” Your walls flutter and gush around him, tightening and a choked moan leaves his lips. It's a mere shy whisper compared to the sinful cries of his name to the heavens. John finally stills with your hips flush against his pelvis as he finally reaches the peak of his orgasm. His body shudders, a weak whimper of your name breaking through his lips.
His cock throbs and pulses as he finally releases his hot load, spurting ropes upon ropes and painting your insides a milky white. He pants heavily above you as he stills, body burning with ache after exerting far more energy than he thought. He makes sure to be careful not to touch any of your more sensitive parts as he gently turns you over while your bodies are still joined together.
“W-Welcome—hic!—welcome home, M-Master Price . . .” Your glassy doe eyes blink up at him. Crystal tears are caught in your eyelashes so beautifully like dewdrops after rain.
“Home,” he breathlessly exhales, swallowing thickly with a soft smile. His hand reaches up to caress your cheek before he leans down to kiss you. It's short and sweet but it lingers even when he pulls away, whispering softly against your lips, “I’m home, my love.”
The first time John saw you, he knew that he had met his match. Finally you’re home with him in your arms. No longer will you need to worry about such material things like money or rent. He will take care of you for the rest of your lives together and he will make sure no harm ever comes your way. Not even a graze or a scratch will befall you for he has laid his claim on you. For you are his, as he is yours.
