it's just that you have the perfect look, exactly the kind of vibe that pornstar!ghost wants in a costar. innocent eyes, perfectly parted lips when you look up at him, your fingers fidgeting with the hem of the baby doll dress the producers put you in, his mouth waters, fingers itching to grip and grope. he wants to eat you alive.
"I'm excited to work with you," you tell him, voice like bells in his head. darkness starts to fuzz his vision, his zipper biting at his hardening cock.
"'m gonna rip you apart." He grunts.
"what?" your lips part wider and ghosts fist clench tight.
cw. mature content, simon riley being a big meanie, choking, rough sex, creampies, throat fucking, nipple play, mentions of breeding, simon being a bit disgusting
𝜗ৎ Simon Riley knew that he was big, big in every possible sense. a huge mass of a man that wore a skull mask to hide his rugged scarred face from the world and it was only natural for people to get intimidated by him. And being in the military on top of it he wasn't exactly shaped to be a gentle soul but he always tried to be very gentle with especially you, to his pretty little dove.
But here he was, pounding mercilessly into your swollen little cunt. His thrusts made the wooden bed frame slam into the wall and he was certain that it will only take a couple more thrusts for it to break completely.
He tore his gaze away from the frame and looked down at his dumbed out girlfriend. His thick tatted arm choking your pretty neck while his hips maintained their ruthless rhythm to let his thick mushroom tip graze on your cervix,
"look at ya lovie, takin' my cock so well"
his other hand moves down to pinch and twist your sensitive nipples while he continues to pound you, your mouth hangs open in a silent scream of pleasure. your eyes blur with tears as you struggled to breathe from his large tatted hand that is clasped around your throat like a collar.
"s-simon c-can't! 's t-too much"
"c'mon swee'heart, ya can take it now be good f'me"
His rugged face broke into a smug smirk as he sped up, his hand abandon your abused nipples and travel down to your swollen puffy nub, pulling on it playfully as your hips buck into him. Your walls clamp down on his fat cock, gripping it like a vice as your orgasm rips through you.He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you
He grunts loudly, his jaw tightening as he bottoms out, his fat tip pushing against your womb as he releases a huge load in you.Still fucking you through your intense orgasm, he collapses onto your chest, breathing heavily. Simon licks the trail of sweat that was running down your neck slowly, whispering into your ear,
"feel my cum inside you, dovie? Hm?"
He slowly releases your throat, feeling your sensitive walls flutter around his still hard cock. He pulls out of you and watches as his hot load leaks through your spent cunt, feeling immensely proud. You watch in confusion as he repositions himself on top of your face,
"s-si? wha-?"
"Shh lovie, jus' be a good girl and open yer mouth"
He puts his knees on either side of your face and lightly settles on your chest making sure not to crush his precious girl. You obeyed, nails digging in his thick trunk like thighs as he grips the base of his cock and lightly slaps it on your lips
Without a warning he forces his thick length down your throat making you gag and choke as he fucks your mouth harder, not slowing down even as you cough and sputter around his thickness. Saliva slobbering everywhere as you take every inch of his fat cock.
"that's it babygirl take it all, yer doing so good"
You sucked hard on him, lips parting wide because of his dick as he groans, bottoming out feeling your throat while holding you down by your hair as he releases and insanely huge amount of his hot load down your throat.
"fuckk, good girl swee'heart! being such a good lil slut f'me"
You gulped down his cum while some dripped down from inbetween your lips, he chuckled and leaned down licking his cum from your pretty face. He let out a breathless chuckle, watching your teary eyes and tired expression.
cw: afab reader x konig, size kink, doggy style, missionary, full nelson, konig is feral here, tummy bulging
HEADCANON: Konig is obsessed with his wife’s and his size difference. And sometimes he goes overboard with it
PAIRING: Konig x reader
something something, husband Konig absolutely obsessed with his smaller than life little wife -- all 5'0 to be exact to his 6'9 frame
Sometimes he still can't believe she's real.
Scheiße sometimes he just can't help but stare at her like she was a daydream. Something conjured out of sheer desperation and too many lonely years. Scared that if he blinked too long, she'll inevitable vanish in a puff of soft sweaters and sweet perfume.
And so verdammt klein (fucking small) that it drives him half-mad.
Sometimes he just watches her do the most mundane things -- brushing her hair, standing on her toes to reach coffee mugs, waddling across the kitchen in his oversized hoodie that swallows her whole after a particularly rough night with him -- and it hits him all over again like a freight train: that's mine.
His wife.
His tiny, soft-spoken, fire-hearted wife who hums when she cooks and curls up like a kitten when she sleeps. The same woman who threw a slipper at his head the first time he tried to pick her up like a princess and carry her to bed. The same woman who now was pressed face down, ass up, drool and pleasured sobs running down her cheeks as he thrusted his girthy shaft deeper into her cushiony and tiny pussy.
Fists tangled in the sheets. Breath hitching in quiet whines and whimpers as Konig drove his hips into hers in renewed and desperate fervor. Not caring if their mattress practically sunk in the center at this point at his merciless thrusting.
Her petite little hole dripping with her previous orgasms and arousal from when Konig buried his face in between her thighs -- coarse and warm mouth sucking on her engorged and swollen clit until she begged for him to stop making her cum. Twitching and quivering. Letting out a soft wanton sigh of relief as Konig finally pulled away.
And from when Konig took her from the front. Hands stretching the backs of her thighs until her legs met her head. Lips brushing her jaw as he whispered praises in broken German.
Absolutely enamored at the sight of his tiny little sweet wife in paralyzing pleasure. Mouth half-open. Lips red and puffy. Perky tits bouncing along as he continued the punishing roll of his hips. Groaning lowly at the feel of his big dick's tip try to punch farther into her womb. Entranced at the sight of his precious mouthy girl's little tummy bulging every time he pushed his cock into her small pussy.
Moaning and growling lowly as he pistoned mercislessly at the feel of her velvety walls cradling his penis like it was reluctant to set him free. So tight and so so perfect.
Konig was Trying. Really trying. Trying so fucking hard to be gentle. But when he had her like this. Impaled on his enormous cock. Whining and whimpering helplessly every time her cunt stretched to accommodate more of him. Konig can't help it.
Konig was done for.
So now here. Where Konig had to take her from behind. He just had to. One hand holding her neck down and the other gripping the doughy meat of her smooth hips. Bare chest heaving, hair mussed, and brows furrowed as he tried to rein it all in for her.
Room dimming since they started this afternoon and now into the night. The homey space awash in the low gold of their bedside lamp. Casting shadows over the sweat-slicked lines of his back and the trembling outline of her spine.
She was so small beneath him. So so small and so achingly soft and warm and his and and and--.
And she took him so well. So fucking well that Konig's hands can't help but change their position. Wanting her closer. Nearer. Deeper to the point that her womb would permanently be rearranged by his cock and his cock alone.
Moving her into careful precision -- never wanting to hurt his sweet little wife -- Konig pulled her arms back. Locking them securely against her body. Tender yet firm. Would rather brand his arm clean and cauterize it than ever hurt her.
Before she could even process what was happening, however, her wrists were pressed firmly against the back of her head, her arms trapped in a powerful grip. Konig's broad chest pressed into her back. Breath hot against her ear as he held her in the full nelson, the vulnerability of the position causing her breath to catch in her throat. Eyes rolling to the back of her head and unable to stifle the scream of absolute pleasure that coursed through her as his shaft was plunged deeper into her cervix.
The drowning and immobilizing feeling making them both gasp and groan lowly. Having to momentarily both pause to take it all in.
Konig's grip was unwavering, forcing her to remain pliable, utterly at his mercy. Legs spread wider and open near her head and astride his shoulders.
Her body now completely controlled by his strength -- every inch of her bound to his hold and speared by his girthy wieghty member. So overwhelmingly full.
But despite the pressure, the way he held her wasn’t entirely forceful. Nein nein. Konig always made sure there was a certain care to the way his hands rested, even if he made sure she couldn’t escape his grip.
"Mein Gott," he groaned, biting his lip to try and smother the soft hitch in his breath after starting a slow and tentative pace. Muttering a soft scheibe as he felt his manhood plunge deeper into her cushiony womb. “You were made for me, weren’t you, Liebling?”
"Oh m-my God! --nghhh--", She gasped -- choked on something between a sob and a whine -- and he stilled briefly. Murmuring soft apologies even as continued the fevered pace of his hips meeting hers. The room echoing nothing more than the soft plat-plat-plats and squelches of her gooey and wet hole meeting her hard and aching balls.
“You’re alright, mein schatz,” he whispered, mouth to her shoulder. “Doing so good for me. Just like always.”
His voice cracked with awe. With something dangerously close to worship. Because for all the filth he could whisper in the dark, at the end of it all, it came down to this -- her trembling in his arms, his name on her tongue, his cock propelling deeper into her like there was still so much space left for her to give him. Hole gaping and messy. Wet, crude, aching, and her heartbeat under his hand.
His wife.
His everything.
"Pretty like this. So -- scheibe -- p-pretty. So stuffed full of me"
Konig is definitely the type to FaceTime you while you’re out with the girls, except he’s shirtless and in low riding grey sweats that do absolutely NOTHING to hide his massive form. Laid out on the bed, pillows pulled tight to him, phone propped up to show himself perfectly laid out, dimly lit room sending shadows everywhere. Having to pretend everything’s alright, like nothing is happening, making sure to leave with a long, desperate massage of his groin, ending the call with a devilish little smirk, knowing it won’t take long. Jumping from your seat, grabbing the coat across the chair, startling the group, loosely explaining “something came up” while heading for the door already.
[Sounds of shoes slipping on dirt and gravel, of branches cracking and something hitting the microphone - all mixed with a string of « oof », « ouch », « ergh » and very imaginative curses]
Gaz : Snail ? You okay ?
Snail, groaning and sputtering : Blergh.
Soap, laughing his ass off : Got a visual of ye the second ye started rollin’ doon the hill, bonnie, beautiful.
Ghost : How’d the ground taste, Sergeant ?
Snail, huffing as she gets back up : Bad, Sir. Like wet dirt and - [She gasps.]
Price : What ? Snail ? What’s wrong ? Are you alright ??
Snail, with a baby voice : Hi Mister Toad !!
Gaz, laughing : Yeah, she’s fine.
[Price simply lets out a heavy, heavy sigh. These idiots are gonna be the death of him.]
i need john knocking up the little sister like i need AIR i need complicated ugly sister relationships and maybe a little vicarious incest through handsome childhood lover proxy i need no one escaping happy i need a haunting that does not know how to end
this ask consumed me body and soul god yea let's take this fic for a spin
cw: infidelity; smut; breeding; hinted baby-trapping; switching povs; ocs are named but not the f!reader; john's a complicated man; ignore the timeline pls lol; more notes at the end! (this got long oopsies)
John could have left.
Sure, there was a flight cancellation because of the sudden heavy rain and high winds that brewed well into the swelling afternoon, suspending his trip until the earliest available date that is still unposted, but he brought his car with him. He could have driven out and crashed somewhere close to the terminal to pass time, and yet he chose to stay.
He chose to stay because it has been years. It has been years and yet you continued to haunt their memories, appearing like an omen out for vengeance. John knows that it is a ridiculous thought—you have loved no one in the way that you have loved your sister; John, in fact, was a witness to your devotion, so he knows that this is an unfounded nagging thought—but he succumbed to the twinge and decided to stay.
Perhaps, his decision is an act of penance. For him to make up for the years that you have lost taking care of such a fragile home while he and Diana clawed their way into a new life. And if it is penance, he prays that he finds closure in his stay.
He is saying goodbye to Diana on the phone when you knock on the door of the spare room that you and Aunt Lily have kindly offered to him, popping your head in with a tilt, before asking, "Jus' wondering if you've eaten yet?"
He has not because he did not expect to stay this long, in the first place. He says this to you with a chuckle, joking, but your face falls like you did not hear the humour in his voice.
"You should've told me earlier," you say, still hovering by the entrance door like you're being physically held back. "I can prepare somethin' for you right now–"
"Kid, i'm fine," John cuts off as gently as he could because he's noted the way that you've curled into yourself, hesitant and tensed, and John realizes that he is an idiot.
You've spent a lifetime walking on eggshells; a lifetime of interpreting the angry lines on your deceased old man's face and tracing the ridges of your mother's spine. You've only ever lived in survival mode, leaving you to be jumpy, and here comes John screwing with you.
Christ. Has it really been that long? He doesn't even know how to talk to you anymore.
The static from his phone snaps him out of his bubbling worries and it gives him an idea. A way out too, really.
"I’m just on the phone with Diana," he says, licking his lips. "Wanna c'mere and say hi?"
Distantly, he recognizes that he's still treating you the way he used to when you were just the quiet kid, awed by his and your sister's rebellion. When you still used to run after them, asking shyly if you could come for a sleepover, unable to see past their lies and so trusting of their honeyed words. He remembers Diana indulging you, turning what was supposed to be an escape into a babysitting bore, snuffing her chance of way out again.
John used to resent you for it—you were Diana's burden, her cross—but as he watches you now, creeping close, dropping beside him to hesitantly call out your sister's name and shooting an awkward glance up at John like you couldn't fathom why he even offered, the guilt presses on his ribs. You were just a kid trying to find solace too. Trying to find a balm to the tender wounds.
He stays still, watches as your walls fall just a bit while you talk to Diana, your eyes ducking away to meet his every now and then. You're not as tensed but you're not relaxed at all, wound up tight, and John's head rears, overprotectiveness budding in the tender chaos of his ribs.
You're pressed so close, smelling so faintly of pomegranates and some lotion. It was a disservice to treat you with kiddy gloves and John—
He sees you, for the first time.
You are soft-spoken, shy, and tender. You are everything that Diana isn't. Where there is fire in her eyes and courage in her voice, where confidence ripples from her in cosmic waves, you hunch in on yourself, swallowing your own words to make room for others. It is an odd sight altogether—you look so much like her but the two of you seem to exist in different realities, and he fumbles, stumbling, before finally filling up the vast space with his chatter.
He talks about Diana, watches the way you and Aunt Lily soak up every word like you have been starved of everything Diana. Perhaps you were—John didn't really care what she wanted to do about her past, so focused on shaping their future together.
There were times, yes, when they'll reminisce, your name interwoven in those memories, but John made sure to silence them, filling Diana up with everything that they are and have now to remind her that she got out. That she's fine. That John is here to stay.
And the way his wife looks at him every time John comforts her is addicting. It is like John was allowed to hold onto her beating heart because she trusted no one else but him. That in the grand scheme of things, he was the only one she could lean on. It gave John a purpose, burning within him a fire that he took good care of cultivating. He fostered such a deep connection with Diana that everything John is comes back to her. And Diana, she loves him with the same reverence. She looks upon him like he was the one to light up her life, the one who made miracles and saved her. The one who whisked her away. The one who gave the princess her happy ending.
Amidst his tales, John notices the way your looks lingered, dragging from his face to his gesturing hands, and down to his lap. You are studying him, consuming him with enraptured curiosity. And John—
He feels tickled by the attention.
The rain rages on, dousing the streets with a budding flood. You flutter between Aunt Lily and John, caring for them in the same magnitudes, calling their names with the same quiet hum. He truly feels like he is imposing but you wave him off, asking him to allow you to take care of them.
It is a change that he isn't quite used to.
Back home, he is the one who works the house. The one who cooks, the one who dials a cleaner, the one who does the laundry. Diana is focused on her work, with her passion dripping from her fingertips, and John gave her the space she needed to bloom. He adores being the one to provide for her, the one who fosters her security. He loves that Diana’s found a comfort in him. He loves nothing more, but John watches the way you command the house in tender thrum, so maternal in the way you see into his every needs, and he feels a stirring in his belly.
A sort of unforgiving thing—still unnamed because John will be damned if he recognizes it for what it is—but it drums, slowly frying his veins and consuming him from within.
Countless times have you caught him staring at you, studying the way you worked and the way you spoke. He's noted the way your eyes always ducked away from his, so meek and careful, putting a distance between the two of you. It is an endearing thing altogether, how you're so conscious of him. So hyperaware of what he does and what he says, gulping down the inch that he offers with such veneration that it threatens to choke him whole.
John should've left then. He should've taken the car and braved the rain because that would've been a whole lot better than letting you misconstrue what you feel about him, your sister's husband. He should've been the one to take the step into the proper direction. He should've been the bigger person.
He didn't.
It just sort of happened.
One minute you're avoiding him, and the next you're pressed so close that all John could smell is the soft waft of your body wash. It's still pomegranates and it is so tantalizing that he finds himself leaning close, tugged into your quiet lull.
He doesn't even realize that he's crossed boundaries, that you're shoulder-to-shoulder, thigh-to-thigh, warmth reverberating from your skin to his and back. It is your aborted gasp that yanked him back into reality and John scrambles, trying to put space in between again, murmuring apologies, only—
"John?" His name spills from your lips like it is made of milk, delicate and rich, and he feels the stirring return full-force. It feels like a choking type of greed. An animalistic type of hunger.
John looks at you—he really looks at you—and he tries to find the kid that they left behind; the kid who followed them with a sort of naivety that used to piss him off for days, but that kid's gone. In her place is you, all grown up. All beautiful. All soft and broken and in need of protection. All curling voice and hesitant touches and a mature love.
You are nothing like that kid anymore. Hell, you are nothing like your sister, and something about this pushes John.
The kiss is searing. It is all teeth and tongue and desperate hands pawing at each other. It is your body wash filling his lungs and John's voice purring into your maw, his big hands gripping the fat of your ass, squeezing, pulling you ever closer.
It is your hiccupping breaths, the way his name keeps spilling from your tongue like he is all that you revere, and John is a simple man, he is a needy man, and the way that you worship him fills him up. It erases his conscience, plugs up his guilt. It strokes the thrill-seeking cavern yowling within him, heightening the hunger, bloating the sin.
He tears your clothes off your body, squeezes himself between your legs, and spits on your slit to finger you. He doesn't look away from your leaking cunt, in awe of the mess it is—unkempt bush, weeping slit, puffy clit. It is a pocket of delight. A gift for his stay.
He fingers you until you're spilling, cream coating up to his palm. The ambrosia shocks him, fuels him with such visceral need, and John pushes himself in, in, in. Fucks himself snug in your cunt, buries his cock until he is pressing on the pucker of your cervix.
He doesn't even want to pull out, the thought alone vexes him—you feel so perfect around him, like you were made for his prick. Like this is where he's always belonged, wrapped in the tender loving warmth of your cunt, feeling you spasming around his girth, pussy doing its very best to swallow all of him.
You mewl below him and John finally looks up, tearing his eyes from the prize that your cunt is to meet your gaze, and oh, the look in your eyes is enough to shock him into orgasm. He spills without having even fucked you properly, shooting into the rubber with a groan.
He's heaving when he pulls out, satiated, and the warmth takes a second to wrap around him before the guilt shatters the euphoria.
What has he fucking done?
"John, please!" You cry, running after him. "John, please let's talk about this!"
He turns, angry—at himself, at you, at this goddamn weather—vitriol rising on the back of his throat but one look at you and just.
How is it that he gets one look at you and his anger dies down?
You look like a mess, all tears and your heartbreak etched on your face. You look like you've been snuffed out of anything that brought you joy, like there is nothing else to hold you up. You look so small in your agony, and John settles.
He stares at his wife's little sister, stares at this cowering woman he embraced just hours ago, and John feels the itch of his guilt thrum. the burden of his sin is bearing down on him but as John looks at you, in dire need of a direction in your life, he makes a decision.
He follows you back to your home.
The mistake doesn't happen again—John's made sure to leave any room you entered before you could even settle. It is a direct buffer, a consequence of your mistake, and you know that John is doing this because he feels something for you too, surely he does, but seeing his sudden detachment, the way he forced himself back into his cocoon, you wonder if it would have been better if John just left.
The storm's settling, soon there will be nothing to tether John in this place. Diana wouldn't come back, she's made that clear, especially now that she's pregnant too, and when John leaves, that will be it. The memory will just live on, cherished by your fragile heart and surely beaten out of John's conscience.
You know that after what happened, John would make a concerted effort to make your sister even happier than she already is, using his misgivings as a catalyst for a total change. You know that in his reformed future, you will have no place to claim for yourself. John will push you away out of his guilt, and you know it. And you tell yourself that you don't care—you've wronged your sister, who are you to demand John any more than what he's allowing now?—but, god, do you want him.
When he stuffed you full that night, carving out a space to make himself fit, you finally understood why your sister's greed ran deep. John is such a beautiful and perfect man. He is so handy. Dependable. He fucks so good, working your body and coaxing out spots of pleasure that you never even knew existed. You felt like a virgin under him, shaking with the weight of your desires and manhandled into a blinding orgasm.
How lucky of Diana to have this sex every chance she gets. How lucky of her that this is the man who fucked her pregnant. How lucky that she gets to live this reality that John had blessed you with a glimpse of. How lucky of her.
But why is it always her?
She got to leave. She got to live. She got to get the best man out there. She got to make a reality out of your daydreams.
Why her? What is it about her that warrants such blessings? Why couldn't you even have scraps? Why couldn't you even have the man she didn't want for so long?
These thoughts barrage you, replacing the fulfillment of your debauchery with a riptide of jealousy, tearing apart the facade that you held onto with pale-knuckled fists. You hated your mother for being a shell of who she was, but look where you are right now.
Just—all you want is John. You didn't need the house with a picket fence or to move to the city, far from here. You didn't need the gallery, the city friends, the city life. All you really needed, all you ever wanted, is John.
Is that too much to ask?
"We can't do this again, kid," John says and he sounds broken himself. He doesn't look like the bright boy that he once was or that ragged man who was brimming with such happiness that all you wanted was to lick it from his fingertips.
He's looking at you with such a warped concern, like he is seeing beyond you. Like he isn't really here, but trapped somewhere else you couldn't really follow.
"No, John, please," you whimper. It seemed like this is all you could say ever since he came back. "I just want you, please, John? I just want some pieces of Diana's life—you don't even have to love me. You don't even have to choose between the two of us, I'm not asking you to, John. Just- just fuck me, please?"
John stares at you for a while, studying you like he is battling with himself, then he nods, tentative, before pulling you to his lap. You expected a kiss, heated like it had been before, but John just looks at you, rubbing his palms on the expanse of your back in a quiet comfort and this gentleness breaks you even more.
The lies that you just said fizzle out because of course you want him to love you. You want him to choose you. You want him to leave your sister for you and to see you beyond the ruins of your childhoods. You even want him to be the bridge between your sister's sparkling life and your own dull one. But this is all he could give you, and who are you to even dare to ask for more?
John holds you for a while, letting you blink your tears on his clavicle, hugging you close like this is how it should've been.
He fucks you that night, huddled in your room, far from your mother's locked door. He settles between your legs again, dragging his lips from your shin to the inside of your thigh, his eyes persistently on you with every kiss.
"Don't look," you rasp out, covering your chest with your arms. John tugs them away with a soft shh.
"Show me," he says and he sounds so drunk off of you. "Wanna see you, kid."
The pet name makes you whine because he says it differently this time. He says it like it is a secret, curling in the same way that you remembered his voice sounded like when he called Diana's name. And now, after these long years, you are the recipient of the same softness. It fills you up, like even your lungs are stuffed with the churning hunger, and you buck in his hand, weeping at his tenderness.
John doesn't wear a rubber this time, and you sing at the bruising pleasure.
Everything feels more intense than that first night. You are overwhelmed by the crushing hunger, your appetite matched by his ravenous desires, and John isn't even rushing through it this time. He takes you apart and savours every piece, dragging you at the precipice of your undoing. You feel vindicated with every kiss, gasping out his name and hearing him return the worship with a rumble of your own, and like this, like this, John belongs to you even for a moment.
He cums inside and it is almost a religious experience. You do not feel it in your cunt, but you hear him groan like a wounded animal, his grip on you tightening, his hips pistoning without a break, skin slapping against skin, until you are reduced to your pleasure, your veins singing atop each other, howling at John's peaking euphoria. Then, his release.
"Fuck, kid," John rasps out before he smothers the rest of what he wanted to say on your skin. You hum through it out, blinking dazedly through the bliss, floaty in your own mind, your body humming an overture.
John sits you on his face and licks you until you spill on his tongue.
Curled up in his arms, you tell him how you can't even fathom how he knew what he did to your body.
"Is that why Di finally dated you?" You ask with a giggle, teasing. Maybe a sharp mean, trying to test where you stand.
John's lips pinch just for a moment before he's pulling you to lay on top of him again. You protest, telling him that you're heavy, but he silences you with a kiss and his capable fingers teasing along your cum-dripping pussy again.
"The sun's finally out, sonny," your mother says after John sits beside her. "When will you be returning to my dear Diana? Can't keep her waiting for too long, especially now that she's pregnant."
John doesn't falter, telling her that he'll return soon with a promise that he won't leave your sister this long ever again. He laughs with your mom, falling into the ease of a conversation, and your body locks up at the reminder of a borrowed time, of a borrowed love.
You don't meet John's gaze any more after that, trying to blend into their normalcy as your mother asks about you—when will you find someone to settle with? To make a life with? Have children with?
From the corner of your eyes, John jolts at her words. You pretend that it didn't make your heart flutter—seeing John react vehemently against the idea of you finding someone else that isn't him.
"Pregnant, huh?" John says, his cock still stuffed in you. "Would y'want that, kid?"
You can't answer, still too caught up in trying to catch your breath. How John managed to make you squirt is beyond you but your body is overwhelmed, your mind ragged at all the clashing sensation, your synapses buzzing with the unexpected cataclysm.
John laughs at your struggle. "Cute," he croons.
You garble something, still out of it, only feeling the remnants of your spasming bliss. John hums, busying himself, talking about something again, but what pierces through your bubble is the way he cups your stomach, his thumb just underneath your belly button.
"Imagine it, kid. You, pregnant, huh?" John sounds drunken when he says this, drawling out his words like he is deep within his mind again.
You're slipping into your exhaustion when you faintly hear him add, "Yeah, you'd look pretty when y'r all full."
Ever since your mother's comment, John's been filling you up every chance he gets. It doesn't matter that it is still bright outside and that your mother is still awake, John whisks you somewhere private and spills his cum in you.
He fucks you like a man possessed, rutting and humping, smothering his moans by biting into the tender stretch of your skin, leaving you to cover up every marks with longer collared sweatshirts and hoodies. You are full every time now. Full from his attention, from his love-making, full from his seed.
Your birth control pills are flushed down the toilet, your Plan B's are dumped in the garbage chute. You know that you should be scared with how John is acting, especially with his flight rebooked already, but his hunger fills you with such fulfillment that you let him rewrite your life because it is a promise, isn't it?
Because if it takes, won't John come back?
John's making a tether for himself in this city so who are you to deny him this? Better yet, why would you want to?
Maybe you and Diana could even raise your kids together. Live a better life than your parents ever did. Especially with john around, you are sure that you and Diana would be taken care of. That the two of you would be loved and adored the way your mother never was.
Surely this is a good ending.
Maybe this is why John even stayed.
John flies back to Diana.
You'll have to buy a pregnancy test in two weeks to check if there is a happy news.
Your mother stares at you, the landline phone gripped in her hand.
"I told her," is all she says.
You expected the house of cards to tumble, for the shock and betrayal and guilt to shred you apart, but all you feel is the churning in your belly. A promise that took root.
"Okay," you tell her. "Maybe this is how we'll get Diana to come home–"
"How could you do this to your own sister?"
"I love John, mum." You lick your lips. "And I've always loved Di too, you know that."
You know that.
oh my god anon i hope i did this justice!!
oki extra notes:
john and his saviour complex. had to save diana, and now when he sees how you're still struggling, he is overtaken by the need to save you too hence the 'john is a complicated man' tag. plus the whole getting over cheating on his pregnant wife with his pregnant wife's sister classifies complexity 4 me! and i gave him a brush of mommy issues :p
also, anon's extra ask made me lol:
i had so much fun writing this so thank you very much anon for pushing me there <3 the other icky themes were not expounded but thats on ME. i shall try to venture further out more!!
oki this note is also getting longer so bye bye! pls lmk what yall thought because i think im running a fever rn
