cw: dubcon/noncon ź° šą§ ź± mw4 captain price ( 18+ )
šohn šrice returning home to see you after an unforgiving year of no contactāentirely from his end. Youāve tried to move on, to make sense of his sudden abandonment and the colossal hole heād left so carelessly in your life. Your calls went unanswered, messages left on delivered.
But one fateful night, John finally returns, picking the lock on your front door with ease, catching your startled self from nearly tripping over in the dark, attempting to scuttle away from the suspected burglar. Youāre frantic, flailing in his arms like a prey animal fighting for life. Perhaps itād be cute if John had more time, but as of right now, he doesnāt care for your melodramatic nonsenseāheās here for one reason only. And so, he forces you up against the wall, his hips pressing forward into yours. His touch is rougher than ever, but you know itās him. The thick scent of cigar smoke, the feel of his muscular torso, his laboured breathing.
Youād condemn him for leaving you, but youāre stopped before a single word leaves your lips. John doesnāt ask if you want the kiss he forces onto your mouth, and he doesnāt care that heās bruising you while he drags you into your bedroom with desperate hands, tracing over your body as if they still hold any claim over it. He doesnāt worry about your protests or how deeply your nails claw at his skin, trying to pry him off with angry discombobulated words.
Heās exasperatedācanāt you just be happy to see him? He backs you up against your bedroom door, holding you still with a horrifying amount of strength. Youāre unable to fight him off. His lips brush against your ear, and he mutters without an ounce of hesitation, āYouāre gonna let me have this, lovie, alright? Stop fighting me. Iām trying to be nice.ā
Even despite your dread, you donāt concede at his words, continuing to sputter out pleas that pass right through his head without a second thought. Heās got only one thing on his mindāthe feel of you wrapped around himāand he doesnāt plan on leaving until heās satiated. Youāve been on repeat in his brain since Laswell deemed coming home safe enough, and not indulging in you is simply not an option.
John finally throws you down onto your bedsheets with a grunt, his big sinewy body clambering over you, caging you beneath him indefinitely, his face hovering above yours. His lips curl, and unceremoniously, he warns you, āIāll strap you to the fuckinā headboard and fuck whatever hole I want if you keep fighting me, love. I came back for you, didnāt I? Just be a good girl. Donāt make me hurt you.ā
