Pairing: John Price x Reader
♡You reunite with the one that got away before your wedding.♡
AKA - John fucks you before you’re supposed to get married.
warnings: cheating ( reader forced into marriage), Cunnilingus, rough p in v sex , somewhat proofread, bad smut SORRY ,
A/N: how the fuck did this get so long this was supposed to be a drabble
♡the picture above does not reflect reader’s appearance, only the aesthetic of the overall story♡
This was supposed to be one of the greatest days of your life. But the butterflies in your stomach were filled with dread. You were a guest to your own wedding, yet the star of the show. Your family played you like a marionette so here you were, soon to marry a monster.
You frowned at your appearance. A Dominican blowout turned your curls into silky, pin-straight hair. As beautiful as it was, a grand occasion called for your natural curls.
Your necklace was decorated with heavy diamonds, and the earrings were just as clunky. A simple unclasping and it was off, but the weight suffocated you.
The silver robe was the simplest article of clothing in your wardrobe. You dared to walk down the aisle in it, instead of the extravagant t gown your fiancé's mother picked out.
The engagement ring was a marquise cut made of 18 karat diamonds. The stones around the band pricked your finger, but beauty was pain, according to the rich.
It was cliche to ponder about the one that got away, but your day dreams were your only refuge to your hellish reality.You begged your mother for an hour of solitude, which she begrudgingly allowed or you would’ve “ thrown a tantrum”.
If you were marrying him, you could have had it your way. You would have donned a rose-gold ballgown, accessorized with a locket gifted to you by your grandmother. No straight hair but curls free, clipped back with a sparkly headpiece. And you sure as hell wouldn't tie the knot in a depressing chapel.
Would he wear a dress uniform or a tuxedo? Would he have wanted a photographer, or a live painter. Would he tell anyone he was married?
But, he made his choice. He answered his nation’s call, time and time again. The ring on your finger was a consequence.
The floorboards creaked behind you. And then in the mirror, some movement.
Your heart dropped to your stomach.
He just stood there, taking in your appearance. You felt small standing across from him, he had that intimidating impact on people. It was hard to tell what he was thinking- but it felt like he was sizing you up, quietly disapproving. Anger flooded your veins at his audacity.
“You need to leave,” you stated firmly.
You curled your hand into a fist. “ You can take your compliments and shove them up your ass.”
You wanted to smack the smirk off of John’s face. You haven't seen him in a long time,but he looked the same. His eyes are a little more tired and his beard has grown out. As pissed as you were, he was still a handsome guy. And John’s smirk made you want to jump his bones.
“What, am I not allowed to pop in and see the blushing bride? Thought Laswell was taking the piss when she said you were actually getting married.” He peered down at your engagement ring.
“ Okay, you saw me, now you can leave.”
John being here is dangerous. All he was doing was standing there and he made your head spin like a compass gone haywire. You were ready to walk down the aisle to another man, but he always made you throw sense out the window.
“ You’re really doing this?”
“ I am.” I don’t have a choice, the words died on your lips.
John wasn’t lying when he said you looked beautiful. Not a hair was out of place, pretty jewelry that shone against your skin. The ring was obnoxious, but pretty. But it didn’t look like you.
There was nothing sexier than you in one of his t-shirts, wearing your bonnet. Your grandmother’s locket was always on your person, no matter what you wore. He loved helping you untangle your curls and was fascinated when hours of maintenance produced the loveliest coils. You wanted to get married near the beach, not a gloomy chapel.
Hell, the fucking robe was more you than all the get-up you had on.
There was no way John was turning a blind eye to you marrying another man– taking his last name and wearing his ring. Your fiancé was a cruel man. John knew about all the monsters that went bump in the night. People that hid their egregious sins with money and pretty faces.
John considered himself a monster, too. But a fool he was not; he wasn’t losing you again.
“ You say it like it’s easy.”
John took a step forward. “Do you want to marry him?”
Your eyes were fixated on the door. If anyone came in, you could say John was your cousin or-
He pushed your hair back, tracing your collarbone with a calloused finger, then up to your neck. Just as he suspected, your pulse fluttered under his touch.
“ You know the answer to that.”
“I need you to say it, gorgeous.”
You thought your eyes did the talking for you, but John wanted you to admit it. You still loved him, but he had no right. He was the one that left.
“ I know you’re angry with me. And you have every right to be. I’ll fuck the frustration out of you, love. I need to hear you say it.”
You were shifting as you stood, trying to quell the ache between your thighs. You were an idiot to think you could ever forget him– not when his touch was so deeply imprinted into your memory. He smelled like cedar, a scent you once found comfort in. It made your stomach twist, but not in fear.
The price of honesty was deadly. But you did ask for an hour alone. And it had only been 15 minutes.
“ I don’t want to marry him.”
You tasted just like he remembered. He blew air into your clit, inducing you to wrap your legs around his head. His lips were at home, kissing your pretty thighs; he flicked his tongue, moaning into your cunt.
Pinning you to the vanity he sat you on, the casual show of strength making your head dizzy. He drew a figure eight into your pussy with his tongue , and then another one, and another one.He allowed you to grab his hair, but he didn’t want you controlling his face.
John wanted you soaked on his tongue before he even bothered touching your clit.
More slick leaked out of your cunt when he blew on your clit more; it was muscle memory how you reacted to his touch.
“ John,” you whispered, “ Keep doing that please.”
He heeded your command, then pressed a gentle kiss to your clit. John’s beard tickled your thighs as he flattened his tongue and licked from side to side. With every swipe of his tongue , any inclination to stop left your mind.His knees ached and his lungs burned for oxygen, but he wasn’t stopping until his face was soaked.
You had to be mindful of potentially sweating out your makeup and blowout, but a man like him made you lose any sense. You still tried to keep your moans low, but he made that an impossible task.
A jolt of pleasure shot through your veins when he began reading your clit with the tip of his tongue,Your body was a traitor for submitting to him so quickly. Getting on his knees and eating you out was a property apology.
You bit your lip, reminding yourself you had to keep quiet, until John pushed a thick finger into your pussy.
He pulled back and grinned. “ Keep it down, yeah?. I’m tryin’ to apologize so you have to keep it down for me.”
“ Need’ to stretch you out for my cock.”
The stretch had you slipping off the vanity. He attached your lips to your clit and sucked hard, while simultaneously pumping his finger in and out of your cunt. One finger and your brain was scrambled.
“Taste so fucking good,” John mumbled. “All for me.” It was damning how he forgot how easy it was to get drunk on your pussy. Swallowing every drop of you in between using your clit like a pacifier was the best part.
Your heart was jackhammering in your chest. “m’ close.. please.. please”.”
John curled his fingers and the coil at the base of your spine sprung free. Bitting your hand, you trembled, squirting on his face as he continued to hit your g-spot. John eagerly lapped up all you gave him, not stopping until you tapped out.
You pulled his face away from your pussy. He licked his finger clean– admiring how fucked out you were.Your eyes glanced towards the door. If anyone came in, you were dead. There was no doubt you sweated your makeup off. The sweat on the back of your neck threatened to revert their curls back to its natural state.
This was supposed to be the greatest day of your life. And maybe it could be.
John gently led you onto the floor and hovered above you. Tugging his pants and boxers down, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “ I miss you, gorgeous,” he whispered. “ Can’t believe I was stupid enough to let you go. He rubs his dick against your messy pussy , holding back a groan. “I want you to walk down the aisle to me, not that rich fuck.”
You huffed, “ Then you should’ve proposed when you had the chance.”
He didn’t flinch at your sharp tone – but something in his eyes cracked.
“I wanted to,” he murmured. “Every damn day.”
Too late, you wanted to say. Yet you weren’t ready to bury your love for him.
“Say you belong to me,” you told him.
John slowly pushed his dick into you. The pain dissolved into a sharp sting.You steadied your breath, inhaling and exhaling in three steady breaths. In for three, out for three. You didn't dare look down to see how much of him was inside you, or wasn't.
Everything in his body burned. John’s arms threatened to give out as he hovered above you. It took all of his self control not to come.
With the steady roll of John’s hips and his constant praise of "Relax for me, gorgeous ”, he finally bottomed out.
God, you could feel him in your stomach he was so fucking big. Your pelvis was flush against his hips, which gave your clit the perfect amount of pressure.
“ Please, John.” you squirmed underneath him. “ I need you to fuck me.”
He slowly pulled out, until just the tip was inside of you. With a slow roll of his hips, he sheathed himself inside you. John kept the slow tempo, gauging your reactions, melting in the warmth of your pussy. You bit down on his shoulder; the cotton was weird on your tongue, but you couldn't risk anyone hearing you.
Lying on the floor did your back no favors, and your hair was for sure fucked up. But every thrust, feeling how perfect he fit inside you– banished any future consequences.
The way you were trying to meet his thrusts told him you wanted him deeper. So he pushed your knees into your chest and sped up, dominating you, just like memory recalled.
His cock kissed your cervix, but not in a way that it hurt you. He knew your body– he knew exactly what angles to hit, how much force he should give you. And he knew you could take all he was giving you.
John wanted to hear how beautiful you sounded when he gave you a proper fucking. Your teeth marking his skin was just as hot.
“ I belong to you gorgeous,” he said with conviction. “I belong inside you.”
“ Takin’ me so well, like a good fucking girl." John released one of your knees and played with your clit. All the sleepless nights because you weren't by side, or waiting for him stateside– he poured that pent up anger into fucking you.
Your orgasm cascaded in waves; him stimulating your clit, his lack of mercy, it was too much. A wave of euphoria swept over you, leaving your head dizzy .You squeezed him for he was worth– you swore you saw stars. John followed suit, pumping copious amounts of cum into your pussy, fucking you through your orgasm.
You didn’t want him to pull out, it was too soon. But the hourglass was out of sand. The look in his eyes was unwavering– that this would not be the last time. John always got his way, even if it took blood, sweat, and tears.
Your jaw hurt from how hard you were biting his shoulder, but you kissed him nonetheless. John’s lips were soft and spicy, a taste so addicting that you didn’t want to pull away. It was a kiss so perfect that you prayed the rest of the world would disappear so you could cherish this moment.
But alas, the world was still here, and you knew what that meant.
As soon as he cleaned you up, he disappeared as swiftly as he arrived. But you don’t regret it. It was the least you could do ; you were forced to marry a monster, one secret kept under lock and key wouldn't kill anyone.
It was so easy for him to pick up and leave– you hated him for it. It wasn’t surprising though. The saying did go: fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me.
All of a sudden, the door flew upon, hitting the wall with a crash. Three of your fiancé’s bodyguards ran into the room and locked the door. One of them said something intelligible into the phone, another ran to the window and closed the curtain. They were all carrying their pistols, locked and loaded.
“ What is going on?,” you asked. You had your robe back on, you didn’t want them seeing you like this.
They didn’t even bother looking at you. You clapped, “ Hello?! What is going on?!”
Silence. Even if they are under your fiance’s orders to be here, it doesn’t give them the right to invade your privacy.
“ Coño, can you not fucking hear me?! What the fuck is going on?!”
One of the bodyguards sighed as his eyes met yours.
as i was editing this I realized how bad this was but YOLO i worked hard on this