cw: dubcon/noncon ꒰ 𝜗୧ ꒱ mw4 captain price ( 18+ )
𝓙ohn 𝓟rice returning home to see you after an unforgiving year of no contact—entirely from his end. You’ve tried to move on, to make sense of his sudden abandonment and the colossal hole he’d 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. You’re frantic, flailing in his arms like a prey animal fighting for life. Perhaps it’d be cute if John had more time, but as of right now, he doesn’t care for your melodramatic nonsense—he’s 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 it’s him. The thick scent of cigar smoke, the feel of his muscular torso, his laboured breathing.
It’s him.
You’d condemn him for leaving you, but you’re stopped before a single word leaves your lips. John doesn’t ask if you want the kiss he forces onto your mouth, and he doesn’t care that he’s 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 doesn’t worry about your protests or how deeply your nails claw at his skin, trying to pry him off with angry discombobulated words.
He’s exasperated—can’t you just be happy to see him? He backs you up against your bedroom door, holding you still with a horrifying amount of strength. You’re unable to fight him off. His lips brush against your ear, and he mutters without an ounce of hesitation, “You’re gonna let me have this, lovie, alright? Stop fighting me. I’m trying to be nice.”
Even despite your dread, you don’t concede at his words, continuing to sputter out pleas that pass right through his head without a second thought. He’s got only one thing on his mind—the feel of you wrapped around him—and he doesn’t plan on leaving until he’s satiated. You’ve 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, “I’ll strap you to the fuckin’ headboard and fuck whatever hole I want if you keep fighting me, love. I came back for you, didn’t I? Just be a good girl. Don’t make me hurt you.”
