sick and thinking about line cook!Simon who works in a restaurant because he likes making food and knows that the stomach is the way to anyone’s happiness, and sure maybe the fact that you’re one of the servers there, always giving him a smile when he shows up for his shift, calls you the sweetest bird, helps, keeps him around
the downside is that one of the restaurant owners is an absolute dick, but his wife the other owner is the best boss anyone’s ever had
when you’re suddenly let go by mister jackass, because he wants to show that he’s in charge of this restaurant, and you’re trying to collect your stuff to leave with tears in your eyes, trying not to let your shoulders shake when a huge hand takes hold of you, gentle but firm as Simon turns you to look at him, to tell him what’s going on, and the whole kitchen goes quiet when he asks “where is he?”
John Price x F!Reader, 9.6k count, 18+
summary: this is forever
chapter 2 of bad miracle.
content: ex-wife!reader, possessive behavior, drugged sex, non-consensual somnophilia, breeding kink, forced orgasm, forced impregnation, forced cheating, physical punishment on reader, rape, dead dove: do not eat
banners by @/cafekitsune
John had held you close against him while he snored beside you. You'd tried to slide out from beneath his arm when his breathing had steadied the first time, unable to sleep as you lay beside your ex-husband, feeling his cum dribbling out of you, following older paths down your thighs, but his fingers dug into the plush flesh of your hip, pulled you flush against him. You'd frozen, unsure and then sickened with yourself. Faced with the reality that you were trapped in the bed you used to share, you stare up at the slats of the ceiling, try to count them to force your brain to focus on anything else.
Horror was still icy tendrils in the back of your neck, down your spine, in the center of your chest as your thoughts rabbit through your head as fast as your heart, twisting with your guts. You know what's happened, you were there, but part of you feels different, detached in a way that you're afraid you may never fully recover from. Unable to fully come to terms with the fact that – that John had raped you that John had forced himself in you on you.
Even though it feels like every ounce of hydration in your body's been used up already, you find yourself sobbing. Silent, unable to even make the sounds with how hoarse you feel, but shaking as you gasp and cry. You’re so cold despite the burning heat of John’s overwhelming presence — beside you, around you, inside you.
You can’t even call what you do dozing, because it seems as if the moment you’re about to slip under the heavy blanket of exhausted rest your brain panics, forcing you to relive your night. A horrible, traitorous part of you is willing to blame his TBI, to point at something that isn’t your ex-husband despite the rather glaring willingness on his part, the look in his eyes after he'd made you face him, as if he’d been claiming you.
Every thought becomes a new exercise in self-reflection. You should have set clearer boundaries with him once he'd been dropped off, then he would never have done this. You should have just told him about Neil the moment he’d been brought back, there was no way he'd-
You should have stopped him when he'd touched you so familiarly, should have reminded him that you were divorced.
(Like he'd forgotten.)
You never should have said yes to taking care of him.
It’s too warm.
The waves are lulling you to sleep, though.
He’d put the promise of a trip together off for months but you were okay with it. You were okay with it, even if he’d only suggested it after you’d sighed when a coworker got married, took two weeks off to enjoy hiking through Europe with her new wife. It had seemed like such a lovely time even though your ankles would ache. John dropped the tickets to Hawaii on your lap after he’d come home from a brief deployment, startling you out of your book. Thought it was a joke, before he flashed you that smile and told you not to worry about packing, he'd get you whatever you wanted there. When you had felt like you hadn't seen John in months, works making your time together short. It had been the spark you'd been missing.
You'd been so lonely.
It was so humid but so lovely. Like your skin would never be better in your life, as you laid beneath a beach tent John had rented, new swimsuit beneath a cover, a little embarrassed by the skin it showed. (But John's eyes had darkened when you asked his opinion.) Kids were screeching happily in the waves. You couldn’t wait to have start your family… Well… Soon, you told yourself. It had only been two years. And with John’s work you wanted him to have time, had been told by Pam that it was important your husband be around.
You don’t remember getting on the boat but you must have dozed.
The water was so pretty, clear.
Maybe a touch too warm for you, just got the sun baring down on you.
Too warm.
Your guts hurt.
Seasick?
Hot breath fanning against the sweat on your neck.
It’s with a start that you find yourself staring into John’s blue eyes, brain sluggishly turning over in your skull.
Trying to understand.
He thrust his entire length into you, grunting as he buried himself, pain like a shock as your burning vulva was abused further. Tears welling in your eyes as the full extent of pain rushed through you, what had felt like pain last night twisted without the numbing of the drugs he’d given you. A sob hiccuped out from between your lips as you tried to push yourself away, heels pressing into the sheets for leverage. And he groaned before baring down, hips snapping faster. It was like he was fucking your cervix and each press against it was trying to batter you open.
You can’t stop yourself from crying at the pain, but if John noticed he says nothing, face red with exertion as his hips met yours.
A cry slips out, as his hands slide down your calfs to grab your ankles, to wrap your legs around his waist despite what you might want.
It’s too close.
He’s too hot.
It hurts.
His tongue laps up your tears as he works himself into you faster, harder, groaning into your ear when he pulls away from your face to bury himself against your neck, to pant into the hallow of your throat as his hips snapped faster.
It felt like a horrible joke that you knew he was close by the way his movement stuttered while he was rending you open.
His moan is deep, teeth burying into your throat as he cums inside of you, hot spurts bathing your insides.
It wasn’t fair that he could do this to you, that he could climax while he used you. While you hurt.
He pants atop you, finally loosening his hold on you and letting your legs free, still inside you even though he was softening.
You used to love when he held you afterwards.
You needed to get him off of you, your stomach churning.
“‘s wrong, luv?” His smoky voice is thick with sleep returning to it, like honey tipped over and seeping out of the jar.
You force your breathing even as you turn to look at John, to meet his drowsy, curious gaze despite the way your stomach twists into knots. “I have to pee, John,” the whisper sounds properly embarrassed, as close as you can get as you pray to whatever higher power exists that he'll believe you. Let you go.
John raises his arm, the iron bar keeping you weighed down, and you throw yourself out of the bed the moment you can. Freedom was too inticing. You even swallow down the cry that immediately starts in your throat as your cunt aches at the movement, feet touching the ground and sending a shock through your core. He groans as he settles back into bed but you don’t dare turn back.
Each step sparks the aching flame of pain between your thighs, the further exertion, but you make it to the bathroom, shivering as your bare feet carried you across the cold wood. You hadn't even thought to grab something to cover yourself with. It was such a silly thing to feel ashamed about, you know that, but you can't stop yourself, each new shame another rock piling in your gut.
When you close the door behind you, as softly as you can while every sound seems so painfully heightened to your frayed nerves. Only then can you take a moment, breathe.
Lock the door behind you, as you lean against the smooth wood.
Breathe.
Shuffling to the toilet, you have the sudden realization that your wedding ring was missing. The thin band had been on your finger since the moment you'd said 'I do,' all over again, the small oval ruby you'd chosen specifically when Neil had nervously said he wanted it to be perfect for you. Tears prick your eyes, but the realization that he’d known is barely registered as you sit there. At least that would make what's to come a little easier.
Your exhale is shaky as you brace for what's to come. In. And out.
In. Out.
Good.
You gently wipe, babying the tender flesh despite the sting of pain that follows.
Tacky cum was dried in your pubic hair.
A hiss escapes from between your clenched teeth, soft as you can as you slide your finger through the puffy rim of your entrance. You have to get it out. Even if some of it had been inside of you for hours. Teeth catch your lower lip as you force another inside.
You're desperately trying to dig as much of his cum as you can out, swallowing down the whines building high in your chest as you crook your fingers to reach as far as you can and the scrape of your nails against your tender walls.
You have to get him out of you.
It feels like your teeth are grinding to dust in your mouth, tongue pressed firmly against the roof of your mouth.
Was it lemon juice and aloe vera that you could use? You'd skimmed an article once because you'd been curious when Pam had joked about it in passing. Could always mix up a bit of aloe and lemon juice, should clear ya out, my dear. Was there a lemon in the house? Could you use vinegar?
A heavy rap on the door pulls you out of your spiral of despair as you try to steady your breathing and blink back the tears welling in your eyes.
“Sorry, John, could you repeat that?” You know your voice wavers as you tilt your hips, grimacing at the muck covering your digits, digust filling your belly. It wasn't yours. It wasn't all from you.
(But some of it was.)
“Asked if you were alright,” his response is slow, drawn out as he must be trying to pull apart your words.
A sob is bubbling in your chest but you force yourself to nod, an affirmative hum leaving your lips. “'m fine, sorry for worrying you.”
The latch rattles against the plate, and you can't stop your breath from quickening.
“Luv, why's the door locked?” Despite the light tone you feel yourself shiver at the question, more aware of the chill than you'd been previously.
This time you don’t answer, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.
You have to get him out of you.
The rattling continues only for a moment before a solid blow hits the door and this time you hiss, fear making the back of your neck feel like a frozen gust of wind had blown against it. Another follows, and you force your fingers as deep as you can reach, twist despite the pain, nails catching. A heavier sound is rattling the door and you hear John grunting, could already imagine his determined face, neck straining as he worked to open the door.
You were not a cheater.
There's a deep cracking as the wood near the handle gives away and John stands in the now open doorway, chest heaving and having not even bothered to pull a stitch of clothing on. His eyes darted around the room before they settle on your hands between your thighs, neck reddening as a dark look settled on his face, brows knitting together.
Even caught you try to get more out, even if it’s imaginary at this point.
“I do what you want 'n' this is the thanks I get?” The words are short, clipped, but his indignation is clear.
An unexpected squeak eeks out of you as you’re hauled to your feet, dragged along before being thrown against the basin of the sink. For a moment you don’t understand, brain still caught on what he’d said, trying to make sense of it. Then his hand strikes down against your bare right cheek, crack sounding like a whip through the tiled room.
You shriek, buck against the porcelain as you try to flail free. But a firm hand is on the back of your neck, keeping you bent over, thumb stroking the edge of your jaw. You can feel the brush of his thighs against the backs of yours, feet on either side of you to keep you inh place. Tears are welling as your breath quickens, grasping the edge as tightly as you can before trying to push yourself up.
Another crack as he brings his free hand down onto your left. It's instinctive that you cry out again, the blow sending shocks of stinging pain, and again you struggle to free yourself. But he' keeps you pinned.
”None of that, luv,” John growls down at you, heavy hand sliding up your spine until his thumb gently stroked the edge of your jaw as he takes a firm hold of your neck with his remaining fingers, “ten seems reasonable, won’t even make you count.”
Like it was a kindness.
You grit your teeth, brace for the pain and try to force your mind somewhere else.
You count, in your head, willing the time to pass faster so you focus on your goal of going home.
When the strikes continue, you can’t stop the way you’re breathing doesn’t seem to fill your lungs, quickly beginning to hyperventilate as you try to keep yourself from panting for air and to hold yourself as still as possible at the same time. The edge of counter top is digging painfully into your hips, silent tears streaming down your face as it feels like the bones were being bruised.
Of course he’d meant ten each side.
It feels like an eternity before John finishes.
“I’m sorry, luv,” his rough palm soothed against your burning flesh, thumb rubbing gentle circles against your jaw, making you whine softly as you lay in your tears trying to remember how breathing worked when your lungs weren't on fire.
When you feel the brush of his mustache against the sensitive skin above your shoulder blades, a shiver runs through you. In your ear his breath hitches, hips bucking against your sore ass.
Instantly, you freeze, limbs feeling heavy as lead as you go limp in shock.
“There’s my good girl,” he kisses a trail up your neck, “just needed a little reminder, and that’s alright, luv, we all make mistakes.”
You couldn't even begin to wonder what he meant by that. Mistakes. This had all been a mistake, hadn't it?
John's words lull against your temple, lips grazing against the skin so gently, the tickle of his beard making you shudder with each touch. “Stay just like that, and I’ll fix everything.”
He’s nudging your knees further apart, hand sliding down your neck to the base, where his palm lays firmly across your spine and shoulders like the overly snug collar of a dog. You can feel the tip of his cock nudge against the sore rim of your cunt, inflamed muscle protesting but being unable to reject the thick head.
No.
You don’t even realize the word has left your lips until the gentle push stops entirely.
The air is oppressive as you stare at the faucet, heart rabbiting in your chest as you desperately wish you could swallow the word back, gasping for air as tears begin to well.
A grunt echoes, as your air is forced from your lungs, inner walls burning at the length that had been unceremoniously shoved inside you to the base, stretching you open, ass hot and aching from where his pelvis snapped against it.
“I know, luv, poor girl’s been so lonely without me,” as he eases himself back out before just as suddenly fucking back into you, “but I’ll fix her right up.”
You try to grit your teeth and bear it, to tell yourself you’re going to leave once he’s back asleep. No need to bother packing, just had to get dressed and get out. Once you have your ring and your keys. You just have to get through this.
Just this moment and then you get to leave.
You repeat the thought like a prayer, mind spinning through ideas as he pulls almost all the way out before his hips slap against your sore ass, edge digging into the soft flesh of your belly painfully.
John chants into your hair, weight keeping you pinned down as he fucks into your aching cunt, pain and discomfort tangling into something else as his rough fingers slide against your folds, searching.
A whine ekes out of you as he finds what he's looking for.
Your climax floods you with a special brand of self-loathing, a hatred that you could do nothing as your walls squeeze him.
When he continues to strum your clit, like you hadn’t just spasmed on his cock, you desperately wish there was something you could do to stop him. Anything, because it’s too much. You’re overwhelmed, overfull, overstimulated. He’s fucking you harder into the counter top. Edge biting.
Everything hurts.
“Stop! Please stop, John!” You can hear your begging echo through the room, and he finally listens to you.
It takes you only that instant before you realize your mistake.
“I’m not good enough ‘s that it? I’m not fucking good enough to knock this cunt up anymore? You want that prissy little senior benefits analyst with a limp cock between his legs?” John snarls, hips snapping at a brutal, punishing pace as he fucks into you.
A sob tears free from you but you nod affirmative frantically, ignoring the wet sounds that followed each thrust.
“And you think he’s gonna still want you? After you cheated on him? Whored yourself to your ex-husband? Got yourself knocked up, bent over the sink like a dirty, fuckin' slag?“ The venom in his words stings, only made worse by his fingers tangling in your hair to pull your head back roughly. He jerks your locks cruelly until you open your eyes, trying to grab onto anything to keep yourself grounded.
You don’t recognize the man in the mirror, teeth bared, scars red as he snarls down at you. Thankfully your tears cloud your vision, leaving you only with his words.
“He ever even heard your pussy when it sounds like this, all sloppy and fucked out?” This time he forces you to shake your head, making your teeth clack together in your mouth before you force your molars together. “No, didn’t think so. Shall we make him a little home video so he knows how you like it?”
All you can focus on to tune out the horrible words he’s saying is the way the edge of the basin is digging into your belly. You can already see how the mottled bruises will look in your mind, edge a sharp line, surrounded by a halo of discoloration.
When his other hand comes down on the fat of your ass you’re thrown back into the moment, already tender flesh burning with continued abuse. A shriek echos in the small room, vibrating off the glass door of the bath.
Another shake of your head knocks your unshed tears loose, facing you with the man you'd married once upon a time.
John't teeth are gnashed together as his lips pull back like a snarl, brows furrowed as he glares down at you. His thrusts become quicker, no longer bothering to pull more than an inch out to fuck against your gummy insides. You hate that you immediately know he's close, that you're relieved for that. “Fuck, love you, darlin'.”
Now each slap of his thighs against the sore flesh of your ass has you whimpering
“Say you love me.”
You must have misheard him, your brain must have been scrambled by his force of his shakes.
“Say it.” It’s a plea, tinged in a fevered desperation as John cants his hips faster.
You don’t want to say it. Part of you wanted him to fester in the pit he’d dug himself and dragged you into with him.
Your head lulls when he releases your hair, cool porcelain against your sweaty flesh as you gasp, catching yourself despite how boneless you feel.
”Darlin’.” It’s sloppy, begging, his weight bearing down across your back as his breath tickles the back of your neck, your ear.
John's hand settles on your jaw, heavy where his fingers rest across your throat. The pressure is immediate, force making the bones ache as he thumb presses.
Any attempts to alleviate the stress only has his digits digging further in.
Like he was going to break a molar with his grip.
”Love you!” It’s a sob, pressure instantly released as he bellows into your ear, warm cum deep inside you, like a rot.
You hate the woman staring back at you, the beast slumped bonelessly over her, heaving as he pants hotly. You want to break the mirror so you never have to look into it again.
This time after he’s caught his breath, he soothes his hands down your sides, lips tracing across your spine. Your mind likens it to trying to calm a spooked horse.
You don’t have the energy to fight his touch, still so sure and steady despite the fact that he’d just fucked you to exhaustion. His words are soft as he brings you into the shower’s warm stream. Though you can’t stop yourself from flinching as you try to relax.
As John’s calloused hands smooth over your body, gently scrub as your arms, back, sides, cup your breasts and hold you firm against him when you start.
You focus on your ring and keys, as the cold water sluices down your form, John’s fingers in your hair.
He had the decency to dress you in a shirt of his, smelling so strongly of him you couldn’t help but search your memory to try and determine if this had been the shirt he was wearing last night. With nothing beneath it.
You don’t care that his sweats are cozy, pulling them up your thighs and over your bare skin, before blindly pulling on a shirt that’d been folded neatly into the drawer above it. You don’t bother to grab more than your wallet, knowing you’d left your keys on your jacket and — and slowly swallowing as you realize you don’t know where John is, and if that’s changed.
It was now or never.
You have to get out of this house.
You’re careful with your steps across the hall, into the room you’d been staying in. You must have left it on the bedside table.
But no.
The only thing on the nightstand is a small lamp, you'd chosen for the guest room after you'd decided to change the set up one summer evening during your first year of marriage.
If you were John, where would you put your ring?
He’d always liked to keep things in their logical place, a place for everything and everything in its place. Just like his parents had hammered into him.
Important documents belonged in the home office.
His office.
Stepping over the squeaky stair, feet as light down the steps as you can will yourself in your descent, like that will keep your secret. It feels like your heart is in your throat, your skin tingling as if you'd touched a livewire.
When you reach the landing you almost wonder if this is real, if you'd truly made it down the staircase. It wasn't going to alert him of your intention. Of course you don't let yourself celebrate the victory. One sigh and you move, sliding down the hallway as you tried to listen for any sound. But there was… nothing.
It seemed wrong, a nagging part of your brain couldn't explain why, but that didn't matter.
You could accept that.
You had to.
His office is… spotless, everything in order. All you had to do was get your ring and leave.
The safe was exactly where you remember it.
Punching in the numbers, you hold your breath as turn the handle… and it gives.
The papers are neatly stacked, thin boxes atop. Everything in its place.
There is a ring box shoved into the back corner and your breath catches. Relief rushes over like a flood, and makes you painfully aware of how your everything aches. But there is a fluttering comfort at the reassurance your ring brings.
It's so easy to take the box, the solace practically palatable —
The gold is still freshly polish shined. Diamond still perfectly set on its bed of gold. Cushion cut, the girls at the office had sighed when you showed them.
His grandmother's wedding ring.
"Find what you were looking for, darling?"
It should have made you jump but all you could think of was your ring.
You clench your hands into fists as you stand your ground, fixing him with as hard a look as you can as you square your shoulders, ignoring the shaking of your body. “Give it back, John.”
“Give what back, luv?” His dark voice sends a chill down your spine, the urge to flee briefly flashing warning in your hindbrain.
But you will not be cowed.
Not about this.
“Give me back my ring, John.” You force out, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms.
His steps across the floor echo in the small room. Still you glare.
“I will,” he agreed slowly, leaning so close you swore his lips touched your ear, “when you've earned it.”
All you can hear is the sudden ringing in your ears as you stare up at him.
The ring is so light in your hand, so different than how you remember it at the end, keeping you tied to him as you stared out the kitchen window. Alone. As you twisted it on your finger when you'd hesitantly brought up the topic of children. A baby.
When he cited his work.
Waved you off.
He smooths down your arms before placing his hands on your shoulders. His smile, like he was as explaining something to a person he thought of as an idiot.
Your pulse ticks hot in your forehead.
"Fuck!"
The prongs that held the diamond dig into his cheek with ease, instinct has him release you as he pulls away, both hands coming up to the wound. Staunch it? You don't care.
The hall wall slams into you as you fly out of the room, barely registering that you'd pulled the knob after you. But you swear you could feel his hands reach out, touch the back of his shirt. You don't care. You have to get out.
It's a mad dash to the entry, pulling on your coat with no further care as you shove your feet into John's boots.
He was close.
You didn't need to turn around.
You slam the door behind you, sure you can hear the stream of cursing that flows out of him.
Outside you can breath, despite the cold air immediately chilling the sweat on your brow. You should have had the bastard shovel.
Your steps are shaky, but of course his stupid bloody boots are heavy. Again, the promise of leaving is too strong to allow yourself to care about anything else. You were so close.
Just to the car.
You just had to get to your car and this would be over.
You chilling hands reach for the keys you'd always left in your pocket. You'd go to corner store, clinic, you'd tell N-
("You shouldn't get so comfortable in routine, darling, best to remember to add variety, just in case.")
The clatter of the door being thrown open kickstarts your brain.
You don't even realize you've started running towards the road until you've passed your car, swerving to go around John's truck.
The snow rushes up to meet you, and you shriek at the impact, the weight suddenly weighing you down. Your heart was in your throat as you continued to screech, flail. You can feel his boot begin to slide free and you slam your foot down in your one rational thought, a groan following the connection.
Of course it's John, the part of you that can think knows this to be true, and that makes you struggle hard to free yourself from his hold.
His hand knots itself into your hair as it forces your head down, neck aching and body going slack in an attempt to remedy the strain. Panting through your nose fills your airways with the freezing air that you'd begun to feel stinging the slivers of your bare skin, but you won't let yourself stop breathing.
He continues to snarl down at you, before taking hold of you and physically forcing you onto your back, and when your hands tried to grab at his wrists, you found yourself pinned again. A flash of panic beginning in your brain.
The scar on his temple is red.
The red is high up his neck, through his cheeks, as fog panted through his teeth and nose down at you. There's saliva shining in the light off his teeth, and it takes you a moment to realize he's saying something to you.
When his hands take hold of your shoulders, you can't stop the shriek, your attempt to recoil. He holds you steady, bones grinding beneath your skin as he gives you a firm shake.
"The fuck's gotten into you?" John's face is so close to yours as he snarls, teeth clacking too close to your nose. His teeth turn to a grind when you attempt to pull away from him, when he shakes you again, and your fingers dig into the snow. "This is what you want-"
"No!" You didn't think the hissed word would have any effect on him, if you were being honest. To see him still, eyes darting across your face, as if trying to translate a language he didn't speak.
You noticed this moment for something else, though.
An opening.
John must have realized the same moment you had, because the moment you rear back, preparing to smash his nose with your forehead, he jerks away from you.
You make contact with his chin, hissing pain between your teeth like a cat as you recoil.
Always bullheaded, even in the literal term.
You try to twist, but he’s back the moment the blow landed incorrectly, knee pinning yours to the snow, larger body encompassing you, and your air catches in your lungs.
Part of you had never fully grasped claustrophobia, never eager to enter a cave or too aware of your body to assume you might just be able to squeeze through spaces when they were open. But now your brain understood, some primal part that had laid dormant until this moment.
Panic poured through your veins, heart stuttering out a frantic beat as you… froze, limbs like lead, eyes unable to focus, trying to find something to put your attention on, something to make your stomach stop roiling and heart pounding. There’s a rumble against your throat. Bile is rising to meet it, burning in its ascent. There is only the rush of your blood in your ears.
You thrash, instinctively, your need to be free overwriting all other potential thoughts that could worm their way into your head. Fingers curl in the packed snow, clawing through the freezing cold as your foot finally finds purchase and you push off.
If asked, it felt like time had slowed, your freedom etched into your understanding of the moment. You were going home.
The horrible, wretched thing, however, was that when time slowed, it had the unfortunate consequences of slamming into the present without fanfare.
In an instant.
There's a sound like a gunshot.
You can’t stop the screech that leaves you, desperately trying to jerk your leg free from his grasp and only succeeding in making the barely forgotten pain to flare to life and burn like touching a white hot poker. You couldn’t repeat the flailing struggle that briefly let you escape him, the pain alone was enough to tell you that you couldn't run.
That you were here.
Like fox caught in a bear trap, unable to gnaw its leg off.
Your breaths are shuddering, fragile hope dashed into nothing just like that. Everything simply too much in that moment.
A scream erupted from you at the futility of your attempt, at the pain you were, your anger at yourself.
It seemed as if the snowy landscape swallowed it all down,
There's a rumble, like thunder.
John's hands startle you, taking hold of your arms to turn you how he wants, twisting you onto his lap. The rumbling is louder, against your spine as you finally realize he's speaking to you. There is a rhythm to what's being said, even if you don't understand.
You hate how your breath evens, how his words begin to soothe you as his thick arms hold you firmly.
“We’ve gotta get ya back into the house and check, that, luv, ‘m sorry,” you can feel the heat of his words against your temple, immediately sending tingles as you could feel your sweat hit the cold air.
But of course he was right, and if anyone could help you in this situation, it was John.
Your sob is instinctual as you consent to him carrying you back inside.
Why did you always let him push your boundaries?
“Alright, luv, wiggle yer toes for me.” You glare at him, gritting your teeth as you focus all your rage and pain into the instruction, but John isn’t even looking at your face. His gaze is focused on your foot, gentle in how his large hand easily tilts your ankle, pulling a shriek from you as you continue your attempt at movement.
“C'mon, just wiggle your toes.”
The hot pricking tears of anger slipping free, but you force yourself to try and do as he says. It hurts, you can’t stop the sounds building in you.Part of you worries that you're going to break a tooth as you clench them, trying to force your body to move. Despite this confirmation that the motion is lost on you, you repeat the attempt at movement, swallowing back your sudden wheeze of pain when you try to flex your ankle again. To move your toes.
John tuts, hand like a manacle to stop any further testing, and pulling a whimper from you.
Finally, he looks back up at you, blue eyes unreadable.
A warning bell goes off in your head. You try and blink the tears out of your eyes, fear like a shock down your spine. You open your mouth to beg, to placate, t-
The pull startles you, but John’s arms keep you firmly against him, enveloped by him so suddenly part of you feels dizzy.
“Don’t scare me like that, luv,” his lips press against your temple so gently, urgently, like he was saying a prayer against your skin. "I can fix this."
It was so gentle and loving.
It was suffocating.
Let me go, John.
He's fed you some pills with water that made the world hazy, your stomach churn, but your pains went away. Was that worth it? You accepted them at the offer of relief.
Relief.
But the haze came with the cost of making the world a blur.
I'm sorry, darling, I'm sorry, I'll make it better, luv. Let me make it better. I'm sorry, please, darling.
Thumbs brush away your tears.
Were you crying?
Lips brush against yours but your eyelids are so heavy.
You can’t stop the way you gasp, air forced from your lungs each time John bears down on you, as your mind briefly emerges, rocking you further up the mattress with the force of his thrusts.
Your nails slide along his arms, desperate to dig in and repulse him with the pain. His sweat and yours hamper your attempts. Your grip slips easily and the loss leads you to be speared further.
His mustache tickles your neck and you whine.
Fuck. Fuckin' hell, luv, almost there.
There's a ringing that you try to squirm away from.
Heavy hands clamp on your hips.
A heat envelopes you as your mind drifts back into the depth.
You wanted The Bear Under the Stairs for the shelf. William, and Paddington, and Winnie the Pooh.
Why were the best children's stories all bears?
You were being devoured.
The muffled conversation makes no sense to you. They’re not words you understand, you think dully, trying to find a rhythm in the speech. Some semblance of reality. Everything that had so soothingly become a slurry since the pain was beginning to become sensical again.
"-just set it quick, then you can give 'er the pills-"
Pills?
Your head feels stuffed with feathers, and your mouth is like cotton.
Get out, a remembered thought screams, get out, get out, getout, ge-
There's a man like a nightmare at the foot of the bed. Your blood rushes as you try to sit, to get away. Stop-
Your ankle is straightened with two pops, gloved hands pressing pieces together until finally they join.
Pain burns through your mind like lightning, igniting every receptor in your brain as you find yourself screeching. But his hold doesn't give, the pressure continues as you feel movement inside your skin, the shifting of bone. Arms are wrapped around you, keeping you from thrashing in your newest attempt at escape.
"Shh, shh, shh, darling, it's okay-"
But this wasn't okay, you hurt, something was wrong. Why were you in John's bed?
Another attempt to wrench yourself free is answered by an annoyed growl, the arms tighten. Your leg is pulled again and the cry of pain is high in your throat, thick under your tongue.
You can do nothing but cry, as the men talk above your head.
Pills are offered to you, and you can only shake your head vehemently as you try to force your breathing steady, to take stock of the situation.
And there is a sigh like you are an insolent child, like you were causing a problem.
"I wanna go home, John," the words rattling in your chest.
"You are home," his own response is short and dry, fingers winding in your hair to pull your head back, your mouth falling open to gasp as he forced the colorful handful inside. He grips your jaw with enough pressure you know you can't reject them.
Acrid fragments slide down your esophagus, dry and wretched.
Once you swallow, he prys your mouth open, fingers shoved against your gums, under your tongue, before a glass of water is offered.
This time you guzzle it greedily, desperately needing a reprieve from the taste.
Still it burns in the back of your throat.
They're talking again. But the world was quickly losing color. Your eyelids can no longer stay open.
There's no pain while you sleep.
Just nothingness.
You always loved lazy mornings in, nothing to do on the weekend but be together. And your husband loved your company. His thumb circles your clit and you whine, hips stuttering up to meet the touch. When his lips traced your throat you let yourself moan, eyelids fluttering.
The blue of his eyes was wrong.
Neil?
Pain shocks through you, fireworks bursting behind your eyelids and across your every pore connected with. Spots dance in your vision as you stare up at your ex-husband.
"Don't you dare fucking call me that," the venom is accompanied by another strike, and you cry out, attempting to twist away before a blinding pain burns through you.
His hand tightens on your ankle, pulling until a sob wretches free from your chest.
"Do you hear me?" His snarl is accompanied by more pressure, tears breaking free to stream down your face as you frantically nod.
"I asked if you heard me." Firm and unforgiving, his calloused thumb presses into the bandaged dip.
"Yes! 'm sorry!" You sob for extra measure, happy to show you belly if it would make him stop. "Please, John, I'm sorry!"
After another moment, your soft crying the only sound in the room, he sighs.
"You have to stop making me hurt you, darling, why can't you just let me be good to you?" His thumbs are so gentle as he brushes away your tears. "Please be good for me, luv, you can do that."
This time it wasn't a question but you nod again, as much as his grip will let you. "Yes, John."
He sighs, shoves off the bed, not saying another word as he leaves the room.
Alone, you're paintfully aware of the ache at the end of your leg, how your attempts to move spark pain. A groan leaves you as you try to find a position that's comfortable.
Again you start as weight shifts on the mattress, unsure when you'd dozed off.
The scent of freshly toasted bread has your stomach grumbling, suddenly horribly aware of how hungry you are. Blinking up at him, John raises a brow at you expectantly. You force yourself to sit up against the headboard, groan in your throat at the shift of your ankle as you wipe the sleep from your eyes.
Strawberry jam is smeared across the toast and again your hunger sounds. A smirk briefly flashes on his face, before he raises a slice. There's a moment where you think of saying you can feed yourself, but there's something in his eyes.
“‘m sorry, luv,” John coos, as he slides the slice into your mouth and you chew instinctively, too tired to deny this gentleness from a man you used to love.
His breath hitches as your tongue darts after the sticky jam on the edge of your lip.
You freeze once you realize. The back of your neck tingled.
"'s okay, John," you swallow, mouth opening as his hand remains raised, if only to bring this to a close.
What had been a fleeting moment of relief and little joy, had turned to ash, and you forced yourself to continue chewing. When the dry feeling was too much, part of you was relieved when he offered you a mug of tea. It's a task to finish the tray set before you, but you know you have to clear it.
He's voice is too melodic, your eyelids feel heavy as you reply to his questions. To the best of your ability.
Shame is burning you as John carries you to the toilet, as he helps you while you try not to look at him when he doesn't leave the room. You focus on the broken latch, splintered wood.
He helps you wash your hands, and you don't want to think about the last time you'd been at this sink together. There's a twisting discomfort growing in your core, as at the ease he supports you with.
The world feels a little hazy and you can't snap yourself out of that feeling.
Did you drug me? You'd ask him that, if you could make your mouth work right, to form words instead of the soft sounds you can just barely recognize as yourself.
"Easier if you let me fix things, luv, you'll see." With a puff of laughter, even.
I don’t like you, though your tongue is too thick and heavy in your mouth.
His huff fans his hot breath across your neck, your chest, sending a curious twist in your stomach that makes you whine. It was traitorous how he made you feel. How you felt about him.
Beneath the heavy duvet, you shift to turn away, to burrow deeper, the perfect little cocoon to keep you safe and warm. A heavy hand grasps your hip, keeps you still before ever so gently rolling you to lay flat on your back.
His words are a deep rumble in your blood, like a distant clap of thunder.
Your lids are too heavy.
Dream’s gentle embrace takes you, honey sweet, holds you so lovingly that to wake is disorienting.
Love you, love you, love you.
Panic weaves its cold fingertips through your hair as John’s body keeps you firmly against the mattress, held closely in the crook of your hips, tilted to offer him a perfect little vessel, seed kept firmly inside by his soft cock.
The knee that had been resting gently at the crook of your legs begins to press, separating your knees as he loops your leg up and over his. Your pussy throbs and a hiss slips between your lips as you try to shift your hips to ease the ache. His hardening cock nudging against the swollen rim of your cunt’s opening.
“N-no, John,” you try to plead your case, tears already welling in your eyes because you can’t imagine him fucking you again and it not hurting.
“And ‘m sorry for that, love, I know,” his deep voice rumbles, but he’s still notching his cock against the aching rim of your pussy, “we’ll just use the tip, promise, just to make sure you get a good fresh load in you so we can’t say we missed any opportunity to get you pregnant.”
You can’t help but cinch your eyes shut in a brace for pain as he begins to ease himself back inside of you, accepting that he won’t listen faster than you want to let your brain dwell on. A hiss slips past your lips as his fat cockhead begins to bully its way inside. Back when you’d started dating, when you finally got him in bed, you’d babbled that there was no way he was going to fit and he’d chuckled, obviously puffed up by your comment, before he’d eaten you out, using his beautiful thick fingers to prep you while he made you see stars.
There was none of that reverential preparation this morning, but John’s good on his word, stopping once he’s gotten the whole mushroom head tip of his cock into you, before the tell-tale sound of skin on skin begins.
You try to will your mind onto something else, to sleep.
“Feel so good, please, luv” his breath pants against your ear, cock sliding just an inch further into you before he starts to pull back.
You whine is cut of by his hand, and you to shake your head, to remind him that you ache, that he promised.
And after everything he’d done to you, why had you believed him?
A grunt slips through his fingers as it feels like the air has been pushed out of your lungs. Tears stinging at your eyes as you're forced open again. He's careful not to apply pressure to your nose. You wish he would. You wish he'd at least have given you something.
Between his pants and moans, John tells you how much he loves you. So clear in your mind, the words sear as his thrusts become erratic.
You couldn’t figure out why this blow had been so low, John had thrown your choice out the window the moment he’d done what he’d done, when he kept fucking you even though you’d begged him to stop, when he hadn’t let you go home. A sob was quivering in your chest, each rapid breath accompanied by the horrid realization that this was going to change everything, and you’d really never have an ounce of fondness for him again, betrayal too far, the pressure was too much.
It felt like your heart was breaking.
“You’re hurting me, John,” your entire body was trembling as the words left your lips, tears leaking free. Despite the sweat coating your flesh, you were freezing, chill running violently up and down your spine as you found yourself sobbing.
His hands smooth up your sides, cradle your face as his rough thumbs brush your tears away. John coos soft words into your ear until you can breathe again, held close to his chest.
It’s…nice.
The trimmed hair of his mustache tickles your temple as your breathing steadies, eyelids heavy.
You couldn’t begin to guess when you slipped from consciousness.
The wind is like wail across the house, startling you into wakefullness.
As your heart thunders, John pulls you back to him, instinct causing you to flail, attempt to jerk away, but there is no give. His arms wrap around you to keep you flush against his chest.
He keeps you still as your breathing evens, body relaxing enough only for the exhaustion to crash back down into you like a wave.
It was a relief to wake up, safely held. For the first time in a long time, you didn't feel stressed, still tired (despite getting the appropriate amount of sleep), or even with an already strong drive to not do anything today that might take more than the minimum effort required.
Of course it only lasts the moments your brain takes to wake up, to note the arm across your ribs and the scar stretched over the span of forearm. For discomfort to begin to knot coils low in your belly.
Your attempt to shift is rewarded, but the confusion that follows leaves you half-turned, hand splaying under your breast.
John groans in his throat behind you, lax hold remaining as you listen to the telltale signs of him waking up.
It's a strange feeling, to not have your heart hammering in your chest.
When he asks if you're up, you do nothing to hide the fact, murming an affirmative.
"'ll get breakfast started then, eh, luv?" The words are still tinged with sleep, as you push yourself up to sit, blinking your own sleep away as you nod, unsure what else to say.
His lips land on your pulse, and this time it races.
"Meds first, don't worry, didn't forget."
With a little more understanding, you stare at the pills when he returns with a glass of water. Yours, cradled in the palm of his hand with the bottle you'd picked up for him.
If you had to guess, you hadn't missed a day.
John's beard scratches against the tender flesh of your collarbone, hands smoothing down to your hips when you whine. "'s okay, luv, doing so good for me."
Finally, you grasp the headboard, nails briefly dragging across the wood, pulling a hiss from you. You leverage yourself a little higher, so John's hold on your hips as he uses you like an fleshlight doesn't continue to bash the head of his cock into your cervix every time he pulls you down it.
The first time John had done this to you in bed, you'd moaned yourself hoarse. Always thought yourself a bit too thick for any guy to be able to do that to you. This time it was like being fucked past the point of overstimulation. John's beard burns each time it rubs against your neck.
You try to pull yourself higher.
Only to be forced down so hard you lose your grip.
“That's it, love, gimme a ride.” He growls before leaning down to suck your right nipple into his mouth.
Immediately, he’s laving his tongue against the sensitive flesh, sucking greedily and you can’t help yourself. A moan rips free from your mouth as you grab his head, scratch your fingers against his scalp as you buck your hips against his. His rough thumb slides against your clit in the same instant his upwards thrust rubs against that sweet spot it seemed like only he had ever found in you.
“Oh god, there, John!” Your own voice is ringing in your ears. You’re meeting his movements greedily, knees pressing firmly against his outer thighs, like you’re trying to keep him in place despite the fact that both of you were moving.
“So fucking good for me, luv, taking my cock so good, gonna knock you up," he pants into you throat before his teeth press firmer into your flesh.
The flash of pain is what pushes you over.
You slump against him, orgasm snapping through you so fast you only feel disgusted with yourself. It would be easy to blame your medication, your cycle, anything, but you feel so sickened by yourself, climaxing on John’s cock like it was nothing.
The gnawing need to flee fills your chest, your belly, your bones, but any attempt to rise off John’s lap is squashed by his thick arms wrapped around you and keeping you chest to chest.
"Love you," as his lips begin their climb.
"Love you."
The instantaneity of your response, twists in you, as John's lips find yours.
Restlessness had begun to set in, unable to do much on your feet that might busy you. You return to reading, mind occupied with something other than the confusion of your life. What your life had become, seemingly overnight. Sharing a bed with your ex-husband John. Comfort.
Something is set down on the end table beside your cup of tea, pulling your attention away from the thick novel you’d buried yourself in. John stands, expectantly.
The box is so unassuming, despite the fact that your lungs feel like there's a weight on your chest. Your head feels so light it's like its a balloon is tied to it, keeping you afloat.
"I don't-" your tongue is so heavy, as tears pool, threatening to breach.
"Don't worry, luv," he soothes, "of course, 'll help you."
As if your growing distress was from your ankle — the ankle that had landed you in this position — and your inability to do anything on your own. Not the dread that your dream might be coming true in the form of a nightmare.
When you meet John's eyes, the plea on the tip of your tongue dies.
The door's been repaired, no longer sporting a lock.
You read the instructions together, a smile ticking the edge of John's lip up as he passed you the test. Set a timer.
Your stomach is in your throat.
"One to three minutes, but everything looks right, luv."
You didn't want to be here.
The second line appears.
You don’t fully remember what happens after that. You think you started screaming.
There are multiple people in the house.
Heavy footsteps move through John’s home, but never outside the door of his room, where you’re still in bed. You try and will yourself back to sleep, to control your breathing as you curl up tightly around yourself. You can hear John’s voice, two — no, three others, chatting somewhat idly as they move around. You hadn’t thought this was a rescue but the reality that it wasn’t leaves you feeling exhausted.
You don’t even realize you’ve fallen asleep.
When you wake up again, John’s back in bed with you, pawing gently at your breasts from atop your pajama top. A strange scent is in the air but when he orders you to go back to bed, you don't fight him.
You're able to walk unattended, and what does it say that you asked John to put extra honey in your tea.
The door to the room that had been your office is ajar. Your curiosity gets the best of you, or maybe it’s a nostalgic hope of the cozy home you’d made for yourself when you’d been married, seeing the warm teal walls that had reminded you of your honeymoon in Seville, the lovely built-in bookshelf that had taken your breath away when John had shown you for the first time. A different time to soothe the tumultuous slurry inside of you at your current circumstances.
You nudge the door open further before slipping inside, careful to not make a noise.
Any hopes of comfort die as a chill settles through you.
The walls have been repainted a soft lavender. A beautiful dark wood crib is slotted against the opposite wall of the shelves, already lined with the books you and Neil had made a list of wanting to read to your baby, books that parent bloggers swore by as essential for early childhood development. A rocking chair is settled in the corner like it had always been there. Bile is rising in your throat and you force it back down.
Turning to flee brings you straight into a barrel chest, warm hands steadying you so you don’t lose your footing as he turns you back around, slotting himself behind you like he belongs there. You feel like a marionette with its strings cut and John keeps you grounded, against him, despite your wishes.
“Wanted to make sure the surprise wasn’t ruined beforehand, but it’s just what you wanted, innit?”
You can hear the smile in his voice, as he raises your right hand. And you drop your gaze to watch with a dull curiosity. Anything to look away from the nursery of your dreams.
The ring slid onto your finger is familiar. His grandmother’s. You’d worn it every day of your marriage and given back without a fuss with your divorce. On a lower prong, blood was dried in the crease.
“John, I’m — I’m already married…” but the words are hallow, small even to yourself as he wraps himself around you.
He hums, amusement high as his mustache tickles the sensitive skin on your temples, lips tenderly following. “Of course you are. You’re my wife, and we’re finally gonna start our family, just like you wanted.”
Tears slip free from your eyes as you swallow down your scream.
His heavy hands settle low on your belly, firm but gentle as he nuzzles against the crown of your head. “I know, luv, I know, ‘m sorry it took me so long to realize you were right all along. Now that you’re home we won’t waste any more time. You ‘n’ me ‘n’ baby makes three.”
the latest thought plot has been hybrid AU sister-ish fic to good girl, with Reader being Kyle’s perfect, beloved purebred dog-hybrid. you never want for anything, and your owner is happy to spoil you.
lately he’d been thinking of having a stud breed you, just once, because he can’t get the image of you pregnant out of his mind knows you’ll make a great mother. so he weans you off your birth control, planning to let you have your first heat at home, unencumbered by some dog hounding you, so it’s not a scary experience for you, so you’ll know what a heat’s like without the possibility of getting bred, so he can coach you through it
when business comes up a week and a half before your heat should come, Kyle decides to let Price take care of you, his mutt Soap is your friend, and his purebred Ghost has never shown any interest in any of the girls he’s been around, John doesn’t even think to keep you separate
he’s talking to Kyle on the phone when he hears an unfamiliar sound — a sharp, clear yip — and immediately moves to investigate. he’s already blaming Soap for something (probably shoving his nose where it doesn't belong), trying to reassure him that you're fine, but whoops, no, actually you're in heat, and Ghost’s not only very interested, he’s trying to shove his knot into your swollen folds and also — territorial
the unfamiliar sensation is terrible for you, pressure inside you building as the hot release continues to pool against the mouth of your womb. with John insight you whine, try to wiggle towards him but Ghost growls, pins you down with his weight as his hips continue to rock, fat knot tugging
congrats on the puppies Kyle time to take Ghost to dog court for him to be a father to his children
what if… what if start another divorced!John x Reader, but they’re soon to be divorced and John’s not having that? He left for a mission for Queen and Country and you’d move out, left the emergency credit card he always said you should just use for anything you want, your keys, your ring, and next to everything you’d left is the divorce papers, waiting for his signature
You haven’t blocked his number but you refuse to talk to him about anything except the papers you left him. It’s not much different living on your own, just rent for your flat and it’s… honestly nice? You’re finally making good on your word and catching up with people, taking a yoga class, thinking about adopting a dog maybe… or a cat maybe that seems like less running around outside. You’re going out with friends again, having drinks and not thinking about how you have to drive home to an empty house.
This weekend your friend found a hook up, and you’re thinking… I mean it’d been almost a year, a bitch has needs other than a vibrator. When a man sits next to you at the bar you squash that idea, because he’s too close, his cologne too familiar, you roll your eyes and get up to find another stool . And yes, you do jump when John asks where you think you’re going
remember you got played - kyle garrick x pickpocket!reader
your latest victim is perfect.
content: dark!gaz, forced blowjob with kyle, fear play (that reader doesn't consent to), implied forced 141 x reader
dividers by @/cafekitsune
you chose him because he had that posh look to him, the kind that told you he'd never wanted for anything in his entire life, a mommy and daddy who probably still gave him sending money, who'd help pay for his newest car (even though he didn't need an upgrade) if he just asked. and you didn't pick your guys specifically in retribution but… well, their money always spent a little better.
leaving you a nice warm fuzzy~
finally making your way up to the bar you pick a seat on his left, your good side if you had to pick a favorite, and you can immediately feel his eyes raking up your body. you'd picked your outfit special for tonight, knew how good you looked, and how you'd teased your hair just right. of course he wanted to fuck you. you'd wanna fuck you too if you met in a lounge like this.
"i need whatever's gonna get me drunk quickest," you order from the bartender, clocking the grin that ticks up on his lips as his eyes drop to your tits. as if. well, maybe if you weren't hunting.
that also pulled the pretty man's attention, his beautiful dark eyes studying you. but he waited until your drink had arrived and you'd taken a hearty swallow before he finally address you. "now what's got you drinking paint thinner, darl'," of course the bastard has a smooth voice that would make women swoon. that boy next door concern on his brow.
and you've always had a good imagination. your lies flow like honey from your lips as you detail a work week that would push anyone to drinking bar jungle juice.
and pretty boy — kyle — he's a good listener.
because of course he is.
agrees that you deserve a good drink after the week you've supposedly had.
it's honestly a bit of a disappointment how easy he falls into chatting with you, even closing the distance between you to lean on the bartop as you continued to chat, ignoring the hungry eyes of others.
it did make you preen a little, but, you were only human. there was a delicious triumphant feeling of seeing others want what you had in your claws. what only had eyes for you.
after a couple more drinks, kyle even offering to buy the last, stack of bills flashing as he opens his wallet, you let slip that you'd rented a room nearby.
his eyes never leave your lips, as clear want fills his eyes before a grin spreads across his mouth. "lead the way, darl'."
and you do, because, you had. you'd never bring someone home when your trysts only ended well for you. and it was easier for you to leave someone else to clean up the mess.
"i've never done this before," you murmur as he wraps his arm around your waist, like you were close, and you allow it, smiling warmly at him as you allow yourself to gaze up at him through your lashes.
a pride puffs up his chest, grin playing on his lips.
yeah, you'd picked well.
near the door, you turn up the charm, trailing your fingers up his arm, murmuring how you can't believe how big his hands are, as you trace a finger across the power they hold. "god you're so beautiful," you coo, turning to let him kiss you, the play the shy lounge girl that gives into him. that seemed like the type of fantasy he'd have, you roll your eyes internally.
hook, line, and sinker.
he's a great kisser, the bastard, leading you to the bed, once the door is closed behind you. you always loved a helpful victim, a lamb who'd lead itself to the slaughter. you let yourself be kissed, kiss him back, hands roaming over his body as you drop your purse atop the bed in a perfected placement drop.
it does turn you on how strong his hands are, the flexing of the muscles in his neck when you kiss his jaw.
you let yourself focus on his mouth on yours, your jaw, throat, teeth grazing your shoulder and pulling a real moan. it was only fair that you let yourself enjoy this for a little bit, pretend this is a sexy tryst with an insanely privileged man, whose money you will spend so, so happily.
you let him back you onto the bed, hands gliding up his toned abdomen as you look at him as desirous a person in your situation should be.
you even start to unbutton his slacks before acting as you'd regained some semblance of control, face hot as you sit yourself back. mumbling for him to wait.
"sorry, I-"
"'s alright , darl', whatever you need," as he gives you a modicum of space, body still keeping you where you were, though.
"i have condoms in my purse," you pant out, and you can't miss the spark of something in his eyes — relief. good.
what a perfect sheep you picked.
he rubs circles in your legs with his thumbs as you reach into your bag, rustling through in search before finally grasping the torch you'd gotten special for this job. because he'd been such a good little sport, you flip the switch before you pull it out of your purse—
and blink up at the ceiling in stark confusion.
your attempts to sit up lead nowhere.
before your brain catches up, snarl starting as you try to writhe out from his hold. to get him off of you.
"darl', 's that a stun gun?" his smooth voice is incredulous as he tilts your wrist, making you wince.
"get your fuckings hands off of me!" you snap, attempting to yank your arm out of his grasp.
but it's no use. it's like you weren't even trying. wildly, you try and kick at him, but find your legs pinned almost instantly.
"don't you know how dangerous those can be?" there's an edge in his voice that chills you.
you think about pleading with him, saying someone forced you or something that a guy like him seems like he'd eat up. but there's an edge to his lips, a glint in his gaze that makes you grit your teeth as you hiss up to him. "if you don't get off me, i'll start screaming."
his grin reminds you of the cat that got the canary, sharp teeth bearing down past the feathers and flesh. "well, don't know who they'd believe, darl', a sergeant like me, or i'm sorry, what did you do again? just rob lads trying to have a good time?"
but the words went through one ear and out the other as one rung clear since it had left his lips. sergeant. without thinking you bring your heard back to slam your forehead into his face, bracing for impact as you begin to twist preemptively to free yourself.
his forearm catches the contact, forces you back down as you let out a guttural snarl.
"oh you're a feisty kitty, knew i liked you the moment you sat down," the bastard smashes your lips together as you're still trying to think of something to free yourself.
when you open your mouth to try to bite him, he rears back, grin spread freely. "oh please, darl, i'm not a fiend. won't do nothing you don't want. how does that sound? we just have some fun, and then we go our seperate ways."
and he says it with enough sincerity that it gives you pause.
breathing through your nose, you stare at him before slowly nodding.
"good girl, darl', okay, 'm gonna get off ya, and we'll just have a good time, alright?" his words do nothing as he takes your stun gun when he raises himself off of you, allowing you to stretch and loosen your joints.
you don't think you were obvious in how your goal was the door. you don't think your body language let onto how you were going to move.
but your attempt to roll away and slip out is immediately stopped, thrown back against the mattress as kyle huffs.
this time, both your wrists are held down above your head, as he pins you down under his weight. he tuts down where he's seated atop you. "now, darl', i admit, that made me a little wary of trusting you." there is a sound you've only been on the other side of, that sends jolts down your spine as your body stiffens. and then a soft chuckle. "oh, didn't even need to shock ya. that's good."
he's smiling, the bastard.
before he leans over you to place the stun gun outside of your range, cradles your face with one hand as he runs his thumb over your lips. prompt clear, your lips part.
"think i know how you can earn my trust back. want that, darl'?"
and despite yourself, you nod, suck on his thumb to sweeten the deal.
he lets you have your hands back before he raises himself off of you. and you slide down the bed, to the floor, ignore the siren call of the door as you take the spot between his legs that he creates as he sits on the edge.
you can do this.
"go on, darl'," his voice shouldn't sound so charming.
you'd like to think that the hardness in his slacks is from before. it makes it easier, you supposed.
he lets you unzip his trousers, smiles down at you as you open them and fish his cock out of his boxers. and… you don't think about how it's not fair that his cock is as pretty as he is. this isn't about that. you're not thinking about how he's thick, curved in that way that's sure to make people tremble. pre beading at the slit on his tip.
you look into his eyes as you trail a nail down his length, don't miss the way his smile widens. you smooth your thumb over the head, spreading what he offers, before you give him an appreciative pump.
right.
"all for me?" you purr, and don't miss the way his cock twitches. so what if that pulls a grin from you.
yeah, you could do this.
you lean in to hiss his cockhead, hearing the way he inhales through his teeth as your lips press against it. to sell it, you gaze up through your lashes at him as your tongue peeks out. you don't think about how long it's been, or what brought you here, you focus on the task at hand; suckling on the head of his dick as you lazily pump your hand up his length.
careful of your teeth, you take him further into your mouth, laving your tongue over every bit of flesh that you possibly could, rewarded with a moan as you focus on his pleasure.
you don't know why you forgot about his hands, but it's a surprise when they slide up your neck, fisting a hold in your hair as he tilts your head with his grasp, forcing more of his cock into your mouth, down your throat. you weren't ready for that, attempting to relax your throat when your nails on his thighs do nothing to deter him.
instead he hisses a moan, head thrown back.
there's no way, in your current predicament, to stop him, so you cinch your eyes shut and let him fuck your throat, tonguing at what flesh you can, humming to help him cum faster. if he'd been standing, you could probably finger his ass enough to get him off.
it's a nice thing to imagine as tears well through your closed eyes.
anything to keep your mind at the task, to breath through your nose, to get this over with.
you can feel his cock twitching, humming harder, as you drop one hand from his thigh. his balls are nice an heavy as you cup them, pulling a moan louder than the others, an aborted thrusts of his hips to force himself farther.
you can almost taste your freedom.
instead of you're forced to taste a shot of his cum as he pulls out of your throat, mouth, string painting across face and your closed eyes as you suck in air.
a camera shutter goes off and panting, you do your best to wipe him off your face.
the bastard laughs at you. "c'mon, darl', no need to be dramatic."
snatching your purse, you glare at him. "you got yours, i'm out."
you wish, you'd heard the sounds beyond the door. but you don't. instead coming face-to-face with a man's chest. there's a deep low chuckle from the blonde man, as a mohawk peers over his shoulder.
"ye already started, gaz? well thanks for the greeting, lass, but don't you worry, cap, si, and i'll keep you busy while he gets it back up."
your heart hammers in your throat, as his mitt wraps around your wrist, dragging you back towards the bed. "wait, no-"
"promised you'd pay it off, didn't ya, dovie?" the tower of a man's voice is a rumble that makes your knees shake.
"i — i didn't-"
"aw, luv, no reason to cry," a man with muttonchops smiles at you like you've just said the dumbest thing in the world, pinching your cheek between his thumb and forefinger. "and our gaz already told us you're good for it."
"i'll never do it again." you plead as the door slams after him, tears welling in your eyes.
"good girl," he cooes, before nodding to the bed with his chin. "now get up there. johnny's been a pain all night since gaz texted."
content: cum eating, dacryphilia, overstimulation, piss kink
sighing dreamily as I think about Ghost and Soap running a train on Reader, ending the evening too fucked out that you’re pretty much drunk and overstimulated, thighs quaking
Of course Johnny has to ruin it by planting his face between your legs, lapping at your poor gaping pussy to eat out the cum he and Simon had pumped in. When you try to push him away he just stubbornly stays where he is, and when you try and yank his mohawk to make him stop he’ll start pushing in fingers, ignoring the way you’re crying, honestly probably because you’re crying. Johnny can’t even go again but he wants to so badly so he’s ignoring your begging
Even when you realize you’re not going to come again, frantically telling him you’re going to piss as you try and buck him off, sobbing. He doesn’t have a care in the world as he starts drinking your piss, tonguing your hole and clit before you’re done and a heaving mess on the bed
Simon, who’d been watching his mutt make his poor pretty kitty make a mess, finally asks if Johnny was too mean. And when you nod, covering your face in your hands in shame and embarrassment, Simon tells Johnny to make it up to you, to clean you up better
Johnny x F!Reader, 1.4k, 18+ smut
summary: You're going to let some alpha fuck you because you're broke and just happened to get the call. Thank you for your service.
inspired by @syoddeye's rut kinktober fill
cw: omegaverse, breeding kink, technically dubcon because heat/rut?
banners by @/cafekitsune
The alpha’s scent sends a tingle straight down to your pussy. It was clean and sharp, like pine, but charred at the edges in a way that made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end deliciously. Your pre-heat is finally settling. You'd been able to smell him from the first moment you stepped out of the SUV, totally thrown off by your surroundings.
Like a fox let loose for the hounds to chase.
Of course, you'd been prepared for this, even if it was your first time being called. You'd willingly chosen to sign up for this job after your degree left you in debt past your means, even after graduation, while you worked two jobs.
Still, you don't expect the door to rip itself open as you approach the cabin, spine stiff as an iron rod. A gasp escapes as you freeze. The entire speech you've been coached through leaves your head in an instant as you blink up at him owlishly.
He's big, stocky like a rugby player with a surprisingly straight nose for the energy he exudes. A real alpha, not like the ones you'd messed around with in uni, testing the waters but never taking the plunge, not wanting to be just some omega. Part of you wants to run. But most of you can't help how your heartbeat quickens. How you can feel yourself get wetter.
You don't even know when he'd slung you over his shoulder, trudging back to the cabin like this was the same shit every day. And for all you knew it was.
Once the door's shut, you're set onto your feet and pressed against the hard wood. He grinds against your clothed pussy like a beast, hot breath puffing against your protective collar with an edge of distaste as his hands snake up the skirt of your dress.
An ice rock of unexpected shame forms in the pit of your stomach, and you've never been more embarrassed in your life. You’d assumed you’d been chosen because you were close to your heat, but the lack of approval cut deep.
“Off,” he snarls, and before you can even to offer to remove your panties you feel the pinch of them being pulled and digging into the soft meat of your hips before the fabric tears.
This time you stop yourself from gasping, swallowing it back. You force yourself to lean against the door, bracing against your forearms, doing your best to present like this, deep arch already making your back ache dully. To be the perfect little submissive omega.
His approving rumble of a purr makes you shiver, pressing your cheek against the cool door as you ease back into situation. Or maybe that's your heat finally rearing it's head, as his scent washes over you. Vaguely, you hear the rustling of fabric, but even the thought of the sound leaves your brain as you feel the tip of his cock slide against your slit. Your slick helps the glide of his next thrust. The feeling of his thick cock fucking between your pussylips has you shudder. A soft whine leaves your lips, properly needy as you grind against him.
That earns you a swat, a slight growl of appreciation. "Tha’s right, doe. Ya want it, don’t ya?"
And you nod, face burning at the admission. Of course, you can't turn down the opportunity to peek over your shoulder to get a better look at the guy who's gonna be fucking you.
If you'd run into him at a club, you would have let him take you home. His eyes are the prettiest blue you've ever seen, thick dark lashes framing them, and near feverish with his rut. Thick dark hair shaved into a mohawk, stubble growing on his jaw. Part of you kinda hopes he’ll knock you up. Oh — oh you’re definitely thankful your heat's hitting you but you do not want to entertain that. Still, you can feel slick dribbling out of you, know that your scent flares.
A sharp inhale is your only warning before he tilts his hips, notching the thick head of his cock against the opening of your pussy and burying himself to the base.
The air leaves your lungs in a rush, brain blue screening as you try and fail to comprehend how utterly full you are suddenly. When he begins to thrust without giving you a moment to adjust, pulling nearly all the way out before slamming his hips back into yours like a rutting beast, you can’t help the sound you make. Something guttural, animalistic in response as your body is rocked into the wood.
He wasn’t holding back at all, warm breaths huffing against your neck as he fucked into you. Again, you're trying to tilt your hips but this time it's to get him to thrust against just the right spot. He was good. He had to know he was good, because holy fuck.
You don't even realize the high pitched whining sound that you'd been hearing was coming from you, until another crack of pain on across your ass shocks you back into your body. You'd been too focused on all the places he'd been hitting inside you, as he jackhammers his hips, and your face is burning.
No, you were burning up in general. The delicious heat that licked through you each time he thrust into you entirely made your legs feel weak. The hot breaths panting against the base of your neck, the wispy curls hairs there, sends electricity down your spine. The edge of a tooth presses against your jaw and it startles you so much you come.
And even spasming on his cock, he doesn't stop.
“Johnny," Johnny growls into your ear, thrusts turning urgent, "call me Johnny and tell me to knock yer cunt up.”
You're pretty sure you follow his orders as he keeps fucking you.
You know you beg him for his knot, and that earns you a snarl. Pain rips through your pleasure as you feel the soft skin of your back break. Just below your collar. Your thighs are shaking as you come again.
You're too hot.
Blinking awake groggily, you realize you don't remember making it to the bed last night.
Johnny had fucked you against the door upon your arrival, then on the floor after he caught his breath, cradling you on your side as his knot had kept you close to him. Then he'd seemed to have calmed down enough to come to his senses. He'd gulped down water, pressing his lips against yours to force some into your own mouth, and keeping yourself hydrated hadn't even occurred to you. You hadn't realize how thirsty you were as your heat ebbed slightly, still feeling like you were warm to the touch as you panted against his chest. Then he'd fucked you over the arm of the couch. Which you'd surely ruined after squirting down it. You hadn't even known you could squirt like that.
At the thought of water, you untangle yourself from the human furnace that's wrapped around you. Prying his fingers off your arm as gently as you can before you practically fall out of bed.
You're not too proud to drink out of the bathroom faucet, too relieved by the cool liquid pouring into your mouth to care. Blinking at yourself in the mirror, you twist slowly, trying to get a good view of your back. Your collar was still safely in place, but the skin around the edge was decorated with marks, nips where he'd buried his teeth in you.
Why did that make you so wet?
You don't even notice him in the mirror, before thick arms are wrapped around you and you squeak, jumping but being held firmly in place by the alpha you'd spent the night getting your brains fucked out by.
“Fuck, you smell better than I remember,” his breath tickles your ear as he sniffs at you, rumble in his voice as he begins to rub his stiffening cock against the fat of your ass.
“Better?” You breath the question, spreading your thighs enough that you can grind back against him. While you don't fully understand, you're not about to let the warmth that's sparking in your belly.
“When I picked you months ago,” Johnny breathes between tracking kisses along your jaw, “knew you were it fer me when they gave me yer scent sample. Take this fuckin' thing off, bonnie, lemme bite you 'n' breed you 'n' give you everythin' you want.”
Maybe you are like every omega, pleased to be chosen by a big alpha who can pick you up like you're nothing, fuck you full. What's wrong with that?
You're fingers pull desperately at your collar, trying to work it loose as fast as you can.
thinking about how soap really is like a dog with a bone, always, always, always.
just let him sink his teeth in and he's never letting go. hell, just being the thing that catches his attention has him clenching his jaw, digging his feet in the ground with a refusal to let go.
for all the shit the others give him, he's smart. he knows everything needs a plan.
so he starts small, now that he knows you're out there. he eats the things you eat after you do, savoring the flavors and his cock twitches with interest as he wonders if your mouth still tastes like them. he watches the things you watch like it’s the next mission he’s gotten intel on, when you tell your friend about the episode he notes what you focus on, what you liked, what you thought could have used more work. (and maybe it's a little wrong to clone your phone, to bug your apartment, but he means well, mo ghaol) your words soothe him, almost lull him into his first restful sleep in...in years. a balm he didn't know his soul needed.
he wants to break apart your rib cage and live inside it, to be held close to your heart forever, in a spot just for him.
and maybe he gets a little too excited to meet you. he'd never put you in danger, no. he's drawn the line there and he's not gonna cross that. but he's got to meet you, gotta make sure you see him too, accept him as part of your life.
