This idea has been festering in my mind, pls pls, obsessed Coyle rlly wants to get freaky with the reagent, but reagent is virgin and "like the good Christian law abiding man" he is, he decides to sort of force a ring on that finger!! And not sin by having premarital sex and to consumate their wedding..and then honeymoon night!! Ps..crybaby reagent reader..
tags & content: NSFW, rape/non-con, sexual content, rough sex, painful sex, obsession, canon-typical violence, physical assault, a not really official wedding but it gets the point across, blood as lube, loss of virginity, humiliation, reagent reader, afab/female reader
“You startin’ with the waterworks already?” Coyle sneered, his fingers bruising as they crushed you easily against the office desk. Your fingers scrambled uselessly against the charred wood, only serving to squash your ass harder against the cleft in his pants.
You can barely get the air out of your lungs, let alone pleas. Your lips gasp around air, tasting the bitterness of your own tears as they track uncontrollably down your dirtied cheeks. The clatter of the baton being placed beside your head made you flinch, whimpering. His free hand scoops under your jaw, fingers jabbing hard into your wet cheeks.
You felt his rough chuckle vibrate against the side of your head, teeth grazing the shell of your ear as he seemed to drown in your misery.
“Best keep that wailing to a minimum before I decide to fry you from the inside out,” he growled, though as he ground himself against your ass, his confined cock, now hard, told you he didn’t quite mind the tears.
Panic lanced up your throat, his rough fingers easily shoving your pants and panties down to your ankles. A high pitched, weedy sound erupted from your throat.
“Stop, stop, please,” you wailed, clawing at the desk. The acrid scent of smoke and charred flesh filled your lungs.
Coyle cursed, his lip curling into a cunning smirk. “You right, sugar. I almost forgot.”
He leaned over you then, an immovable force pressed over your back. You tried to arch away from him, but the wooden desk only dug uncomfortably into your ribs. When Murkoff fed you the way they did, it was easy to feel them against any hard surface. A hand reached for your wrist, and you squealed, trying to jerk it away from his grasp. You managed to slip away twice before his impatience took over.
His fingers curl tight in your hair, slamming your face into the desk. Numbing pain cracks across your nose, barely even feeling the steady trickle of blood that mixed with your tears. You gasp, body tensing.
“I will make you ride that fuckin’ lightening if you keep squirming,” Coyle spat, releasing your hair with a rough shove before finally catching your wrist. “Weepy sack o’shit.”
You moaned, your struggles weakened by the dizzying sensation in your vision. Just barely, through the blurriness, you watched him work a charred, metal ring onto your finger. It drags uncomfortably against your skin, the metal rough and cold. Coyle doesn’t care about the discomfort, admiring the mockery of a wedding ring sitting wedged on your finger.
“I’m a God fearing man, sweetness. I believe in doing things the right way, the way the Good Book intended,” he mutters, thumb lingering on your knuckle where the wedding ring kisses. “Ain’t right for a man and woman to be together without the blessin’ of the Lord and the State.”
He leans his weight harder into your wrist until you cry out in pain, the bones grinding uncomfortably.
“Ain’t you got something to say, you ungrateful little shit?”
Spots dizzy your vision. Your lips barely form around anything other than a sob. He shakes you roughly.
“I will fuckin’ fry you, girl. Say it.”
“I-I…do?” You sob, nails digging hard into the wood. All you’re rewarded with is an approving grunt from Coyle, muttering something in triumph under his breath. He lifts his weight off you, and you almost sigh in relief. A glob of blood drips from your nose when you lift your head an inch, but you’re stopped dead when his hand lands hard on your ass.
You hear him spit, and a warm glob of saliva lands at the top of your exposed folds. Disgust wracks through your spine. You instinctively try to curl in on yourself, but the crushing realisation that you’re trapped paralyses you.
His thumb catches the wetness and rubs it roughly over your dry cunt. It’s an uncomfortable, vile feeling, making your bottom lip wobble.
“We’re gonna do this proper-like. Have us a real nice honeymoon night.” His lip cracks open into a sadistic grin. “Wanna make sure this marriage is sanctified, every which way.”
“I can’t, I can’t,” you sob, your shoulders shaking as you draw a pathetic wail into your lungs. “Please stop it.”
Coyle kisses his teeth in annoyance, but he doesn’t lash out. You feel his fiery glare pierce the back of your head, before his thumb moves higher up instead. It presses against your ass, but not hard enough to push past the ring of muscle. Your body goes rigid.
“It ain’t right for you to be so ungrateful, wife,” he hisses, barely held back contempt in his voice. “Ain’t right at all.”
“I’m sorry,” you stammer, blinking away tears. They won’t stop coming. “I just, I—”
“Any other man, they’d’a had their way with you by now. Raped you raw and left you for dead,” Coyle harshly cuts you off, his words like a knife to your heart.
You start sputtering, your voice cracking with hysterics. “No, no, please…”
He seems to let the image linger, a horrifying alternative; you’re sure if Leland hadn’t been enticed by your blubbering confession of being a virgin, he would’ve done exactly that. You imagine yourself, a charred, twitching corpse to join the police station’s macabre decorations.
“But it’s our honeymoon, ain’t it?” He chuckles darkly, twisting his fingers in your hair. You shrink away, but he doesn’t yank your head up like last time. He seems to enjoy the way you brace yourself for it instead, anxiously anticipating his actions. His scarred flesh brushes against your cheek, and your nose wrinkles with a shiver. “Why don’t I give you a choice?”
His finger presses harder against the ring of your ass, making you squeak.
“You want me to ruin your cunt?” He growls in a low rumble. “Or this tight little asshole?”
Your eyes widen, gasping for breath. He presses his finger against the ring of muscle, just barely breaching. It’s enough to make you choke on a sob, squirming uncomfortably underneath him.
“My…My!” You sputter, dissolving into a mess. You hiccup on sobs, and Coyle simply scowls.
“Don’t keep me fuckin’ waiting.”
Humiliation burns through your core. “My…” Your bottom lip wobbles, your voice a shaking whimper. “My…pussy…”
Behind his sunglasses, you’re sure his eyes light up with malicious glee. Just the sound of you forcing that mortifying answer from your lips makes him shiver. His hand finally releases your hair, trailing down the side of your neck. It’s plastered with sweat, but he doesn’t care, even when your shoulders instinctively shoot up to your ears.
“Good girl,” he growls, his hand roughly groping your breast. When the position makes it difficult, his fingers dig hard into your shoulder and yank you onto your back. His thumb moves away from your ass, but you can’t even find it in you to relax. “Ain’t that as sweet as apple fuckin’ pie?”
It’s worse like this; your face is a mess, slick with tears and your eyes red raw. Your legs don’t react fast enough to kick, his hands digging into your hips and jerking you closer to the edge of the desk. Your exposed cunt presses against his clothed hard on, legs falling open around his hips.
Your chest heaves in panic. You jerk away when he tears at your shirt, yelping as the material gives way easily. He rumbles something about the way your tits look before he grabbing one again, digging into the soft flesh hard enough to to bruise. He leans down, tongue flicking out to circle a peaked nipple before he draws it into his mouth. He sucks hard, teeth grazing the sensitive bud, before releasing with a crude, wet pop.
His fingers move to your cunt next, the calloused pads of his fingers probing them roughly, smearing a fresh glob of saliva he spits crudely onto the flesh. He finds your clit, your hips twitching in surprise at the way he grinds down hard on the little nub.
You whimper, realising you can’t even hide your face in the desk.
You feel like you’re going to be sick. Reluctant arousal just barely blooms in your belly, but it’s enough to make you shiver with shameful tingles. The revulsion, at yourself and Coyle, hits you hard. Even when you scrunch your eyes shut, you can’t escape the humiliation.
Two fingers suddenly plunge in your cunt.
Your eyes snap open with a ragged, shocked gasp, legs snapping shut around his hips. Coyle cares little for your comfort, his lip twisted into an impatient snarl. Numbly, you realise it was because you’d closed your eyes, trying to retreat into the darkness beneath your eyelids. He pumps them roughly, your head shaking from side to side as you grasp the edge of the desk above you until you white knuckle it.
“It hurts,” you whine, tears blinding your vision again. Coyle doesn’t listen to you, his eyes having shifted focus back to the way his fingers disappear inside your cunt.
“Tighter than a nun,” he whistles.
You clang of his belt ripples through the air. Panic tightens in your chest, your lungs stuttering to a stop. He loosens his pants enough to free himself, and you force your eyes away from the sight of his cock. You swallow down a scared whimper, mouthing pleas you can’t get around your tongue.
You feel the head of his cock through your folds, his hips rutting impatiently through the warmth. It bumps against your clit, making your teary cheeks flame red.
“Ain’t gonna be gentle,” is the only warning he gives before he forces his way into you. The pain is immediate and bright, drawing a horrible scream from your lips before you can even take a breath. It explodes through your core, your lack of arousal and his lack of concern for your pleasure making it feel like he was splitting you open.
“It hurts! It hurts!” You wail, your voice cracking. “Stop it, please! Stop!”
You claw desperately at the desk, trying to find any sort of leverage you can to get away from him. But Coyle is an immovable force, simply pistoning into you with single minded fervour. You’re gasping and sputtering, each hard smack of his hips against yours punching the air from your burning lungs.
“Stop, stop, stop, stop,” you choke out between sobs, hips instinctively bucking and twisting. Something hot and warm trickles down your thighs — through your hazy, panicked mind, you can tell it’s blood.
Shattering his silence, Coyle finally sneers down at you, his lips twisted in annoyance. “Quit your fuckin’ caterwauling, woman.”
He hooks your knees over his elbows effortlessly, even with your frantic, panicked kicking. His cock, slick with your blood, seems to batter your cervix with renowned speed. Your body bounces against the desk, fucking you hard enough to make your vision go white. Your back arches, but it does little to relieve the pressure.
Your mouth goes slack, your sobs whistly.
Coyle takes the opportunity to lean over you, grinding into your abused cunt. His breathing is ragged in your ear, a lustful groan rumbling from his throat that makes you sick. “Fuck, fuck.”
You don’t know when he finishes, your mind blank. You’ve gone numb from the pain, only able to feel his rhythm stutter and stop, your body finally stilling atop the desk.
Your fingers and toes tingle with numbness.
Dazed, you stare at the ceiling. You don’t know how you’ll make it to the shuttle in this state, but all you can think about is that it’s over. The humiliation settles over you, but all you can think about is dragging yourself straight back to that Sleep Room.
You close your eyes for a fleeting moment.
Tears leak steadily from them, your nose wrinkled in quiet, panicked sniffles.
Leland blows out a ragged breath, his lips curving into a satisfied grin. He drops his gaze to your cunt, admiring the wet, sticky mess he’d made of it. He bumps your legs apart, teeth catching his bottom lip in a groan dripping with lust.
“Well, how ‘bout that?” He chuckles, gripping your jaw to capture your lips. The kiss is brief, filthy, rough, but you don’t have any energy to resist the tongue plundering your mouth. When he pulls away, he gives your cheek a rough pat. “Honeymoon ain’t over, sweetheart. I’m fired up already.”
Your voice is a muffled squeak. “What?”
“I let you choose what you wanted fucked first, babygirl,” Coyle chuckled darkly, wiping your tears roughly over your pale, exhausted face. “Now, roll over. Time to give this sweet ass a proper welcome.”
