prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 4. (read 1, 2, 3)
tags: dubcon; nsfw
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You only realize after the fact that you may have miscalculated in thinking that this could be a one-time thing between the two of you.
After listening to Johnny bitch and moan during the Christmas party about having to take time off work to spend the holidays with his very religious family, you delude yourself into thinking you’ll finally be able to have some peace and quiet around the store. Not literally, of course. Working during the holidays is always a recipe for exhaustion—parents coming in at the last minute to demand toys that have long since sold out, fights breaking out in every other aisle as customers fight for the last palatable set of Christmas ornaments and boxed fruit cake.
You’re not delusional enough to think that work will be a piece of cake, but you are selfishly a little happy that you’ll finally get some time to breathe without Johnny hovering over your shoulder at all hours of your shift. Seasonal shoppers are as exhausting as always, but you get to sit alone in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in the morning right before your shift without someone staring at you or breathing into your personal bubble.
Johnny spends his entire time off blowing up your phone, sending you pictures of his childhood home, calling you during your breaks, and sending you weird videos that seem to have been filmed entirely in the dark where you can’t see or hear anything apart from some weird squeaks and one loud grunt at the very end of the video that sounds kind of like—you close the video.
You spend the first few days of January dreading his return. The day of is like a shock to your nervous system, the whole morning spent pouring coffee with a trembling hand.
“Hiya gorgeous,” he purrs when you clock in for your shift. You’re somewhat used to Johnny sneaking up behind you, so you don’t flinch this time when you feel the length of his body press up against you at the time clock.
“Johnny, it’s seven in the morning,” you mutter out through pursed lips, shoulders stiff when he puts his hands on them and digs his thumbs into the tender points of your back. You bite back a moan.
“Missed ye, kitten. Cannae believe I went a whole week without hearing you purr.”
He could’ve phrased that a thousand other ways, but he just had to choose the one that would make you wince. He digs his thumbs in again, trying to push the moan out of you, but you tamp it down. You hold back a shudder when he plants his nose onto the crown of your head and inhales, drawing your scent into his lungs.
“Where’ye assigned ta today? Jeff owes me a favour—gonna ask him if I can spend the day with ye so we can catch up.”
You go still when he drops a firm kiss to the side of your head. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t checked the schedule yet.” It’s a half-lie. You may not have checked the schedule yet, but you know from having briefly chatted with your manager this morning in the parking lot where you’ll be spending most of your day.
Still, it means that you get to shake off Johnny for a bit. “Lemme go check for ye, okay, hen? Stay here, a’right?”
You watch him jog off down the hall to the breakroom before finally leaving. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before he comes back.
The first hour of your day is spent on softlines until Priya in jewellery randomly comes down with a chill and gets sent home early, forcing you to cover her section. Usually that wouldn’t be such a bad deal—it means you get to spend your shift helping people try on bracelets and rings, restocking the earring display, and leaning against the counter for hours at a time. It’s not a particularly busy station.
While you're assigned to the jewellery section though, Johnny pops out of nowhere as you're helping a customer contemplating a birthday ring for his fiancé. With the kind of confidence that you’ve come to expect from Johnny, he uses your hand to model some of the rings, but this time it feels oddly weirdly intense. When he slides the first ring onto your finger, you can feel the way he holds his breath, even shudders a bit. He presses himself right up against you behind the display counter, hardness pressing against your hip.
It doesn’t take long for your customer to leave. Johnny’s demeanour is off-putting, concerning even. You can’t fault the guy for being rightfully repulsed by the way Johnny crowds up against you like you’re alone together.
“What are you doing?” you hiss through your teeth.
“Cannae help it, hen. I ken ye wanna wait, but it jus’ makes me a bit emotional seein’ my girl wearing a ring I put on.”
He blinks down at you with big, blue eyes, the picture of innocence. You should’ve anticipated there being a danger in letting Johnny stew over that on his own. Of course he’d come to his own conclusions, even one as deranged as thinking of your hook up as a step towards dating. You can’t help but side eye him.
“We—we’re not a couple, Johnny.”
He cocks an eyebrow. “Ye just let anybody eat you out in the supply closet then? S’that right?” It’s said rhetorically, like he knows the answer already. You flinch at the slight though.
“That was—” you cut yourself off to take a breath, an ache growing behind your forehead, “—that was a…it was a one-time thing. You can’t just act like we’re dating.”
His lips turn down in a pout, displeasure rippling across his face. You brace yourself for the inevitable argument, for shit to hit the fan, because obviously that’s what’s brewing under the surface. You brace yourself for worse too because when you happen to glance around, you realize how few people are actually milling around in the area.
Then, instead of losing his temper, Johnny’s eyes grow smoky, heavy-lidded, and the pout lifts into a lazy, playful grin. “A’right, kitty, no’ dating then. That’s fine wi’ me.”
This time it’s you that frowns, staring up at him dubiously. “…Really?” It feels too sudden, quicksilver. Johnny’s fiery by nature, short tempered on his best days and more likely to grit his teeth and bear the displeasure of not getting his way than happily giving into it. His sudden smile is at odds with the version of him that exists in your mind, furious at you for denying him.
Maybe you’ve got him all wrong.
The gleam in his eye betrays nothing, however. “I swear.” He leans closer to you then, fingers fiddling with the name tag pinned over your chest on your work vest, straightening it. “Doesnae mean we have ta give the rest up though. Ye liked what we did in the closet, right, hen?”
It feels like he’s sucked the air out of the room, as big as it is. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”
“Och, c’mon, kitty,” Johnny breathes, hunching just a little over and into your space, making the moment feel private, just the two of you. “Had to talk about it eventually. Did ye just expect that everything would go back to normal after ye let me eat ye out? Hey—” he catches you when you try to make a move to step away from him, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and tugging you closer to him, “—listen, kitty—it doesnae have to be anything serious, right? That’s what’s making ye all jumpy and nervous? I’ll lick your pussy, free of charge. Dinnae need any labels. How’s that sound, kitty? Dick on demand?”
It should repulse you. The way he speaks to you is crass, crude. His voice is hushed, haggard, fur stretched taut over stone—and yet, your hands tremble, just a little. It tempts you. Purring Scottish burr, lapis lazuli eyes, bristle cheeks that you still remember scraping up your inner thighs. He’s a package you can’t imagine sending back.
“You won’t get…you promise not to get weird about it?” you ask.
His smile curls up, impish. “Cross my heart, kitten.”
Maybe you’re delusional enough to think that you can have your cake and eat it too. There’s a voice in your head telling you to face the facts, but you disregard it as if you haven’t been working with Johnny for months. As if you aren’t aware of his penchant for saying or doing anything to get his way. It’s maybe naive of you.
All you know is that he smothers a laugh when you tell him you’ll think about it. Knows he’s got you right where he wants.
You don’t fight when he drags you into the single-stall bathroom towards the end of your shift, letting him position you in front of the mirror before sinking to his knees behind you. Forces you to watch the way you come apart on his tongue, not giving you his fingers until you beg him to, the whispered plea a hairsbreadth away from becoming a scream.
“Oh, did she miss me?” Johnny breathes, a happy laugh in his voice when he runs the broad side of his tongue over your entrance from the back. “Fuck, look at that. Winked at me ‘n everythin’. Hi darling, missed ye too.”
You don’t think you’ll ever be the same after hearing that come out of his mouth. You go hot all over again when you clench involuntarily, equal parts turned on and horrified. He sniggers before trying to cram his whole tongue up into you.
There’s a moment of panic when Johnny draws up behind you after making you come and you hear him undo his pants. There’s nowhere for you to go with your pants still looped around your ankles, underwear pulled all the way down as well. You hear yourself hiss a startled Johnny when he slots a fat cock between your thighs, staring dumbly at the reflection of him behind you. At your back, he seems massive, lean and trim but towering over you, broad.
He shushes you. “Dinnae be selfish, hen—gotta get mine too. Jus’ gonna fuck your thighs, dinnae fret.”
You squeak when he pushes your thighs together forcefully, dragging his cock over your folds to wet himself. Watching Johnny fuck is nothing like staring down at him when he eats you out. He pants harsh and ragged into the side of your head, nips at your ear. The glint in his eyes goes animalistic, vacant. Human desire recedes, subsumed into the animal part of his brain with the single-minded need to fuck.
The only thing keeping him from driving up into you, accidentally or not, is the way you keep your thighs pressed together. A warm, tight channel for him to push his cock into. Thick fingers dig into your waist, sure to leave bruises. You wince when lean hips pound against your backside, growing frantic as need overtakes him. You flirt at the edge of panic, certain that at any second, he’ll pull your thighs apart and nudge the head of his cock up into you.
“Jus’ like that, fuck,” he grunts. “Be a good little fuckin’ girl and jus’ let me—”
His tongue lolls out on a particularly rough thrust, hands groping over your belly and up to your chest, slipping his hand under your shirt and bra to pinch your nipple. He twists it mean, nasty, until you have no choice but to grunt through grit teeth, eyes watering. You feel like a doll meant for his pleasure, no choice but to grip the sides of the sink and let Johnny use you until he comes.
“Fuck,” Johnny groans, eyes going half-lidded. “Love makin’ this pussy come. Love gettin’ her all messy and wet. Lettin’ me between your thighs even when I make ye nervous—fuck, ‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”
White come stripes the sink in front of you, thick and viscous. Paints the inside of your thighs as well when he drags his hips back until just the head of his cock sits nestled up against your sex. Hyperconscious of where it tags your inner lips, that there’s no barrier between the two of you, just come and skin.
The full body shake shocks you, a ripple from your heels to the top of your head.
His free hand grasps you by the hair when you try to slip away. “Ye gonna clean up your mess, baby?”
You glance back up at his reflection in the mirror, trying to suss him out. Shark-like eyes meet yours. Something you’ve seen in glances before finally staring back at you with full force. You reach for the paper towel dispenser with a shaking hand.
“Nah,” Johnny scolds, giving you a shake. “With your mouth.”
The command hangs in the air, no joke or laugh to undercut it. His eyes read serious to you, still dark. No leniency present in the blue.
You stare down at his come on the sink, slack-jawed. “You don’t seriously mean—”
“Jus’ kidding, silly,” he chuckles, giving a teasing bite to your earlobe and tugging. The tension in the air disperses. “Got ye, huh?”
You force a laugh. “Yeah…got me.”
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something something premature ejaculation something something art donaldson
seeing this as best friend art. you’ve been attached to the hip since childhood, his grandma is very fond of you and you practically live at their house based on how much you’re over. it’s the summer before college and you’re hanging out with art in his attic. he sits with his legs crossed in front of you sipping on a can of sprite. you joke and banter until it leads to a playful wrestling match.
this isn’t abnormal, you both tussle on the floor until he’s got you pinned down digging his fingers into your sides. you squeal and try to push him off while he mocks your cries. your pleas aren’t taken seriously as loud laughs escape you with tears running down your eyes. in an attempt to make him stop, you weakly kick under him until one of your thighs accidentally brushes upwards between his own. he groans and hunches over you panting and letting out a quiet, oh fuck.
you quickly regain composure and ask him if you hurt him to which he replies with a curt, no m’fine. things get quiet for a beat but you find your chance to build up strength and flip you both over once again, this time his back thumps against the floor and you’re straddling him. you pin his hands above his head and for a moment he’s got a drunk look in his eye until he swallows, “heyyy, that’s not fair.”
your grip on his hands tighten and you smile breathlessly, “c’mon artie, don’t be a sore loser.”
he breaks out of that grip and starts his tickling again, this time with you on top of him beginning to squirm around and accidentally swiveling down on his lap. this snaps him out of it and makes him let out a whine, “oh my god, what—“
you feel he has grown hard under his shorts and stop. the air feels a bit awkward now, which is an unusual occurrence with you two. you know neither of you have much sexual experience, maybe a kiss or two at a school dance but not much beyond that. you suppose it’s normal for him to grow aroused at contact from a girl, you don’t want him to be embarrassed. and in all honesty, you’re curious about how good he can make you feel.
“hey it’s okay, it’s normal,” his eyes are glossy and his cheeks burn pink. he mumbles out a sorry and is about to push you off until you sit fully on his lap again. “what are you—hnngh,” you give a slow grind of your hips and feel him slide through your folds through your tiny shorts.
he falls back on the floor, his eyes close and he’s whining out chopped sentences while you start humping him in a frenzy pace. “artie, oh my god, it feels good,” he nods dumbly up at you and you watch as he’s shoving a hand down his boxers to fix his cock to lay straight. you notice that he did this so you’re able to glide yourself up and down easier and moan out.
you’re going at it for about five minutes, art’s hands rub shakily in a trail from your waist to your thighs. he sounds like he’s crying, you’d be more worried if it weren’t for the occasional twitches of his dick underneath you. “let’s take pants off, feels good but i need more,” and art bites down on his lip hard before doing so. you’re amazed at how natural this feels, this was here for you all these years to take and that thought alone is enough to gush out more in your panties.
the sounds of slick are loud paired with hard breathing and soft mewls, you only get to about two more minutes of humping each other in your underwear before art groans, “wait—fuck please wait, i’m sorry—feels too good,” his back arches from the ground and he looks down to where youre connected, “you’re so wet baby, oh please—“
in a bold decision, you slide your panties to the side just to show how much. his eyes go cross and you press your bare pussy on his clothed head a milisecond before he bursts. he’s shaking and soaking his boxers fully, tons of cum bleeding through the fabric and darkening it. all throughout his orgasm he apologized i’m sorry, i’m sorry i can’t help it it’s so good and you helped him come down while his body fell limp. if ten minutes was what it took to have him like this, you’d keep getting more.
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