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syoddeye · 2 months ago

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kinktober - day 06 - rut

price x f!reader | 2.8k words cw: John POV, brief mention of food/diet, slight dehumanization, mean!Price, breeding kink, dubcon/coercion, italics stan, abrupt ending because look at that wc summary: john takes his au jus. banner by @/cafekitsune

John can’t help but watch as she licks a stray drop of juice from her lip.

The sight sends a jolt coursing through him, cock hardening at the thought of those lips wrapped around it. He’s only had her once since dropping his bag at the door, and his mind fills with all the ways he plans to have her next.

Tempting sight. His gaze weighs heavy, an unsated predator a table width away from a piece of meat and her steak.

It’s an ugly thought. One that comes unbidden, released with the onset of his rut. A shallow wave of guilt laps against the remains of his dignity and lucidity, but soon that tide’ll go out for a few days. At that point, there’ll be no regret. No keeping the ugly in.

His hand flexes around his fork, the utensil digging into his own cut. It’s no use trying to distract himself, watching the juices that seep from it. Immediately thinking of the slick that pours like a tap between her legs. The thought has him smirking to himself, anticipation buzzing in his veins.

“Enjoying your meal?” He asks with a bite, eyes fixed to hers.

She pauses mid-chew, her free hand absentmindedly touching the clasp of her bite guard for a dozenth time.

Inwardly, he preens. Smug he’s rattled her cage.

She swallows hard. "Yes," she manages to reply, her voice barely above a whisper. "I never get steak." She tears into another piece, chewing slowly.

Of course not. Professional Omegas like her, practically show dogs, are fed top-shelf, high-end protein shakes. Nutritional smoothies. Leafy greens and lean meat. Vitamins. Supplements. Everything to keep them healthy and robust, hardy enough to take the ruts of alphas like him. Unmated, overly aggressive loners—canon fodder that survived too long, wised up too much, and made it everyone’s problem.

She’s terrible at hiding her irritation. Her attraction, too. Her scent’s all over the place. That’s the problem with being on scent blockers between jobs. Poor thing hasn’t a clue how to control it, let alone just how intoxicating she smells. It’s a miracle the little farmhouse they sent him to, where he found her, wasn’t blown down by the huffing and puffing of some other alpha.

(And even if it was? He’d drag them out and kill them with his bare hands.)

She’s not ready to admit what he already knows: this isn’t another contract rut. She isn’t going to limp home to her facility at the end of her week-long stint in no man’s land. He’ll carry her to his truck, buckle her in, and nurse the mark he’ll leave in her neck. All in good time.

He finishes his steak, pushing the empty plate aside. "I’m glad it’s to your liking."

The room crackles with tension, the silence only broken by the faint scrape of her cutlery. He allows it to stretch a minute longer before leaning forward and breaking it with a low drawl.

"Once we're done here…I think it's time we use the bedroom. Take you properly this time." His eyes bore into hers. His bare chest and neck are splotchy with heat, his body hair damp with sweat. The scratch marks on his back sting when he reclines in his chair.

She stills, meal momentarily forgotten, then nods. She doesn’t lift her eyes from the gristle on the edge of her plate.

Her denial reeks. The sweet tang of the warmth pooling between her eyes wafts. His foot slides forward under the table, catching her feet on either side as she tries to close her legs. Finally she looks up out of surprise, and he grins at the dilation of her pupils. It’s rare for a rut to trigger heats nowadays, what with all the suppressants on the market, what’s probably pumped into her—but not unheard of. Her body’s primed to respond to him. Wants to. Whether she wills it or not.

And it would be just like his superiors—handlers—to dangle an omega like her in front of him. He wonders how much of the budget went into strategizing his domestication. How much time. He’d be angry and drive back bloody and enraged, if it wasn’t working.

Not domestication, no. That’ll always be a front. A disguise to adopt and wear. But the singular, intensive want for the creature in front of him?

She was never going to leave here unmarked and unmated.

And he doesn’t believe she knew until he told her, growling into her ear as he pulled an orgasm from her wriggling body bent over the couch.

When she’s finished eating, he takes the dishes, and his eyes cut to where his shirt hits her bare thighs. Where the fabric catches and bunches on her wide hips. His nostrils flare at the single teardrop working its way down the inside of her leg.

“I’ll…prepare.”

Mouthwatering.

He takes his time, leaning against the sink, hand jammed down his shorts. He should shower. Should drink more water. Should, should, should. But the creak of the bed perks his ears and wipes another helping of enforced propriety from his brain.

She's ready. Satisfaction fills him at the thought. Aching for it.

The hall is an eternity and he makes no effort to dampen the sounds of his footsteps rattling the old bedroom door in its frame.

His shirt’s the first thing he sees, folded and set side on the decorative stool across from the door. The second is the arch of her back, arse in the air, covered in spots of a sheen she obviously tried to dab with a towel. A clear invitation, equal parts traditional and clinical. She’d like to pretend there’s nothing else in the room besides instinct and that she’s only there for an assignment.

Fingers threaded into the linens, toes curled tight. Statuesque. All part of her training, he bets.

Tomorrow, he decides, he’ll deliver his own. He’ll let her keep the comfort of routine for now.

Her skin is warm and soft under his touch, leagues smoother than his hands. Omegas like her are far from delicate things, shaped for their purpose like any other tool. Still, he marvels. Everything about her is welcoming.

“Look at you.” he whispers, smug and satisfied. He squeezes her hip as he drops onto the bed behind her, wasting no time in wetting himself with her cunt. He glides through her folds, relishing the shudders it sends through the rest of her, and reaches for the back of her guard. He hooks a finger into the narrow gap between it and her neck and tugs, pulling her back to meet him in a searing kiss. Her mouth moves against his as if rehearsed until he releases her neck, and tells her to keep her cheek pressed to the mattress. Eyes open.

He watches a flurry of emotion parade across her face as he continues to grind. He soaks in the steady slick pouring from her hole, listening to her breathing ratchet up louder than the lewd, wet slide of his cock. He focuses on the pure heat emanating from her cunt and steadying his own breathing, until a word hatches weakly on her tongue.

“What was that?”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes.

“Eyes open,” He swats a cheek. “Speak up.” Say it.

She stares sidelong, tongue darting out to wet her lips, a mix of apologetic and conflicted. “Please.”

“Please what?” Say it.

“Please—Please fuck me.”

“Why should I?”

It leaves her at a momentary loss for words. The question is and isn’t a trick. More a test, or an outstretched hand.

“Because…‘Cause of your rut?”

“No, no. Why’re you asking me to fuck you if it’s my rut? Everything should be on my schedule, yeah?”

“I didn’t—didn’t mean—”

“Why should I listen to your begging?”

Because you’re mine. Mine. Say it. Say you feel it.

But silence follows. Stubborn whelp. He lets her know the depth of his disappointment with a long huff, continuing to fuck along her folds, holding fast to his control. The noises he makes are intentional and not completely feigned. He reeks of displeasure and lets his gaze drift to the window, out to the dark of the night sky. Bored. Aggrieved. Let her mind wander where it will.

It takes minutes for her to break. She pleads with him quietly, daring to push back. “Please, I need it. Need you.”

Manipulative thing. It snaps the last thread, unmooring him from polite conversation and good manners. He grumbles, lines himself up, and slams forward without preamble. Buries himself in one go. He groans louder than the shocked gasp that erupts from her mouth, and grinds deeper into her warm clutch. He pulls back slowly to watch her cunt’s grip fight to keep him inside.

“Fuck, sweetheart. ‘Least she knows what she wants”

She whimpers in response, fingers clenching the sheets.

He wastes no more time, and lets his instincts take the reins. Maybe she’ll be more accommodating and honest around his knot. He lays into her with animalistic intensity, ignoring every cry and stutter beneath him as he takes and takes and takes.

He’ll give, the second she wises up.

John pistons into her mindlessly until moonlight touches the edge of the bed, and his body takes it like the chiming of a clock. Before he realizes it, he has her on her back, legs spread wide and hitched around his waist. Droplets of sweat drip from his temple onto her breasts where he leans over her, smearing when he crushes her, arms trapping her and giving her no quarter but his embrace. He doesn’t realize he’s fiddling with her bite guard until her voice turns shrill in his ear.

“Sir, you can’t!”

Sir. Placate and appease, textbook.

“You cannot remove it, and, and, even if you could, you cannot bite me,” she continues, voice thin and desperate. “This is just a job, sir!”

He wonders if they use cattle prods. Clamps and car batteries. However they test their omegas to survive alphas like him, it cannot be too different from interrogation. But with how she fusses, he doubts she’s ever had to rely on her training in the real world. Unlike him. And he’s been on both sides.

John ignores her spiel.

“Oh, you’re just shy. You feel it, don’t you? Don’t fuckin’ deny it, I can tell you do, just need to hear you say it. Admit it. We’re a fucking pair. Mates. Meant to be.”

A shocked noise cuts off the rest of her speech. Her lip’s gonna bleed if she keeps biting it like that.

“No? Still bent on denying it? Denying yourself? C’mon, darl.” His words are a growl, an animalistic sound vibrating through him. Reaching from the antediluvian into the present. His grip tightens on the collar, eyes drilling into the sliver of soft skin he sees beneath. The place for a mark. His mark.

She’s mine, the primal, angry part of him snarls. Snaps its teeth. Mine.

“‘M warnin’ you now. If I want to mark you, I will.” He punctuates with a hard thrust. “And if I want to mate you, I will. I’ll wait you out. I’ve crawled through shit and heat for things I don’t care about, imagine what I’ll endure for you.”

Without waiting for her response, his hand slips from her hip to between her legs. His pace drops to match the circles he rubs on her clit. A deep, controlled rhythm that has him bottoming out each thrust. His other hand grabs her jaw, tilting it to expose the clasp of the guard. Only she can undo it, but he wills it to break with just his stare.

“You’re going to be such a good mate to me. And I to you, sweetheart. I’ll protect you. Feed you. Keep you. Give you babies, little yous and mes…”

Her breath hitches at his words, he feels her shudder. It’s fear and curiosity and hunger. Mirrored. Twinned.

Even as she protests, she arches into his touch, hips rising to meet him. The raw need in his voice, the harsh grip of his hand on her hip. He feels her resolve wavering, one foot off the edge over the steep drop off where he waits at the bottom to drag her under.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being taken care of, a big man at your beck and call…” John’s lips curl into a wicked grin. It’s adorable, really, all her writhing and squirming. "Shh, sweetheart," he coos, pressing himself to the root. "You're not foolin’ anyone. You want it just as much as I do." He licks her jaw, dips his tongue beneath the lined collar, and grazes the swell of her gland. "But if you're still not convinced," he murmurs against her skin, grinding his hips against hers to drive his point home, "I'll keep showing you how good it will be."

Without further warning, he renews his efforts. He thrusts in earnest and restarts the slow circles on her clit, determined to draw every last moan from her lips. At last, the tissue at the base of his cock stirs and begins to swell like it’s had enough of her dithering, too.

Another embarrassing sound tumbles from her lips—part gasp, part moan—as he finds and hits her sweet spot. Her eyes shut. The sheets beneath her twist as she claws at them. Intent on changing her mind and knocking some fucking sense into her, he hones in on it. By the time his knot bumps against her cunt, she’s babbling some nonsense. He catches words like ‘program’ and ‘rules’. It all disappears into vapor when her breath catches in fear despite the feverish squeeze of her cunt.

Understandable. She cried on it before. Biggest she’s taken, she said when she finally calmed down from her hysterics, facedown on the hardwood floor. Of course, that made pride billow from him like a dark, toxic cloud. Eclipsing the sunset through the lace curtains and choking out the afterglow.

He pauses, fingers tracing her clit, then the thickness of his knot pressed to her hole. She squirms.

“You want more, love?” John asks, sawing gently in and out. “Want to come on this fat knot?” He watches her wrestle with her emotions, the way her brow furrows and her lips press together in indecision. Searching him for the answer.

“If you want me to continue,” He lifts his hand to cradle her chin. “You’re gonna have to let me bite you. Admit you’re mine, made for me, and I’ll let you come.”

“But your knot—don’t you want to…?”

He swipes his thumb over her chin. “‘Course I do, but I want everything. The whole package. Why shove my knot and fill up an omega who’s only gonna waste what I give her? No, after this, after you refuse me, I’ll call whoever holds your leash and send for a replacement—”

“No.”

Her face rapidly contorts from docility to something base. And familiar. In his peripheral vision, her hand twitches north, then back to her stomach, like it’s fighting back. The corner of her mouth lifts, lips flashing her dull canines.

“No replacement.”

He breathes in the stink of her requited greed. Finally.

“My rut’ll be long, won’t be satisfied until the deed’s done and takes. Not gonna let you come once unless my teeth find your neck first.”

Her look of fury breaks with a whimper, the sound filled with a heady mix of fear and desire. Conflict. After a moment, she tests him and tries to reach down to continue where he left off, but he snatches her wrist. He growls when that doesn’t discourage her, when she simply starts rocking her hips, trying to grind herself on the cock buried inside her. Her lips curve into a pout. It’s not enough. They both know it.

“Darl,” he warns, huffing. “You really are a needy thing, aren’t you?”

He indulges her with a few sluggish strokes in and out of her body, laughing softly. With a rough tug, he pulls her closer.

“I said if you want to come, you have to let me bite you.”

John doesn’t blame her for the war undoubtedly raging in her head. He licks the pads of his fingers, returns them to her bundle of nerves, and grinds his knot against her weeping hole to help things along.

She says something when her stomach contracts as her orgasm slowly returns within reach.

“What was that?”

“...Yes. Okay.”

He pinches her clit. Presses until his knot catches.

Instead of uttering a word, she fumbles with the clasp of her bite guard. It comes off in his hand, and he throws it like a discus into a wall, shattering it into pieces like her resolve. He relishes the full-body shudder that wracks her as he envelopes her again, bearing down on her with his maw stretched wide.

“Good fucking girl.”

#sy kinktober #kinktober #price x reader #price x f!reader #john price x reader #john price x f!reader #“my kinktober wc will be a max 1.5k” clown makeup on my face

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