#tpof jack | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

liplinerloser · 2 years ago

Note

Hello!

Увидела, что ваши запросы открыты и я решила оставить свой!

Можно мне Мейсона, Дерека с f!reader, которая оказалась хитрее них?

Она одерживает над ними победу, но не решает их убить, потому что "просто быстро убить вас было бы слишком гуманно"

I liked how these sort of came out so I might write them as little fics, or the after maths of them since part of the request is you don’t actually kill them

hope I didn’t butcher the translation!

Minors dni!

Mason + Derek with an F!reader, who out smarts them

Derek

It’s not difficult to imagine someone being able to outsmart him, he’s so full of himself he doesn’t even think of it as a possibility. With his inflated ego all it took was some fake submission and a few fulfilled requests until he was lulled into a false sense of security. He would believe you were primal, like a scared animal, what he expected with the other captives. But you had a plan.

From your few rough encounters with Derek you knew he wouldn’t ever let you off lightly if he caught you lacking, the sore sting of your tongue against the roof of your mouth reminded you of that.

You were practically defenceless, and to make matters worse you were sure the water supply was tainted, meaning you were thirsty, hungry and afraid.

You clocked Komodo and Dragon performing some weird ritual, but after gauging the level of threat you ruled them out. Unless you stepped into their territory it’s likely they wouldn’t be an issue; you were tempted to attack them when you noticed the knife they used on their victims, just big enough to do some damage but small enough to hide on your person. You stashed the idea and moved on.

If you had survived long enough to withstand the heat of the desert and the pangs of grinding hunger you had definitely encountered jack. Despite him being the most threatening he was ironically one of the most benevolent of the group. You’d remembered how he’d caught you and forced you into certain activities, and rewarded you as such. This was a possible opening

carefully, you stalked the desert, being sure to duck in the cover of the sand if you heard the familiar rumble of the quad. You reached the place where you had initially encountered jack, ducked your head, and silently peered out over the Sandy terrain. It was only a matter of time before he made his rounds.

And so he did, you caught him with his captive, mid fight no doubt. She thrashed wildly in his grasp, landing a few hits from the steady stream of blood under the mask.

You respected her courage in the situation, especially when you saw her knock jack to the ground and lunge for his weapon. You saw your opening.

Practically diving before she could grip the knuckle duster hilt of the knife, you tackled her, in her state of shock she thrashed rather than attacking you. It was clear she recognised you.

Before you could register the betrayal in her eyes you pushed the knife into the soft flesh beneath her jaw. She writhed, warm blood pulsing out in a clean stream. Your eyes were wide, jaw ajar, completely forgetting about him.

You were pulled out of your trance by a rumbling laughter. He had pulled himself off the floor and loomed over you.

“You batting for the other team now? Don’t think the others would be best pleased hm”, he had a shit eating grin plastered over his now unmasked face. You braced for impact, nothing came.

You were the one who held the knife, the power dynamic had shifted and he knew it too. Even if he managed to pry the knife out of your hands and beat you limp, you wouldn’t die without a fight. He’d seen first hand how you were willing to fuck someone up just to survive. His arrogance and pride wouldn’t allow him to be seen at the camp bruised and battered at the hands of a captive.

Jack let out a grunt, holding his hands up defeatedly. Everyone had a price, and he was willing to pay yours to live, or At least until he could kill you when you weren’t looking. You took advantage of this, pointing the knife at his throat as you explained your situation with Derek.

You could’ve swore you saw his head nodding almost with understanding? Maybe Derek was just an asshole to everyone. You told him you wanted him dead, at that his eyes flashed with an emotion you couldn’t quite pick out.

you heard him sigh with frustration, he promised to help you, he clarified just one thing.

“You can do what you want to the little shit, cut him into little cubes, wear him like a jacket for all I care. But you can’t kill him. Fuck him up real good, then meet me at camp. I’ll get you out of here”

It’s not unbelievable to assume you didn’t trust him at all, you had a feeling this choice would come back to you later

He offered you the knife you’d killed the other captive with, you grimaced as you took it, but understood it was the only way out.

You waited until it was darker, the desert had cooled. Taking the knife and reaching behind you, you made a jagged slash along your shoulders and back. As you did, deliberately screaming, listening to the hollow echoes of your voice around the desert.

The other 3 captors were nowhere to be seen, same with the other captives. Apart from 1, that familiar grinding noise of the quad approaching you. Your stomach churned as you quickly hid the knife in the waist band of your shorts.

Lying on the floor, seething with pain, he approached you curiously. Upon seeing the wound he bared his teeth like a dog.

“Who the fuck did this to you. I paid good money for you. and you let someone else touch you, dirty bitch.”, his nose scrunched in disgust.

There was no concern or empathy, as you had to remind yourself he was barely human, barely feeling in terms of emotion. You were not a conscious being to him, instead a mere chew toy to satisfy his urges. The piñata he got all his frustration out on before he had to wear the mask of a functional person back home, and for his father

“Might as well make good use one last time. And I’m a nice guy, so I’ll let you pick which hole.”, blinking away tears, you pitifully pointed to your mouth, Playing off the sad character you had created for yourself

Positioning yourself on your knees, looking through your lashes with teary eyes, you found yourself smiling, before reaching for his belt and getting to work. You had to make sure you were good for him, just this once.

Using both your hands and tongue, you pawed and kneaded at him needily, drinking him, much to his pleasure. The original grip he had on your hair had loosened as he leaned into your touch desperately. Derek felt so secure in his position of power, felt he had broke you, but you waited for this.

He twitched, gritting his teeth. He was almost there, you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of finishing. With his eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, you stretched a free hand behind you, gripping the knife that you’d hidden.

Quicker than he could process, you pushed the knife so deep into the flesh of his thigh that you were sure you hit bone. Before he could grab you as a reflex, you lay on your back, using one leg to kick at the fresh wound, and the other to stop him from hobbling towards you

“You fucking bitch. You fucking stupid cunt, you’re nothing, if you kill me you still can’t leave here, don’t you fucking get that?!”, you cringed at his temper tantrum.

The pain was too much for him, he fell to the floor, gritting his teeth and writhing in agony. You knew in this state he wouldn’t get far, and eventually he would pass out from blood loss, so you decided against stabbing him again (as much as you wanted the satisfaction)

“You need me. You can’t leave me here, do you even know who I am?!”

After all the pain he had caused you, to see him so vulnerable, crying like a spoiled child, it gave you back a little bit of dignity that he had stripped you of.

“Please. Please, fuck, please. You don’t have to do this, I can get you anything you want, literally anything. Don’t leave me here.” , all you could think was how pathetic he was to resort to begging.

There was more Babbling, in between the tears and choked sobs. Something about his urges, how it wasn’t personally against you and he just wanted to feel normal. You couldn’t help but audibly scoff, after everything he had put you through, he’s sorry cause it “wasn’t personal”, or he “wanted normalcy”. You were shaking from anger.

You decided against killing him, not only because of the offer with jack, but because any death you could afford him would be too generous and humane.

God knows he doesn’t deserve that. He wasn’t worth your effort, you just wanted to go home.

You thought you saw a white mask stalking in the Distance. Fearing one of the others, gripping your knife you moved quickly in the direction of the camp.

As expected jack was waiting for you, cigarette lit between his calloused fingers.

He blinked almost in surprise that you'd survived, but Moreso acknowledgment for your existence. Holding out a cup of ambiguous liquid, you assumed out of good will, you silently drank together.

that was the last thing you remembered before knocking out.

in homeless fashion, you'd woke up on a random park bench in a familiar town that once your eyes adjusted you presumed to be your own.

you finally let out a sigh of relief as you let your feet drag across the pavement in the direction of your home. Your reality had shifted, becoming more aware of peoples lingering glances, their facial reaction towards you. You couldn’t help but feel ruined.

A fresh shower eased your tense muscles, washing away your guilt (temporarily), you let your fingers trace over the scars and bruises that littered your skin. they would fade. it was over. you finally let yourself feel vulnerable

But you should never be vulnerable, especially since you fucked with a Goffard.

Mason

To survive Mason you had to be much more calculated than you did with Derek. Mason didn’t need to be cocky, he knew his way around that Forest more than you ever would, he was quick and quiet.

You had learned a few things just from your first day. Mason made rounds, he didn’t stick to one place, which meant that you couldn’t stick to one place either. Due to the Forrest shape and the pattern of his movements it was more difficult for him to corner you, which was in your favour.

Another thing was the Forrest was cold as a motherfucker, and sleeping was near impossible without the comfort of a fire to warm you. At first you thought the supplies to light the fire were a trick, trying to weed you out, surely he would be able to see the smoke rising from the tree tops and catch you?

But nights were also safe, gave you enough time to patch yourself up, rest, or set up for the next day. You’d figured out on the night he rested in a log cabin, which gave you some peace of mind knowing he wouldn’t be prowling

Mason was a man of his word, if you survived him he would let you go of no consequence, which could not apply to others. The issue was finding a way around a man that was so obviously a skilled hunter

First you thought about the Snares, having nearly been caught in one, you thought you could possibly use one to your advantage. That was ruled out when animals kept getting stuck in them, your guilty conscience forced you to leap to save them

You had seen a bear trap before, cunningly hidden under dry foliage, you’d spotted it and avoided it, maybe you could move it into his pathway? By this point you had his moves tracked to a T, so you could predict where he would be moving next.

Your chest swelled with pride, and a mixture of anxiety, as you tried to replicate the deceptive placement of the trap he had originally set, covered in leaves, twigs and shrubbery.

To seal the deal and ensure he actually came you let a raw scream rip through your throat, you knew it wasn’t an issue for him to find where the scream could come from, the man could practically echolocate.

Your eyes darted around the open Forrest, realising you had nowhere to hide and had given up your location. Staring up a tree near the bear trap, you sighed.

Making sure to climb promptly up the tree while leaving no trace proved a challenge, the longer you waited the more you hallucinated the sounds of twigs snapping beneath thick leather boots. Once you were up, securely hidden by the dense leaves, you dared to peer down

It had taken him a matter of 15 minutes to find you, just from a scream. Either he sprinted or he was in an area nearby, both options scared you. The familiar green of his tartan print shirt made you lurch with fear

Biting your lip, you watching him along the pathway edge closer and closer to the trap, you had granted yourself the feeling of freedom prematurely, assuming it would work.

Furrowing your brows, you were confused when he stopped a pace away from the trap. You felt your skin crawl hearing a deep resonating laughter erupt from him, a laughter that felt patronising

He had seen it. And he was amused? Instead of stepping onto it or around it, he instead picked up a large stick, and used it to trigger the trap with a gut wrenching snap. That could’ve been you, ideally it should’ve been him.

It was a premature plan, not very well thought out, it would take more to take him out, especially considering his size, he was easily twice yours, if not in height but the sheer weight and strength of him. You did have a lingering feeling that you should keep an eye out for the repurposed bear trap, that could come in handy.

The next step on the failing agenda was to explore the one place you really really didn’t want to. His Cabin. By default you assumed it was locked so before you even considered actually going you thought about methods to get in, he hadn’t seen you by that area, so maybe he would accidentally leave the door unlocked??

Yeah fat chance. Surely you had to take advantage of how quick he seemed to be when he heard you in the area with the bear trap, it’s almost as if he dropped everything to find you, you wanted to test this theory.

You knew there was a lake nearby, and decided to try your chances at fishing, not really for the whole nutritional value of the fish but another idea. It was a forest right? A densely packed, environmentally diverse forest, you had seen foxes, rabbits, deer, so it was only right to assume there must be bears, especially with a stream so close by.

Waiting until night fall again, you wondered how long it would take before he grew tired of exclusively searching for you during the day. You made your way over to the stream, you’d seen something about catching fish with your hands on some tv show and didn’t really think much of it when you saw it. Maybe you should’ve paid attention.

After a few tries of Emulating a really terrible Bear Grylls technique you resorted to a stick, rolling up your trousers and standing in the freezing water very still, seeing an unfortunate victim swim towards you, you plunged your stick into it.

You could worry about feeling guilty later, when you were safe. Making your way over to a snare you knew he set up before, one that you’d narrowly avoided, you placed the fish very close to it. Making sure to remove the head so it’s stench was stronger.

Practically sprinting, you made your way back to the hiding place near his cabin. It would take a while for a Bear to go near the snare, and it was almost morning, so he’d surely he would be up and out. You hoped he would confuse the bear for you just long enough.

The timing couldn’t have been more perfect, you were practically becoming delirious from hunger, and the cold had finally started nipping away at your fingers and nose. Alongside that you were drained, forcing yourself to stay awake, you didn’t want to be caught at the last lap.

He finally came. Striding out with an air of confidence, gruff harsh footsteps crunching against the earth. Further into the distance, the familiar sound of the snare, and the shake of the trees. The deer weren’t heavy enough to do that, he thought he had finally won.

Overcome with hubris, he slammed the door of the cabin shut, gripping his knife. You noted he didn’t lock it. Even mass murderers make mistakes.

There was your chance, quietly crawling up the steps, you made your way in. Anxiety ripped at your insides as you searched, conveniently you had found that handy bear trap, and a few other interesting bits too. You didn’t like the guy but you were always curious to learn about someone.

No technology, but a map? Upon studying it a little closer you noticed the area with a pin in it was where you were, seeing the familiar curves of the stream on its hand drawn surface. Another place fairly close by was circled, you wondered if that would be useful later.

Placing the bear trap in front of the door was the first thought, but that was too easy, he would surely notice it, and even if it caught just a leg he seemed rough enough to pull it off and lunge for you. That wouldn’t work out for you.

You noticed a stool, dragged it to the gap behind the door for when it would swing open upon his entry, then stood on it with the bear trap positioned away from your body.

Mason was pissed to say the least. Not only was it not you in the snare, but a large angry fucking bear. it took a few hacks at it to get it to die, it almost got a few hits on him too, but Sandy never let him down.

His heavy footsteps left imprints in the soft dirt as he made his way back to the cabin, realising his previous mistake. You were a frightened animal, he doubted you’d be brave enough to go to the one enclosed space he stayed in the most.

Nothing seemed off when he came back, everything as it was. But he wasn’t just going to lock the door, being paranoid kept him alive, so he would quickly check and be on his way.

With his same air of confidence, Mason strides into the cramped cabin, upon first glance it seemed nothing had moved, he did note his stool was gone.

Furrowing his brows he turned to look for it, only noticing then the seething captive that had been waiting for him.

The stool gave you enough height to jump at him, wrapping your legs around his torso, in one fell swoop, you locked the jaws of the bear trap around his head. It didn’t fit so snugly due to his struggling, so with as much force as you could muster, you slammed it so hard you felt the spring locks recoil against you.

There was silence for a moment, you had unwound your legs from him, falling to the floor and crawling towards the door. His towering figure stood still, eyes open with shock, the grip on his knife had diminished as it hit the floor with a gentle thud.

Then you were met with screams, piercing screams, and you genuinely wondered when you stared at him, how was this fucker not dead? People lose their legs from bear traps, and he still somehow was conscious enough to yell, even trying to undo the spring lock to free himself.

While he was distracted trying to free his twisted flesh from within the teeth of the trap, you took your opportunity to grab his knife and scramble frantically away from the lumbering man.

Just as you were out the door you remembered the map, but Mason was too busy trying to salvage his face to care what you were doing, making eye contact with him as you sprinted in the direction of the map you noted he looked at you differently. There was no anger, or victimising glare, it felt more equal, like he finally respected you as a person and not prey

His face disgusted you, the trap still actively disfiguring him the more he struggled. Killing him would be too humane, you hoped he would survive this, and that his scars and deformity would be a reminder. The hunter had finally been hunted.

Knowing he wouldn’t be following you, with the map and knife in hand, and your back pack of supplies you had stashed in your hiding place, you made your way to the circled area on the map. You hoped there would be something like a phone, a way to contact anyone. Worst case scenario you could survive a little longer, trek out the forest and find your way back.

After dealing with him you didn’t feel so vulnerable, the only threat left in the vicinity was you; a dangerous wave of euphoria ran over you.

You hoped he had learnt his lesson, if he came looking for you, you wouldn’t be so nice. Maybe you shouldn’t have taken Sandy though-

#requests open #im back #boyfriend to death #derek goffard #derek goffard x reader #the price of flesh #mason heiral #mason heiral x reader #tpof derek #tpof #tpof mason #tpof machete #btd #minors dni #not safe for minors #tpof jack #tpof komodo #tpof dragon

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raspberryrotten · 29 days ago

Text

♡ [Uniform & Misuse of Authority] × [Jack/Reader] ♡

This fic is also on AO3: [HERE]

✎ 3000 words

♡ You Are: Just the designated driver for your group of friends, just trying to get your drunk friend home safely. F!Reader.

♡ Plot Peek: Officer ‘Jack’ sees you at a bar and takes a liking to you. He decides to make that your problem when he pulls you over later that same night.

♡ A/N: ACAB, of course. That being said… Whenever I try to think too hard about Jack in police uniform, I just start biting the furniture. I’m chewing holes through my bedframe here.

⚠ TWs: Non-Consensual Sexual Content Involving a Police Officer, Physical Restraints

BTD (Boyfriend to Death), TPOF (The Price of Flesh), and YKMET (You Kill Me Every Time) are horror-porn games intended for adult audiences. These fics may include canon-typical violence, disturbing content, and dark psychological themes. They are not suitable for minors.

⎯⎯⎯ ❝ NSFW AHEAD ❞ ⎯⎯⎯

You're wedged into the corner of a cracked vinyl booth, half-listening to a story that you’ve already heard twice, fingers curled around a glass of soda. A thin slice of lemon floats at the top, bobbing as you swirl the straw. Your friends sprawl around you, half-drunk and happy to be alive.

It’s your turn to be the designated driver. You volunteered. You don’t really mind. Nights like this with their noise, their warmth, the clink of glasses and bodies leaning too close, they’re familiar. Comfortable. Still, there’s something a little surreal about being the only sober one in a crowd that’s tipped over into giddy chaos.

Someone says something that wouldn’t even be funny in the cold light of day, and the whole table erupts like it’s the first joke in the history of man. The laughter is deafening, overlapping voices rising above the bass-heavy music leaking from the jukebox. You quickly glance around the room, just to check you’re not causing a scene.

At the bar, there is a man looking right at you. He doesn’t look away when your eyes find him.

He’s leaning back in his seat with one arm draped over the backrest, wearing a fitted white undershirt and dark cargo pants, dark stubble sharpening the angles of his face. His hair is silvered, the only thing that marks him as older at first glance since he’s clearly fit, with visible muscle across his arms and chest.

You offer a small smile just to be polite. He returns it, slower, crooked more sure of himself. He lifts his glass in a toast. You lift your soda in response.

Your friend nudges your arm then, trying to draw you back in the conversation, asking for your opinion on the story she’s telling. You turn back to her, slipping back into the easy rhythm, laughing along cheerfully. Still, after a while, your eyes drift back toward the bar.

He's still watching you.

Your cheeks flush, just a little. His attention is flattering, maybe. Disarming, definitely. It’s not quite unsettling, but it’s not entirely comfortable either.

It’s nothing, you tell yourself. Nothing. Don’t think about it too hard.

Your friend’s laughter rises suddenly, breaking your attention. You glance over just in time to see her wobble on unsteady feet as she tries to make her way to the jukebox, shouting lyrics to a song that isn’t even playing yet. You sigh, slipping quickly out of the booth to steady her before she can knock over a table or collide with someone who’s not in the mood to laugh it off.

“Hey,” you say softly, gently taking her by the elbow. “You okay? Maybe it’s time to head home, huh?”

She mumbles something incoherent, waving an arm vaguely in protest, but it doesn’t matter; you’ve already made your mind up. You settle her back into the booth and head over to the bar to pay off both your tabs, wallet in hand. The bartender’s busy, absorbed in another order, so you lean against the polished wood and wait.

“Heading home already?” a voice asks.

You turn, recognizing him immediately. Up close, he's even more handsome, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that stirs a quiet warning beneath the pleasant hum in your chest.

“My friend is drunk,” you tell him simply. “We need to get her home.”

“That’s a shame,” he replies. His gaze drifts briefly over your shoulder to where your friend sits before settling back onto you. “You guys come here often?”

“Not really,” you say, shaking your head a little.

He nods slowly, considering, then extends his hand with casual confidence. “I’m Jack.”

You tell him your name too, shake his hand. It seems like the polite thing to do.

He’s about to say something else, mouth opening slightly, when the bartender finally makes his way over. You quickly pay for both yours and your friends drinks, tucking your wallet away, and glance back toward the booth.

“Like I said, I should really get her home.”

Jack shrugs lightly, lifts his glass again and takes a long sip. “Suit yourself.”

You give him one last small smile before you turn away, walking your friend out into the cool night, hoping it might sober her up.

As the door swings shut behind you, you don’t have to look back to know that he's still watching.

You walk your friend out into the cool night, another few friends tagging along behind. Your car’s parked a few spaces down, right next to a police cruiser.

★·.·´¯`·.·★

You drop your friend off, watch her stumble through her front door, along with the rest of them your group, and soon you’re alone. The road home is winding and narrow, hemmed in by dense trees and thick brush. Branches arch over the lane, blocking out what little moonlight there is, casting shifting shadows across the cracked pavement. You always hate driving this stretch after dark. It’s too isolated, too silent, too easy to imagine shapes hidden in the gloom.

The weak glow of your headlights barely cut through the night. You’re struggling to even see the road in front of you until, abruptly, bright lights flood your mirrors, pulsing red and blue.

Your stomach drops into your ass. Cops? What? Why? What the hell did you do?

You slow immediately, easing over onto the shoulder. Gravel crunches sharply beneath your tires as you come to a stop.

The cop car stops too and you hear a door open and close. Footsteps approach. You roll your window down halfway, trying to figure out a way to explain yourself without knowing what you’ve done. But when you look up, your stomach flips sickeningly.

It’s… the guy from the bar. Jack?

Did he… did he follow you?

He’s wearing a marked police jacket now, zipped halfway over the same clothes from the bar. The fabric is thick, dark navy, with reflective striping across the chest and sleeves. POLICE is printed in bold white block letters over the left breast pocket.

“Step out of the vehicle, please,” he says smoothly, leaning down slightly to peer inside.

“What—what’s the problem?” you stammer. Your fingers tremble slightly against the wheel.

“You serious?” He shakes his head, the expression on his face patronizing. “I just watched you drink all night and then get behind the wheel. That’s a serious offense.”

Your mouth opens and closes a few times in surprise before you manage to splutter out, “No, that’s— No, this is a misunderstanding. I’ve been drinking soda all night.”

You’re almost tempted to point out his hypocrisy. He was definitely drinking whiskey earlier and he’s been driving his cruiser. But he cuts you off sharply, voice edged with cold authority.

“I find that hard to believe,” he says, leaning closer, shadows sharpening the lines of his face. “Now, be a good girl for me and just get out of the car.”

You bristle at his words, at the way he talks to you like you're some kind of dumb dog, but you force yourself to comply. You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out of the car, jaw tight, legs feeling shaky. It’s fine, you tell yourself. He’ll breathalyse you, realize you’re sober, and let you go. It has to be that simple.

But once you're standing by the side of the road, gravel gritty beneath your shoes, he doesn't reach for a breathalyser.

“I’m gonna need to do a search,” he announces as he eyes you slowly, gaze deliberate, dragging down and up your body.

Your stomach twists. “Search me? For what?” you ask, voice strained.

He smiles faintly, amused. “I… am not required to disclose that.”

Your heart thuds painfully as he steps closer. “Turn around,” he orders, tone low, brooking no argument. You hesitate briefly, pulse frantic in your throat, then slowly turn, facing your car.

He starts at your shoulders, patting down firmly, his fingers digging into your muscles just shy of painfully. Then his hands move lower, down your sides, lingering on the flare of your hips.

Your breath catches in your throat when his palms skim over your ass, squeezing roughly through the thin fabric of your jeans. It's a fleeting touch, but long enough to make your heart race. You're suddenly keenly aware of how vulnerable you are, alone in the dark with this man who apparently thinks he can touch you however he likes.

“Hey,” you say sharply, starting to turn around to protest, but Jack’s hands are already moving to the front of your body. He grabs your breasts roughly, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, squeezing hard enough to make you gasp.

“What are you doing?” you demand, trying to push his hands away. But he's stronger than you, bigger than you, and he easily batters your arms aside to continue his invasive search.

You’re too shocked to say anything else. You stand stiffly, breathing shallow, frozen between disbelief and rising dread.

Suddenly, he steps back.

“Get in the cruiser,” he says. “You’re coming down to the station.”

“What?” you whip around to face him, voice high and cracking. “What the hell for?”

“Driving under the influence.”

“I’m not under the fucking influence!” you holler. “I already told you that. I've been drinking soda all night. Check my breath, check my blood alcohol level, you'll see!”

He grins at that. It’s shark-like, predatory, like he enjoys hearing the panic in your voice.

“Oh? That so?” he drawls. “Are you resisting arrest, then?”

Your mouth opens, but no words come out. He tilts his head, eyes glinting with something that makes your stomach churn.

“Go on,” he murmurs, stepping closer again. “Put up a fight. Let’s see how that goes.”

You bolt. Or try to. You barely make it a step before his hand closes around your arm.

The next moment hits you suddenly. The world tilts. He slams you down against the hood of your car, knocking the wind straight out of you as you collide with the cold metal. You struggle, but it doesn’t matter. He’s stronger.

He yanks your arms behind your back brutally, twisting them until the muscles in your shoulder scream. Cold metal clamps around your wrists and click a pair of handcuffs dig in tight.

You twist your wrists against the cuffs, trying to pull free, but you only succeed in chafing your flesh till it’s raw and stinging. It hurts. You grit your teeth and try again, uselessly, feeling the sting bloom hotter with every movement.

You can feel him shift behind you. His hand drops to his belt, unclipping something you can’t quite see.

Suddenly, you feel a knife at your throat. The cold line of the blade rests against your skin just hard enough to warn you not to move.

He leans in close and speaks near your ear, voice low and controlled as he says, “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay still.”

Aside from the trembling which you cannot stop, you force yourself to still. You hardly dare to breathe. You feel the knife leaving your throat. He lowers the blade down your body, the cold steel trailing over your belly till it reaches the waistband of your jeans.

The blade saws through the denim. The tip bites in first, then the edge follows in a firm, dragging motion, past the midpoint of your leg. The denim doesn't give easily. It's thick, especially around the seams, but not enough to stop a sharp edge and a steady, practiced hand. He repeats the same on the other leg, tip in, draw down, steady pressure.

With both pant legs split open from the waist to the knees, he moves to the front of the waistband. A quick horizontal cut slices through it. Then he shifts lower, cutting laterally across the base of the back pockets, connecting the two thigh cuts. Your jeans fall away in pieces, ripped open and useless.

You gasp, a strangled noise in your throat as the cold night air hits your bare legs. Tears sting the corners of your eyes, but you blink them back furiously. You don’t want to cry right now. You get the feeling that he’d draw some sick satisfaction from it.

But then he hovers the knife around the crotch of your panties. You let out an almost animalistic whimper.

“Shhhh, I’m not going to hurt you,” he soothes mockingly.

You try to clench your thighs together, to hide yourself, but he forces them apart with his knee. The blade slips under the strip of delicate fabric of your panties, sliding flat against the sensitive skin. A quick flick, and it slices through like butter. Then his fingers are between your legs and he tears the ruined fabric away, exposing your cunt to the cool air.

He starts circling your clit with his thumb, the rough pad of his finger rubbing mercilessly over the sensitive nub. Your hips jerk instinctively as sparks of pleasure shoot through you. You bite your lip hard to stifle a moan, feeling your body starting to respond, wetness beginning to pool between your thighs.

“Mmm, you like that, don't you, little girl?” he purrs cruelly.

You don't answer, just grit your teeth harder, eyes squeezing shut. You feel the shameful dampness growing, your body betraying your fear and panic with foolish, misplaced arousal.

The sound of his belt buckle jingling makes you open your eyes again.

You barely have a moment to register the impending violation before he's pushing forward, the blunt head of his dick parting your folds and plunging deep into your unprepared cunt without preamble.

You can't stop yourself from yelping at the sudden invasion. The pain is immediate, sharp, like something inside you has split open. He's too large, too hard, too rough. It feels like he's tearing you apart from the inside.

But before you can voice your protest, his large hand is covering your mouth, muffling any sound you might make. He leans over you, covering you like a blanket, and begins to move.

It's relentless, brutal, punishing. The metal of the cuffs digs even deeper into your wrists as he uses the leverage to pound into you, slamming your hips back against the hood of the car with every thrust.

“Fuck, you're good,” he growls. “Never had a little cunt as tight as yours before.”

And you've never been fucked like this before. Never been taken so roughly, so cruelly, like you're nothing more than a thing to be used up and cast aside.

You're crying now, silent tears leaking from the corners of your tightly closed eyes. But even as you cry, you can't ignore the traitorous reactions of your body. The shameful clench of your cunt around his pistoning cock, the reluctant way your hips twitch back to meet his thrusts even as your mind revolts at the violation.

Drool escapes from between the fingers of the hand he's using to muffle your cries, stringing down your chin.

He leans down, the rough stubble of his jaw rasping against your cheek as he puts his mouth right next to your ear. The scent of cigarettes and whiskey clings to his breath. “ Don't worry, little girl,” he chuckles, punctuating the words with a particularly hard thrust that makes you gasp. “With the way you were teasing me all night in that bar, I won't last long.”

Before you can even process his cruel words, he slams into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. His cock throbs and pulses as he comes hard, pumping hot, thick cum deep into your raw cunt.

He stays like that for a long moment, pinning you down, filling you up. Then abruptly, he pulls out, the movement making you whimper at the sudden emptiness.

He steps back, eyeing his handiwork, the way your thighs are splayed open and dripping with his cum. A low whistle escapes his lips. “Now that’s a pretty sight,” he murmurs, voice dripping with mockery.

You grind your teeth together, your rage and disgust mounting with each word that leaves his mouth.

“I suppose you want me to let you out of those cuffs now?”

You don’t answer at first.

“No? You want me to leave you here?”

You hesitate again, then spit out a tense, “N-no. Fuck.”

He throws his head back and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that makes your skin crawl. “First. Say ‘Thank you, Officer,’” he demands. “Then I'll let you go.”

Your jaw clenches. You glare at him over your shoulder. “Go fuck yourself, asshole,” you spit bitterly.

He chuckles again, shaking his head as he tucks his spent cock back into his pants and secures his belt. “Damn. I like your spirit, little girl,” he says, eyes glinting wickedly in the dark. “I look forward to the next time I have an excuse to pull you over.”

With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you there, hands cuffed behind your back, your body still pushed up against the cold hood of your car, his cum dripping down your thighs and onto the asphalt.

#the price of flesh #tpof #tpof jack #tpof jack x reader #btd #btd x reader #tpof x reader #tpof dean #kinkfic #oneshot #boyfriendtodeath #my writing #text

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