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deceitfuldevout · 5 months

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Until Death (Part 1)

Arranged Marriage AU: Dark!Husband!Rafe Cameron x Wife!Reader

Word Count: +1,524

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Non consensual photographing, Domestic Violence, Humiliation, Forced breeding, Unwanted orgasm.

Author's Note(s): I wrote this cause I really wanna get married and find someone to love me but I don’t think it’s possible so here’s a fic instead 🥲

You never would've imagined being married to the Kook king himself, Rafe Cameron. But here you were, almost a year in. From the beginning you felt like an outsider. Even in the new home that Ward had gifted you. It was decision made by both of your fathers. Ward wanted someone from a family he knew very well. Your fathers were childhood friends and trusted each other enough to make the right decision. Whether their children were willing to or not. An arranged marriage between a Kook and a Pogue. One of the first of its kind.

Ward needed an heir from his only son. It was about time Rafe learned some responsibility. Ward needed to find a family with no authority or power. So, what better decision than to contact an old friend from the cut? Ward managed to pull himself out of there, your father on the other hand, wasn't so lucky. However, by Mr. Cameron's gracious offer, your father had been given a position in his company. Ward would handle the paperwork, while your father handled construction and remodeling.

It was enough to get by, but not enough to get out of the cut. That's why your father made the brash decision. Ward didn't see a problem with the arrangement given your family had no name for themselves. To him, having a family with no name or status is better than being involved with a tarnished one. It would avoid any unwanted attention for the Cameron family.

All your father wants is to make sure his only child would be taken care of once he's gone. You've only met Rafe during family events/outings, and when you did meet, he'd always try to torment you. Other than that, most of time would be spent clinging to Sarah for protection.

You hadn't known about the arrangement until a week prior. You defiantly hadn't expected Rafe to get on one knee in front of everyone. Your engagement was a nightmare, Rafe had decided to ambush you during the Kook's annual midsummer event. A few months later you married into the Cameron family. The event being of the most lavish, expensive, and largest weddings in the history of the Outer Banks.

Rafe made the decision that your honeymoon would be spent ‘setting up home’. You bid your family and friends a farewell before leaving with your husband. It was awkward enough that he'd been drinking for most of the night. What was supposed to be a beautiful ceremony quickly became a frat party. It was awkward enough when Rafe (who'd been drinking most of the night) tried carrying you across the threshold of what was your new home. He stumbles a few times, almost dropping you on the front steps. All you wanted was to go to bed after a long and eventful day.

In a fit of rage you rush up the stairs and into the master bedroom. You hadn't even changed out of your wedding dress. Deciding that it would be done tomorrow, as would everything else. It was tiring, putting on an act in front of hundreds of people. You were relieved for it to be over with. Until the harsh turning of the doorknob catches your attention. In came a very intoxicated Rafe Cameron, stumbling in with his tie already undone.

His hair was a mess from wrestling his groomsman, his expensive cologne overtaken by the stench of alcohol. All you want now is to sleep after being anxiety ridden for the past few hours. But the shuffling on the end of the bed made your stomach churn. Maybe if you pretended to be asleep he would leave you be.

Rafe reaches down to brush the back of his hand on your cheek. He couldn't help but chuckle at his fiancee--no, his wife. You're his wife now and he couldn't believe it. He grins from cheek to cheek, hovering over to study your features. You could hear Rafe talking to himself, "You're even prettier up close..."

Rafe was fine with the wedding day being for his wife, but it was the wedding night that belonged to the husband.

He gets on his knees, preparing to strike. He pulls you but the ankle, dragging you across the bedsheets. He locks his arms around your thighs to pull you in. It was futile trying to fight back. Rafe rips away at the fabric, revealing what was for his eyes only. He doesn't waste time getting to work, suckling, lapping, and teasing at your sex.

When he starts to dip his tongue inside that's when you crumble beneath him. Your thighs shake when coming undone. A gush of arousal splashes his face. Rafe doesn't stop there, instead he keeps going until you're brought to tears cumming for the second time. He retreats with a triumphant look on his face.

"Hey...." he whispers followed by a harsh grip on your jaw that turns your attention back to him, "Hey," his voice boomed. He held you in place, looking you right in the eyes when he states, "Look at me," a small pause follows, "No one is coming through that door to save you," he readjusts his grip, digging his fingers into your jaw, "No one is coming through that door, we're the only ones here," leaning in, "And if they heard they wouldn't care, they know their place," before lifting your skirt up, "It's about time you did too," Rafe held his cock in one hand, his other held your hip in place. He pumps his shaft a few times before rubbing it against your slick. He moans, "Oh fuck...can't wait to stuff you with it..." Rafe dips his head into the crook of your neck, his lips find that sweet spot. He suckles until he's certain there would be bruising.

"You can scream all you want, no one’s gonna stop me,” he presses his leaking tip against the small opening, pushing it in without hesitation, “Not you…” he just his hips, “Not our families,” thrusting his cock inside, “No one…” fastening his pace. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. You had no idea that Rafe had willingly entered this marriage.

Can’t you see? He’s been in love with you for as long as he can remember. Yet you kept denying him repeatedly. Now Rafe has everything he’s ever wanted. He’s inherited the Cameron family fortune, gained the trust of his father as well as yours, and now he has you.

He doesn’t stop thrusting his hips back and forth. Reveling in the feeling of you squeezing his member. It was exactly how he’d fantasized about. No more having to spend late nights wondering what you would feel like. He has you right where he wants. Rafe pulls down your top, exposing both breasts. He nips and suckles at them until they’re nice and bruised. He takes pride in being able to do so. Rafe squeezes your mouth open before pressing his lips against them. He sucks your tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. The taste of liquor makes you nauseous.

This wasn’t how you wanted to end the night. In the end you never had a choice. Your entire life revolving around men in power. A lamb sent to be slaughter, given only the right to live. Even if it meant living for someone else. Rafe presses his sweaty forehead against yours. He snarls, "You're my wife until I fucking die, do you hear me? Until death," his teeth sink into the flesh of your shoulder, digging hard enough to break skin.

A howl escapes your body as pain shot through it. Rafe held you close to him until he finally reached his limit and finishes inside. A deep, guttural moan is muffled into the bite mark. For a moment the two of you stay together until finally Rafe draws back. He’s a panting mess. He could practically feel how slick you became. He lets out a satisfying huff of victory. Rafe had won.

A part of him wants to remember the day he finally got to take you. Then it hits him, “Wait…don’t move,” rummaging through a cabinet. He retreats down the hall. You could hear him searching for something in the unopened boxes. He then returns to you with a Polaroid in hand. He straddles your waist, aiming the lens at you. Rafe smiles, “Something to remember this moment...” he aims it right in your face, “...our first time as husband and wife,” before clicking it.

You could only give a startled look as you stare back at him. Like a deer caught in headlights. Rafe inspects the photo of you. He whistles at the beautifully captured moment. There you were, staring back at him with smudged lipstick and running mascara. You only blink as he stood there, snapping pictures like it was some heartfelt moment. What was supposed to be the most important day of your life, ended in the worst way imaginable.

"Smile for me Mrs. Cameron..."

Rafe was fine with the conditions of inheritance. In order to stay in his father's will, he would have to settle down first. But if there's one thing Ward taught him, it's to negotiate. Rafe remembers striking the deal in his father's office. For the first time ever, the young Cameron man put his foot down,

"No," Rafe states,

Ward looks up at his son, "I'm sorry?"

"I'm not getting married, not unless it's her," he's dead serious too. Ward sighs, he leans back in his chair, "Do you really want to marry this girl?" questioning his son's authenticity. Rafe nods, "It's always been her,"

Ward understands now that his son's mind is made up. Not even he could stop it, "Rafe...you have to understand that her father is a very important member of my company..." he starts, "...he's a bit of a... traditionalist," he pushes himself off the desk, approaching his son, "He expects a certain price for her hand, that I’m not worried about…” he held Rafe's shoulder.

Ward looks his son dead in the eyes to show how serious this situation was to both of their families, “Do not fuck this up, you only get one shot and then you're done, do you hear me? Done," he expects an answer. Rafe looks him in the eyes, there’s a park of determination in the young Cameron man, “I won't,” sealing the deal. Ward picks up his phone and dials up your father’s number, "My friend, you're needed at the office, it's about time we discuss family matters,"

The best decision Rafe made was making you Mrs. Cameron.

#dark!rafe #dark!rafe cameron #dark!rafe x reader #dark!rafe cameron x reader #reader #reader insert #fem!reader #afab!reader #fab!reader #my works #my work

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inkykeiji · 6 months

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Sukuna def calls you princess if he decides you belong to him. <3

oh absolutely, and it’s a term he uses both condescendingly and lovingly. he is the king of curses, after all. it’s only natural you’re his princess.

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, daddy kink, master kink, rough sex, marking, toxic relationship, mention of spanking, fem!reader words: 738

you’re his stupid little princess when you do or say something so adorably dumb, gazing up at him with absolute idiocy smeared across your face, contorting your features—mouth open and downturned, brow scrunched and heavy—as you whimper out but Daddy, why?, head quirked cutely to the side and confusion reflected in your eyes. because i said so, he usually responds with a condescending little pat to your head. oh, you don’t have to worry your pretty little brain about any of that, princess, he promises you. Daddy will take care of it all, Daddy will do all of that pesky thinking and contemplating and deciding; you don’t have to think about a goddamn thing.

you’re his pathetic little princess when you’re sobbing after being split open by his cock and spanked raw by his hand, face buried in folded arms as salt stains your cheeks and claws pierce your hips, holding you high, holding you still. is your Master’s cock too big for you, princess? he’s murmuring in your ear, the words hot and breathy as they curl around the shell, his question infused with a smirk. does Daddy’s cock hurt you, princess? he’s cooing out, sick and sadistic and sardonic, against the back of your neck, forehead pressed flush to the base of your skull as his hips pound, cockhead ramming against your sensitive cervix. can you take it for me, princess? he’s laughing as he nuzzles his nose against the hinge of your jaw, placing a chaste kiss to the bone. he wants you to show him how well you can take it for him; he wants to watch the way your sweet lil cunt struggles and stretches and swallows his girth.

you’re his pouty little princess when you don’t get what you want, when he doesn’t give you what you want, eyes glittering with a thick coat of tears and lip jutted out in a trembling scowl, so deep it crinkles your forehead and puckers your chin. aw, is the poor little princess going to cry? he coos out through his own over-exaggerated pout, brow warped with false worry. is she going to stomp her feet and throw a fit because she isn’t getting her way? he kind of hopes you do, you can tell, can see it glimmering bright and sharp in his eyes, a sort of exhilarated anticipation that begs you to take on his challenge; go on, give him a reason to punish, make his fucking day, baby.

you’re his precious little princess when you stare up at him with adoring eyes, awestruck and shimmering with stars, and murmur out about how much you love him, delicate little fingers tracing his markings in clumsy caresses. the words are melty with affection, gooey and thick with spit as they dribble from your lips after he’s fucked you past the point of lucidity, mind turned to pleasant pink mush under immense pleasure and immaculate pain, body gone pliable and painted in strokes of him—ragged lines of red, blooming blotches of blue, purplish indents carved so deeply into your flesh that they’ll never fully heal, the tiny craters overflowing with sticky crimson. i love you too, princess, he tells you, the words quivering with quiet sincerity even as a sour sickness twists behind his sternum, true and real even as they are unfamiliar and unnatural.

you’re his pretty little princess when you giggle and twirl and strut for him after every single shopping trip, putting on a little fashion show and modelling all of the luxurious lingerie he bought you, lace clinging daintily to supple flesh, silk straps curling lovingly around all of your curves and edges, pieces encrusted with jewels and sparkles that catch on the light as you twist and turn for him. unblinking eyes watch you with a sort of conscientiousness, pupils blown huge and gaping, pitch black and ready to swallow you whole in a single glance. a smirk smears across his face, lopsided, leaning to the left and steadily spreading, as he relaxes back into his favourite armchair, thighs spread wide and a crystal glass of sweating amber dangling from his fingertips. c’mere, pretty princess, he demands gently when he can hardly take it anymore, when you’ve tried on several sets, when his smirk has grown into a grin and his cock is starting to ache, a large palm patting thick muscles. come give me a kiss.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna smut #ryokan sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna smut #jjk smut #sukuna headcanons #hehehehehehe i love this anon #hope ur having a fab weekend!!! stay safe!!#inky.sukuna #inky.bb #clari gets mail

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littlemissemeritus · 11 days

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GHUMBLR I AM SO PROUD WITH U RESPITE FUCKING WON!!!!! weve finally got all the votes,, heres the ending poll!!

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after-witch · 2 years

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Absence is a House So Vast [Yandere Soldier Boy x Reader]

Title: Absence is a House So Vast [Yandere Soldier Boy x Reader]

Synopsis: You're assigned to guard Soldier Boy at a secluded house. The assignment turns into something much more.

Word Count: 3651

Notes: Yandere/yandere behavior, abusive relationship, physical and emotional abuse, misogyny

Soldier Boy was dead. That was the official line that Vought, the media--and most importantly of all, the government--was sticking to; and it was the line you were sworn to uphold, even under pain of torture and imminent death.

But he wasn’t dead. He wasn’t even asleep, anymore; or whatever counted as “asleep” in the semi-frozen state they’d put him in after the incident at Vought Tower. No, he was alive and as well as could be. If “being kept in an isolated cabin away from civilization, implanted with exploding trackers in case he tried something, and kept company by a rotating team of agents” could be considered well, anyway.

Being part of the rotating live-in guard watching over the defrosted Soldier Boy wasn’t exactly the type of job you thought you’d be assigned, especially given your light track record with the Secret Service. You were meant for reconnaissance, light missions, in-and-out actions that kept you moving.

This mission was static. One place, the same length of time, and the same essential experience: Soldier Boy wanting to know if you’d brought him his snacks (you had); Soldier Boy staring at the TV for hours, or attempting to use the kid-protected tablet the agency gave him for entertainment; Soldier Boy getting bored, demanding to be let go, and you reminding him of the deal he made with the government in exchange for being taken out of stasis.

He remains here, incognito, away from everyone else--and in return, if the government ever needs him to quash a Supe in the name of American safety, he’ll step up to the plate. You weren’t there to see his expression when they told him “It’s the least you can do to serve your country.” But based on the months of interactions you’ve had with him, you imagine that expression was somewhere between indignity, prideful acceptance, and are-you-fucking-kidding-me-with-this-shit.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about Soldier Boy, it’s that he still clings to that past as an American Hero. Like a security blanket. You’re not sure how much of it he actually believes. You were briefed on his real actions--some legit, many of it staged--and you think it helped you gain a deeper understanding into his worldview.

He’s not a nice person, exactly. He’s killed people. But there were worse Supes to be stuck in a cabin with for 2 weeks on end, weren’t there? And you know that a lot of what is being put out on the TV is bullshit, Homelander-approved Vought propaganda designed to inflame the masses.

So you pick and choose what you believe and after a few weeks, you don’t give him the cold shoulder, like the others say they do. You talk to him. Why not? He’s not going anywhere, you’re not going anywhere. It would be inhumane to keep him socially isolated. And you’re not inhumane.

He even has--you would never admit this to anyone else--something charming about him. You can see why he had so many women falling at his feet back in his multi-generational heyday, though you’re sometimes reminded of when those generations fell when he makes low-voiced, teasing comments about you cooking his food or cleaning up after him.

Today, you’re not thinking about any of that. Today, you’re actually not thinking about Soldier Boy much at all. That’s because a new book in your favorite series came out, and you’re currently curled up on the lounge chair in the living room, lost in the pages while some inane game show Soldier Boy turned on drones in the background.

“You gonna answer me, sweetheart?”

His voice finally pierces through your book-induced haze, and you blink slowly, pulling yourself out of an engrossing story to find him staring at you from the other side of the room.

“Sorry,” you say, reflectively. “What did you say?”

He regards you with something of a half-smirk, and you can’t deny that understanding of what made him so appealing at the sight. He’s really damn handsome.

“I said, what’s a pretty gal like you doing with her nose in a book all day?”

It’s cheesy. It sounds like something from an older Hollywood movie. But it makes your cheeks heat up to be called pretty, anyway.

“I like books,” is all you come up with, holding the cover almost protectively.

“Yeah?” He seems interested, almost. “So what’re you reading?”

You hold up the cover. It’s a fantasy series.

“Why don’t you read it to me?”

You search his face for signs of teasing, but find none.

“Why?” You ask.

He shrugs and crosses the room, plopping himself down on the couch closest to your chair.

He gestures towards the TV. “Why? Because I’m bored and I like the sound of your voice, and there’s only so much of this shit I can watch every day. TV used to be a hell of a lot better, I’ll tell you that.” He pauses. “Pardon my French.”

You shouldn’t. You were briefed on how to avoid getting too close with the subject under you care. That’s one of the reasons why everyone was rotated out every 2 weeks.

But… he does look bored. And he asked politely. What’s the harm in it?

You open to the page you just finished and begin to read as he leans back on the sofa, kicking up his feet.

Your first kiss with Soldier Boy is a mixture of sweat and heat and shame and fear; fear that he’s doing for ulterior motives, fear that the agency will find out and you’ll be fired---or worse; and fear that you’re just a fling, just something he’s doing because he’s bored. Like flipping through TV channels. Like listening to you read a book.

When you pull away, his mouth is still close, his scent--some generic aftershave the agency picked up--overwhelmingly intimate. You stare at his lips to avoid looking him in the eye.

“Soldier Boy…” you begin. “This isn’t…”

“Ben,” he says. “Call me Ben.”

You look up at him. His gaze has softened from its earlier hunger, and there’s something gentler and anxious in them. Something that makes you think about how he sometimes cries out at night (he denies it; you stopped bringing it up); about him bitterly telling you about the Crimson Countess, about his disappointment in the fact that his only son was a shitbird like Homelander.

Something that makes you forget about your fears about your job and his motivations entirely.

“Ben,” you whisper.

His name is sweet on your lips, and your first kiss with Soldier boy is not your last.

The relationship has to come to light eventually. All things do. You sit in your superior’s climate controlled office, your hands tucked under your thighs, like a nervous child brought to the principal’s office. There’s a solid pit in your stomach that has only grown since you received the phone call to report in.

You could be fired. You could be arrested. Those are the good options, truth be told.

But instead of reprimanding you, they tell you that your intimacy with Soldier Boy is actually an asset for the agency. He’ll be easier to control, if he’s connected to someone. They’re going to pull the other guards now, and it’ll just be you. Your apartment is already being packed up.

You swallow thickly and thank them for their decision. The pit in your stomach doesn’t go away when you get back to the cabin, where Ben is waiting, pacing around the living room, a beer in one hand.

He looks up when you enter and scans you over with his gaze. Checking for bruises, maybe; he’d prepped you on what to do if they started interrogating you, and you reminded him that you were a trained agent, after all. But you tell him that they didn’t hurt you. They’re letting you stay, in fact. Your stuff is coming soon.

His smile is full of disbelief and relief, and he pulls you into a jovial hug and spins you around in a silly motion, making you feel giddy and ridiculous. And that pit in your stomach finally dissolves away, leaving you light and breathless in his arms.

It’s not a great day.

He’s irritated. It happens, you remind yourself. He’s cooped up here in this modest cabin, unable to interact with anyone but you. There’s only so much entertainment to be had, especially when he’s never gotten the hang of the newer technology installed here, and even when he does, it usually leads to him getting aggravated about something in the news. Reversals in politics. Articles about toxic masculinity. He has no shortage of barbed words “for that dumb shit,” and it’s almost better when he’d rather do something that doesn’t involve his minor connections to the outside world.

Still. He’s bound to get irritated. You know this. It’s understandable, it’s okay, he’ll tire himself out.

That’s what you tell yourself as he paces around the living room, a light scowl on his face.

“Hey, what’s the matter?” You ask, trying to keep your tone soft and amiable.

He stops in his pacing and you can see his face scrunch in annoyance.

“It’s that fucking pill thing they gave me. It’s not working right.”

Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Pill? What pill did they give you?” If they’re drugging him, it’s news to you. Well. Aside from the bennies that they supply him now and then for good behavior.

“The--you know.” He gestures broadly to the coffee table, where the solidly built children’s tablet is sitting. “The fucking pill… tablet thing.”

“Oh,” you say, and you can’t help your smile at his mix-up or the teasing tone in your response.

But it was the wrong thing to do today, when he’s so wound up, so agitated. You recognize that in a flash when you see his nostrils flare as he huffs a hard breath out his nose, just before he yanks the tablet up from the coffee table and chucks it at the wall.

You hear the glass screen crack, splintering--so does the drywall.

“Fuck,” he says, sitting himself down on the couch. He runs his hands through his hair. “Sorry. Got a little too pissed there.”

Your heart is pounding in your chest, rabbit-like. He’s never gotten aggressive in front of you like this before. Maybe a little too heated when he’s ranting about all the restrictions or annoyed with changes in the world, but…

You glance at the gaping hole in the wall and make a mental note to call someone to get it fixed.

“It’s… okay,” you say, voice placating. It’s not okay, and you know that. But you can’t blame him, exactly, for getting agitated. You shouldn’t have made fun of him, you reason to yourself. You know better than that.

“I’m just going to run a few errands. I’ll be back in a few hours at most.”

He can’t go into town. He can’t go into town and he hates it. He doesn’t hate you. No. But he hates his situation. You can’t blame him, but that doesn’t change the fact that you need to get groceries, you need to get supplies and--truthfully? You need a break from his constant presence, always demanding attention from you. Affection and otherwise.

“No, you’re not,” he says, and his voice has taken on such a matter-of-fact tone that it takes you aback for a moment. “I don’t want you going today. You can scrape together dinner with what we have in the kitchen.”

You press your lips together.

“Ben. Seriously. It’s not a big deal.”

“Of course it’s a big deal!”

You don’t expect the outburst and you flinch back, just a little. The drywall is patched up, but you’ll always notice where the hole was. Your mind flashes back to that, yes, and other incidents as well. The way he got annoyed when you brought up an old boyfriend, but he was allowed to bring up his past lovers all he wanted. The way he hated it when you played on your phone, or if the shows he watched used too much modern technology. Most of the time, you watched reruns of shows he liked before he was taken or movies set in those eras--he likes to point out the inaccuracies.

He steps closer to you. Your hand is on the doorknob, the other at your waist, resting loosely on your post.

“You are not leaving me today.”

You smile, and try to make it warm.

“I’m just going to get groceries,” you say, softly. “C’mon. I’ll bring back takeout. What do you want?”

You don’t expect it when he grabs your upper arm, gripping with enough force for soreness to radiate immediately. You don’t expect it, and you don’t know how to respond, other than the instinctive way your body jerks and your mouth inhales a short gasping breath.

“I want you to stay home today.”

“Let go.” Your voice wavers. But you remember who you are, and your training. You’re not some helpless lamb, are you? You tilt your chin up and say with more confidence: “I’m going to run errands today, and that’s final. Let go.”

He regards you for a moment. And you think he might do what he’s done before, when he goes too far. You think he’ll let go and apologize and make it up to you by being extra sweet the rest of the day.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, you’re slammed against the side of the wall, breath knocked out of you.

His finger is in your face and he talks down to you, keeping you in place with a tight grip that makes you remember in a single gesture who he is, what he is, what he can do.

“I. said. no.”

He holds you there for a few more moments. Until your body is shaking from the shock and you’re looking submissively down at the floor, your courage stuck in your shoes.

“You gonna listen?” He says.

You nod, feeling numb.

He lets go.

You wipe your nose and keep your arms clutched tight around you as he puts his arm around your shoulder, anger drained from his body, acting like he didn’t just slam you into the wall.

“C’mon, sweetheart, I bet you can whip up a great dinner with what we have. You can go… Goggle it or whatever the hell it’s called.”

You nod, feeling the phantom pain of his grip on your arm.

He’s been through a lot. That’s what you tell yourself for a few weeks afterward. He’s been through torture. Real torture, torture that should have killed him a thousand times over. He never told you all the gritty details--”That’s not stuff for a lady to hear,” he said, when you got bold enough to ask--but you’d read about it from the agency’s files.

So when he tells you to stop talking about guys’ you’ve been with in the past, because he doesn’t want to even think about you being with anyone but him, you do.

When he gets rough and tells you to stay in every time you run to do errands or God forbid, enjoy a day outside the cabin, you start to go out less and less. You have the agency delivery groceries and supplies instead. You watch movies with him, and not at the theater. It makes him happier to have you here, and when he’s happier, he’s less prone to pushing you around.

Sometimes he holds you and you think he might cry, but he never does. It’s unmanly in his eyes, probably. He has a lot of hang-ups about stuff like that. It’s the moments when you’re holding him that it’s easiest to remind yourself that there’s a reason he acts the way he does, and you should be patient.

That’s what you tell yourself for a while.

And then he slaps you across the face, hard enough to send your head smacking into the wall. Your jaw aches for two days.

And you stop telling yourself all those things.

You tell yourself, instead, that you want to leave.

“You’re not leaving.”

You have a large purse in your hand--just the essentials and the sentimental things that fit inside. Your plan was to head into town under the guise of running errands, call the agency, explain the situation, and get the hell out.

The plan didn’t get as far as the front door.

He knew. You don’t know how, but as soon as you announced you were running to town to grab some steaks for dinner while they were on sale, he just knew.

So you admitted it, because you weren’t dumb enough to lie to his face when he’d figured you out.

“Ben,” you say, because you don’t want to hate him, and you don’t want him angry. You just don’t want to be hurt anymore, either. “I’m sorry. I--this just isn’t healthy for either of us.”

He rolls his eyes. “Don’t give me that psycho-babble bullshit. It’s not me, it’s you,” he mocks. “I’m not stupid. You think I’m stupid?”

You meet his gaze.

“No, I don’t think you’re stupid.”

He makes a grab for your purse, and you let him, because you don’t want to start a fight.

“Then why the fuck did you think I’d believe that you were running to get some steaks with a purse stuffed with all this?” He opens it up and begins pulling out everything you’d carefully tucked inside. A change of clothes, your phone--it falls on the floor with an unceremonious thump, thankfully protected by your case--and some trinkets and a necklace that belonged to your mother.

“Ben,” you say again, trying to keep him calm, ignoring the own stressful beat of your heart. “I just didn’t want to start a fight, okay?”

“What?” He raises his eyebrows, looking defiant, targeted. “You think I’m a psychopath? You think I’m gonna--what, hit you? Kill you?”

Your expression must shift when he mentions hitting you--but you have hit me, your face says--and he shakes his head. There’s an almost pleading look on his face and you hate it.

“C’mon. It was one time. One time. And I apologized after.” It wasn’t just one time, and he didn’t always apologize, but you don’t correct him. “But I warned you. You got too sass-mouthed, okay? I don’t know why women today think they can just--”

Something in you bursts and you clench your fists tight as you snatch your emptied purse from his hands. The patience and care has fallen from you, replaced by a hot ball in your stomach, something built over the past few weeks every time he yelled and gripped and hurt.

“This isn’t the fucking 1940s or the 1950s or the 1960s or--whatever the fuck decade made you think you have a right to boss me around. I’m not going to stay here and be treated like this. You can complain about it if you want, have a tantrum, I don’t care. But I’m leaving.”

“The hell you are!”

He grabs your upper arm and squeezes, and this is where you would normally cave in, but you can’t. Not today. Not if you want to really leave. So you grit your teeth and keep his gaze, defiant on the surface and terrified underneath.

“You’re not leaving me,” he says, almost a murmur, as he releases your arm.

He keeps on talking as you crouch down on the floor and begin to replace all the items he pulled from your empty purse.

“Everyone else left me. I fought with those guys, fucking tried to take them under my wing, fucking loved them.” There’s a pause. “Well, some of them. And you know what I got for it?” You don’t answer, because you just want to get packed and get out. “Years of torture is what I got. And now, when I’ve found someone that I care about, that I want to stay with me, you’re just going to leave?”

You want to dissect the disbelief in his voice, the hurt and anger and entitlement all wrapped into one horribly complex package. But then you look up, muscles tense and chest tight, and your body flinches in horror. You see it--a sight you’ve only seen one other time, surprisingly early in your relationship, and which you managed to soothe. It made you prideful at the time.

The sight is an unmistakable warm, golden, deadly glow in his chest. His breath coming in deep, painful bursts. His face scrunched in pain and anger, torture in his eyes. His voice comes out ragged and pained and terrifying.

“You’re. Not. Leaving.”

He’s going to explode.

In an instant, you drop your purse, contents forgotten. Your arms wrap around him and you pet his back, his cheeks, pressing kisses feather-light to his skin.

“Hey, hey, hey,” you say, soothing, stroking his shoulders, trying to get him calm. “It’s okay, you’re okay…” You take his face in your hands and make him look at you, talking like you would to a feral animal, voice soft and comfortable. “I’m here, Ben. Look at me, Ben.”

It takes a while, but the glow eventually fades, sapping out of him like thick water.

He collapses on the ground and you go with him, holding him still. His arms cling around you, tight and unforgiving, but not in anger this time.

“You can’t leave,” he says, voice muffled into your shoulder. You can’t tell if he’s commanding or asking or pleading, and you’re not sure you want to know.

Instead you think, right now, if he would let himself, he might cry into your shoulders.

“I won’t,” you whisper, and your plans drop at the doorway as they’ve done every time. “I promise.”

Maybe if he cried, it would be easier to pretend that this is okay.

#yandere soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #yandere the boys #yandere #afterwitch writes #fab five freddy told me everybody's fly

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aphroditeslover11 · 5 months

Text

Please send, I have a free few days and I want something to do!

#cillian murphy #oppenheimer #oppenheimer x reader #cillian murphy x reader #tommy shelby #peaky blinders #lenny miller x reader #robert fischer x reader #tommy shelby x reader #jonathon crane x reader #fanfiction #Cillian Murphy fab #cillian murphy fanfiction #requests are open

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bastardsofravenkroft-blog · 1 year

Text

tired of everyone saying gway is such a good writer blah blah THEY’RE NOT. it’s just neat aesthetics wrapped in half a concept with a sprinkle of actual content. that’s it.

#idk if is just so pedestalled that he doesnt have to get better or if it’s on purpose and the reader is to fill it in themself #theres a reason theres the kj fics are abt the fab four. the mc is cardboard and the twinks were hotter.#the umbrella academy #tua #tua comics #ttlotfk #ttlotfkc #ttlotfkna #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys #the true lives of the fabulous killjoys national anthem #gerard way #crimson speaks #gway

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meetmymouth · 2 years

Note

How has miss groupie been liking tour so far?? UK/EU and day one of Canada. Will she be joining for all of North America??

i missed groupie so here's something !!!! don't think too much about the tour dates when reading this, it's not accurate at all <3

groupie the fic

One year and twenty-five days.

One year of bliss, tours, different countries, and so much love for her and Harry.

Before him, she never thought she could be someone people wanted long term: she was always temporary, someone they could have fun with until they got bored. Then, he came along.

Sure, when Harry met Fab, it was temporary; she was temporary. Neither of them thought anything long-term when it came to their weird-fucked-up relationship. For Fab, it was all money, travels, and sex. For Harry, it was more or less the same: someone close by to fuck, whenever and however he liked.

One year and twenty-five days later, Harry found her to be something so precious; something permanent.

She'd left a permanent mark on Harry.

He knew the exact way she took her tea and coffee. He knew she hated someone touching her on the neck– especially with wet hands. She hated mornings, and Harry learned to love lay-ins when she was with him. She loved Dolma, stuffed grape leaves, so he learned how to roll them on his own, and cook them by himself. She loved bike-rides, so he bought her a brand-new bike.

She learned how to make his coffee, with the specific brand of milk he loved. He loved fresh mint in his salad, so she grew mint in Harry's back garden, alongside some lettuce, tomatoes, and sunflowers. She cooked his favourite meals, and woke up really early on the days he would leave for tour, just to say goodbye.

They changed for each other, and sort of met in the middle.

Tour was so much fun when you didn't have to explain to his crew what you were doing there.

She was the girlfriend now, not just a hook-up, the groupie.

"Does this go with my outfit?" She rummages through the makeup bag, coming across a lipstick, the shade reminding her of the Christmas lights on their tree– the one they decorated when they first got together.

Harry Lambert looks up from his phone.

"Hm?" He says, trying to see the colour.

She shows it to him, walking closer to where he's sitting.

They're in Harry's changing room, waiting for Harry to get his trousers on after some minor alterations by Harry Lambert.

"It does," Lambert nods, turning towards the small bathroom Harry is in. "Harry, is it all right?"

"Yeah," he calls back. "You can't see my bum now," he opens the door, a smile on his face as he walks towards her. "What you up to?"

"She's going through my makeup bag, I can see it," the makeup artist walks inside the room, hands on her hips.

"Fine, I'll stop."

"Leave my girlfriend alone," Harry quips, placing a kiss on her temple. "I'll buy you the same lipstick."

"You don't need to buy me anything, I told you. You need to chill," she says, referring to his latest habit: buying her whatever she mentions.

When it's time for him to go out on the stage, she takes her place in front of the stage, and Harry Lambert brings Jeff and Tommy with him to watch Harry sing his heart out.

He starts off with As It Was, and she can't help but dance along, singing along as well as he works the stage. It's fun– so much fun.

She can't help but hear the fans calling her name, and she turns around, watching as one of them waves her hands around– signalling for her to come closer.

So, she does.

She walks over to them, and Harry sings loud, leave America, two kids follow her.

"Can we take a photo?" One of them yells through the music.

"What?" Fab yells back, laughing since she couldn't hear anything.

"A photo with you?"

"Oh! Sure! Bring it in," she takes the phone from her, and takes a few before handing it back with a thank you.

When it's time for Satellite, she walks over to the side stage, and places her arms on the platform, cheek against her arms as she listens to him introduce the song, like he does every night.

"Now this song," he says to the microphone. "It's pathetic, really."

Screams.

Harry continues.

"I wrote it when I was kinda going through a breakup with someone very special to me. I'm–" he laughs. The screams get louder. "–I'm saying 'kinda', be cause we didn't even calling it a breakup– we weren't officially together. Then," Harry walks past her, and smiles at her before turning to the fans. "Then she said she didn't want me– didn't want anything to do with me, she said. So, I wrote Satellite, as one does," he laughs.

"Actually," he lifts up his finger in the air. "She's here– yeah!" Screams. "She's here, over there, watching me with the biggest smile– hi," he walks closer to her, then stops. "Are you having fun," he asks, still keeping the distance for obvious reasons.

The screams get louder and louder before Harry shushes them.

She nods, smiling up at him from her position.

He nods, too. "Good– I'm glad– this is your song, after all," he turns to the massive crowd. "This is Satellite."

#i'm rusty i guess #especially when it comes to fab and harry #harry styles #groupie!reader #harry styles x reader #harry styles imagine #harry styles concept #harry styles blurb #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic rec #harry styles writing #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles x y/n

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pandapetals · 2 years

Text

spin the bottle

steve harrington x you - crush, spin the bottle game, kissing, swearing, the whole gang is in it, steve highkey in love with nancy still, not proofread.

a/n: i had a dream about this soooo i wrote it down lol.

The sun was starting to set as the living room grew dark, the glow of the tv providing little light. No one had attempted to move, too bored out of their minds to think. You sat on the couch with Eddie’s head in your lap as you absentmindedly played with his hair. Robin and Nancy sat near one another on the floor, Nancy’s eyes skimming the pages of a magazine while Robin stared at the tv. Steve sighed from the accent chair to the right of you.

“I’m so bored.” He complained for the third time in a span of ten minutes.

“I suggested we could watch a movie.” Eddie pointed out, which caused Steve and Robin to groan. “Okay, okay.” He said putting his hands up in protest.

“I swear I’ve seen every movie that has ever come out,” Robin replied turning away from the tv to look at you and Eddie.

“I doubt that.” You replied with a laugh.

“I didn’t say I watched them. I said I’ve seen every movie.”

Steve sighed again, “I hate working at Family Video.”

“Do you only complain?” Eddie asked sitting up to look at him, a smirk on his face.

“No.” Steve quickly replied as everyone nodded in agreement that Steve complained a lot, especially recently. It was obvious to everyone that something was wrong with Steve except Steve. He had gotten in this mood and just stayed there.

“How about we play truth or dare?” Eddie asked as he stood up looking around at everyone with a smile. He flipped the light on making Robin squint her eyes.

“Are we 12?” Nancy asked with a puzzled look.

You laughed as Eddie pouted, “It was a suggestion since King Steve over here is dying from boredom.”

“You know I hate that nickname,” Steve remarked as an idea came to you.

Truth or dare wasn’t a bad idea but you wanted to play something a little riskier. You had a crush on Steve, a small one since the beginning of summer. It had developed into a huge one that everyone knew about except Steve. Steve had become clueless about everything recently.

“Why don’t we play spin the bottle?” You asked from the couch as four pairs of eyes darted over to yours.

“Can we stop suggesting middle school games?” Robin said annoyed as Eddie sat down next to you with a grin.

“C’mon guys. It’ll be fun. I’ve always wanted to kiss Steve.” Eddie teased, shooting a wink in Steve’s direction. Steve looked away as you glared at Eddie. The metalhead boy gave you a grin as you silently groaned.

Spin the bottle was a terrible idea but you had wanted to confess your crush on Steve for a while now. There just never was a good moment to do so. Especially with Steve still hung up on the idea of him and Nancy getting back together. That was probably why Steve had failed to see how much you liked him.

The gang had tried to help especially Eddie who thought you and Steve were perfect together. He would make little comments about the two of you but Steve still failed to see any of it. You had given up a few months ago hoping the crush would go away yet it was still there.

“I don’t want to kiss Steve.” Robin finally said, “No offense but he's my best friend.”

“Best friends kiss each other all the time.” You tried to assure her but she didn’t look pleased.

Nancy shook her head, “Sorry guys but I don’t think this is a good idea.”

It was a terrible idea and Nancy knew it. You knew that but you couldn’t help yourself from wanting to give it a try. What if Steve kissed you and everything changed? You looked over at Eddie for support. He stood up clapping his hands, “We’re playing. It doesn’t have to be a make-out session just a peak.”

Steve finally joined the conversation, “Okay, I’m in.”

You could see the hope on his face, his eyes lingering on Nancy which only hurt you more. Steve hoped he would spin and kiss Nancy while you hoped the opposite. Nancy had moved on, her relationship with Jonathan still strong despite some bumps in the road. However, nothing seemed to change Steve’s mind.

Nancy hesitated, “I don’t know.”

Eddie assured everyone it would be fine before running off into the kitchen to grab some beers. He brought back one for everyone and an empty beer bottle he had gotten from the trash. “Everyone ready?” He asked as everyone sat down in a circle. You took a sip of your beer hoping for the best.

You could feel the tension between everyone. Nancy looked sick and for a moment you regretted suggesting the idea of this. However, one kiss wasn’t going to hurt anyone. It wouldn’t kill Nancy to kiss her ex-boyfriend if she had to. Robin had chugged down her beer letting out a burp which caused Nancy to cringe. You laughed as Eddie sat next to you.

Eddie placed the bottle in the center, “Who wants to go first?” He asked looking around at everyone. No one moved or said a word causing Eddie to groan. “I guess I will.”

He spun the bottle forcefully making it spin fast. Your heart was beating so fast as you stared at the bottle until it slowed down. It finally came to a stop landing in front of Robin. The tension in the air seemed to fade as Eddie leaned toward Robin.

The two shared a quick peak before Robin spun the bottle herself. The bottle had stopped before you knew it landing in front of Steve. “I’m not kissing you, dingus.” She announced as Steve playfully pouted.

They awkwardly leaned toward each other, Robin giving Steve a peck on his cheek. You were excited to see who the bottle would land on for Steve’s turn but the excitement faded when the bottle stopped in front of Nancy. You could see Nancy's uncomfortable eyes staring at the bottle in disbelief.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” She blurted out giving Steve a sad look.

“It’s just a game.” He assured her but Nancy shook her head getting to her feet.

“I need some air.” She whispered before darting off toward the kitchen. Robin was the first to get up following behind Nancy.

“Shit.” Steve cursed under his breath as he got up too. “Why the hell did you suggest this game?” He asked trying to place the blame on you.

“Hey, let’s just calm down. It’s just a stupid game.” Eddie cut in as he helped you up. You could see how upset Steve was by Nancy’s rejection yet again but instead of feeling sorry for him like you usually did, you were pissed.

“This is just great. I’m pretty sure Nance is gonna hate me now.” Steve mumbled kicking the couch with his feet.

“Why can’t you just stop?” You blurted feeling the anger blur your eyes. “Nancy is never going to want you as you want her.”

Eddie had grabbed your wrist to stop you from getting in Steve’s face but you pulled away. “Eddie, please. Steve needs to get his head out of his ass.” Steve turned to glare at you.

“What the hell is wrong with you? This game was your stupid idea and now look at what it’s done.”

Eddie sighed stalking off to the kitchen as you said, “I suggested the game because I wanted to kiss you.” You frantically shouted watching as Steve’s face went from anger to confusion.

“What?”

You rubbed your face with your hands feeling frustrated and silly. “I wanted you to kiss me. It’s all I wanted for the past few months. For you to see how much I like you yet all you do is complain and pine over Nancy.”

Steve’s eyes searched yours as you continued, “Everyone except you knows that Nancy is happy with Jonathan. She moved on and so should you.” Steve stood there as you watched him process what was happening. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have suggested the game but I wanted you to know I have a crush on you.”

“And everyone knows but me?” He asked as you gave him a weak smile. “I’ve really been so blind to everything, haven’t I?”

You nodded taking a step closer to him, “Eddie was just trying to help, they all were.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Steve, I like you but you need to wake up. Nancy isn’t the same girl you fell in love with. None of us are the same people we were.”

“I know.” Steve whispered as you pulled him into a hug, “I guess I wish nothing had changed.”

You rubbed his back with your hand as you buried your head into his neck. “It’s hard to move on especially after everything that has happened but we’re here for you.”

You can feel Steve shaking as if he was crying but when you looked up he had his eyes closed tightly. The whole upside-down Vecna bullshit had messed everyone up. Add that to trying to live a normal life with daily bullshit, it was a wonder how Steve kept it all together. “It’s okay.” You whispered letting Steve pull you tighter against him.

“I’m so sorry.” He had said again, “I should have known you had a crush on me.”

You laughed pulling a little away from him, “I thought I was laying it on thick.”

Steve shrugged, “I thought you and Eddie were together.”

“Eddie is a great friend. He really wanted me and you together. He was only trying to help.” You replied knowing Eddie was probably listening. Steve smiled stroking your cheek. “I don’t expect you to like me back.”

Steve shook his head, “I’ve always liked you too. I just never said anything.”

You smiled knowing everything would be okay in the end. Steve and you pulled apart as Eddie pocked his head out from the kitchen. “Everything okay?” He asked nonchalantly.

“As if you weren’t listening.” You remarked making your way to the kitchen.

Eddie grinned, “Does that mean you two are together now? Did you kiss? I didn’t hear kissing.” He rambled looking between you and Steve. Steve blushed avoiding the question as he went to the fridge to grab more beer.

“We’ll see.” You replied giving a wink to Steve as Eddie groaned.

#steve harrington #steve #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #fluff #eddie munson #steve the hair harrington #steve harrington fluff #steve x you #steve harrington x you #steve harrington one shot #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #the fab four #stranger things 4 #steve fic #steve stranger things #one shot

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deceitfuldevout · 9 months

Text

Highest Bidder

Dark!Robert Fishcher x Sugarbaby!Reader

Word Count: +3,066

Warning(s): +18, Non con, Loss of virginity, Human auction, Housewife kink, Breeding kink, Misogynistic remarks, Insults, Just plain abuse, Robert is a warning himself.

Author's Note(s): I have been thinking about this for a hot minute. Inspired by @mypoisonedvine Robert Fischer fic go check it out!!

You couldn't stop checking your phone for an update. He was supposed to be here an hour ago. Did he bail? Part of you had hoped so. It would make things a lot easier. Years ago, if someone had told you that you'd be auctioning off your virginity, well, the first thing you'd do is laugh in their face.

That was before everything went to shit. Your parents ended up in neck-deep debt trying to pay off your college, borrowing money from some sleazy loaner company. Soon having no choice but to debate on filing for bankruptcy. Everything they've worked hard for, gone. You didn't want them to worry about that anymore.

This wasn't a huge deal for you. Personally, you've never had any luck with guys and would rather get this over with. Growing up you were always the awkward, ugly duckling of the friend group, so a boyfriend was out of the picture. Only sharing an innocent kiss with a childhood friend, but that was a long time ago. It was only after you reached your 20's where you began to bloom.

He'd bought your outfit and covered the cost of everything. He wants you ready and waiting for him, all wrapped up like a pretty present. He's very particular about these things, even making a list of errands to run before the big day. He requested for photos of the hair and makeup you'd be wearing for the evening. Scolding you every time you did something he disliked. He wouldn't even try hiding it. You reread his previous text message: Change the makeup. It makes you look like a cheap whore. You scoff at the response...how rude.

Even before all of this he would try to test your patience. Sending messages like, 'Do you know who I am? You should be more grateful that I'm giving you this much attention," or "Anyone would be lucky to be in your position,' which made you physically roll your eyes. This morning, he had given you a call as a reminder of where you would meet. He send you the hotel address with money for a cab.

He made sure to give you call in the afternoon as a reminder of what to do after arriving, ending it with, "I don't want to hear any complaining when I get there." before hanging up. You grumble a stray of curse words, this had better been worth it...

You couldn't believe your eyes on how luxurious the hotel was. It's entrance had been decorated with marble and brass statues. There wasn't a drop of it that didn't scream 'money'. You sheepishly sign in, allowing a worker to carry your bag to the room. It had taken a while before you could reach the top. Part of you was impressed, he had really gone all out.

As soon as you enter the room there was this sort of romantic ambiance to it. From the lighting, to the breathtaking scenery of the city. It was all so...dreamy. But this was no dream. You were going to have sex for the first time with some old, rich geezer, gross. You take note of a shopping bag left on the bed, opening it to find a lingerie set.

You held the fabric, inspecting the material. White lace, with hints of glitter that shine in the light. At least the old man has good taste. You take a look at yourself in the mirror, humming at the sight of it. Not bad...hell, you looked fantastic.

Suddenly the door knob jingles, then a heavy knock follows. You leapt from the bed, approaching to open the door for him. But before you could reach the knob it slams open. A man enters, sporting a well-tailored suit, dressed to the nines from head-to-toe. His hair is combed back, a few strands dangle against his forehead. As you scan the man's face, you couldn't help but notice how handsome he was.

There's a light rosy hue to his cheeks. You first notice the striking blues of his eyes and how long his lashes are. He looks like he'd have no problem at all searching for someone. So what is he doing paying for someone like you? For a moment, you were in awe of his presence. Staring back at the man like a deer caught in headlights.

The meeting today had taken its toll on Robert. He was supposed to meet with you hours ago, but there had been an emergency with the company's shareholders. He could practically feel his blood boiling, to the point where it felt almost difficult to breathe. He tugs his tie off and yanks for his shirt to open, a few buttons go flying. He lets out a huff, scanning the room with his blue orbs for something, more specifically, someone.

"So you're the one I've been talking to eh?" a hint of humor in his voice, "Let me guess, you're a good girl caught up in the wrong crowd? Is that it?" he taunts, "I'm sure you've 'never' done this before," the corners of his mouth turn upward into a sinister grin. His eyes are emotionless. Cold as ice. Yet why did they seem so comforting? As if you've seen them before.

He drops his suitcase at the end of the bed, turning towards you. He eyes you up and down, as if he were deep in thought, "Give me a spin," and of course you follow his orders. He raises a brow, "Come here," he commands. You stare back at him, unsure of what he'd just said. Robert sighs, he doesn't have time for this. He's slightly drunk and exhausted from work. Right now he just wants some hard, animalistic fucking.

He tugs your underwear to the side, examining his prize. He bunches up the waistband of your panties before yanking the fabric down. You held your breath, now riddled with anxiety. This was a bit too...casual for comfort. He fists the fabric, holding it to the side while the other hand held your hip.

His voice is deep, much deeper in person, "Hold it for me," he wants to get a good look at his purchase. His thick fingers slide down your pubic area, grazing against the bare skin, he hums, "Even waxed yourself like I told you to, good girl." he slaps the side of your hip, as if he were examining livestock. Your stomach coils at the realization. Never in your life have you felt so...objectified. Still, now wasn't the time to back down. He pushes you against a desk. Until you were now leaning on the table.

He spreads your folds with his thick digits, examining them closely. He held your clit between his fingers, pinching it lightly. You let out a whine from the sensation, bucking your hips from the sudden discomfort. He retreats his hand before flipping you over. His chest now against your back. He pushes you against the table, bending you over for a better view. He was in no rush.

He rubs his fingers over your bare slit. His thumb caresses your bundle of nerves. As soon as he retreats you finally snap the fabric back in place. Now lowering your head with embarrassment. He grips your chin, lifting it until you're face-to-face, "No don't hide from me now..." he plops himself on a chair, tilting his chin up, "Why don't you make yourself useful and help me get this off?"

If you weren't getting paid you would've scoffed at his rudeness. It was obvious he was into power play. Being in total control of everything. Now wasn't the time for letting your emotions emotions get involved. You help him remove his coat and tie, even unbuttoning the rest of his shirt. He's still wearing his pants, now unclasped. He stares you down, a smirk now lingering on his cold features, "Take off your clothes,"

When you start to quickly unclasp the garter belt, Robert's voice booms, "Stop." he orders, "Do it slower," he leans back in the recliner, already palming his erection. You shyly unclasp your belt, letting the straps fall off each shoulder. His hand grazes on an exposed breast, sending shivers down your spine.

He chuckles, "Oh...don't tell me you're that sensitive?" a crude remark. Your brows furrow, why did he have to tease you so? He notices your obvious discomfort, "Don't worry darling, your only job is to fuck," as if that would make things better, "Do you know how to suck cock?" he questions. You give him a hesitant nod, "No...I've never done it before this is my first time--"

"I didn't ask for a whole life story,"

"...No," your lips press in a thin line. He was really pushing it, "So you've never had sex or sucked cock before, tell me, what have you done?" he pulls out his member, already hard and leaking. It's tip was flush pink, the same as his lips. He spits into his palm before working himself up, he knows you're nervous. He wants you to be intimidated by him. He pumps his shafts with slow strokes, "Tell me, what gets you off..." he sighs.

You look down to your feet, suddenly his voice booms, "No, do not look away," to which you began to tear up. His voice is soft now, "Sweetheart, look at me," he huffs. You look up at him now with tearful eyes, he groans, "Oh...that's it..." stroking his cock faster. A finger points directly at you in a 'come hither' motion. You walk towards him, still eyeing his shaft. How was that going to fit?

You felt warm despite the lack of clothing, there's a pooling sensation between your legs. He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you into his lap. His tongue darts against a breast. He teases the bud with his teeth. He made sure it was swollen and sensitive before giving attention to the other breast.

You never knew it could feel this...good. As soon as your hands reach for his hair he instantly stops, Robert remembers the reason why you're here. It wasn't to see him. You only wanted one thing, and he doesn't have time to play pretend. He just came here to collect what he's owed. At the end of the day, you were just a hired whore. He swats both hands away, giving you the cold shoulder. He lifts himself from the seat, throwing you against the carpet. You're confused at the sudden mood swing. It frightens you. Where the hell did that come from?

"It's a shame, you were doing so well," Robert sits up, his leaking cock now presses against his abdomen. He's pissed. He paid you for your time, you were suppose to focus only on his needs. Every word that came from his mouth dripped with anger, "It seems like you need a reminder on whore etiquette," he knows you've probably fucked a few before him, this was all part of your little roleplay act.

"I'm not a whore!" you detest lying, what made him not believe you? Forget it...this wasn't worth an argument, "You know what? You can take your money back asshole! Fuck this and fuck you--" a hand grips around your neck. He'll have to show you a thing or two of what comes with selling yourself out, especially to a complete stranger. You've always knew deep down that you'd regret your first, but this was downright terrifying.

This man, he didn't even see you as a person. As a human being. To him, this was all a transaction that was paid for, "What did you think that website was for? It's a human auction. Not just your cunt. Meaning I own your ass for the next few hours," he leans in, pressing his nose against yours, he growls, "Remember your place..."

Robert pulls you up by the hair, throwing you onto the bed. You scramble to get away but he's much stronger. He began to wrestle you. To which you land a slap on his cheek, hard enough to leave a mark. You pause, now too scared to move. He touches the tender skin, it would surely leave a bruise tomorrow. Which just so happens to be an important meeting, "You little bitch..." he grips your jaw until it aches, forcing your mouth to open.

He takes the opportunity to spit inside, covering your mouth and pinching your nose. You felt like you wanted to gag. Finally, after fighting to hold your breath, you swallow. He grins, "See? even if you try to fight me, I always get what I want..."

You, of all people, should know this about him. Instead you try putting up a fight, "I hate you! I hate you! Let me go!" thrashing around. Both of his hands now pressed against your throat. He scolds, "If you want it to hurt I'll make it hurt like nothing else..." he flips you over, pressing his body against your own, making it harder to breathe.

He lets his pants slide down. Tugging off his boxers. He spits a wad into his hand, that should be enough to get comfortable, for him. But for you? Well, he wants it to hurt you. Otherwise, how will you learn? Whores like you deserve to feel pain. That's what you get for teasing him in your photos. He growls into your ear, "Time to try my pussy..."

He yanks down your panties before pressing his leaking tip against your opening. He muffles your cries in his palm. You couldn't hold back the tears. This man is going to break you! As retaliation you tilt your head to the side and bit into his forearm. He grunts from the pain, it only encourages him to carry out your punishment. He thrusts harder, grinding down his hips to reach as deep as he could go.

You sob from the pain, going limp from shock. All you could do was cry into his hand, bracing yourself against the cushioning below. You turned your head to face the mirror, taking a good look at your own sad, pathetic reflection. You were being dominated by a complete stranger. How did it get to this point? When did you become so pathetic? So desperate to the point where you became a whore for hire?

He held you close to his chest. He knows now you're too tired to fight him off. He kept jutting his hips back and fourth, moaning in your ear with a deep grumble. You could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath. It repulses you. The only sounds that could be heard in the room were of skin-to-skin slapping, Robert's insults, and your muffled cries.

"Fuck....fuck m'gonna cum..." he grunts. He rubs his nose against the crook of your neck, inhaling the sweet scented perfume. He drags his face across the soft, supple skin. He can tell by the shimmer that you applied an expensive lotion earlier. Of course you wanted him, what woman wouldn't? He's handsome, rich, successful, he's the entire package.

So why were you begging for him not to finish inside? You were just being stubborn, that's all. He'll have to remind you of who's in charge, "I bought this pussy fair and square. If I want to put a baby in it, then bitch, I will," he sinks his teeth into your shoulder, biting until the skin breaks. He doesn't stop thrusting his hips. Plunging his cock deep inside to coat your womb. He moans, furrowing his brows from the feeling of your velvety walls.

"You think you're better than me huh? Old enough to fuck but not old enough to get knocked up, yeah fucking right" he huffs, "You just wanted an excuse to be whore..." His voice becomes hoarse, as the pleasure began to increase, "Fuck...fuck I'll buy you a big house just so I can fuck you in it...hm...yeah you'd like that wouldn't you?" he doesn't stop his vigorous thrusts, "I’ll fuck some babies into you hm? You'd like that? I’ll give you a baby with blue eyes…something to remind you of me…" he flips you over, locking an arm around your neck.

All you could do was whine as you wait for the inevitable. Robert licks a stripe against your ear. He grunts with satisfaction, "Want you to remember this for the rest of your life....every time you think about your first time, you'll be thinking of me...." he fastens his pace. All you could do was stare back at your reflection. A tear trickles down your cheek. You couldn't help but agree. It was true, this moment would haunt you for the rest of your life.

Robert knows it. That's what gives him such an ego boost. He felt like he was on top of the fucking world. He growls in your ear, "Remember this, I.Fucking.Own.You." before unloading his spunk deep inside. He muffles a moan in the crook of your neck, bowing his head down to feel the bliss of it all. Fuck, he never came so much in his life. Was it the adrenaline or the pussy? He doesn't care. All he knows is that it's money well spent.

He slowly begins to pull out, hissing from the pleasure your pussy gave. He moans at the sight of his shaft dipped in a crimson tint, "Fuck me...if that isn't a sight for sore eyes..." he's made sure to mark his territory. He flips you over, you're too scared to even look at him.

He slides his hand from your stomach to your pelvis, "Hold on...I want to see it.." giving your lower abdomen a light push, forcing the rest of his seed out. It's mixed with a string of red. His lids are hooded, there's a twitch to his features. He grins, "Fuck...guess you weren't lying about me being your first..." he chuckles, "And here I thought you were just another lying whore..." playing with your emotions.

Robert lifts himself from the bed. He retrieves his belt on the floor, tying your wrists to the bed post. He doesn't want to risk you running away from him. Not while he still had a few hours left. He fixes himself in the mirror, coming his hair back to how it was before. Making sure that there wasn't a single strand out of place. He admires himself in the mirror. He felt like a fucking champ. Like nothing in the world could stop him, and so far there hasn't been.

Robert knew this was a good idea the moment he saw your profile online. He'd been tracking you down for quite some time, it's been a while. His obsession growing with each message sent. He had to own you. Mind, body, and soul. It was a good idea to install the hidden camera in the hotel. He could only stare at you from his office, viewing you changing into the set he'd purchased, admiring yourself in the mirror. He had to wait another agonizing hour before work was finished.

He notices the way you'd tried being presentable, all for him. How you would constantly check your phone just to see what his orders were. Submissive, compliant, needy. So fucking needy. That little pussy of yours needed his cock to break it in. He doesn't want it to end, he tosses a few bills onto the mattress, you don't even flinch. Your mind had already escaped.

Robert leans in, caging your body with his arms, "Why don't I keep you as my little plaything, hm?" he knows you've recently graduated. But what use was a degree compared to what he could give? What greater reward than being his pretty little housewife? You might as well put those looks to use. He plants a kiss against your lips, humming in satisfaction, "Need a good girl to balance me out..." he begins to rant, "And if you ever think of leaving me, I'll send a video of us fucking to your parents,"

But the thing is, you never told him who your parents were. It was then when the pieces began to fall into place. How could you be so stupid? His username was R-Morrow.

This was no other than the owner of Fischer Morrow, the man responsible for your landing parents in deep debt. Of course they trusted him, because he's your childhood friend. You lift yourself up and face him. Your voice in disbelief when you question the identity of the strange man, now with a tearful look, "R-Robbie?" you whisper. He pauses for a moment, head turning to the side as he looks your way, "Did you miss me?"

"...Why? I-I don't understand..." you began hyperventilating. This wasn't happening. Your childhood friend had taken your virginity. At one point, he was your entire world. He approaches you, no longer a lanky young boy but a man. He cups your face, pressing his forehead against yours. He sighs, "Don't you remember the promise we made? To find each other?" his eyes bore into yours, "I could only dream of it, but now?" he wraps his arms around you, holding you close to him, "Now you're finally mine..."

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