x reader she's like Barbie. she can be anything. she can be everything. she can do whatever I'm not dare to do in rl and she can choose her man. *sigh* Life've never been better.
hot mean characters all have degradation and humiliation kinks, and no one can change my mind.
sure, they'll be nicer to you than they are to everyone else. but they'll be menaces in bed and just absolutely bully you while they fuck you. slut. whore. needy. bitch. these are just some of the things they call you while they pound your pussy with their cocks. they'll make it seem like they'd rather you're an obedient bunny. but they secretly love it when you're a brat because it gives them the excuse to bend you over their lap to bruise your ass or fuck you until you're dumb.
they're not selfish lovers. in fact, they'll make you cum over and over until you're shaking and crying and unable to babble anything other than their name. they'll tease you constantly, making comments about how easy they bring you to orgasm or how you're such a needy slut for cumming so much.
still, it's not just you who gets all the fun. they'll easily manhandle you, tossing you around like a ragdoll and stretching you until you're in the position they want you to be in while they fuck you mercilessly. they'll mock you when you cry, laughing at how emotional you get while being fucked by them. they'll kiss, grab, bite, smack, pinch at every inch of you that they want to, making sure to leave marks to remind you who you belong to.
they'll leave you a sobbing mess by the end of it, your body shaking from the painful pleasure they put you through while a mixture of your juices and their cum drip from your used holes.
Warnings: This will include dark elements, abuse, trauma, neglect, kidnap, including non/dubcon. Please do not read if these elements or any dark elements make you uncomfortable.
Character: August Walker
Summary: a miserable situation is switched for another. (another wife-buying fiend)
Please reblog if you enjoy and leave some feedback! Muah 💋
The smell of fear is pungent, laced into your sweat and that of the bodies around you. Your shoulders ache and your fingers throb. The binding at your wrists cuts into the skin as the blindfold chafes across your brow.
Several of you, you don't know how many, were taken from the larger warehouse to this new space. You don't know what it is. It's not as humid or pungent as before, though you feel just as grimy.
One of the women whimpers. Not for the first time. Footsteps, one set bare, the other thickly soled cross the room and the door slams. You flinch as yet another squeaks.
"Shut up," a man growls.
You keep your head down and twine your fingers together. The most you can do to protect yourself is be silent. You learned that real quick.
When you got there, with a group of maybe three others, one of them refused to be quiet. She screamed and barked at your captors. When the gagged her, she kicked at the walls until they dragged her out and brought her back days later. She didn't make any noise after that. She couldn't eat either. Not anything solid.
Soft sniffles come from one side of you. You haven't cried at all. As scared as you've been, it feels like that would only doom you what good is crying but to give you a headache; or worsen the one you already have from lack of sleep and food.
You sit and wait. That's all you ever do. Every couple of days, you're matched around between men across tarmac you can't see. You never leave the warehouse without your eyes covered and hands tied.
Trapped with you is that old life you don't think about. That quiet existence. You never bothered anyone. Never got in the way. You did all you could to keep to yourself. How could this happen to you?
The door opens again. You can tell the other woman didn't come back. The thick soles stomp around the room. The man whispers to another.
"...not too happy..."
You lock your elbows and close your eyes. You hold your breath as he marches around again. You sense him come close.
"Up," he nudges your leg with his boot.
You don't hesitate, though it isn't easy to get up. You lean forward and get onto your knees. You're dizzy from the suddenly rush of blood.
He grabs your elbow and forces you to your feet. He shoves you ahead. "Walk."
You walk. It's disorienting without your vision. You're pushed and pulled until you're through the door, then angled down the hallway you entered from.
You're stopped again. The man sighs and knocks. He doesn't wait for a response before opening the door. He sneers. "Forward."
You cautiously step ahead, three steps before your escorts grunt tells you to stop. You shiver, the sleep shirt you've been wearing for almost months exposing your thighs and arms. A set of steps approach you and you cower.
There's a noise. The click of a tongue behind teeth. You wince but don't make a sound as someone grabs your chin and turns your head back and forth. The large hand pushes your head up and a hot breath fans over you.
He lets go but grabs you again. Lower down. Two hands grope your chest and you clench your fist around a single finger.
He sniffs and grips your shoulder, spinning you. He clamps down on your waist, then your hips, then gropes your ass. You put your head down in shame. No matter if you want it to end, you can do nothing to stop it.
A rumbling growl makes you gulp. One hand trails up your back to your neck and pinches. The unseen man bends you over, his other hand moving to your hip again. He stands behind you as he squeezes.
There's a hum as he releases you. You stay bent, shaking. You can sense movement but don't react to it.
You're grabbed by your arm and forced uptight. Before you can prepare yourself, your lifted off your feet. You're stomach rests heavy on something thick; a shoulder.
Your accoster turns and your head swims. A hand grips you firmly on one hip, the other on your thigh. You squirm but quickly still yourself. Maybe they're taking you back... Does it matter?
You jostle with the motion of your carrier. Fear courses through you. This is different. You just know it.
You're taken blindly away. You know when you're outside by the warmth of the mid afternoon sunshine. It gives you little comfort.
Finally he stops. There's a click and your body swings of the shoulder. You land on something hard and then you're shut in.
You gasp, the first noise you've made in weeks. Maybe longer. You're great pounds as footsteps hit the tarmac.
The subtle shift then the whir in of an engine confirms your assumptions. You're on the trunk of a car. You bite down on a sob. The last time that happened, you were brought to this horrible place to be caged like cattle.
Summary: You live a burdensome life but can’t seem to lift the weight off your shoulders. When your mother brings a coworker home, you find it even harder to bear.
He may be a bad guy but that's my babygirl🫶🏾 Yes, he committed multiple crimes, should be locked up in jail, and is a red flag but he's hot as fuck with a face card that never declines.
The rain in London didn’t fall so much as it drifted, a miserable grey mist that clung to your eyelashes and ruined the expensive blowout you’d treated yourself to after finishing the final proofs for the upcoming book thriller.
Your feet were screaming. Those pointed-toe stilettos had seemed like a power move at nine in the morning, but now, at seven in the evening, they felt like medieval torture devices. You shifted the heavy leather tote on your shoulder, the weight of a dozen manuscripts and a half-eaten salad pressing into your collarbone.
As an editor at a small, boutique publishing house, your life was usually measured in word counts, dangling modifiers, and the polite neuroses of eccentric authors. You were smart, you were kind to a fault, and you had a sense of humor that usually acted as a shield against the drudgery of the corporate grind. You were also, by all accounts, beautiful, cause confidence baby, though in this moment, with your hair frizzing and your feet throbbing, you felt more like a drowned rat.
You were only two blocks from your flat, just about to take the sharp turn into the narrow cobblestone alley that served as a shortcut, when the world decided to break its own rules.
It happened in a blur of wet fabric and heavy footfalls. A man, wiry and wild-eyed, bolted around the corner, nearly knocking you off your feet. He smelled of old sweat and panic. Before you could even offer a choice piece of your mind, his hands were on you. He spun you around, his fingers digging into the fabric of your trench coat with a bruising grip.
Then came the cold, unmistakable press of metal against your temple.
“Don't move! Don't you fucking move!” the man screamed into your ear, his voice cracking with desperation.
You froze, the breath hitching in your throat. Your editor’s brain, usually so quick to find the right word, suddenly went blank. All you could focus on was the rhythmic thumping of footsteps approaching from the shadows of the alley.
Out of the mist emerged a mountain.
That was the only way to describe him. He was massive, his broad shoulders filling the width of the narrow passage. He wore a dark, perfectly tailored suit that looked entirely too expensive for a man engaged in a foot chase. His hair was neat, despite the rain, but it was his face that commanded the space. He had a thick, dark chevron moustache that gave him an air of rigid, old-world authority. His eyes were like chips of flint, cold, analytical, and entirely devoid of empathy.
“Let her go.” the man said. His voice was a deep, gravelly rumble that seemed to vibrate in your very marrow. It wasn't a plea, it was a cold statement of fact.
“Stay back! I'll blow her head off, I swear to God!” your captor shrieked, pressing the gun harder against your skin.
You felt a spark of indignant heat flare through your terror. You weren't a character in one of your thrillers, you were a real person with a pile of laundry waiting and a very expensive pair of shoes that were currently being scuffed.
“Look, honey…” you said, your voice trembling but sharp, “you’re shaking so hard you’re going to give me a migraine before you even pull the trigger. Why don’t you put the gun down and talk to the… to the mysterious moustache man over there? He looks like he’s actually in charge of whatever mess you’ve made.”
The massive man in the suit, shifted his weight. His gaze flicked to you for a fraction of a second. It was a glare so intense it felt like a physical blow. He clearly didn't appreciate your commentary.
“Shut up!” August snapped, his eyes returning to the gunman.
“Don't tell me to shut up!” you shot back, the adrenaline finally overriding your common sense. “I'm the one with a barrel in my ear! And you! You’re getting your grimy fingerprints all over my coat. Just let me go so you two can have your little testosterone-fueled standoff in peace!”
The gunman was losing it. He looked between you and the wall of a man standing ten feet away. The pressure in the alley was mounting, the air thick with the smell of wet pavement and impending violence.
“I can't... I'm not going back!” the gunman yelled. He was overwhelmed, his mind snapping under the weight of August’s predatory stare.
In a fit of panicked, jagged movement, the man reached into his pocket with his free hand. He pulled out a pair of heavy-duty, blackened steel handcuffs, something that looked far more advanced than anything a standard beat cop would carry.
“Get over here!” the gunman barked at August. “Drop the weapon and get over here or she dies!”
August didn't drop his gun. He didn't even blink. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, his presence so imposing it felt like he was sucking the oxygen out of the alley.
“You're not going to shoot her…” August said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “Because the second you do, I will pull your spine out through your throat.”
The gunman lost his mind. He let out a strangled cry, pointed his gun toward the sky, and fired a deafening shot that echoed off the brick walls. You flinched, your hands flying up to cover your ears. In the chaos of the noise and the smoke, the man lunged.
He didn't shoot you. Instead, he grabbed your left wrist with a strength born of pure hysteria. With a sickening clack-hiss, one side of the cuffs snapped shut around your wrist.
Before you could scream, August was on him. It was like watching a freight train hit a car. August didn't move like a normal man, he moved with a brutal, economic violence. He slammed into the gunman, his fist connecting with the man's jaw in a sound like a breaking branch.
But as the gunman fell back, he managed one last act of spiteful desperation. He grabbed August’s right hand and, with a final, frantic shove, snapped the other end of the cuffs onto August’s wrist.
The gunman scrambled away, disappearing into the darkness of the main street, leaving his gun behind in the puddle. August started to give chase, his body coiling to spring, but he was jerked back with a violent snap.
You were yanked off your feet, stumbling into his side. It was like hitting a brick wall made of muscle and expensive wool.
“Ow! Dammit!” you yelled, clutching your arm.
August stopped. He looked down at his right wrist, then followed the dark, high-tech chain to your left wrist. He tried to pull away, testing the strength of the bond. The chain between the cuffs began to hum softly, extending from its housing in the cuff itself. It grew longer about three to four feet of reinforced, shimmering wire but as soon as August stopped pulling, it retracted slightly, keeping the tension firm.
He reached into his pockets, his movements stiff and furious. He searched the ground where the gunman had been. Nothing.
“He doesn't have the key!” August growled, the words sounding like they were being ground between stones.
“The key? Use your own! Aren't you a cop? A spy? A giant, angry lumberjack in a suit?” You were panting, your heart hammering against your ribs. “Get this thing off me!”
August turned his full attention to you. Up close, he was even more terrifying. His face was inches from yours, and you could see the fine lines of irritation around his eyes. “These aren't standard issue. They're magnetic-lock prototypes. There is no keyhole, Y/n.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “How do you know my name?”
He reached into the open flap of your tote bag, which was still dangling from your shoulder, and pulled out your ID badge from the publishing house. He glanced at it and shoved it back in. “I know everything I need to know. And right now, what I know is that you’re an anchor I don't fucking need.”
“An anchor?” You let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. “You're the one who let the guy cuff us! You're the professional! I was just trying to go home and eat some mediocre pasta!”
“Shut your mouth and move!” he commanded, giving the chain a sharp tug. It didn't hurt, thanks to the extension mechanism, but the sheer force of his movement forced you to follow.
“Where are we going? We need to find a locksmith! Or a welder! Or a priest!”
August didn't slow down. He began walking toward the mouth of the alley, his stride long and relentless. You had to practically jog to keep up, your heels clicking unevenly on the wet stones.
“We're going to my extraction point.” he said, not looking back. “And if you say one more word about my moustache or a locksmith, I’m going to make you regret having a tongue.”
“Oh, we are well past the point of me being intimidated, Moustache Man!” you snapped, though your voice lacked its usual bite. You were exhausted, cold, and tethered to a man who looked like he could kill a person with a stern look. “You've got a gun, a very expensive suit, and zero people skills. I’ve spent ten years editing the egos of narcissistic novelists. You don’t scare me.”
August stopped so abruptly you ran into his back again. He turned, his towering frame casting a shadow over you. He grabbed the chain between you, winding it around his hand until you were pulled flush against his chest. You could feel the heat radiating off him, the scent of rain, gun oil, and something distinctly masculine and sharp.
“Listen to me, darling…” he whispered, his voice low and dangerous, his face inches from yours. “I am in the middle of a high-level retrieval. The man who just ran off has information that could burn half of Europe. I don’t have time for your 'smart' commentary, and I certainly don't have time to be 'kind.' You are going to keep your head down, you are going to walk where I tell you to walk, and you are going to stay out of my way. If you don't, I will carry you like a sack of flour. Am I clear?”
You stared up at him, your breath hitching. He was brutal, he was arrogant, and he was undeniably the most imposing man you had ever encountered. But you weren't going to let him see you crumble.
“Crystal,” you whispered back, your eyes defiant. “But if I lose a shoe because you’re walking too fast, you’re buying me a new pair. And they’re Louboutins.”
August stared at you for a long beat, his jaw tightening. For a second, you thought he might actually crack a smile, or break your neck. Instead, he just let out a sharp exhaling grunt of annoyance and turned back toward the street.
“Fine.” he muttered. “Keep moving.”
“Listen you didn't ask me if I want to come with you!”
“ We are past that and now not word!”
As you stepped out into the neon-lit street, tethered to a man who was a different species of human altogether, you realized your quiet life of manuscripts and coffee was officially over. You were chained to a storm, and there was no way out but through.
The rain continued to fall, the silver chain between your wrists shimmering under the streetlights, a constant, unbreakable reminder that your worlds had not just collided, they were now inextricably fused.
“Good, you’re so good to me love...yes, love, yes..." August drawled against your ear, his voice a sensual caress.
You lay half-draped across his body, your hair spilling over his chest. He held you close, one strong arm wrapped under your knee, opening you to him completely so he could slide the swollen shaft of his cock inside you. Together, you moved slowly, savoring every moment of your reunion.
You could only whimper as he fucked you with excruciating patience, reaching so deep inside you that you shook with longing. Again and again he teased you. Staying deep, oh so deep. You felt amazing, but you were impatient.
He had returned from his mission and kissed you with savage need, tearing away your clothes. He’d taken you straight to bed, holding you close, keeping you lodged to his cock while he kissed and caressed you endlessly. He seemed determined to drive you mad with longing, nudging deeper inside you while kissing and whispering against your neck. His other hand cradled your body and cupped and fondled your breast, tugging at your oversensitive nipple.
“August, stop that and move, please,” you wiggled desperately but he remained moveless, rooted deep inside you, his fat dick stretching you deliciously.
“Shhh…” He licked across your neck. “I want to savor you.”
You took a quick breath, your fingers grabbing the cotton bedsheets. “Drive me mad you mean—”
Gently, he slapped your clit and you moaned and squeezed his cock tighter. “I’ll give you my load but only after I decide it’s time.”
“You’ve made me come three times already, August come on,” you tried to tempt him by squeezing your pussy walls around him but he didn’t catch the bait.
He smiled, his perfect white teeth flashing. “I have to prolong it, love. If it were possible, I would have this go on forever.” He delved out of your depths only to give a slick thrust that buried him to the hilt inside you.
You groaned, stars floating in your vision.
He devoured your lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. “Forever inside you while you squeeze and drench me with your love.”
He bent down and took a pink nipple into his mouth, his tongue circling it. His mustache chaffed you. You were red all over from his touches. You gasped when he fondled the other breast, nipping at the bud, his huge palm shaping the roundness of it.
“Now be a good girl and come for me,” he said, his hand reaching down to stroke your clit.
One, two, three gentle strokes and you shattered, your whole frame shaking with ecstasy. He kept you anchored to his cock the whole time, not thrusting, kissing your face and whispering how good it felt to be inside you, how perfectly you were squeezing his cock, how precious you were, how beautiful and loved.
“The most glorious woman in the world,“ he said huskily against the shell of your ear, “my woman, coming hard for me, my perfect little love. Feels good?” he asked, his thumb gently delving across the swollen lips of your sex that were stretched over his aching cock.
You nodded fervently, so blissful.
And then he started to move, finally giving you what you wanted.
His hips undulated, snapping repeatedly as he fucked you in earnest. He drew back, watching as he exited your depths, his length covered in your juices, then snapped back inside. He kept a wicked rhythm. Snapping fast and then slowly, giving you steady measured thrusts that made your eyes roll back in your head.
Head relaxing into the crook of his shoulder, you rocked against him. Grunting powerfully, he grabbed under both of your knees, spread them open and pistoned into you. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and both your moans were only sounds in your bedroom. The scents of salt and sex were thick in the air.
He fucked you like a man possessed, his grunts loud and frantic, jolting your body with each pump.
Locking eyes with you, he buried himself balls deep and erupted, spurting rope after rope of cum inside you. His huge body trembled violently, desperate moans leaving him as he kissed you hungrily while rubbing your clit maniacally. Your toes curled, your eyes closing tightly and you climaxed with sobbing cries. You felt his shaft pumping, the veins throbbing as he filled you to the brim.
When the pleasure waned, he was still inside you, softening extremely slowly. Keeping you locked together, he moved your bodies to the side, his arms resting protectively around you. You winced when you felt the telltale tickle of his seed down your ass. Even with him inside you, it was always too much.
Sighing in satisfaction, August drew one hand along the pale curve of your thigh. You arched back into him, reaching for his hand. Your fingers intertwined, his big and rough hand against your small, smooth one. You played with his palm then brought his hand against your mouth, kissing each finger. He sighed your name and you smiled.
“You overdid it today,” you said, looking back at him. His hair was tousled, his lips swollen—not as much as yours, you guessed—but it was pleasing to see him roughened and flushed from your lovemaking.
He kissed you, his tongue tracing the plump fullness of your lips. “I’m sorry. I missed you.”
“Difficult mission?” You asked, your fingers weaving with his. Sometimes he returned home with the weight of the mission pressing heavily on his shoulders, making love to you like a man possessed.
“They threatened to harm you,” August began, his voice strained. “It was an empty threat, I knew it. I knew you were safe but when they threatened to hurt you, it… it broke something inside me. I lost control. I thought of nothing but finishing them off and coming to you.”
Your heart ached for him. August always appeared so hard and unbending, brutal even, but his heart was gentle and fragile.
Slowly, you turned around. His shaft slipped from you, softened now and he made a grimace, missing the feel of you. You cupped his neck and he squeezed you against him, your nipples brushing his chest. You caressed his neck then ghosted your lips over the pulse of his neck.
“That must have been terrifying, my love.” You embraced him, arms and legs wrapping around him, your fingers rubbing small circles to comfort him. “But I’m alright. I’m safe. Always will be.”
“I know…” He buried his face in your neck, smelling your rose-scented hair.
“I worry about you, too,” you mumbled, trailing your fingers over his mustache. “Every time you go out there, I fear for your safety.”
He gazed at you, his eyes misty, vulnerable. “I promise, no matter what happens, I’ll always come back to you. No mission, no enemy will keep me from you.”
“And I’ll always be here, waiting for you,” you kissed him, smiling. “We’ll face these fears together. Okay?”
“Yes ma’am,” he hummed while readjusting himself, lining up against you. In a swift move, he thrust up, his hard cock surging inside you. Pleasure reawakening, you gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin.
“I want to be everywhere.“ Cupping your pert round ass, he sat straight and bucked his hips up. “I want you, every single inch of you.”
You embraced him and rubbed against him. “You’re inside my heart, August. You’re everywhere.”
He kissed you, possessing you. His lips were demanding, brushing against yours, tongue claiming your taste.
This time, he gave you a fast and insatiable rhythm.
“Yes! Yes!” You blubbered as you rode him, your clit rubbing perfectly against him. He fucked you so good and you tightened around him, sweet bliss flowing through you just in time with his release. You shouted his name, not caring about the volume or your desperate moans.
“That’s. My. Good. Girl,” he panted emphasizing each word with each pump of his seed inside you. “My anchor. My reason for everything.”
