pairing: dark!perv!owen taylor x first year college!reader
summary: Owen and y/n have never had a connection. From her first two weeks back from college, the two had spoken more than they had for the long years they’ve known each other. Y/n didn’t know why he’d be everywhere she turned. She soon found out when Owen came back to the parking lot after everyone left for home.
warnings: dub con, perv (stalks), stalker, plotting, no consent given, rough sex, man handling, begging, baby trapping, forced breeding, etc
note: some may not like this story because of where the plot is based (a church), so scroll if it would make you uncomfortable.
DO NOT READ IF SA MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!
Coming back home from college seemed like a great idea to y/n. She had missed her family, friends, and the activities the small town had for her. The first week, everything seemed sweet until Owen Taylor came back from Puerto Rico.
She and Owen had never had a close friendship, even though they’d see each other every Sunday and a couple of times during the week.
Y/n tried telling herself everything that had been happening was a coincidence, but after a while, she’d catch him staring. Sometimes she’d even go off alone somewhere just to see if he’d show up, and every time, he would.
Even tonight, y/n had stayed back after everyone left, and not even a few minutes later, she heard Owen’s car drive into the parking lot. He had just left, but he turned around to come back. Why was that? She’d always ask.
“Want some noodles?” Owen asked as he came through the door. “Uh, I guess,” y/n said before following the man into the crush kitchen. Something in her gut told her to perhaps go home and see him with people around, but she didn’t want to be rude.
“Do you even eat these?” Owen asked as he boiled some water for the two. “Sometimes,” y/n said, watching as he grabbed two cups of noodles from the cabinet. “Yeah, well, these are my favorite brand — Don’t have these in Puerto Rico,”
Y/n slightly chuckled as she leaned into the counter, trying not to seem too shy or nervous, but it was hard. They’ve never interacted so much throughout the years as they have in two weeks. It’s almost like he continues to see and speak with her.
“Welp, they’re done,” Owen said as he poured the hot water in both of their cups before handing y/n her own. “Thank you,” she said as she stirred her noodles to get the flavor throughout the cup. “Tell me how it tastes,” Owen said as he began eating his.
The younger girls hesitated but eventually tried taking a bite of their food. Sadly, it was so hot she had to spit it back out from the mild burn.
“It’s too hot,” y/n said as she placed her cup down, and Owen laughed to himself. “C’mere, let me see,” the older man said as he made his way towards y/n. “Oh, no, I’m fine,” y/n said, avoiding eye contact, but Owen soon turned her face towards him with his soft touch.
“C’mon, just a look. Wanna make sure you don’t need ice on your tongue,” Owen slightly squished y/n’s tongue, telling her to open up her mouth. It took her a second, but she eventually did. “Stick it out,” Owen demanded in a whisper, and y/n obeyed.
As y/n stood there with her mouth wide open and tongue out, she couldn’t help but look up at him. She had nowhere else to look. She’d even catch him staring into her eyes for a little while before inspecting her tongue once again.
“I think you’re good,” Owen said, making y/n close her mouth slowly, but his hand stayed on her face, rubbing her cheek softly as he kept his eyes locked with hers. Y/n wanted to look away, but couldn’t. It’s like she was stuck from how nervous she felt around him.
Without warning, Owen Taylor, an older man her parents would never accept for her, leaned into her face until his lips touched hers. He took his time, but slowly began moving his mouth all over hers to make her kiss back, even if it was slightly.
Y/n’s hands gripped the older man’s wrist, but she pulled away to keep herself steady as she closed her eyes, frozen with no idea what to do.
Within seconds, Owen began kissing y/n’s lips roughly. So roughly that you could hear his heavy breathing. It’s almost like he was in a rush, but for what and why?
“Mhm hmm,” Owen groaned under his breath as he quickly took his jacket off. Before y/n could think, the man began taking her thin jacket off. Their lips had disconnected y/n stayed still as he moved her around to take her jacket off. The look on her face screamed confusion.
“C’mere,” Owen said once again as he grabbed y/n’s upper arm and pulled her to a room with a couch, table, and TV. This is where she usually hangs out with her friends. “Sit,” Owen demanded as he let her go, slightly pushing her.
“O-Owen, I think I should go home,” y/n said as she went to get up, but the man stepped in her way as his hands fumbled with his belt. No words were said, just a stare as he blindly unbuckled his belt.
“O-Owen, seriously,” y/n said, trying to move to the other side, but all he did was the same thing, which was step in her way. Y/n looked up at the man, then down at his crotch, seeing how much his hard-on poked through his jeans.
Y/n’s head spun as she thought to herself. She isn’t really into anything sexual, yet Owen won’t let her leave as he stood in front of her, getting ready to flash her. She didn’t want to see him, so why was he getting ready to show himself?
Owen huffed as he unbuckled his jeans, pulled his jeans down a bit before digging in his pants to pull out his member. Y/n’s heart dropped at how thick, long, and veiny he was.
“Don’t tell me Mrs. Y/n here hasn’t seen a dick as big as mine yet,” Owen smirked as he moved his lower body closer to her face, making her back up. “Owen, stop, I — I have to go,” y/n said, now finally getting up to her feet, but that didn’t last for long.
The older man grabbed y/n and threw her back onto the couch before hovering over her. “Owen!” Y/n shouted as she lifted her upper body, just for it to be pushed back down. “I know you know I want you, y/n. I know you leave to see if I follow. I know you see I want you,”
“No- Owen, stop this, I-I have to go home,” y/n stuttered as tears began filling her eyes. “You don’t have to go anywhere. You’re an adult now. You can spend a little quality time with me.”
Y/n hadn’t pieced everything together until the man ripped her panties enough for his length to rub up against her folds.
“No — No, Owen, please! Please, don’t do that!” Y/n begged as the man spat on his hand before rubbing it all on himself. “Stop crying, y/n, and take me. I need this,” was all Owen whispered into the shaky girl's ear before forcing himself through y/n’s folds.
The younger woman threw her head back with a cracked moan as the man’s cock stretched her entrance out with one good and long push.
“Holly shit,” Owen cursed as his hands dug into the couch. It had been a long time since Owen felt a pussy this wet and tight. Even though his wife loved having children, he just never quite loved having her. They never connected, but by the way y/n squeezed around him, he just knew this was meant to be.
“O-O,” y/n sobbed as his name died in her mouth. “You sound like an angel, y/n. So fucking good, baby — Just so fucking good,” Owen huffed as he thrusted his hips, now pounding into y/n to continue hearing her cries and pussy make a mess all over him.
“C-Can’t,” y/n cried, words still dying in her mouth as she tried pushing away from him. All Owen did was take one of her legs and wrap his arm around it before pushing it back so that he could dig into her deeper than before. He wanted her to feel every inch he had been waiting to give to her.
“Owen, please…” y/n tried begging, but nothing was stopping him. He needed to feel and fill y/n before she left. It’s the only way she could repay him for leaving. Unless…
“I might just come back with you, baby. Stay in your dorm every day, waiting for you to come back from your classes so I can be there to pleasure you- Touch your body like it’s never been touched before.”
All the characters belong to R.J Lewis. This is an AU story with her characters. Book: Captive, 1.
Warnings: Dark Romance, Abusive toxic relationship
⸻
The fight had started the way it always did—slow at first, like something building under the surface, until it cracked open all at once and there was no stopping it anymore. I had been pacing the room, restless, suffocating in a space that had never once felt like mine, my thoughts spiraling faster than I could control them, every breath sharper than the last.
Two years of the same walls, the same routine, the same man deciding everything for me—it caught up to me in waves, and when it did, it never ended quietly.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I had said, my voice already breaking before I even finished the sentence, because I knew how it would sound, how it always sounded—desperate, emotional. “I can’t breathe here, Nixon. I can’t think. I feel like I’m losing my mind.”
He had been standing there, watching me the way he always did during these moments. That was the part that pushed me further every time. The fact that nothing I did ever seemed to shake him in the way he shook me.
“Then stop fighting it like it’s going to change,” he said, his tone even, almost quiet, and that only made something snap inside me.
I shoved him, hard enough that anyone else would have taken a step back, but Nixon didn’t move. Of course he didn’t. He never did. My hands stayed against his chest for a second too long, my breathing uneven, my frustration spilling over into something physical because I didn’t know what else to do with it anymore.
“You don’t get to say that,” I shot back, my voice rising, shaking. “You don’t get to decide what my life is.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “You’re still here, aren’t you?”
“I’m here because you won’t let me leave.”
“You’re still fighting me instead of figuring us out.”
That was the moment I completely lost control. My hands moved before I could think, my nails dragging across his neck—hard, desperate—like I needed to leave a mark, like I needed proof that I wasn’t as powerless as he made me feel. I expected him to stop me, to push me away, to react in some normal way—but he didn’t. He just stood there and let it happen, only grabbing my wrists when I had nothing left in me.
“You’re done?” he asked quietly, like I hadn’t just broken down in front of him.
“I hate you,” I whispered, my voice shaking, my chest tight with everything I couldn’t say.
“I know.”
And then, like always, he pulled me back in instead of letting me go. He grabs my face in a hard grip, his fingers pressing my cheeks into my teeth and forcing my mouth open.
I’m forced to look at him, to watch him as he leans down and spits. It lands partly in my mouth, making me gag. The moment he lets go, I turn my face into my arm, trying to wipe it away from my lips, my skin.
I hear his zipper, the sharp sound of his belt buckle. A sob gets stuck in my throat as I bury my face deeper into my arm. He throws me onto the bed and spreads my legs. Then he pushes himself inside me—everything happens so fast I don’t even have time to react.
He fucks me like I’m about to disappear, like he needs to keep me here, the bed shaking under us. Every time he pushes into me, it feels too deep, like he’s trying to bruise something inside me, like he wants to leave a mark there.
“How much do you hate me now, y/n?”
I don’t look at him. I don’t want to see his smirk.
“Come on, baby, tell me.”
I want to. I really do. But the words won’t come out. I try to push him away, but he’s too strong. He pushes deeper, a broken sound slipping from my lips when he moans my name. It feels like too much—like he’s inside me and taking everything with him.
His hand moves up my body, squeezing my ribs before sliding higher, until his fingers wrap around my throat. Not enough to choke me, but enough to make me tense, enough to make me nervous.
He sees it.
That fear.
And he smiles.
Of course he does.
Because he likes it. No matter how many times he tries to make me believe he cares, there’s always a part of him that enjoys this—enjoys what he does to me.
The sound of our bodies hitting together is loud, almost painful to hear. By the time everything slows down, by the time we both go still, I’m breathing just as hard, my body heavy and exhausted.
“You’re safe when you’re mine. You think anyone else would handle you the way I do,” he says, his voice rough, breathless.
I don’t answer.
I can’t.
I feel empty, drained, like everything inside me has been pulled out and left in pieces I can’t fix.
And then, like nothing even happened—
he tells me to get ready and come with him.
⸻
By the time we walked into the meeting room, the marks on his neck were still there—faintly red, impossible to miss if you knew where to look. No one reacted when he pulled me onto his lap the second we sat down. No one questioned it, this had long since become normal to them. I wasn’t a guest, I wasn’t a surprise—I was simply part of Nixon, something that came with him, something no one challenged because they understood exactly what that meant.
His arm wrapped around my waist automatically. The conversation around the table was already in motion, voices overlapping as they argued over, territory shifts, numbers that seemed to matter more than anything else in their world. I tried to follow it, but it blurred together quickly, my attention slipping.
Flynn sat across from us, still new enough that his gaze flickered toward me every now and then, curious, like he hadn’t quite learned yet that looking too long came with consequences.
The door opened, and the room shifted as Hobbs walked in, his presence cutting through the noise without needing to raise his voice. The conversation tightened, more focused now, until Dolly’s voice broke through it again,
“You’re distracted,” she said, her eyes fixed on Nixon in a way that was almost challenging.
He didn’t even look at her at first. “Am I?”
Her gaze slid to me, slow and unimpressed. “It’s hard not to be with that sitting on your lap.”
A faint smirk pulled at his lips as he finally glanced her way. “Careful, Dolly. You’re starting to sound obsessed.”
The reaction around the table was subtle but present—small shifts, quiet amusement—but Dolly didn’t smile. Her patience snapped just as quickly as mine always did.
“Fuck you, Nixon,” she said flatly, and then her eyes cut to me. “And fuck your little chihuahua. You should put her down before she claws your face next.”
The room fell quiet, but Nixon just chuckled under his breath like she had said something mildly entertaining instead of openly provoking him. Slowly, he tilted his head, exposing the scratches on his neck without a hint of embarrassment.
“My baby gave these in a different sort of fit, Dolly.”
Heat rushed to my face instantly, but his arm only tightened around me, pulling me closer like he was proud of it, like it meant something more than just another fight.
“Wouldn’t expect you to understand,” he added casually, his tone smooth, almost amused.
Dolly scoffed, leaning back in her chair, but she didn’t push it further, not with Hobbs watching, not with the atmosphere already thin. Hobbs stepped in not long after, back to business like none of it had happened.
When the meeting ended, Nixon didn’t say anything. He just stood, his hand finding my waist again, guiding me out with him like it was expected, like I followed because that was what I always did.
⸻
A/N: This is a fanfic based on the book: Captive by R.J. Lewis, which I recently finished. If you’re into dark romance, I definitely recommend it.
Let me know if I should write more AUs based on my favorite dark romance books.
