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dirtytomatoedwrites · 1 year ago

Text

INDEBTED

Summary: When your father's scandal threatens your family's legacy, Rafe makes you an offer you can't refuse.

Paring: Rafe Cameron x KookFem!Reader

Strictly 18+ No Minors to Interact

Warnings: Dark!Rafe, Dub-Con/Non-Con, Coercive Behaviour, Choking, Graphic Scenes / Smut.

Word Count: 4.8k words

Author's Note: 1000 followers! Wow, I never thought I'd reach 1000 followers. A part of me believes that half of these are bots, but regardless, to those who are real and have decided to join me in my little corner of the Tumblr woods, thank you. Your love and support, especially during these trying times, means a lot. I had this one shot sitting in my drafts for a while and thought I'd finish the damn thing and share it as a thank you. But heed those warnings : it's a dark one. Much love to you all ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

Embezzlement.

What a weird word.

It rolls off the tongue with an unfamiliar bitterness. It's the kind of term you'd see in a crossword puzzle, nestled between "clandestine" and "malevolent." You never imagined it would be splashed across news headlines with your family's name and the face of your father in the centre.

For years, your family was among the shining stars of Figure 8, leaders in hospitality, prestige, and wealth. Your home was the epicenter of elegance, the heartbeat of social galas. But now, news vans line the perimeter of your estate, their cameras hungry for a glimpse of the fallen dynasty. While online vultures, under the guise of investigative websites, sift through every chapter of your family's history.

Naturally, it caused a ripple, and as the waves of the scandal crashed onto the shores of Figure 8 with relentless force, family friends who once sought your company now wrestled with their association to yours. The 'friends' who once envied your galas and soirées now whisper behind closed doors.

It was the talk of every gathering. At lunches, tennis courts, even the marina; your family’s name was whispered with a mix of pity and sensationalism. Every disclosed detail, every leaked piece of evidence, threatens to shatter the glass pedestal upon which your family once stood unchallenged.

Yet, amidst the tempest of rumors and glares, your mother remains the eye of the storm. Resolute and graceful, she doesn't waver. The titan of Figure 8's social scene, she's always known how to command a room, and this scandal won't rob her of that gift.

Tonight, at the Midsummer ball, she's an emblem of defiance against the rising tide of whispers. And she does it so effortlessly. She glides through the crowd with that same charismatic charm. She smiles warmly, asking about children and recent vacations, pets, and passion projects, extending olive branches even when met with frosty receptions and curt replies.

You, however, are not as composed. The weight of judgmental gazes is too suffocating, the murmurs too piercing. The confines of the ball, with its glittering chandeliers and faux smiles, become a prison. With each passing moment, the walls seem to close in further. You need air. A moment of solitude. An escape from the suffocating pretense.

Whispering a quick excuse to your mother about needing the powder room, you slip away. The soft hum of the party fades behind you as you venture down a paved stone path, leading to the beach. The cool breeze and rhythmic waves provide solace, a stark contrast to the stifling ambiance of the party.

You had taken off the flower crown your mother had insisted you wear and were about to remove your shoes when you heard it: the soft crunch of footsteps on sand, drawing closer.

Hesitantly, you turned, finding him. The one whose eyes often sought yours in a crowd. Whose lingering gazes you'd always felt but habitually ignored. The same person who continually asked you out, oftentimes rudely and crudely. The one you had rejected, rebuffed, and shut down more times than you could count.

Rafe Cameron.

"Came to rub salt in my wounds?" you asked, unable to mask the bitterness in your voice.

"Now why would I want to do such a thing?" Rafe murmured. He pulled a joint from his pocket, placing it between his lips. The soft flicker of the lighter momentarily illuminated his face, revealing a brief smirk before the darkness cloaked him again. "I thought you might appreciate some company instead."

The word 'appreciate' ricocheted around your mind, sounding almost absurd in this situation. Company? From Rafe Cameron? The notorious Kook King of Figure 8, a classic case book narcissist who, you were certain, had probably raised a toast to the scandal engulfing your family. At this moment, you'd rather eat glass than accept his sympathy. Rolling your eyes, you turned back to the sea, barely acknowledging his presence.

“I'm not in the mood to talk, Rafe," your voice steady but seething with restrained frustration. Your eyes remained locked onto the undulating waves before you. The smell of sea-salt filled your nostrils, and for a fleeting moment, you felt at peace. It lasts all of two seconds before Rafe opens his mouth again.

"Fine, I'll talk. You listen," he asserts, as he settles against a rock. He leisurely inhales from his joint before blowing out a plume of smoke into the night air. You can feel his contemplative gaze on you; it becomes evident in the softened timbre of his voice when he speaks again. “You know, it's downright shitty what they're doing to your dad. To your family. To you... I can't stand by and watch."

A scornful laugh escapes you as you finally meet his gaze. "Well, life's not exactly handing out fairness certificates, is it?"

He shook his head, "No, it isn’t. But, it still doesn't make it right. It doesn’t make it fair when your dad claims he’s innocent—”

“My dad is innocent,” you assert fiercely, standing tall, arms crossed defiantly over your chest.

“Oh, I believe he is. But the world? Not so much. Your dad’s always been good to my family. My old man took it hard when he heard. I mean, of all the people on Figure 8 to be arrested for embezzlement, your dad was the last person anyone would suspect—”

“What's your point, Rafe?” You snapped, clearly about to lose the last shred of patience you had.

"I’ve been thinking about it alot, and maybe my family can help.”

Skepticism etched itself clear as day on your face. It seemed ironic that Rafe felt his family could help when Rose and Ward shunned your parents the moment the news broke.

“And how do you propose to do that?" you asked, your voice tinged with mistrust.

Rafe shrugged, a casual gesture that contradicted the gravity of the situation. "My dad, he's got connections—”

“So do mine,” you shot back.

“But did yours play golf with Senator Whitfield every Saturday? Rain or shine? Nah, didn’t think so.”

You felt a moment of silence envelop you both, the distant murmurs of the sea a constant reminder of the world moving around you.

"Alright, I'll bite," you said with a lick of your lips. "What do you want in return? You're clearly not doing this out of the goodness of your heart."

Rafe flicked his joint onto the sand, extinguishing it with a deliberate twist of his shoe. As he stepped closer, moonlight illuminated his eyes, giving them an almost predatory glow.

“You've got me," he admitted, his smirk devoid of warmth. “I do want something in return. Something that has been on my mind. Something I’ve wanted for a long time now. You."

A shiver raced down your spine, a cocktail of revulsion and trepidation. Retreating a step, your voice quivered but remained defiant.

"So, you're after a date?" You clarified, eyes narrowing. The same date he'd pestered you for, relentlessly, over the past year. The same date you'd denied him repeatedly, because despite being handsome, Rafe Cameron's moral compass seemed nonexistent.

Rafe scratched his ear as he moved slowly toward you, his expression pained as though what he was about to reveal would hurt him far more than it would hurt you.

"Yeah, see, a date won't begin to cover what I'm risking for your old man, given his rap sheet is longer than my arm. No, what I want is far more... rewarding," his voice sank to a sultry whisper as he towered over you.

"And what would that be?" you asked, tension crackling in the air between you.

"I want to be able to fuck you whenever and however I want—for a month, maybe two, perhaps even a year..." he shrugged slowly, "The specifics are negotiable, but doesn't that sound fair? A little pussy in exchange for your dad's freedom?”

The slap was instinctual. Swift. The sting on your palm matched only by the shock on Rafe's face. For a split second, everything was still.

Rafe's eyes turned to steel, his demeanor shifting chillingly in a heartbeat. He closed in, his voice a venomous whisper slicing through the salty sea air. "You must have a death wish" he hissed, an unmistakable dangerous edge to his words. His hand gingerly brushed his reddening jaw, his piercing gaze never leaving yours. "Your dad's freedom? It's dangling by the thinnest thread... The right words from a senator could decide whether he walks free or becomes someone's bitch behind bars."

He paused, his gaze falling to the flower crown in your hand. Slowly, deliberately, he reached out to touch it, his fingers lightly tracing the delicate petals, an almost gentle gesture that was jarringly at odds with the tension of the moment.

"If you want to help your dad, having a friend like me might be your best bet." he murmured. "Think it over, yeah?" His gaze lifted back to yours, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Fuck you, Rafe," you whispered, disgust fueled your retreat as you stormed away, his chilling laugh echoing ominously in the night air.

"You will, princess. When you come to your senses, you will."

Rafe's lingering words pressed on you, growing heavier with each breath. The looming possibility of your father's life behind bars became ever more ominous as Rafe presented a potential solution—a solution with an inconceivable price tag.

How could he even insinuate such a thing? The mere suggestion repulsed you, igniting a fury at Rafe's audacity. Yet the unease gnawing at your belly made you question: to what lengths would you go to save your dad? With your family facing disgrace and teetering on the brink of bankruptcy, Rafe's proposal offered a faint glimmer of hope, even if it took the ugliest of forms.

In the solitude of your bedroom, the pristine walls seemed to close in, just like the midsummer ball. Picking up your phone, you stared at the screen, the bright white light harsh against the dim setting. The contacts list stared back, an overwhelming list of names, none of whom had reached out during your family's time of need.

You scrolled, hesitating briefly before landing on Rafe's name. A whirlwind of emotions — from anger to desperation — consumed you as you pressed on it. Trembling fingers typed, deleted, and retyped a message multiple times, finally settling on the simplest of words.

"We need to talk."

Almost immediately, three dots danced on the screen.

"Tomorrow 7pm, Tannyhill.”

Was Rafe’s curt response.

You could barely sleep that night, as your mind raced, forming what you hoped was a semblance of a plan. You needed to negotiate on your terms, to retain some shred of dignity. It wasn't a detailed strategy, but it was enough to at least get through Rafe's offer with your sanity.

The next day as you approached Tannyhill, you whispered silent affirmations to yourself, reaffirming your resolve, your worth, and the necessity of your mission.

And then, there he was. Rafe Cameron, leaning casually against the frame of the ornate door, a picture of wealth and arrogance, a stark contrast to the turmoil raging within you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you in the impending darkness of the evening.

Rafe opened the door for you, his face betraying a flicker of something you couldn't quite read, but there was no turning back now. You stepped in, ready to negotiate with the devil himself if it meant saving your family.

"Where's everyone?" you asked, there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. Nothing about the situation was remotely pleasant.

"Movies. You know, I hadn't expected a text from you so soon." his voice dripped with condescension, "I was betting on at least a week or two."

"Yeah well, it is my dad's life on the line," your footsteps echoed with purpose as you followed him into the living room, eyes steeling for the battle ahead. "The sooner we finalize our agreement, the quicker you can pull whatever strings you have, right?"

Rafe spun around, his gaze locking onto yours. The sly curve of his lips unsettling. "Sure, I’ll make a few calls,” he stated, voice dark and sardonic, "but it'll depend on the terms we agree to."

"Alright…” you braced yourself, your arms folded trying to regain control. "Let's start with how lon--"

“A year,” Rafe cut in, not breaking eye contact.

"That's out of the question. A month," you shot back.

His chuckle resonated with an underlying seriousness, his eyes narrowing in focus "Sure, we can say a month. You willing to fuck me at least twice a day? No? Then eleven."

You straightened your back, your resolve hardening. "Two months, tops."

His eyes gleamed as he considered your counteroffer. "How about this, we keep our little arrangement going until your dad's free. It could be a month, maybe two…” he shrugged nonchalantly “It might even be a year. It depends on how soon he’s out. What do you think?"

You hesitated, visibly weighing the implications of such an open-ended commitment. Your dad’s charges were serious. The chances of those charges disappearing and him being released in a month seemed like a miracle. "What if it drags on for years?" you whispered.

Rafe’s grin grew more pronounced, relishing your distress. "Well, princess, that's for you to decide. You can always walk away whenever you think it’s unbearable. Does that seem fair?"

"Okay, fine. Now about condoms--”

“Not using them--”

“Oh, we’re using them. I’m not interested in having your kid, Rafe, and I’m certainly not interested in catching anything from you.”

“While I should be fucking insulted” he said dryly “I always glove up and get tested regularly too.”

“Okay, so why are you suddenly against using condoms with me, then?”

“Because I promised myself…” he said slowly, his voice lowering as he made his way towards you, “If I ever got the chance to fuck you, I'd do it raw.”

Your jaw clicked, your hands itching to slap him again. “Weren’t you fooling around with Letizia a couple of weeks back?”

“Yeah, so? I was gloved up.”

“I don't care. You've slept with half the girls on figure 8. I want you fully tested before we even think about doing anything. Condoms every time, no excuses.”

“Alright. I’ll get tested. Condoms while fucking, no condoms for blowjobs.”

"Yeah, about that, I'm not doing oral.'” you said folding your arms in resignation.

Rafe's eyes bore into yours, annoyance coloring his features.

"No. No. You don’t get to dictate how I fuck you." he snapped, his voice taking on edge of authority. "Look, i’m willing to let you negotiate a few terms, give you some semblance of control but it’s got to be worth my while, and for it to be worth it, I get to fuck you how I want, when I want.”

You swallowed, feeling your resolve waver.

"Now, here's what I want to make this deal work: when I call, you answer. No matter the place, no matter the time. You show up. Clear?" Rafe said.

You paused before giving a hesitant nod, the magnitude of your agreement dawning on you.

"And if I ask you to wear something specific, you will. No questions. We have a deal?"

Your throat tightened as his demands began to overwhelm you, but you managed a brief nod in response.

"Remember, fail to meet my terms, and our deal ends. Understood?"

Another nod.

"Anything else?"

“When will you make the call?” you asked quickly.

“After our first session,” he proposed, his smile revealing a hint of anticipation. “After that I’ll do whatever I can to make sure your dad’s free”

" I want proof. I want proof that you’d stick to your part of the deal.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

“Good." you said as you took a deep breath and released it slowly. "Get tested and send me the results," you responded, you're tone neutral, treating it as a standard business transaction. "I'll do the same. We can then choose a time and date."

Rafe nodded in agreement, his gaze intense and piercing.

You extended your hand towards him.

"What's that for?" he chuckled lowly.

"A handshake. To seal the deal."

Rafe reached out, his arms enveloping you in a firm yet tender grasp, pulling you against him. It took everything within you to not push him away.

"How about we seal this deal with a kiss, hmm?" he murmured, "Especially since we'll be doing a lot more than kissing very soon."

Rafe leaned in, letting his lips graze yours. But you stiffened, instinctively tilting your head so that his lips met your cheek instead. A soft chuckle escaped him as he retreated just a fraction.

“Ah ah” he chided. With his fingers gently but firmly cradling your jaw, he directed your face back to his, an unsettling tension growing palpable between you.

"Play. Nice.” he whispered, his voice considerably smug. "Kiss me. Like you mean it." It wasn't a mere request; it was a command that left you feeling completely cornered.

A battle of wills ensued; neither of you making the first move, both of you waiting for the other to blink first. Rafe's eyes never left your own as he leaned in once again, his determination clear.

His tongue gently pushed past your parted lips, and you allowed it, setting off a delicate yet conflicting dance between your tongues and lips.

Groaning into your mouth, his eyes shut as the kiss deepened, carrying an undeniable intensity. He sucked on your bottom lip, nipping at your tender flesh until his tongue lashed hungrily against yours sending a peculiar mix of tingles and dread coursing through you.

Finally, you pulled away from the kiss, catching your breath while your chest heaved. Rafe remained close, his lips just a whisper away from yours, his breathing matching your intensity.

"I'll get tested first thing tomorrow," he whispered, his voice thick with urgency and desire. "Make sure you do, too."

"All clear."

That was the message Rafe sent you two days after your heated conversation, accompanied by a screengrab of his test results. Without hesitation, you replied, sending him your own results in return.

As your fingers tapped across the screen, a surge of disgust washed over you. The very idea of being intimate with Rafe was anything but appealing; it fact, it made you feel sick.

You'd never choose Rafe of your own volition. Sure he was handsome but his excessive drinking and drug habits were repellant, and his disdain and bullying nature towards the Pogues was disturbing. None of his qualities were remotely attractive, let alone fuckable.

But then, the stern, resilient part of you asserted itself, urging you to focus on the goal at hand.

This was not about you or Rafe; it was about orchestrating your father's release from prison, a critical mission where failure wasn't an option. With this clear objective ingrained in your mind, you steeled your resolve, preparing yourself for what lay ahead.

When he proposed meeting up that same night, you didn't find it strange given Rafe's impulsive nature. However, the location he suggested did catch you off guard.

It wasn't Tannyhill, the somewhat familiar and comfortable place you had anticipated, but instead, an unfamiliar address. The randomness of the location set off tiny alarms in the back of your mind, making you wary but you took a deep breath, quickly typing out your response-

"I'll be there."

It wasn't just any random address, as you initially thought.

At the front of a gated tree-lined drive stood a prominent sign declaring, “Cameron Developments.” The freshly poured concrete and stacks of lumber clearly indicated that it was a home under renovation.

As you made your way along the winding path, unease gripped you, but the sight of Rafe’s truck haphazardly parked near the entrance reassured you that you had indeed reached the right place.

The estate was draped in an unsettling darkness, punctuated only by the soft chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the sporadic glow of work lights from inside, hinting at the ongoing renovations.

Exiting your car, you took a moment to absorb the scene before approaching the house. With each step towards the porch, your heart rate quickened. But before you could even announce your presence, the heavy door groaned open, revealing the looming presence of Rafe.

His expression, obscured by the shadows and dim work lights from within, gave away nothing. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing you to enter, then closed the door and locked it.

A knot formed in your throat, a cocktail of dread and adrenaline. Pushing the mounting fear aside, you gathered your voice, attempting to sound braver than you felt. "Alright, let's get this over with," you said.

A wicked grin tugged at the corner of Rafe's lips. You felt an icy dread settle in your chest. "Oh, we will," he murmured, "But first, I want to play a game... to make things... interesting." The atmosphere grew heavy, oppressive.

"One minute" he said, as he cracked his neck from side to side, his eyes boring into you. "You get a one-minute head start and after that, after that--" he sighed happily "I'm coming for you. Run."

Panic gripped you. "Run? What? What the hell are you talking about? What do you mean run?" you stammered, your voice edged with rising panic.

But his eyes were cold, devoid of humor or empathy. He leaned closer, his voice a menacing hiss that left no room for interpretation. "Run."

A rush of adrenaline hit you, and without another word, you sprinted past him as if your very life depended on it.

You had no clear destination in mind, only the primal instinct to run and hide. Every fiber of your being was attuned to survival. Heart pounding in your chest, you sprinted up the grand staircase, taking the steps three at a time, feeling the weight of your own desperation in every leap.

At the top, a maze of doors and hallways stretched out before you. You lunged for the nearest one, finding yourself in a dimly lit bedroom freshly painted in white. Shadows danced on the walls from the solitary work light, and your gaze immediately snapped to a closet on your right.

Without hesitation, you slipped inside, gently closing the door behind you. The smell of paint and cedar filled your nostrils. Placing a trembling hand over your mouth, you tried to muffle the sound of your heavy, ragged breathing.

Gently, so as not to make a sound, you nudged the slatted shutter doors of the closet closed, leaving only thin slivers of the room visible – distorted, but enough to keep watch.

The ominous sound of footsteps reached your ears; they were methodical, unhurried. Rafe was searching, savoring the hunt. You watched in horror as his elongated shadow, cast by the work light, drifted across the closet. A cold sweat formed on your forehead, and you had to fight back the urge to gasp as the shadow paused momentarily by the closet doors.

After what felt like an eternity, the shadow moved away, and you heard his footsteps retreating. Letting out a silent sigh of relief, you gave yourself a moment to gather your bearings. But you knew all too well you couldn't remain hidden for long; he would inevitably retrace his steps and find you.

Gathering your courage, you carefully eased the closet doors open and quickly scanned the room for an escape route. Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you made your move. Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you tiptoed across the room, avoiding the creaky floorboards that might betray your presence. But the moment you stepped out of the bedroom, you collided with a solid mass.

Rafe's eyes pierced through to your soul, pure hunger reflected in them as he stared down at you. His hand clamped around your throat, pulling you close as the smell of your fear and his cologne filled your nostrils in a nauseating mix. His lips crushed against yours, ravaging your mouth with an intensity that nearly made you faint.

As your fight-or-flight instincts kicked in, you frantically writhed in his grip. Your fists relentlessly pounded against his arm, trying to get him to relinquish his hold on you, but it was no use. In one swift motion, Rafe backed you into the bedroom and forcefully dragged you to the floor, your fingers wildly clawing at his arm as you searched for any type of leverage you could find.

Rafe ravished your neck with unbridled hunger, his other hand violently tugged at your skirt and panties, scraping the skin of your thighs until finding your moist center—the slippery wetness signifying your surrender to pleasure. Rafe groaned as his fingertips slid through your slick folds and into you causing you to gasp at the white-hot jolts of pleasure.

"For someone who's only doing this to save their dad, you're soaked..." Rafe laughed breathlessly, trailing a line of wet kisses up your throat. "All that sanctimonious bullshit about what you will and won't do and look at you, fucking dripping for my cock—”

"Fuck you!" you screeched, a potent mixture of embarrassment and venomous rage coursing through you has you writhing beneath him, your determination to push him off almost frantic.

"That's it—fight back," he jeered, his voice dripping with dark amusement. "Fight back. It'll make this all the more satisfying."

You kicked and screamed, only for Rafe to capture your lips in a bruising kiss. His hands connected your wrists together over your head. In a single move, he flipped you onto your stomach and straddled you from behind, his erection pressing against your ass.

One of Rafe's hands tears off your panties, your screams in protest seize immediately as Rafe stuffed the flimsy cotton into your mouth.

"There" he taunted with a sinister chuckle, pressing you down further as you desperately attempted to wriggle free. You strained to let out a scream, your voice stifled by the makeshift gag.

That same hand worked feverishly to free himself from his pants. You could feel the throbbing heat of his erection at the cleft of your ass. Could hear him tearing open the condom packet with his teeth, the necessary prelude to satiating his ever-growing hunger.

Not too long after he was grinding the head of his cock against your wetness while you fought to express your protests through the gag.

"No, no, this is what we've agreed to. What you agreed to..." Rafe's breath hitched as his cock slid over your weeping slit. With one hard, raw thrust, barely allowing you time to adjust to his girth, he plunged himself deep inside you.

He wasted no time, immediately beginning his relentless thrusts, utterly indifferent to your muffled struggles behind the gag. Your body writhed beneath his weight, your movements punctuated by desperate grunts, the hardwood floor beneath you offering no mercy.

After a brief moment, Rafe released your wrists and drew you closer, his grip on your hips unwavering as he continued to drive into you with unrelenting force. Your head spun as you gradually surrendered to the powerful cadence of his movements. His hands clung to you possessively, guiding both of you in a desperate, synchronized dance. Every nerve in your body ignited, primal heat surging from deep within.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your body succumbed to his unyielding force. Despite the freedom of your hands, you found yourself paralyzed, incapable of resisting or offering any form of resistance. Instead, you relinquished control, allowing Rafe to claim you entirely.

"I'm gonna fucking cum. I'm gonna cum. Cum with me," he growled through gritted teeth, his tempo increasing to a punishing pace.

You weakly shook your head, 'no,' your determination unwavering as you fought to maintain control over your desires. The mere thought of your pleasure becoming entangled with his, sullied and exploited for his depraved fantasies, was something you could not bear.

"Oh, you'll cum-" he sneered.

In a sudden, ominous gesture, he swiftly removed his leather belt from its loop around his pants and coiled it around your neck, pulling and winding it tightly around his fist.

"If you want to breathe, you'll cum," he snarled, pounding you with relentless force. The room was filled only with the sound of your choked gasps for air, Rafe's ragged breaths, the creak of the leather as he tightened his grip, and the rhythmic punishing slap of his hips against your flesh. You fought with every ounce of your being not to succumb to your impending orgasm, tears streaming uncontrollably from your eyes as you waged a futile battle.

The room reverberated with your agonised screams as your orgasm consumed you. Your muscles tensed and quivered beneath you, each wave of pleasure crashed over you like a violent tsunami drowning you. Your fingers clawed at the belt constricting your throat, the leather biting into your skin and to your abject horror, you were gushing around his cock as you climaxed.

Rafe fucked you harder, burying his face in the back of your neck. With a triumphant roar, Rafe's orgasm struck, and he shuddered against you, muffling his moans of pleasure into your skin as he stuffed his cock deep.

Sated and content, he collapsed on top of you, his breathing heavy and laboured, the condom filled with his cum. After a moment, he withdrew and shifted to lie beside you.

Summoning every ounce of strength you had left, you managed to free yourself from the tight confines of the belt and the stifling gag that had cruelly silenced you. Every fiber of your being, every muscle in your body, screamed with raw pain as you gulped in fresh air, each breath feeling like a hard-won victory. Tears of relief and anguish streamed down your face, and with a shaky hand, you hastily brushed them away.

The room seemed to sway, a disorienting blend of fear, relief, and vertigo threatening to drag you into terrifying darkness.

Yet, slicing through the fog of your distress was the haunting sound of Rafe's laughter. His voice was breathless, yet unmistakably gleeful. His fingers, dampened with sweat, raked through his messy hair, highlighting his heightened state of manic exhilaration.

"Next time," he grinned, a chilling promise lacing his words, "Next time, we'll use rope."

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Thanks for reading x If you enjoyed it please like/reblog/drop a comment would love to know what you think. Until next time ❤️

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lawrites · 7 months ago

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2022!Oswald Cobblepot x Female Plus Size Reader

(NSFW) Oswald Cobblepot asks you to drive with him, bringing you to the local makeout point. You both discuss insecurities, past high school experiences, and your love for each other (while getting into the mood of the area, of course).

CW: body insecurity, some talks of high school, and semi-public sex (not really because Oz bought out the place 😭), dry humping, praise

Thank you for exchanging fics with me @finniestoncrane!!! I was so honored to write this for you. Hope you enjoy. 💙💙

Oswald had a specific request for you, tonight.

“Sweetheart, wanna take you somewhere nice. Can you put on that pretty, short skirt for me? You know the one.”

You do know the one. You had found it online, somewhere, at one of his favorite high end sites. A flared tennis skirt that boasted it was for bigger bodies like yours, longer in the back and accommodating for wider hips. You had tried it on when it first arrived, in front of Ozzie as usual, and his eyes darkened instantly when he saw the way it highlighted your wider hips, the waistband digging into your plush middle and making a bit of flesh round out over the top. He had gotten up, reaching for your waist instantly and tracing the softness there.

“Angel…that one's a keeper. Want me to get you more? In different colors?”

“Thank you, Ozzie.” He looked elated, as he always did when you thanked him, “But I don't think that's necessar-”

He had put one hand in his pocket to reach for his phone while you were talking, and was now holding up a hand to interrupt you. “I'm already buying you more. You deserve only the best.”

Giving you a winning smile after a minute of tapping around on his phone, his attention returned to you, he continued, “And believe me, honey, this is absolutely more of a present for me.”

So now you find yourself rushing around, trying to pull together a cohesive outfit from your admittedly massive closet. The man spoiled you, but after spending most of your life without access to anything pretty at your size…you are secretly ecstatic to have such a selection at your fingertips. The only issue is that, after years of not having access to the best clothes, trying to put together an outfit that isn't just jeans and a tee is difficult.

Eventually, you land on the skirt in a pale blue color, a simple white tank top, a soft blue cropped cardigan, and some sneakers and thigh highs. Deciding to be a little bit extra, you put your hair up into some cute space buns, wrap them in a white ribbon, and grab a minimal amount of makeup.

Making a peace sign at yourself in the mirror, you take in your smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. It's not necessarily that you are unexcited for this date…you're just nervous. Even now, after more than a year of being with Oz…living with him, even, you worry that you just aren't what he truly wants.

He's proven time and time again that you are, but unfortunately years of insecurity over being fat don't just go away thanks to sweet compliments and proof of attraction…but they do help. You hold your hands at your sides as you walk to the grand staircase, but can't keep them from fiddling with the edge of your skirt when you see him.

He's dressed admittedly casually for him. Dark, high quality jeans that are imported from Italy, a nice, designer cotton shirt, and a vintage leather jacket. You haven't seen him like this before, and he looks good. His chest hair peeks out from the v of the shirt, his patent leather shoes are shined, and everything is tailored perfectly.

Your hands run along and edge of your skirt and you clear your throat, gaining his attention. His eyes instantly turn your way, with a charming smile. The smile drops into an open-mouthed gaze of wonder as he takes you in. “Oh, Angel…” he starts, then stops, then starts walking towards you.

You begin to hurriedly flounce down the stairs, trying to match his own impatient pace. In your haste, you manage to trip on the last step, only to be caught, handily, by Oz. His hands grip yours, and his charming smile is back. “Woah! Where's the rush, beautiful?”

He carefully winds a hand around to the small of your back, gently nudging you towards him until you are pressed right against his front. His other hand moves to cup your chin. “Got someone special you're trying to meet?”

You blush and try to disguise how flustered you are (how flustered he makes you). “I am! Have you seen anyone special around?”

He knits his eyebrows together in an exaggerated expression of contemplation, smirking at your tease and releasing your chin to rub his own. “Hmmm, can't think of one. ‘Cept me, of course.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, “Well, you're certainly handsome enough to be someone important.”

Oz, almost like he can't help himself, surges forward and kisses you. It wasn't fast enough to disguise the way his cheeks turned red at your admission, however. His tongue lightly traces your lips, demanding entry, and you open up. He groans and his hands move to your hips, trying to somehow get you even closer than you already are.

Eventually you both need air, and separate from each other as you catch your breath. Your face shows the astonishment you feel, “Well, that was…unexpected. Good unexpected, though.” You grin at him and he almost sheepishly runs a hand through the hair on the back of his head.

“What can I say, Angel? You drive me crazy. I can't help myself.”

He holds out his hand, and you gladly take it. By the gentle guidance of Oz, you eventually find yourself at the entrance of his garage. The sheepishness is gone, and he looks you up and down with a dark glint in his eyes, “Whaddya say, sweetheart? Up for a late night drive?”

—-------------------------

Oz made you feel cared for, in almost every aspect of your relationship. He was a secret romantic at heart, which was part of the explanation for his behavior…but the other part was his need to show off what he has earned. What is his, and his by hard work and smarts.

And, while saying that you're his may be archaic, you certainly feel like you're his as you're driving through Gotham, his big hand on your bare thigh, tracing the bit of flesh that spills out of your thigh highs. He's casually chatting, of course, telling you about this place or that in Gotham, the history behind it, occasionally making you giggle with his stories. He looks over to you when you do, briefly, his eyes shining.

“Never going to get used to the feeling that I get when I make a pretty girl like you laugh. It's a privilege.”

You are floating, happy, maybe slightly aroused at the feel of his hands on you, when he suddenly releases your thigh as the car stops, moving to put it in park. Trying to take in your surroundings, paying attention to them properly, now, you are instead confused to see just greenery, trees, and darkness surrounding you. You turn to Oz to ask him a question, but he is already getting out of the car and moving to your side, ready to open your door.

You thank him, accepting the hand he offers and trying to see if anything around you was worth the drive. And then, you see the drop off ahead in the ground, rocky, sharp, and guarded by a crumbling fence. Still holding his hand, you look from the drop to Oz. He brings your hand up, kisses it, and then releases it, gesturing for you to investigate.

You rush forward, hearing him yell out, “Be careful, though, Dove! You don't have wings even if you are an Angel.” Pausing well within a safe distance from the edge, you peer down and see the entirety of Gotham spread out before you. The twinkling of the lights, the giant buildings, but without the noise. It's quiet, even if you can just barely see a police car with sirens on, the shrill tone doesn't reach you, here.

“Oh Oz! This is gorgeous! I've never seen Gotham like this! How did you find this place?”

You feel his hands on your shoulders, his soft front pressed against you, “This place isn't a secret. Been aware of it since high school. Would come up here and look at the city and just…think sometimes.” He turns you around so you are facing him, placing a hand under your chin. “Wanted to see your gorgeous face light up like the city when you see it from here.”

Blushing, again, you swat his hand away. “Yeah, yeah, Mr. Cobblepot.” He snorts at your teasing tone, and you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow in suspicion. “I bet you said that to all the girls when you brought them up here back then.”

His grin falters, and he seems to almost deflate in stature. “W-well I-” he cuts himself off, struggling to form a sentence. “Actually, you're the first.”

You roll your eyes, “Sure, Oz.” He holds out his hands, “No! I'm serious…I…Doll, I wasn't much of a looker in high school.” His arms drop to his sides at his admission.

His face falls, and you see a familiar expression, one that you have on your own face when you talk about high school bullies and your insecurities over your weight. Softening, you move towards him, gently bringing him in for a hug. “Oh. I didn't mean to tease you, Ozzie. I know how that feels.”

He grumbles above you, “Yeah, I know, because I have trouble believing an Angel like you had any trouble in high school, myself.” Maneuvering you so he can look at you at arms length, he whistles, “I mean, with your plump, soft body and those rosy, plush cheeks? I have a hard time believing you even want to be with me now.”

You move forward, out of his grasp, and cross your arms, hugging yourself. “Oh, I don't know about that Ozzie. I was such a nerd in high school, and I still am!” He chuckles, and looks like he's about to argue, but you continue, anyway. “I know if you went to high school with me, though, I would have had the biggest crush on you.”

He looks confused. “Really? No joke?” You shake your head, “Absolutely no joke, cross my heart. You're charming.” You bite your lip purposefully, drawing his eyes which start to darken, “You're so romantic, it makes me swoon sometimes.” Moving closer, you wind your arms around him, one at a time, looking up with big, shining eyes, “And you are exactly my type. I love your strong nose,” you kiss it, “I love your dark, gorgeous eyes,” you get on your tiptoes to flutter your eyelashes against him in a cute move that makes Oz actually giggle.

“I love your body, even if you don't,” you press yourself right against his front, making him let out a grunt, “And I guarantee that if we were in high school together, I would have let you take me up here and show me-”

His arms pull you closer, desperately, and he slams his lips into yours, effectively cutting you off. You let out a surprised sound, but then soften and let him lead. Feeling the effect you have on him, you grind against him, making him release your lips with a groan.

“God, Angel.” He's out of breath, his hands crumpling the fabric of your skirt from where he had dug them into your hips. Releasing them, he smooths it down with his hands slowly, almost worshipfully. “The idea of you, in this outfit, showing little old, ugly me in high school a good time…”

You cut him off, “We probably would have both been considered ugly in high school, then, Oz. Two weirdos together. But look at where we are now, huh?”

You reach down to hold his hand, using it to lead him to the back of the car, where you hop up onto the trunk, slightly ungracefully. Arms spread, you invite him into your embrace and he accepts, sucking in a breath as you spread your plush thighs so they surround him.

Using your arm to bring his head down, he dutifully follows and sniffs at the juncture between your shoulder and neck, moaning and beginning to nibble marks into your skin. With a breathier tone, you whisper into his ear, “King of Gotham, my King of Gotham. So powerful and smart and those idiots in high school didn't know what they were missing.”

With that, he whimpers, and his hands dig into your thighs once more, moving your skirt up and pressing, grasping, digging into the plump flesh available to him there. His hips begin to piston, slowly at first, rubbing against your center and making you choke on air.

Then he releases the spot where he had been worrying your flesh with his teeth, nuzzling his nose up the column of your throat and whispering in your ear, now. “And you're the King of Gotham’s Sweet Dove. You're my gorgeous girl.” You whine, and he starts to move even faster against you, the both of you panting.

“Ozzie! Please!” You stifle your cry as much as you can, unsure what exactly it is that you want, but the heat in your belly is removing your ability to think. You feel your wetness soaking into Oz’s front, and he just groans, “Oh, good girl. So wet for me, yeah? So pretty and plump and all mine.”

You bite your lip, self conscious, still, especially being out in the open like this. “M-messy,” you whimper, unable to voice your worry more fully. He almost coos at you, trying to calm you down and comfort you as his hips continue pressing against you in a steady rhythm, sending sparks through your body. “You think I care about a little mess, sweetheart?”

You're the one who nuzzles your head into his neck, now, unable to hold back the small pleas and whimpers and whines that are all coming from somewhere deep inside of you. Somewhere in the mess of words, you say, “K-king!”

It makes Oz stutter in his rhythm, letting out a sound like he's been punched. “T-that's right, Angel. And a King doesn't let those peasants decide who he is or what he does.” With that, he snakes a hand around between you, maneuvering until he is under your panties, circling around your bundle of nerves and making you throw your head back, moaning out more pleas.

He chuckles. “Always wanted to hear a pretty girl scream out my name up here. Can you do that for me, Sweetheart?” The next word comes out desperately, like he needs to hear it, “Please.”

You start to chant his name, which makes him finally press his finger against your clit. “Oz! Ozzie! Oh! Oswald!” Your legs spasm and your mouth easily forms his name, your thighs hugging hard around his sides and forcing him to press right against you. He groans out, “God, my Angel,” and you feel him still as he grunts and growls against your neck.

Catching your breath together, you eventually separate a bit, the heaviness of the summer air and the stickiness combining to make you both feel a bit…gross. Chuckling, Oz removes his leather jacket. What little light exists around you highlights the sweat on his soft, strong arms, making your legs press together again.

He sees you, and lets out a moan. “Sweetheart, I love yah, but you’ve worn me out.” He throws his jacket casually in the back of the car and you collapse onto your back on the trunk, the exhaustion finally reaching your body. You let out a squeak as you feel Oz press against your thighs, removing your panties and cleaning you up with a wet wipe.

Sitting up, press a sweet kiss to his nose and thank him. He smiles serenely at you and you both contentedly sit, for a moment, before you remember where you are. Your heart seizes with anxiety and you push him away getting off the trunk and gesturing wildly with your hands, “Oz! We did that in public! Where anyone could see! What were we thinking! I-”

He laughs, a full belly laugh, and you turn to him with your hands at your hips. “What's so funny, Oz?”

He wipes a tear away, “Sorry, doll, didn't mean to mock you.” He looks fairly proud as he admits, “I own this place, and most of the place around it. I usually open it up to others but tonight…I made sure no one else would be up here.”

Your demeanor shifts to one of relief. “Oh, thank God.” He brings you to him, pressing your back against his front and hugging you from behind. “Oh, I'm not God, Sweetheart, but I'll take the thanks all the same.”

You swat at him, and he chuckles. Then, he groans and presses his head against your shoulder. His voice comes out hesitantly, “Besides, I didn't need anyone seeing me coming in my pants like a fucking teenager over a pretty girl.”

You join him when he laughs, and his wandering hands go to your sensitive spots, seeking out ticklish areas to make you giggle with glee even more. Two weirdos, indeed.

---------------------

....anyway hope you enjoyed! 💙💙

#lawrites #plus size reader #x reader #plus size fic #oswald cobblepot #batman rogues x reader #oswald Cobblepot x reader #oswald cobblepot x plus size reader #2022 oswald cobblepot #2022 penguin #the penguin 2024 #the penguin x plus size reader #the penguin x reader

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poppy-metal · 4 months ago

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what if tashi catches r talking to someone online…. maybe it’s purely innocent on r’s part or maybe it’s a tiny slip up out of desperation cause tashi hasn’t given her enough attention recently. regardless, tashi is fuming. tells you she’s disappointed, and it breaks your heart to know you’ve let your mommy down. later she punishes you for it of course <3

hgjhjjhhhhhhhh you feel even worse because you knew he was flirting and it felt good to be flirted with :((( it was just meant to be a little private moment that wouldn't lead to anything or go anywhere but you feel terrible.

tashi is so cold with you - and it brings stinging tears to your eyes cause you really didn't mean to do it- you tell her you weren't gonna do anything with him, he just likes you and you it was just a little fun -

tashi tells you if you're that desperate for attention from men, then what good will you be to her? what about when you start wanting to have sex? how will that affect your tennis if you're caught up in boy troubles?

but she's not obtuse. she knows you're a grown woman, and women have needs. she just expected you to be responsible about them and come to her when they started getting hard to ignore - you've disappointed her by acting out on lust with no rational thought, without her input. the guy you were talking too was a total loser on top of it all, to add insult to injury. a directionless fuckboy who wouldn't know where to find the clit if it was looking him in the eye. dirt beneath your shoe. and you were smiling and entertaining him? would you have let him take you out? touch your pussy? he would've been a shit lay - a horrible first time - the thought of her babygirl bleeding on some worthless prick -

you realize alot of her anger stems from how much she loves you - how good she thinks you are - and you immediately appeal to her - telling her she's right and you were bad and stupid and you shouldn't have even given him the time of day. you'd never give a guy like that your virginity. your virginity is in tashi's hands. she knows what's best for you.

that calms her some. some.

she still needs to punish you, though.

and you bear it - for her. bend over her bed and bare your ass for a spanking like a bad girl does - muffle your cries of pain into your wrist because you don't want to cry into her bedding and get it messy - counting out each strike with a choked breath - promising to do better, apologizing for being a slut when she raised you better -

but maybe it's good this happened. it's made tashi realize how needy you are. what a sex depraved little girl she has on her hands - because she sees the gleam of slick on your pouted pussylips despite the burn of each slap. she should punish you for being turned on, but her cunt responds too.

she thinks she'll have to start touching your little cunny herself soon - showing you all the places that feel best - how to use your sexuality to get what you want. because sex is power. and she wants you to be as powerful as she is some day.

she'll have to start looking for a man to experiment with too for you - she thinks of the boyfriend she had in her 20s, the blonde boy, art - how devoted and delightfully like a puppy he'd been. how in love with her he was - maybe he'd be good for her little girl - tashi could show you how to bring a man to his knees with just a swipe of your tongue over his cock - how to use them to fulfill your needs -

sometime later, though. you weren't ready for all that yet.

after your spanking she kisses the top of your head and tells you to stay put as she goes to retrieve some aloe vera for your sore ass. she rubs it in soothingly - though she knows it'll still hurt to sit tomorrow. you don't complain. you melt into her bed under her hands and she knows you're too tired and limp to walk back to your room. so she lets you curl up next to her in her bed and lay your head on her chest like you did when you were little. you even tuck your thumb into your mouth as you start to doze off - with her hand stroking through your hair.

you really are mommy's good girl.

#ask #tw incest #frens <3 #I NEED HER SO BAD

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wishmaster · 1 year ago

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A new Lifestyle

Evan loved showing off his sexy feet online. thousands of viewers loved looking at them. It never bothered him that some people may enjoy his feet way too much, he made good money off the videos.

One day he headed to the shoe store to buy some new kicks. His usual tennis shoes would do, but there was a calling coming from the boot section of the store, a pair of tall black boots wanted him to try them on. Evan had loved the look of boots but didn't lik the idea of hiding his feet away. But the urge to try them on was too great, after all he was just seeing how they looked, but something happened once they were both on his feet. They seemingly locked on to him and suddenly his clothing began to change.

His jeans became leather pants which fused to the boots which would make them very hard to get off. Speaking of hard, his cock and balls had increased in size and were showing prominently in his new pants. His white tee turned black and his upper body grew, he looked like one of those leather alphas he's seen online.

He went to the register to pay but the boy behind the counter instead dropped to his knees to worship the new alpha in his life. Evan exited the store his new boy in tow as his life as a foot fetish model was over as his feet would never leave those boots again. He headed home adjusting his bigger junk thinking of all the sweet boys waiting for their new alpha.

#body transformation #male transformation #cursed object #geek to alpha

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shadow4-1 · 1 year ago

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Heart Eyes (Love At First Sight AU/Imagine - Reader x Price) - Captain John Price Edition

We've all had that feeling when we see someone attractive. Of course it depends on the person. Some drool, others get shy or hot in the face. Our pupils dilate, but not enough to notice unless you're unnaturally observant. What if you could see it? What if it was obvious a person like-liked you on first glance?

(Trigger Warnings: SFW, Slight Body Horror, Mild Discomfort)

John had seen more things in his life than most people ever would.

He'd seen war, death, famine, but also hope and kindness. He'd seen love too. He'd seen how it sparked into existence, how it could fizzle out or burn into something more. He'd never actually experienced it for himself, never figured he would to be honest. He was getting older. Most people found their lifetime match in their twenties. He'd seen it happen too many times to count. He'd seen too many recruits or sergeants passing in halls, locking eyes, and never being the same after. Love could do terrible, wicked things to a person, twist them into knots with obsession. Or, if they were lucky, make them better for it. Love was not in the cards for Captain Price, he decided. And of course, just when he was deciding to get comfortable with his fate, love decided to kick him squarely in the chest.

He hadn't felt this weak in years. He doubled over, coughing, his heart beating so hard he felt as if it were going to burst. He went from standing to kneeling, to laying face down on the dingy linoleum floor. He could hear shouts, shoes squeaking, worried murmurs. It was as if his body was slowly giving out, all of his strength being used to keep his poor heart beating. He tried to right himself, tried to get his arms underneath him but it was no use. He wheezed, trying so desperately to suck in a well needed breath. He was having issues seeing as well. Everything was hazy and too far away save for the minute grout lines in the flooring. He spied a pair of white, beaten up tennis shoes in the corner of his eye. His voice wouldn't work, his ears were ringing. Was this it? Was this the way John Price was meant to go out? A goddamn heart attack in the middle of a veteran's hospital?

A couple male orderlies managed to hoist him up into a wheelchair. He felt like a drowning fish, sucking in air that burned all the way down. A doctor began yelling, nearly unintelligible, something about his heart rate. What a fuckin' genius, he could've told them that if he had the ability. His heart hurt, it burned, he clapped a weak hand over it. Why? What happened for him to feel this way all of a sudden? He'd only come to the hospital to visit a recovering team member. He'd been waiting for so long and then a nurse came out to greet him. She was going to take him to the room-

He looked up, finding her standing off to the side, watching the chaos slowly unfolding around her. She clutched onto her clipboard for dear life, tears welling in her eyes. She then glanced down at him. Her eyes met his.

It was an immediate relief.

He could suddenly breath again, his tight lungs expanded and he gasped. He grabbed onto the edge of the wheelchair, pushing, struggling against the orderly who was trying to read his pulse. The pressure surrounding his heart suddenly ceased, making his head spin with white stars in his vision. They danced around her face. He felt as if he'd been socked square in the jaw. He hadn't felt this kind of knock out since his first fight as a teenager.

A light flashed across his eyes and he jerked back, putting his arms up defensively, his nerves finally coming back online. The doctor flinched back with a soft grumble. He made a comment about how John would be perfectly fine. He had apparently just suffered from a heart eye attack, something that no healthy person had ever died from. A heart eye attack? Heart eye? He looked around for a shiny surface. The only one he could find within reaching distance was the aluminum bar of the wheelchair. He forced his still blurry gaze down into it, spreading his upper and lower eyelids apart with shaky fingers. Sure enough, despite his instability, he noticed his pupils had shifted in size and shape. He huffed in discomfort. He'd witnessed the change in other people's eyes, but never expected to see it on himself. He watched in stunned silence as the heart shape of his pupil slowly melted back into its normal, circular shape. He blinked, once, then twice, his vision had retreated back to a perfect 20/20. He swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth and let out a shuddery sigh.

A heart eye attack? Him? But that would mean-who? The last person he'd looked at had been the nurse with a-

Slowly, he turned his head back in the direction of the woman. He let his gaze slowly ascend up from her dingy white shoes, across her scrub bottoms and up towards her belly. He steadied himself, then finally looked up at her face again. She was still watching him with a mix of emotions. His vision went blurry around the edges and yet focused in the center. It was as if his eyes had turned into one of his favorite scopes, blocking out everything else but the warm body of his target. He noticed every little thing about her in vivid detail, down to the individual flutter of her eyelashes. It was as if time had slowed, she'd become his world. And by God, she was gorgeous. He let himself get lost in the beauty that was her face…until reality blocked his view.

A black wall separated him from his new love. It took everything in his willpower to not stand up and swing on the person standing in front of him. A firm hand placed itself on his shoulder. His tunnel vision faded (as well as what he assumed to be the heart shape of his pupils) and he was greeted to the sight of his lieutenant. Simon didn't need to say a word, his grip was enough of a warning. John needed to choose his next actions very carefully or risk ruining whatever future might be in store for him.

"M' alright." He breathed out, patting Simon's hand. "M' alright."

The doctor asked to check his vitals since he'd started to calm down. He let the doctor finish before shakily standing up from the wheelchair. John had never been one to walk around with his head down, but in this instance he found he had to. Looking at anyone's face felt too wrong, he quietly thanked whatever God out there for Simon's propensity to wear masks.

Despite the scene he'd just made, apparently all was well. The doctor asked the nurse to escort them to the hospital room as she had attempted to before. He refused to look at the nurse's face as she awkwardly greeted both him and Simon again, then led them down a long hallway filled with numbered doors. Door 1367, John MacTavish.

"You go on in." John huffed to Simon, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll b' in n' a minute."

Simon looked at him with his usual, emotionless expression. John could make out the disbelief in the gaze despite it. He gave his lieutenant a sharp nod, letting him know he was being serious. Simon entered the hospital room, closing the door behind him with a click.

John sucked in a breath, quietly hoping the nurse wouldn't be standing there. It would hurt more and yet so much less if she'd wise up and run off. Much to his chagrin, she was still there.

"Look…m' sorry, for what happened back there." He cleared his throat. "I'll admit, 've never had this happen to me before."

"Never?" She asked incredulously. Despite his best efforts John had to look at her face again. Once more, he was lost in her eyes, the set of her cheekbones, her sweet, sweet lips. Even the slightest imperfections of her skin were stunningly unique, like the formation of clouds in the sky.

"Never."

#price x reader #captain price #john price #cod mwii #mw2 #mw2 headcanons #captain john price #price x you #cod imagines #cod mw2

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spade-riddles · 7 months ago

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Anon, and anyone else who was not around back then … Karlie is not married to the criminal. She never has been. The pretend wedding was a photo shoot. Dior (the dress she wore) received lots of promo, same with the bridesmaid dresses. 👗 If you were around back then it was clear as day how phony it was. Of course the pretend marriage is also for the criminal to protect his closet.

To show you one example of confirmation. When you search Jared Kushner in people finder sites online you get results that show Ivanka is related to him (his wife):

When you search Joshua Kushner, there is no sign of Karlie. It has been this way forever.

When you search Karlie, you see no Jerk and no Florida locations, but Florida shows for Jerk. Curious, huh, even though she pretends to live there part time with him.

These sites “aggregate data from a variety of sources. This includes public records, social media, and other data brokers."

If KK and Jerk were married, and/or if they bought and sold all of these properties together over the years (that the media claims), why do their names never show up together in these record searches?

Also, see this gem of a post that shows Karlie's tennis shoes 👟under her wedding dress at the photo shoot:

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asics2022 · 5 months ago

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#tennis clothes and shoes #men's tennis shoes online

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radicalsupreme · 2 years ago

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I peaked after my friend's little sister became a TIF at the age of 12. She is so smart, so talented, funny, an avid reader, so brave, and also going through some hard times.

The first time I was around her after she identified as a TIF, I legitimately could not get the "he/him" pronouns out of my mouth. I seriously tried. The cognitive dissonance between the amazing girl in front of me and the identity she was trying to adopt just did not compute.

She reminded me of myself when I was young-- when all the adults around me would call me a "gifted kid" but dismiss my mental health struggles.

She wears the exact same clothes I did as a young teen who was uncomfortable with puberty when it kicked in, but now she says those same clothes make her a boy. Jeans, baggy shirts, tennis shoes, a sweater or jacket no matter the temperature.

She cut her hair short, literally just like I did at her age, but now it's a boy's cut.

She's fallen into an online community that endlessly affirms her and acts like her friends, something she struggles to find at school.

She makes "egg" jokes and shares posts about "cracking eggs," a chronically online term that implies any gender non-conforming traits somehow signal imminent trans status.

I legitimately could not see her in front of me and force myself to believe she was truly a boy. I could not, and it sent me down a research spiral that led me to JKR's fabulous essay-- and from there, feminist books, discourse, and online communities.

Did anything in particular cause you to peak? Would you be comfortable sharing? Curious to hear more personal stories.

#radblr #radfem #radical feminism #peak trans #anti gender #gender critical #gender criticism #radfems do touch #radical feminist safe #radfems please touch

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penig · 24 days ago

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So anyway it's still my day to mop the kitchen so I'll go gear up (supp hose and tennis shoes; mopping is hard!) and next time I get online I will post sims 2 pictures and bury myself in escapism because that's all I can do right now.

#i am so angry #I am so sad #America is not what I was raised to believe in #but I will believe in all that anyway #and I will keep on trucking

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oldguardleatherdog · 2 months ago

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Chappilled

These morose waifs will be the death of us

Since the Chappell Roan bothsider flap is still doing brisk business, here's a howl I posted to the r/WhitePeopleTwitter sub on Reddit a couple of weeks ago. I was going to make a big sweeping point about the issue but ended up sending an unexpected message to myself...

°°°

Late Boomer here (a year younger than Obama). LGBTQ+ and HIV/AIDS activist 38 years. Marched with ACT/UP and Queer Nation 34 years ago when they were trying to kill us. We beat them. Now I get to watch embryos in tennis shoes like Roan spread right-wing garbage to millions as I'm seeing my life's work being rolled back and erased on a daily basis. I cannot keep marching forever.

I'm 62 years old now, married to the most beautiful man in the world with a family I cherish, we both have HIV, me with AIDS and he's a cancer survivor, and I've had it with carrying GenX gays and Millennial gays and every damn LGBTQ+++ generation on my scar-covered broken-down activist back.

I'm retiring from the front lines. I've info-dumped my entire activist knowledge base to the few people who know the score (and put a lot of it online), and I'm getting on to the next phase of our lives.

What happens now is up to you, and I strongly suggest you get with the damn program before Chappell and her cohort unravel everything your ancestors did to give you the free freaky fabulous AIDS-free marriage equality openly gay lives you have today. I've got mine, and as much as I love you, I've done my part and more, freely given.

Now go fix this. Honor our legacy. As much as we did this for ourselves, we did this for you, and suddenly, just like that, it's yours now to keep or lose.

#it's a fucking battle cry #information gladly given #animal j smith #vote blue

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defendersoftheearth · 3 months ago

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Peter Renaday

I see the site here as reported Peter Renaday's death. This was unexpected. I consider him a friend, even though I never met him, but we would chat online off and on for the last 6 years. We would have conversations about Defenders, including Mandrake's car which he actually remembered, but his recollection of plots and lines wasn't there. Not because of his age, but because while playing Mandrake during the day, he was on stage at night performing so he had a lot going on upstairs. We talked about our pets, both of us had cats, easier maintenance as we agreed. So many things over our time spent. He has a big extended family which includes friends, colleagues, fans. We are all grieving at the moment, so spare some time in thoughts, watch, if you have any, some of Peter's work such as Defenders or TMNT. Also, you may not know, but Peter was a big part of the early Disney family. He started working for Disney in the late 50's/early 60's. He actually was in some of their live action movies, such as Herbie the Love Bug and The Computer Wore Tennis Shoes. But I wanted you also to know that Peter was one of the rare types of humans. He was generous, kind, gracious,one of the sweetest human beings on the planet, but he never would say that himself. That comes from all who worked and knew him. I will miss him terribly, especially the emails and talking about the Oscars every year. Take care of each other, and hug all those you hold dear. . .

#Defenders of the Earth #DoE #Mandrake

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jimin-jungshook-over-literalbae · 1 year ago

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Blinding Lights Chapter Six

Hey guys, welcome back! Chapter Six is finally done. Sorry about the impromptu break. I wasn’t sure who I wanted to continue yet. I had a small amount of writer’s block. This wasn’t what I pictured initially but I think it’ll work. I hope you guys like it! Send me any asks or questions you have! I try to respond to those when I can!

Warnings: Fighting, Threats, Allusions to sexual assault, Kidnapping.

Word Count: 3,322

Masterlist

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

It started as a normal day, the day that the peaceful bubble around us came crashing down. It had been weeks since I had come to live with the boys, weeks since they had rescued me from that hell hole. Days of working out with Jungkook and practicing self-defense, days of painting with Taehyung, cuddling with Jimin, talking about books and gardening with Namjoon, napping with Yoongi, shopping with Hoseok, making dinner with Jin and helping him relax after hectic days at work. They had even set me up with an online therapist, to deal with some of the trauma. Peaceful days that felt like a pretense to the terror now racing through me.

Breakfast started normal, everyone bickering and getting ready for the days ahead of them. Everyone had the day off, for the first time in a while, and we were planning on a nice day in, movies and take out. Low stress, high affection. It started when we all separated to get ready for the day. At first, I didn’t think much of the crash down stairs. Namjoon has tends to break things and he was the one helping Jin with the dishes. The shouting that followed, however, was not normal. Sure, Jin shouted at Namjoon sometimes, but not like this.

My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. I slip on my tennis shoes, creeping out onto the landing. Smoke fills the room, making everything hazy and hard to see. Someone shut the lights off, maybe the wires were cut, but my feline counterpart allows me good night vision. Sound surrounds me, almost too much to take in at once. This can’t be happening. Not now. I won’t let them hurt my mates. I have to do something. I won’t just sit in one place.

I sneak toward the stairs, my feet noiseless on the carpet. That’s another bright point about being part cat. I see two figures wrestling near the stairs, familiar tiger striped ears glinting at me in the fog. I move without thinking, throwing myself onto the back of the man fighting Taehyung. My arm goes around his neck in a chokehold, like Jungkook taught me. His fingers scrabble at my arms, trying to pry me free, but I refuse to relent. I hold until he stops moving, climbing off of is slumped form.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?” My words are hushed and hurried as I crouch by Tae. His hands shake a little but she shakes his head.

“You need to hide. I overheard them talking. They’re after the Omegas. I was looking for Jimin and Jin when he found me,” Taehyung explains in a rush.

“I won’t hide, Tae. I’m going to help. I can’t just sit back anymore,” I say firmly,” You search up here, I’ll search downstairs. If you find Yoongi or Namjoon, let them know. Jungkook or Hoseok would do too.”

He looks like he wants to argue but his shoulders slump a little at the determination in my eyes. He takes my hand and squeezes it, then he’s gone, swallowed by the smoke. I start down the stairs but the sound of someone coming up from downstairs causes me to pause. The stepped on the squeaky stair. Anyone who lives in the house knows to avoid it. I jump over the side railing, landing noiselessly on the floor below. I hide in the shadow of the stairs, listening to the sounds around me. It sounds like there are more people upstairs than down, many feet hurrying around. A familiar chirp, though it sounds panicked, draws my attention. Jin.

I scramble toward the sound, ending up near the sliding glass doors to the patio. An all too familiar man has Jin in his grasp, a growling Namjoon in front of him, his metaphorical hackles raised. The man is the last picture Namjoon had showed me, the man who forcibly marked me.

“I would keep still, if I were you,” The man growls, the hand he has on Jin’s throat tightening imperceptibly,” Wouldn’t want your little Omega to get hurt, would we?”

I can see that it is taking everything in Namjoon to hold back, his Alpha filled with anger at someone else threatening his Omega. I move silently, slinking behind the grand piano. I’m glad it’s closed currently, and silently apologize to Yoongi for what I’m about to do. I grab a heavy glass vase from a nearby cabinet, jumping onto the piano to use it as a landing deck. I dash across its’ surface, jumping and slamming the vase into the back of the man’s head. He crumples, nearly taking Jin down with him. I land in a crouch, watching him for any signs of movement.

“Lets get you somewhere safe, baby, okay?” Namjoon quietly murmurs to Jin. He holds Jin’s shaking form to him tightly,” Are you okay?”

“I’m o-okay,” Jin croaks through his obviously sore throat. Namjoon turns his attention to me.

“The green house should be safe, right? Or the pool house? Taehyung says they’re after the Omegas. That he overheard them talking. I have to find Jimin,” I speak in a flurry, trying to avoid Namjoon’s eyes. I can feel his discontent with that answer.

“If they’re after the Omegas then you need to go and hide with Jin. I will look for Jimin,” Namjoon gives me a pointed look but I shake my head.

“I can’t. You know I can’t. I can’t stand back anymore. I’m going to help,” I finally stand, my hands going to my hips to make a point.

“You can help by keeping Jin safe,” His words are meant to be a compromise but I won’t compromise on this. I shake my head again.

“I won’t let them hurt Jimin. If they do, it’ll be all my fault. I won’t hold back,” Before Namjoon can argue back again, I’m gone. I take off toward the front of the house, looking for my pink haired mate.

Realistically, I know that Jimin can take care of himself, probably better than I can, but I also know that he’s much softer than the rest of the boys. A soft Omega who becomes pliant with praise and cuddles, who can’t hold himself up when he laughs. Who has to cling to people when he’s scared, and likes to have his ears scratched while we watch movies. He’s my softest mate and I won’t let anything happen to him.

For a while, I don’t see anyone. It feels like it’s just me and the dark fog around me. Then, I see a flash of pink from the corner of eye. I follow it, it’s trajectory taking it out of the front door and onto the front lawn. It’s easier to see here, alleviating some of the burning in my eyes. A man is carrying Jimin, who seems to be tied up. He struggles, his whole body shaking with the effort. For a moment, I see red, a bruise already forming on Jimin’s cheek. He drops Jimin on the ground carelessly, like a sack of potatoes. I can see the grunt and wince Jimin gives, even if his mouth is muffled.

Once again, my body moves before I can think. The man hasn’t noticed me, turning to face the front of the house. I hadn’t even noticed that I had moved away from the front door, hiding by the bushes near the front of the house. I move softly, quietly, creeping behind the man and to Jimin. Jimin looks up at me in panic. I pat Jimin’s pocket, finding the pocket knife he keeps for emergencies. The ropes are tough but I manage to get the ones off his wrists. I’m just working on his ankles when a voice causes me to freeze.

“Well, well, well,” The voice is all too familiar and I can feel my anxiety growing. The man that stands before me is my old owner,” I should have known that one cat would lead me to another. My little kitten.”

My mouth tastes like blood. I can feel my chest freezing with anxiety. A hand closes around my own hand and I almost panic, but it’s Jimin. He helps me saw through the last of the rope, pulling me to my feet and backing toward the house. His body covers mine, blocking me from view. Master tuts, his expression sour. He would never allow me to call him anything else.

“Stay away from us,” Jimin growls, his arms caging me in. I press to his back, my whole body shaking. I need to move, to do something. He’s too close to Jimin. I can’t let him hurt Jimin.

“Little cat, you seem determined to stand between what’s mine. Maybe I should take him with us, hmmm, Little Kitten?” He practically purrs, his eyes meeting mine,” I bet you would do even more things for me if I brought you a playmate, huh? And he’s just so pretty.”

He reaches his hand forward, as if to touch Jimin’s cheek, but I smack his hand away. His expression is shocked, and honestly, mine probably is too. My expression is quickly replaced with a glare. He won’t touch what’s mine, won’t hurt what’s mine. Hurting Jimin would hurt everyone else and I can’t let that happen.

“Don’t touch him,” I growl, my words bordering on a hiss.

“Awe, no faith in me? You know I’m always kind to what’s mine, Little Kitten,” Master’s lip curls, his eyes dark.

“Don’t call me that,” I snarl,” That name doesn’t belong to you. And you’re not going to touch him. I won’t let you hurt him.”

Jimin seems surprised by what’s happening, which makes it easier to change our positions, my body now in front, shielding him. He struggles a little, though belatedly, but he doesn’t seem to want to distract me. I can feel my nails lengthening, like claws, my own rage possessing me. Knowing everything that he’s done to me, the idea of him wanting to do that to Jimin, to put Jimin through the same things I went through? That won’t happen. I’ll tear his throat out.

“Little Kitten, you seem to forget who you belong to. Whose brand you wear on your shoulder,” A clicking sound as my blood running cold, and then there’s a gun pointed at my forehead. Jimin stiffens behind me,” Do I need to kill him? To remind you? I’d rather not wound something so pretty. Maybe I should hurt one of the other ones? The Tiger or the Bunny? I could probably make money from the Panther and the Wolf.”

“Please. Please don’t hurt them. Please. If I go with you, will you leave them alone? Please?” I’m pleading, almost begging,” I’ll be a good girl. I won’t try to run.”

“Hmmm,” He taps his chin in contemplation. I can feel Jimin shaking at my back, his fingers curled into the material of my t-shirt,” Sure, I can take you back, Little Kitten. But, I will be taking the Calico too. Male Calicos are so rare. He’d be a good commodity to add to my collection.”

“No, please, please no. Leave him alone,” I feel like screaming, like tearing him limb from limb. His hand closes around my arm, yanking me forward and out of Jimin’s finger tips. I can hear a grunt and the sound of fighting behind me,” Jimin!”

“Let her go,” The voice is dark and almost unrecognizable. I look up, expecting to see someone like Yoongi or Namjoon, but the dark voice belongs to Jungkook. There’s a gun in the Bunny hybrid’s hand, his eyes dark and stormy. Master moves me, my body now a shield for him as his own gun rests against my temple. I can see Jimin from my angle, struggling with the same man from earlier.

“Kookie, please, you have to help Jimin,” Jungkook’s eyes meet me with a surprised look,” I’ll be okay, but you have to help Jimin, please.”

“I won’t let him take you,” Jungkook almost snarls, his knuckles white on the gun.

“I can’t let him hurt Jimin, please,” I can feel tears filling my eyes. Jungkook falters, but a pained sound behind him kicks him into gear. He lowers his gun and run at the man holding Jimin, practically throwing him off. We shuffle backward awkwardly, heading down the driveway toward the estate gates. Once we’re further away, my nails dig into his arm, causing him to flinch.

I sink my teeth into his arm, blood filling my mouth. My hand goes up to twist the gun away from my head, the heel of my foot slamming into his foot. I pull away from him, leveling the gun at him. He freezes. He’s never been much of a physical fighter, relying more on his gun. He doesn’t need to know that I don’t know how to shoot.

“Leave,” I snarl, a fierce glare on my face. He seems shocked, surprised by the look on my face.

“This is the only opportunity you’re going to get, Kitten. I will not be so nice next time,” He backs toward the van I can see just inside the gates.

“If you come here again, I will kill you,” I pull the trigger, the bullet hitting the dirt near him. Then he’s running, climbing into the van and the tires squealing as it drives away. Before it’s out of site, I see a pair of terrified eyes in the back window. A choked sound leaves me. Taehyung. They have Taehyung.

I drop the gun, my feet scrambling in the gravel to run after the van. I’m so stupid. I didn’t think that they would have someone in the van already, that I didn’t stop them. Arms close around me from behind, stopping me before I leave the gates. I scream, fighting against the body holding mine.

“We’ll get them. We’ll bring him home,” Jungkook’s voice is tired and sad in my ear. I slump into him, my whole body shaking with my sobs.

I don’t remember him carrying me back into the house and setting me on the couch. I just remember Jimin’s collapsed form on the floor, his whole body shaking. His best friend, his soulmate, taken. The two have always been close, the separation hitting him harder than anyone else. I don’t know when the interrogation started, when they started to question the ones who were left behind, including the man who forcibly marked me. A numbness has settled in. After a while, I blink, a dark shadow coming across me. I get up and walk to Jungkook, who sits outside of the theater room.

“I want to talk to him,” My voice is void of emotion. Jungkook looks down at me in shock.

“I don’t think-“ He starts but I quickly cut him off.

“I want to talk to him,” I repeat, my voice louder. His eyes meet mine for a moment, before he nods, moving out from in front of the door. I pause before I open it, listening in.

“You should have heard the way she cried after I bit her. The way she begged to die, and screamed,” The man inside boasts, obviously trying to get a rise out of the men inside. I can hear the growls from here. It’s obviously working.

I push the door open, silencing the men inside. I slam the door behind me, marching forward. Yoongi’s hand closes around my shoulder, stopping me. I shake him off, not acknowledging it.

“Baby, you shouldn’t be in here,” Namjoon is the first to speak, seeming to get over his shock first.

“Where is he?” My voice is dark and I can feel a snarl building in my chest,” Where did they take him.”

“Listen, if the panther doesn’t work, you think some pint sized cat will?” The man seems annoyed, even offended. I shove passed Yoongi, getting close to the man’s face.

“The only reason you’re still alive is because of me,” I grab a knife from a nearby table, slamming it into the arm of the chair near his fingers. I can see him flinch, though I miss his fingers and just slam it into the wood,” You think they’re the ones you have to worry about? If you don’t tell me where they took him, it’s me you need to deal with. Me that will hurt you. Me that will end your life.”

It feels weird, giving in to the anger. I’ve never been this angry in my life, yet so in control. I want to kill him, to put an end to his life, but we need him. I can hear Namjoon and Yoongi murmuring behind me, but I can’t focus on their words. My blood rushes in my ears, my hands shaking in rage. This is my fault and I will fix it.

“I’m not scared of you,” He sounds more confident than he’s acting.

“You should be,” My voice is a dark whisper. I lift the knife, tapping it against his chin. His lip quivers a little.

“Look, I don’t know which one they went to,” He starts but I quickly cut him off, the knife leveling with his nose. He swallows.

“Where are his hide outs? Why don’t you start there?” I can see him giving up, the fear becoming evident in his eyes.

“Fuck, fine, I’ll tell you. Just get this crazy bitch away from me,” He finally relents and I back up, dropping the knife on a nearby table. Yoongi hustles me out of the room as Namjoon writes down what the man says. Yoongi takes me to my room, making me sit on the bed and glaring at me.

“What the fuck was that?” His voice borders on a growl.

“He had information, I got it for you,” I shrug, not meeting his eyes. I can feel my anger deflating under his gaze.

“I know you’re worried about Tae. I am too. But you can’t act reckless. Reckless is stupid and it gets you hurt,” His gaze is intense.

“It’s my fault!” I feel like I’m finally exploding, everything bursting out of me,” They should have taken me! I’m the one they wanted! They tried to take Jimin! They did take Taehyung! I didn’t know they had him! I couldn’t do anything!”

“Kitten… It’s not your fault,” His words are soft as his arms wrap around me. My whole body shakes, but I try to push him away. He won’t let me,” You saved Jin. You saved Taehyung once, you saved Jimin twice. You did everything you could.”

“It’s not enough. They’re gonna hurt him. Oh god, what if-“ I choke, realizing all the things that they could do to him, all the things they did to me.

“Hey, hey, hey. Thinking about it will drive you crazy. We need to think about how we can get him back,” His lips whisper across my forehead,” Jimin needs you right now. I don’t think any of the rest of us can break him out of this break down right now.”

Once I’ve calmed down some, Yoongi brings me downstairs to Jimin. I crouch in front of him, running my fingers through his hair. He should blame me, should be mad at me, but he flings himself in my arms, sobs wracking his body. His sobs eventually turn into whimpers, his tears wetting the skin of my shoulder. I nuzzle his cheek, pressing little kisses to his face.

“Will he be okay?” Jimin’s voice I small, his eyes red and swollen.

“He will be,” It feels like a lie but Jimin doesn’t need the truth right now.

“We have a lead,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind me, causing me to jump. I hadn’t seen him since breakfast this morning,” I know where they are.”

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed!

#bts hybrid au #bts jin #bts kim seokjin #bts suga #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #bts jhope #bts jung hoseok #bts rm #bts kim namjoon #bts jimin #bts park jimin #bts v #bts kim taehyung #bts jungkook #bts jeon jungkook

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