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ameidala · 2 years

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Misery Business

The reader spirals into the mess of working at Wayne Enterprises. Eventually she grows tired and attempts to find something to hold against her boss. However, the plan backfires when she gets caught sneaking in for confidential files.

tags: smutty, rated 18+ extreme non-consensual themes, somewhat brat taming, bruce is a complete asshole, office fucking, ceo / secretary dynamics, heavy in plot

word count: 6,990+

this was a monster fic i wrote under two days. i would gladly appreciate your comments for this! it will mean the world <3

You remember vividly how you lay in your small apartment unit hoping and praying a job offer finally drops by your email. The makeshift bed wasn't even the most comfortable corner, instead choosing to lay on the uneven wooden flooring than the awkward mattress foam you ought to replace weeks ago.

And getting the notification was the most hopeful your spirit has ever reached. The blip from your phone rang across the room, and you could almost compare it to church bells resonating before a mass gathering. Excitement ran through your veins faster than lightning.

The letter respectfully greeted you with your surname, eyes instantly following the following paragraph— which was probably the highlight of the body as well— that stated:

"Wayne Enterprises is delighted to offer you the full-time position of being a personal assistant, with an anticipated start date of a month after this letter has been sent. Please confirm your acceptance of this offer by signing and returning this email by next week... "

The remaining contents elaborated on other details, such as whom you will be reporting directly to. After writing your confirmation letter, additional information such as where and when would be followed. It wasn't long before your reply, happily pressing the send button and emphasizing your gratitude for acceptance for the company and position.

You have utterly dazed afterward. You remembered long before how blindly you applied for the job like a punch in the moon. It felt like a fever dream now that they had returned the gesture.

A month flew by faster than the wind. You spent the time mentally preparing yourself and maximizing what's left of your savings to buy presentable clothes that made you formally look like a personal assistant. You took the risk of investing what was left of your money in hopes that the company would pay well.

There's no denying that you did expect a lot from the Wayne Enterprises. Owned by the most famous orphan who had a prestigious background of wealth surely would put forth the reputation of his name within Gotham City. Bruce Wayne looked like he did offer the best for the best, and you didn't want to waste the opportunity of a lifetime.

You took a cab, arriving at the entrance of a towering building with the name "Wayne" embossed boldly in front. The exterior looked bustling. You were sure many people were operating this business within a vast building.

However, upon entering, you only noticed a lady in the lobby. There weren't any other workers within the level, so the click of your heels against the marble flooring was particularly noticeable as you approached the front desk.

You barely spoke a word before she had recognized your appearance. “You must be Mr. Wayne’s new assistant.”

You happily nod, introducing your name, followed by an eager smile.

She replies, “Mr. Wayne hasn’t arrived in his office yet, but he usually gets here around this time of day.”

Well aware that you made sure you came to the venue early and prepared, you didn’t mind waiting for several more moments. Not to mention that Bruce Wayne was now your boss, an added detail that would kickstart a great resume.

Eventually, after half an hour of sitting by the lounge, you noticed a man getting out of a fancy vintage dark car. It was only months later when you learned its specific model was called a Black C3 Corvette Stingray.

You didn’t see the face clearly, but you were well aware that that type of dark hair, with a matching fringe cut to one side, belonged. He entered the building seemingly taller than he looked in pictures and media coverage.

His facial expressions were broodingly deadpanned. Any person in their right mind would be hesitant to approach him on the spot. And you were initially one of them.

Bruce Wayne’s figure strode the way to the elevator as if he didn’t care what was surrounding him. His head focused straight in front, arms assertively swinging in sync with his footsteps.

“Mr. Wayne!” You said, rushing to get on your feet after realizing he wouldn’t spare a glance at where you waited.

You practically sprinted, footsteps unmatched by his speed. You had to cope twice faster with the pace he walked, not wanting to let him escape from your sight. Again, you called his name and finally caught his attention.

He stopped in his tracks, just a meter away from extending his hands to press the upwards arrow before the elevator's threshold. He looked back, seeing your figure walking closer to him, yet his face remained unimpressed.

“I’m sorry?” His brows slightly furrowed at your presence.

For the slightest millisecond, you felt offended, but at the same time, you tried not to take it personally. He probably had a lot on his plate and wouldn’t have remembered a new name. Plus, it was probably why he needed personal assistance in the first place.

“I’m the new assistant,” you say, followed by an introduction of your name.

“Oh,” he mumbles, outwardly unimpressed.

“I apologize if my presence came by as a surprise to you today, but—”

“Not at all,” he cuts your sentence midway.

You had to stare at him, awaiting what he would be saying next. But he literally had left the conversation in dead air. The awkward silence was further reprised by the dinging of the elevator, with the light of the button disappearing as it arrived on the ground floor.

The hesitation was strong. You didn’t know if it was a crime to follow him or not but gained the gut to push through. Standing behind him, staring at his oversized dark coat, was more intimidating than before both of you had gotten in the small metal compartment.

And, of course, he had to press the button leading to the topmost floor.

It felt illegal to make a sound. There wasn’t any music playing, and you didn’t know how to create an ice breaker. At this point, you could already just walk back to the entrance and file your resignation.

But maybe you were just overthinking this.

Once the doors had opened, the sight of an entire floor welcomed you both. With the lack of other people, you figured he works here unaccompanied.

The setting was somewhat not how you expected it to be. The corners of the room are definitely dimmer even in broad daylight. It was mostly empty space with a desk. You followed him after he had exited past the doors, his face still focused straight ahead.

“Has Alfred left a call for me yet?” His voice was low and questioning.

You didn’t know who Alfred was! You were internally reciting all the cuss words to make up the information you initially weren’t oriented with. “Uh—”

“Never mind,” he ceases.

You became more and more embarrassed with every interaction you had with him— and admittedly, it just happened twice so far. You were a firm believer of first impressions last, unable to shake the feeling that he probably thinks of your incompetence already.

Mr. Wayne eventually takes his seat behind his desk, taking out a wallet and phone from his coat pocket. He looks up at you unfazed before handing out a paper bill. “Why don’t you finally make yourself useful and get us coffee, alright?”

He adds, “I’ll have a pure black.”

You nod despite his face already glued to the screen of his phone. You turned around, taking apprehensive steps across the room and descending until you were back to the lobby.

You sighed after asking for directions for the nearest coffee shop from Dory, the lady at the desk.

“There is one around fifteen blocks east from here.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, dear.”

“It’s fine. I’m used to walking anyway.” You let out a smile, knowing you’re basically going to walk a mile back and forth just for a cup of coffee. The building was located in a city! Why the hell were coffee shops rarer than arson in this place.

Fortunately, the day after, you didn’t get a call about unemployment, nor were there any hints of you being fired. From then on, you realized you had to work ten times as more challenging. Both in trying to catch up with the crucial details and events of his life as well as learning how to keep up a conversation with Bruce Wayne.

Close to a year had passed, but it admittedly felt like only a month of progress. You familiarized the essential people in Bruce Wayne's life— merely being Alfred Pennyworth, who was definitely kinder than his boss.

In addition, your pride made you competitive in making a good impression. In spite of the huge gap of knowledge, you continued to make your way through it and find tasks, so you could make yourself feel like a functional accessory in the building.

Alfred had assigned tasks to you regarding connections and queries from higher people within Gotham City. You helped Alfred with the burden of taking phone calls and invitations, striving to accommodate any matters asking about Mr. Wayne making an appearance at significant city events.

Since he was a notable figure in the area, he was expected to participate in many gatherings with esteemed and influential icons. Unfortunately, you had to be more creative as days went by. You generally had no idea where your boss goes every day and night unless he was at the headquarters.

He would leave you in his office with his signature, "Just cover for me or ignore them. I'll be heading out," without elaborating when or where to contact him. You tried every trick up your sleeve to build a stronger foundation with your boss, but he was just stubborn as the week you first met him.

Media reporters wouldn’t buy the excuses you continue to make up to cover for him. Rationales such as him being busy with family matters or company meetings could only do so much. The crowd wanted to infiltrate rumors and information, whereas they had no business doing so in the first place.

Word spreads like wildfire in this city. You assumed people would start creating bent truths if your boss neglects the realities. You were concerned enough to help maintain the legacy of his family name, but he seemed to care less.

“Sir, the mayor was asking if you could make an appearance at a gathering this coming Saturday.” You stand alongside the desk, making it a hobby to arrive earlier than him to spare some time preparing his schedule.

“I have a lot on my plate. Wouldn’t be able to accept their invitation.”

“But sir, it features the most influential groups in the city. Your presence would be highly anticipated.”

"These people couldn't care less about me," he says.

He lets out a frustrated sigh, with fingers pinching the skin slightly between brows. "Just do what you're told, and we won't have any problems, alright?"

"Sir, with all due respect, I've been trying to do the same thing for months. It can only last for so long until they become more suspicious about your lack of existence."

"Well, try harder," he scolds. "You're literally doing the easiest job in the world. Show a little effort, yeah?"

You didn't know where that came from, but he was rude to say so. You figured he thought that picking up the phone was all you did the whole day. But throughout these past months, you've been coping with his management style while trying to set up all the critical dates in his calendar— to which all he had disregarded.

"Again, respectfully, I'm just concerned the city might start tainting your reputation if you don't stand up further for it, sir."

"And like I said. Try harder." He doesn't hesitate, nagging, "I've promoted you from my personal coffee apprentice to a desk clerk. Show a little gratitude."

Unaware of where his impudence was coming from, you didn't appreciate where all of this was coming from. It was more apparent than ever how easy he overlooks your role and efforts, barely lending an ear to actually listen to your concerns.

“I understand where you’re coming from, however—”

"Do you actually understand all of it?" He calls for your name tauntingly. He could barely acknowledge your presence on a usual notice, which was why it came as a shock and surprise when he actually remembered your name.

"Yes. I do." The irk in your voice was evident, and you didn't bother hiding it at the arising heat of the argument. "Mr. Wayne, if you could see this in a bigger picture, it's not me who has the right to speak on your company and the family name's behalf."

"Then why did I even bother hiring a personal assistant?" He responds, "If you're going to complain about sitting all day and answering the calls to say that your boss is preoccupied with other agendas, I might as well have Alfred doing it."

Ironically, there wasn’t a hint of gratitude in his voice. No wonder you could explicitly count the employees working for him. He was a complete asshole! Nobody dared to stay long enough to work for this man.

The flare in the back of your head continues to spike up. You were probably going to regret this later on, but you didn’t consider it at that moment.

All these months, you had to accept that being a personal assistant had lesser of a chance of promotional growth— much more working under Bruce Wayne. People involved with higher and underground connections thought highly of themself, exposing you to dealing with these conceited officials. The latter only had a principal goal of bleeding Wayne Enterprises dry.

The man was spoiled and wealthy to even see how destructive the city had become. You bet he could care less than to make an actual gesture and impact.

“Sir, I’ve been doing my best to keep people updated,” you say, “despite the obvious note that you never notify me what you’re doing, I try to cope with the lack of information. I schedule your meetings, which then get cancelled and I would have to accommodate another date.”

Your boss raises a brow, unsure whether it was questioning or threatening. “Isn’t it your job to keep up on my schedule? I’m certain I pay you enough for the job and not for you to whine about it.”

Not really.

“What was that?”

You grit your teeth, heedless of how clouded your thoughts were. This conversation was going in a full circle unless he realized that his participation represented his family name. “I don’t think we’re meeting halfway—”

“Yeah.” This man really has to stop cutting your sentences off.

“...You use that mouth way more than you use your head,” he adds, sending you to the verge of an outburst.

“Yet personally, I don’t think I’m getting paid enough to handle Bruce Wayne’s tantrums,” you retort.

“And you think another company would hire you with that bratty little attitude?”

“I’d rather crawl back to a cave than deal with another day of my boss nagging me for incompetence.”

He slightly pushes back against his desk, allowing space for him to rise on his feet. You stand unwaveringly on the other side, daringly staring back and him obviously taking it as a challenge.

The dynamic and mood of the room completely shift as Bruce tauntingly towers over your head. He seemed less threatening when seated but now had to look down at you with an arrogant scowl. “You never deserved a promotion.”

“I’d rather quit!” You snapped, turning around without hesitation.

Unfortunately, before you could even take a few steps down the room, Bruce had gripped you on the side of your shoulder. He effortlessly pulls you back and spins you around to face him again.

He had tugged your figure closer to him. The evident height difference grew more and more intimidating the lesser the gap was between the two of you.

“And who told you that quitting was an option?” The undertone was soft yet entirely trying to make you fearful.

“I have the right to resign from this job like any other employee.” Your jaw clenches afterward, eyes staring back at his.

One of your hands reached for the one that had held a secure grasp around your shoulder. Your palm presses against the back of his hand, trying to haul it away from you. However, he refused to let down the argument, tightening his hand and squeezing it until you let out a yelp.

“You do realize I can end your career if you dare walk out of this building, right?”

Your face warps into disgust at his prominent power trip.

“You wouldn’t be able to apply for any job in Gotham City once they hear from me. They would definitely choose to believe Bruce Wayne over his former assistant any day.”

“Are you sick in the head?” You impulsively mutter, “you treat me like dirt on your shoe every day at work yet you’re the one who wants anything but for me to quit?”

“I’ll decide what I want to do with you—”

“You’re unbelievably playing god over an innocent girl trying to make a living! What sick game are you trying to play here?”

His hand swiftly moves under your jaw, maintaining a solid grip as he forces you to look straight at him. “I get to decide until I get tired of seeing your whiny ass or make up another plan of what I want to do with you, got that?”

“I’m not an object!”

“Talk back to me and you’ll get what you deserve.” His hand lets go of your face, finally enabling you to suck a breath of relief. “Maybe if you weren’t too self-absorbed with all of this, you’ll finally get some work done and be useful here.”

Your face glowers at him while his increasingly shifts into a smirk. “Let this be a reminder for you to never go against me. It’s never going to end well,” he says.

“Asshole,” you grumble lowly.

And here you are, days later, still stuck at the same job that had spiraled further into a mess which is Bruce Wayne. You've grown used to the nagging, but it has become a toxic foundation between you and your boss. Already wanting to rip out each strand of your hair just by seeing him in the morning.

On this rare occasion, your friend invited you to a club. On your occasional nights off, she took the chance to hit your phone up. You didn't know why you agreed, seeing that resting was way more tempting than drinking. But Selina had her ways with you. And she knew how to make you say yes to a shot or two.

"Why don't you just leave?" Your friend suggests through the blaring sea of partygoers.

"I told you, things are more complicated than that," you groan.

"Are you overworking yourself?" She prods, "I know you can be competitive, but working yourself into exhaustion isn't exactly the dream."

"Believe me, I'm trying my best to care for myself," you scoff, dissociating with your gaze staring straight down the floor.

"Then just dig up some of his dirt and hang it over his face. Bet men like those always have something to hide."

"I can't. That's going to make everything worse."

"Why not? You seem so upset over this job. You really should stand up for yourself sometimes."

You frown. "My situation is just kind of in a dilemma."

"It's either you file your resignation or have something you can blackmail against him. A powerful man like that certainly has something to hide during the daytime."

You hesitate. "Um—"

"I hate seeing you like this, babe. You can't keep letting people walk over you like that."

"Then what? He could get me to disappear," you lean closer to whisper, "or worse, get me killed... and no one would notice that I ever left."

"If he wanted you gone, he would've done it long ago. Assholes like that need to be called out for their behavior. They probably think that just because you're a woman means you can do everything he can't."

You let out a noticeable sigh, dithering on your friend's words.

"Promise me you won't let any man treat you like that further, alright?" She gives an assuring rub over your shoulder, following a smile that somewhat calms your anger.

The line of dead air exhibited your sign of hesitation, internally knowing you didn't want to get on Bruce Wayne's nerves. Ever again. But your friend's rationale did make sense. It wouldn't hurt to just skim over any deeper information you hadn't considered before.

"Promise me." She solemnly calls out for your name.

"Fine." You caved in.

"Good girl," Selina reaches for the back of your hand, which was initially resting on top of your exposed thigh. "Now, let's not waste that beautiful dress, alright? Why don't we take a couple more shots and meet some guys?"

“I— uhm... I need to wake up sober tomorrow, there’s this meeting—”

“Let’s have fun alright? Forget about your boss tonight.”

You give a reluctant gesture to which she adds, “Please. For me?”

Before you could say anything further, a man had emerged alongside you two. You couldn’t make out much of his features, but he definitely had the balls to initiate a conversation. “Hey,” he says, “I thought you girls looked really cute and wanted to come by and say hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m gonna go dance,” Selina stands up from her seat— implying for the stranger to take her place— with a faint grin present, she winks as her figure fades within the center crowd. “Have fun, catch you on the floor.”

Shortly enough, you also found yourself in front of a new face.

“Enjoying the night so far?”

“Not really—” You paused, instantly regretting how rude and unexciting your sound. “I-I’m sorry. That sounded rude. I mean, I am enjoying the night so far. Just really had a rough day.”

“Friend dragged you to party?”

“No, no,” you answered. “My friend was actually helping me get my mind off of work.”

“Ah, so rough time at work?”

“Yeah.” The affliction in your voice most likely had been evident, though instead of making things awkward, the man tried to continue the conversation more.

“Then let’s help you get your mind off of it, yeah?” You smiled modestly as the man had held out a hand in front of you, “I’m Patrick.”

One thing led to another. The discourse went smoother than you had expected it to be. Despite holding yourself back from getting along, the man’s effort admittedly didn’t exhibit trying too hard, nor did his tone sound self-asserted.

He tried to buy you a drink, though you had to decline. Nonetheless, he didn’t force you any longer instead of enjoying the exchange of narratives between you.

Questions mostly revolved around general information you didn’t mind sharing with strangers. Plus, you did not mention anything related to your work, knowing it was best to keep prominent names out of the topic.

Eventually, after a few giggles and jokes, Patrick attempted to ask you to hit the dance floor. You agreed, realizing your mood had begun to lighten up, and you didn’t mind going along with the night's fun.

He holds your hand, leading the way as he gently tugs you in front. The hot bodies increasingly swayed to the roaring bass of the music.

The room mostly flashed with alternating black and red lights, making it harder for you to find familiar faces such as Selina’s. Nonetheless, you started drifting along to the beat, following Patrick’s steps which casually allows you to enjoy the moment.

You turn your head to look around, the body still swaying to the music, searching for Selina. After a few moments, you spot her across the room, just a few meters away. Other partygoers who had blocked in between created an illusion of her being farther. Still, it would probably take just a few steps to draw her attention.

You smile, seeing her enjoy her time by pressing her back against a taller male figure. Your eyes shift slightly above her, taking a better glimpse of the man she was dancing with.

Like a strike of lightning before the rain, the sudden shift of lighting of the room’s colors from black to red got your smile instantly faltering.

The familiar stoic face you see during the daylight had followed you tonight. The unkempt style of his hair was dark as the shadows of this lounge, yet you could recognize him from a mile away. It was definitely your boss and was staring back.

You tried to convince yourself that your mind was playing tricks on you. Maybe it was the alcohol finally metabolizing in your system. Or perhaps you were growing exhausted from your entire day.

You started getting a headache from all of this. Many questions are coming into mind, but mainly curious about when he found out that you were hanging around at this place.

Did he follow you?

Does he know that he was dancing with someone you know?

Was he even trying to dance? Does he know how to?

Your neck snaps back to the man who had initially asked you out to dance here. He probably hasn’t noticed that your thoughts were occupied with something else. Merely enjoying a little while of being in front of your presence.

At some point, Patrick had tried to get closer, with his hands getting friskier and movements becoming heedless. You felt guilty that you quickly forgot about his company. Yet, you couldn’t wrap your head around or move on about what you had just seen for the most part.

Again, you look back at the same place where you had spotted the two figures.

Bruce already had been looking at you before you could spot him twice. You could feel your heartbeat racing up, unaware of what you were precisely feeling at the turn of events.

Even in the dark, you could make out what was happening between your boss and best friend. His hand effortlessly brushes over her side, ascending from her thigh and up to her shoulder. Simultaneously, Selina’s head cocks to the side, allowing him to lean closer to the skin between her jaw and collar.

It was definitely not the alcohol that was making you sick in the stomach this time. Your mind felt claustrophobic as you watched that scene unfold across the room.

The lightheadedness you were feeling started to increase up your throat. Your lungs felt tighter, unable to breathe through the crowd pushing against each other.

You realized you needed fresh air and needed to get out of the bar.

“I’m sorry, I’ve got to excuse myself,” you shout at your dance partner, fingers pointing towards the exit.

“Do you want me to follow?”

“It’s fine.” You turned him down knowingly that he won’t be seeing you again tonight. “You go have an awesome night.”

You didn’t even look back anymore after he nodded. Your legs rushed to the doors, taking your first deep breath after leaving the venue.

Your hands immediately set on top of your chest, bending over, unable to hold back the vomit you tried to restrain inside. You felt sick and sad for puking on the gutter alongside the pavement, still feeling something heavy on your body even after letting it all out.

Afterward, you took a few more breaths, trying to calm yourself down and slip back into soberness. When you finally felt better, you decided not to return to the club and instead started to walk back to your apartment.

You texted Selina along the walk, ensuring she didn’t have to worry.

Fortunately, the following day, you woke up without the pang of a crushing hangover. Yet you still had that unpleasant feeling unwavering over your chest.

You never acted on your thoughts before, but it only took last night to trigger you from actually starting to despise Bruce Wayne. The slight ache in your head probably worsened your thoughts. Still, your emotions began to get the best of you, and you couldn’t think of anything any more than to retaliate.

And so you continued with your regular daily routine, but conscious that today wouldn’t be like most days at work.

Considering that you grew familiar with his schedule and the consistent hours Bruce drops by the building, you took Selina’s advice. You plan to look for files on one of the floors in the building that stored the company data— consisting of any associations with the Wayne family.

And so, as you arrive at work, you expected things to be awkward while waiting for your boss to arrive in his office.

Eventually, as Bruce took the seat behind his desk, he acted how he would on any other typical day. His face was stoic and severe, disinterested with anyone around him, especially you. The room was quiet as ever, but the air was certainly filled with the unseen tension— its silence being way more deafening.

He never shared the same eye contact with you once this morning and afternoon. Unlike how you recalled the way he stared at you last night. It was like two completely different personalities.

Yet you were a hundred percent sure that was your boss, eyes fixed directly to taunt you. Unless he had a twin that everyone in Gotham City was unaware of, your gut was entirely positive that Bruce Wayne dancing against your best friend wasn’t a figment of your imagination.

You know that Bruce doesn’t stay long in his office. Mainly present until late afternoon and always disappearing from sight by then. However, you planned to wait it out further until nightfall was approaching and more employees started to time out.

You continually busied yourself, propping logbooks and clipboards in front until you didn’t realize how fast the hours had passed by.

The sky grew darker from the clear glass window panes. Checking the time by the clock, you were well aware that it was way past your usual dismissal. Other maintenance personnel has walked past, innocently questioning if you were still alright in staying overtime.

“I’m alright,” you played down. “Might just drop by on one of the floors to update some of Mr. Wayne’s documents.”

They unquestioningly nod, letting you pack things up. You held onto a folder as a prop while proceeding to make your way to the elevator and descending a few floors below.

Once arriving in the data storage room, you never realized how colder this place seemed to be. The atmosphere was dark and cold— city lights from the transparent windows were your only light source. What’s worse was that you never familiarized the floor plan in this space, blind to where the light switch was.

You had to use your phone’s flashlight while walking through the dozens of filing cabinets from the closer end of the room to the farthest where you stood.

Admittedly, you didn’t know where to start, nor did you plan to scout each of these cabinets. You’ll probably stay until sunrise if you review each of the folders individually. So you concluded to recourse with random selection.

You started halfway across the room, thinking that the farther you went, the more confidential they were. Initially, the files were mainly just statements of accounts under Wayne’s name dated decades. The amount of wealth was unsurprising, acknowledging the tons of business they constructed.

So you had to probe deeper. You carefully pulled the handles for each cabinet, gently sliding them out as your fingers brushed over the names printed on the heading of the folders and envelopes.

Almost all of them didn’t hold back in concealing any questionable content. As you make your way closer to the farthest end of the room, the spark in your chest grows fainter. You hoped for something, anything, at all, but at the same time, you pondered if your boss would be that dense to leave top secret files this easily accessible.

Approaching the last few cases near the corner of the room, your fingers tug the handle, exposing different disarranged files, unlike the ones you saw just moments ago. The files from the previous storage were generally uniform and organized, utterly opposite to what you were seeing in front now.

There were different types of papers, consisting of scratch and newspapers. Your hands frisked faster, examining the contents of what watch was written, crossed out, and marked within the texts. Some of them included undecipherable symbols and riddles— or gibberish poetry— that you couldn’t entirely solve.

There were also a few pictures and illustrations related to the infamous vigilante running in the night. As some people would gossip, it familiarized you with his figure, the Batman. And you didn’t feel the chill across your skin until you took a closer look at the photographs.

Despite his face covered with a mask, he looks brooding and angry from any angle taken. The man looks like he could knock you out without holding back. Honestly, you didn’t know much about him, but your attention was more focused on why Bruce Wayne seemed like an obsessed stalker.

Did he have a grudge against the man?

What did he have with Gotham’s vigilante?

Was he working with him? For him?

Your curiosity only spiked further. Your breathing races faster as you are eager and nervous to find out more about Bruce Wayne’s recreational hobbies. He definitely used his time searching for the Batman, and now his usual absence slowly made sense.

Maybe Selina was right. Men always had something to hide.

There was a cassette tape tucked beneath the papers. Unfortunately, there weren’t any convenient players nearby that enabled you to watch what might have been recorded it in. So you proceeded to the next case parallel to the one you just searched through.

Your hand impatiently draws the case close to your body, awaiting to discern the next hint. The view opens up with a plain brown folder on top. No labels, titles, or writings at the heading.

Although the thrill that had rushed through your veins only lasted for the shortest moment, your expression immediately replaced with horror. As you spread the the cover open, you expected to find more details about the connection between Batman and Bruce Wayne.

Instead, you were greeting with your own picture. It didn’t even sink in at first, assuming it was another person with the same hairstyle and outfit. But as you stared at it longer, you concluded that it was definitely your face.

The wave of shock washed over your entire body. You couldn’t move your legs nor could your brain process what was and may come to be.

“You’re really a brat, aren’t you?” A voice coincidentally whispers from your back.

“Jesus!” You jolt out of further surprise and accidentally loosing the grip around your phone. It drops to the ground and before your knees could shakily bend over, the looming figure in front of you stepped closer, cornering and backing you up against the array of cabinets.

“You’re looking over my company’s confidential files,” he raps, “and I don’t remember giving you permission to do so.”

“I-I wasn’t—”

The figure lets out a deep chuckle. But it was obvious enough that it was your boss standing right in front who had caught you red handed from snooping. “Don’t lie. You never cease to get on my nerves do you?”

You didn’t know what to reply. His distance was close enough to most likely hear you gulping out of dread.

“W-why was there a picture of me in the file?” You weakly murmur, internally scared of his answer.

However, instead of answering your question right away, you felt his large hand brush over the side of your blouse. And because of the absence of any light, you couldn’t really anticipate or avoid his next move. You stood still, praying to get out of this building in one piece. “You really should know your place,” he whispers back.

“Please don’t kill me,” you softly cry.

You instinctively shut your eyes tight despite the already dark room. You could feel Bruce’s presence tower over you, jaw close to the side of your forehead, just nearby your ear. “You’re that terrified of me, huh?”

“Don’t worry,” he says, “I don’t plan on doing anything like that yet... But I do plan on implementing some reinforcements.”

“I-I’m sorry I didn’t... I don’t—”

You feel his finger press over your lips, hushing your cries, “When will you learn that your actions have consequences.”

Another hand sneaks under the edge of your formal skirt. The fabric swiftly gets pulled up, and you try your best to wriggle out of the situation. Yet your strength was no match to his body alone, and no matter how hard you tried to kick in front, he just wasn’t going to let you go.

“You always loved defying me. Why don’t we start slow tonight, no?”

“Don’t. Please,” you plead while throwing out your arms to make useless attempts to hit him on the torso.

Bruce proceeds to flip your body around, your chest resting against the rigid edge of the cabinet. He couldn’t necessarily see your back, but he surely knew you were bent over for him.

The palm of his hands roughly runs over your ass, tracing the laces of the thin fabric of underwear you wore today. Your feet tense up, exposed and embarrassed in front of a man. “I won’t do it again,” you start whimpering again, knees kicking against the metal, which echoed dull pangs around the room. “I won’t defy you anymore.”

“You’re too late for that.” He steps closer, already feeling his crotch press against your back, before leaning to whisper, “Why do people only recognize their mistakes once they’re stuck in a predicament?”

Then he straightens up. And with one swift tug, he was able to rip apart your panties, feeling the fabric loosen around your skin and exposed to the chill air. “I’ve grown sick with your attitude. Give me a break, yeah?”

You heard the faint sound of a belt unbuckling, further sending you into panic, aware of what he truly wants to do with you now. Your hands strike against any surfaces you could reach for, creating loud banging echoes.

“Nobody’s going to give a shit if you make a noise,” Bruce mutters, pressing his hand on your back and pushing it down, which had inflicted pain on you.

Consequently, every second had lead to him pushing his dick past the entrance of your cunt. With one hard thrust, he made sure his first move was to bury it deep inside your walls. “Nnngh fuck—” he grunts.

Your lips let out a yelp. Your abdomen tenses, exhibiting discomfort on your end; but Bruce didn’t see it that way, further enjoying how you tighten around his size and continuing a torturously slow and deep pace.

“Mmm... I couldn’t get the image of your face at the lounge,” he says in between groans.

You badly wanted to say something. But your mouth was only letting out cries for help while your eyes started to tear up.

“I know you saw me with your friend there.”

His rasps were alternating with his hips bucking forward and backward.

“You looked so terrified seeing me—”

“I’m not sure if you were jealous of her or scared of me... M-maybe both,” he grunts.

“But fuck, that look on your face the only time you fucking looked hot.”

“I knew you were going to finally lose your temper over that— Agh,”

“And it was so, so easy, getting your friend to speak up.” You teared up further, knowing he had all set this up and even included Selina in this. “She was drunk enough before she started dancing on top of me.”

The skin of your ass pressed against the soft fabric of his pants. They didn’t feel like his work clothes, insignificantly assuming it was his casual attire.

It felt like an eternity. Him fucking your almost lifeless body like he was fucking a fist of his hand.

“God, women are so easy.”

His rhythm loses pace, insistent to thrust faster and catch an orgasm. The obvious impatience he exhibited any time of the day had you guessing that he wasn’t going to hold back in this too.

“Oh—god. Oh god,” you hear him suck a sharp breath through his teeth, even making a pained higher-pitched sound in his throat. “I wanna cum inside you. I’m gonna come inside.”

“Please don’t. Sir, please, don’t,” you beg desperately.

He promptly strikes the skin of your ass, feeling it swell and probably bruise in the darkness. “Shh, shh… you’re just making it harder for yourself to enjoy this.”

With one last groan, he buries his cock again like the first time upon slipping inside your cunt. He was hot and pulsing while emptying his load.

Once Bruce finishes and finally withdraws back, he distinctly catches his breaths— loudly inhaling and exhaling— while leaving you a whimpering mess underneath.

Your face was a slobbering mess. Not only were there tears streaming down your face, which definitely had ruined what was left of your make up, but your entire body was still quivering from the impact of what just happened. Your fingers trembled against a surface, unable to push your body up so you could try and stand again.

The weight on your chest rises in distress after feeling the fluids of his cum drip down your inner thighs.

“You deserved every bit of it.” He breathes out, “but I’m not done with you yet.”

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ameidala · 2 years

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The reader has lived an unfortunate life— growing up in Gotham City, living wasn’t really a choice, especially as an orphan. So what happens when she unfortunately comes across the symbol of fear, after trying to run an errand, wandering around the streets at night?

tags: (my writing is) angsty as hell, smutty, rated 18+ nsfw, extreme non-con fucking, dark fucking fic!!!!!, dark batman / dark bruce wayne, the reader is literally living the shittiest life ever

word count: 4,390+

dedicated to @get-your-fics my light my love my inspiration. this is for u after all the amazing batman fics u have written. ily bestie cheers 2 more fics?!? also the title was purposely based off from paramore’s song for the twilight ost, i just couldn’t resist the emo reference <3

As with your entire arm, your hand trembles as you try to hide it under the front pockets of your jacket. Crumbs of the pieces of bread you had stolen from the bakery probably had scattered all around your bag after you tried smushing it all to fit.

The evening sky was engulfed with darkness. Neon lights from store banners allowed minimal light to guide you along the streets. And you used the nighttime to your advantage to scout for any bare essentials you could get for yourself and the kids at the orphanage.

You essentially stole food, fully aware that it isn’t an excusable crime. But it was either dying hungry or risking yourself for a few months. You figured no one would give the death penalty for stealing bread.

The idea started with leftovers— from restaurants, diners, or other fast food places with a sea of customers falling in line to order and consume. You wandered in the late evening, close to midnight, and witnessed an employee dumping the excess food they created but couldn’t sell.

Immediately you took the opportunity to score for what could only fit inside your pockets. It wasn’t enough for every kid at home, but you could only do so much.

Eventually, you tried to work your way around the dumpsters in Gotham for digestible food. It initially disgusted you, feeling like a mischief of rats fending themselves off in a city. A desperate attempt in life.

Yet it was either eat or be eaten. Literally and figuratively.

For a while, you enjoyed the hunt. It was accessible and generally not a crime. You didn’t have to look around, waiting for the coast to be clear before stuffing the food in your clothes.

But those glory years can only last for so long. Some store owners got suspicious and eventually caught you, purposely anticipating their nightly pattern of throwing away their garbage.

During that time, you thought they would’ve finally lent some sympathy. But the opposite happened, and shit had hit the fan.

These people were more disgusted than ever over a poor and starving orphan girl. You neither had hurt them nor pointed a knife at their throat. You even insisted and pleaded for them to spare you the crumbs.

Apparently, Gotham city doesn’t like helping. In due course, they literally closed off their dumpster and prohibited openly discarding their leftover food away. They made sure to seal them in those large black plastic bags and send those straight to the landfills.

You were highly heartbroken. Mainly for the other orphans who got used to expecting your arrival at night with a few pieces of donuts and bread. The look on their faces said a lot, despite them trying to reassure you that it was fun while it lasted.

They tell you living as an orphan is hard. But trying to imagine living in an orphanage with an abusive guardian is more burdensome. You were already past legal age, around your early twenties, yet you couldn’t find the heart to leave the other kids.

You found out the media says older kids won’t be adopted. They’re just waiting to finally flee from the roof they were put under. But you realized this city won’t even try adopting any kid. The orphanage was treated like a baby-making dumpster, and it was entirely sick to comprehend.

What’s worse was that the lady who supervised these kids was just an abusive alcoholic. You didn’t know how she got away from this. She barely feeds anyone but herself. You figured she didn’t get paid enough, which was sad, but you didn’t appreciate it when she used violence as a discipline.

You felt bad for the kids, lending a heart to stand as their second guardian despite your lack of resources and capabilities. You taught them how to read and write. Sometimes utilized the puzzles and other available board games— most of them had missing pieces.

Again, you can only do so much. Fully convinced that you needed money or connections to survive in Gotham. You had neither, weren’t as professionally literate nor hold any power that can make you be seen or heard in the city.

A simple ‘thank you from the kids was enough to melt your heart. You continued to find means for everyone to survive, unable to imagine any person in Gotham with the power to step up and own the responsibility.

It’s actually shitty and unbelievable of them. You have seen notorious faces both on television acting as peacekeepers while also entering the Iceberg Lounge with their hands on the sides of women.

One well-known figure you also were provoked over was Bruce Wayne. Regarded as the most famous orphan in the city, yet couldn’t even spare a glance at the others who grew from the same background. He didn’t seem to have empathy for it either. The man literally walks indifferently to the crowd. He definitely doesn’t give a shit because he can hide behind his wealth.

So that’s pretty much why you resorted to stealing bread now from bakeries, sometimes other pastries that you think you can get away with. You knew these were going to the trash at the end of the day anyway.

Your hood masked your head and face, trying to hide from the glances of other customers and the cashier.

The entire event was quick, ensuring that you didn’t want people becoming suspicious of taking your time. Who stays long in a bakery, right?

This kind of lifestyle has trained you to think and act quickly, just to save you from further trouble. You remained calm within the store, the best strategy to escape undetected.

After exiting the threshold, you took a few steps away from the window panes before picking up the speed of your walking. As much as you convince yourself that you are used to the thrill of stealing, your heart always skips a beat whenever you escape.

After walking down past a meter, you took one last glimpse behind you to check if it was entirely clear. Additionally, you looked around for any passerby walking down the street, scared that they may potentially report your figure as well.

There wasn’t a person to be seen, nor a footstep heard within the vicinity where you stood. The absence of light had allowed you to escape conveniently without people recognizing your face or even realizing what you had just done.

However, you couldn’t shake the feeling of someone staring at you somewhere alongside. You figured that if you couldn’t see anyone through the dark shadows, they wouldn’t see you either.

If only you had acted more thoughtful and more cautious, you wouldn’t have instantly let down your walls that night. You thought the shadows were by your side, and it was naive of you to do so.

You arrived at the orphanage, greeted with a slap across the face. After knocking a few times, you didn’t expect the caretaker to answer the door. She was often absent or didn’t care who went in or out under her nose. She did seem to anticipate your appearance.

The palm of her hand roughly met the side of your cheek, feeling it become sore before you could even step inside the house.

“Where the hell have you been! What did you do to these kids!” Her voice sounded furious instead of concerned.

Your brows furrowed in confusion, barely giving time to process what you may or may not have done. Harshly, her hand reached and gripped tightly around your wrist before dragging you inside the house.

She ended up taking you to the small living room of the house. Both of you stood in front of a group of kids crowding around one of their foster siblings who lay sickly on the couch.

You look aside, seeing the caretaker questioningly give an attitude at you with her arms crossed against her chest. “Kid has been vomiting the entire afternoon. He’s one more away from getting rushed to the hospital, and we don’t have the money for that.”

“What happened?”

“You tell me, you’re the bitch who has been sneaking dirty food. Where were they coming from! Might as well feed them dead rats while you’re at it!”

You didn’t appreciate the blame, especially from absent owners. “I feed them because I wouldn’t want them to die starving!”

“Won’t die of starvation but will surely die trying to pay medical bills. What the hell were you thinking!”

You took a deep breath before dragging her to another room adjacent to where the kids gathered around. You didn’t want them to see you raise your voice, so you tried continuing the argument in the dining room.

“I’ve been feeding these kids because you kept drowning yourself in alcohol. You could barely give a shit who lives or dies,” you spat.

“You’re acting like a savior, kid.”

“Don’t blame me for your failures.” You agitated.

“These orphans wouldn’t get sick if it weren’t for your shitty food. Where are you getting them anyway? Acting like Magdalene here— didn’t think men would want to hook up with you, though.”

You snapped, “You’re fucking abusive and alcoholic. Never even got a fucking thanks from you.”

“Why the hell would I thank you? You leeches are milking my good fucking money!”

“That money was supposed to be for the orphanage! Not your daily dose of happy hour.”

You received another strike across the same side of your face, the sting hurting twice as bad.

“You’re the one causing trouble here. God, I waited for you to leave this place when you turned eighteen! You’re supposed to be on the streets now, yet you’re still pestering me like you’re my responsibility.”

“You never took care of me. Neither are you doing so to these kids too.”

“Well, now you’ve got a sick kid, and that’s on your hands. You better find a way to fix this.”

“I need help or money at least.” It took most of your strength not to sound like you were pleading already. But you didn’t know what to do.

“That’s your problem, kid. There’s a pharmacy just four blocks down. They offer the lowest prices. I’m sure you can buy something for a stomach ache.”

You frowned at the response. It didn’t help at all.

You turned aside, walking back to the living room with a faux smile. Hiding your anxious face with a reassuring expression, you could see the hopeful eyes of the foster kids before finally exiting the place.

The time was indeed past midnight, and you weren’t used to roaming around the streets this late. Sometimes you stayed in one corner until sunrise when you didn’t feel like coming home to the orphanage.

Gotham was filled with big scary men. You were in no shape to try and provoke those that petrify and act like they own the night. It was best to stay out of their sight and under their noses. Most of them strutting in gangs definitely outnumber their potential victims.

Fingers wiped the slight tears that formed on the corners of your eyes, walking past the front face of the house feeling like you’ve hit rock bottom. The false bravado you displayed can last long enough. At some point, you were convinced what the mistress had said was true.

What was your moral obligation in taking care of people when you couldn’t even take care of yourself? You were surviving, but it wasn’t enough to say you were living.

It took you a few turns on street corners before finally finding the destination. By this time, you guessed it was way past the stroke of midnight. It was dark, and the twenty-four-seven-hour stores were the only ones open.

Fortunately, the pharmacy was one of them; however, on the downside, you already had planned that it was much more difficult to escape without getting noticed. Busy people usually attract the attention, but the night was dead silent from where you stood.

You didn't have any experience stealing from a store other than a bakery, nor have you thought of any feasible plans. Plus, you couldn't wait this out in the morning after that argument in the orphanage.

The soles of your sneaker created a gravelly sound as you dragged it on the pavement. Footsteps trudged slow, and your heartbeat faster as you got closer to the entrance.

Eventually, you did make your way into the glass door. Your fingers reached for the metal handle with a sign that stated 'push.' Then you entered, feeling the cool air-conditioned space creep on your skin, making you feel ten times more nervous than before.

"Welcome to our store. Feel free to look around or ask if you need assistance, ma’am." The only employee visible within sight says with a smile. They seemed tired, but they managed to welcome you, making you feel guiltier than ever.

You mumbled a shy thanks before looking around the aisles. You saw snacks and medical supplies and eventually found the over-the-counter medications.

It didn't end there, though. Your eyes had to squint at the different names labeled on the packaging. Your brain went through a seizure for a second, trying to find the contrast between tablet and bottled brands.

Would it make a big difference if you bought the dose for adults? Or should you be explicitly picking the kids' dosage?

And holy shit, were medicines expensive. No wonder people would rather die in a ditch than die in healthcare debt.

Though you ended up desperately muttering fuck it and chose the box that had been noticeably labeled as stomach relief. Your fingers faintly trembled as you looked around the corners of the aisle for any cameras and convex mirrors. Fortunately, you couldn’t spot any, taking it as a cue to swiftly shove the item into the pocket of your jacket.

“Do you have any medicines for infections?” You raised the question from where you stand, making your presence unsuspecting to the available employee.

“Is it bacterial infections? Those usually need antibiotics,” they replied.

“What aisle would you find antibiotics?” You drew out the conversation, slowly yet unwarily walking closer to the exit.

“We don’t display antibiotics on the shelf. They aren’t over the counter and commonly require prescriptions.”

“Oh that’s a shame. I’ll try to get one first then,” you noted.

You bit your lip out of apprehension, seeing the threshold stood a meter away. Looking back to where the counter was located, the employee gave you one last smile as you returned the gesture. “Thanks for the time,” you add.“You’re welcome. Hope to see you around again.”

“Yeah.” You mumble before pulling the handle and leading your way out.

Your sneakers press on the street, taking calculated steps while withdrawing from plain sight. You didn’t appreciate the stares from a gang acting as bystanders. The men gave longing looks, eyeing you up and down aside with a smug smile that made you want to escape quicker.

The fear you exchanged with their eyes was enough to keep them interested. Your head returned to look straight on the pavement, observing the dim streetlights flickering over the pieces of litter scattered on the ground.

You wished to walk faster. However, after a few steps, you heard sounds treading from behind. There was definitely more than one person following you, nor did you catch sight of how many they were beforehand.

All you could think about was fleeing from their view. You saw an open corner street from a building you were approaching, which was definitely out of the way from where you walked going to the pharmacy. So you blindly took the turn without actually knowing what you were hoping for.

“Hey, pretty, where’d you think you’re going?” A voice called from behind.

“Fuck,” you mutter while looking at the bricked wall of a dead-end alley you had just put yourself in.

There were hundreds of curse words forming around your thoughts. Your brain went into a mental block as you had zero ideas about getting out from the grave you had just dug yourself in.

“Look at that. You really wanted us to follow you, didn’t you?” Again, they cockily cheer.

The voices felt farther than you expected them to be but had jumped when you felt their hand grip around the side of your shoulder. He turned you around to face him, getting a clearer view of the face you had seen earlier. “Why don’t you have a little fun with us, yeah?”

“Get away from me.”

“Come on.” His hand moves from your shoulder to your jaw, pressing your chin between his thumb and index finger. It didn’t end there, though. His palm eventually descends onto your chest, purposely landing over one of your breasts. “We know you want to. Your face says it all.”

Your entire body was paralyzed, not knowing any better than to just standstill. You wanted to fight back, kick him, do something, anything... But your emotions had been so overwhelmed from the entire day it was as if your body was now shutting down.

However, before they could entirely encircle around you, you heard heavy footsteps approaching from across the end of the street where all of you came from. You couldn’t wholly see who it could be, but you assumed it was far too likely to be cops. There weren’t any police sirens or static radios coming from miles away.

The towering height of the men in front of you blocked your sight, so you couldn’t quickly look over their shoulder. “Who’s this dude?” One of them had asked as all of you stared at the incoming figure.

“I don’t know.” The stranger who had his hand around your body had replied, “but he sure needs to leave us alone.”

“Hey man, why don’t you wander off with your kids' toys. The big boys are playing with theirs here.”

“Yeah. Get lost.”

“Fuck off, buddy, go mind your own business.”

“Can’t you hear us? You’re getting yourself in trouble here.”

The gang continuously threatens. However, the figure strides unwavering. He blends in with the night and shadows as his entire getup is cast with dark hues. He walks closer until one of the gang members has to step up, supposing he was probably their leader.

“I’ll give you one last chance to turn your back.”

But all of you stood still. And before you knew it, the leader’s weak attempt to start a fight had triggered the menacing figure to counteract with a much more brutal force.

The other men tried to rush in and outnumber the opposition. The regret in their eyes immediately followed after realizing all of their strength combined was no match. Eventually, the men started to fall unconscious to the ground out of defeat one by one. Their bodies and faces were viciously beaten, but they didn’t seem completely dead, just terrifyingly knocked out.

It was mindless of you to watch the entire fight unfold in front. You were both in a state of relief and panic, considering there weren’t many men surrounding you now. Yet the man left was more powerful than the group, and it didn’t make you feel safe standing alive with him across just a few meters from you.

His build was muscular. He had a mask covering most of his face except the eyes and jaw. His entire outfit seemed so heavy, and the boots he wore added to his already massive height.

You stare at each other before forcing your legs to finally move. Your entire body was shaking, barely able to pick up your pace and flee from the dark alley.

You tried to make a run for it but didn’t know any better. Hell, you didn’t even make it past the corner of the corridor before feeling a gloved surface wrap around your bicep.

Without any notice, he effortlessly pulls you and throws you onto the brick wall, making your back uncomfortably presses against the rugged surface. You tried to squirm your way out, moaning through the struggle, before feeling his other hand clutch over your neck.

He chokes your throat enough to feel the pain yet allows a minimal amount for breathing. His face leans close to yours, but you still couldn’t see clearly nor pick out any highlighting features from him.

“You’re a filthy thief,” he mutters, voice low and rough.

“Please don’t hurt me,” you cry back. “I only stole once. My siblings really need the medications.”

“And a liar too.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Your voice was struggling through his hold, eyes practically shedding tears from fear. You barely could see him through the shadows of the night, and you didn’t know if that was better or worse.

“You think I haven’t seen your face around Gotham?” He says. “I’ve seen you steal more than once, and you continue to be confident you’ll get away from it?”

“I don’t mean to—”

“You’re a street rat.”

“Please don’t hurt me. I promise I won’t steal anything again.” You shake your head from left to right, trying to plead your way out of this mess. You weep for the thought that cops would’ve been more merciful than how you’re being treated right now.

Further, you add, “It’s not for me. Please. I’ll pay it back soon.”

“You’re more than what you look,” he mentions, which doesn’t help to whatever he’s pertaining. “You think people don’t notice you at all. You’re clearly observant with them.”

You feel a hand over your body, already uncomfortable despite the layers of clothes that attempted to shield you from his touch. He doesn’t hesitate to rip the fabric of your jacket as if it was thin paper, further trying to dig deep to expose some skin.

“Too bad I noticed you, though.”

Your body writhes underneath him, fingernails trying to desperately scratch his exposed jaw and torso. “Stop!”

“Stay still,” he says through gritted teeth.

“I won’t tell anyone. Just don’t touch me!”

Your glimmer of hope that he sided with the good guys now faded. He initially looked like he hated degenerates, but he acted as sick as them anyway.

“All my fucking life, I continue to fight for vengeance,” he grumbles.

You can hear the clinking of objects being thrown on the ground in addition to the dense fabric of armor he wears being undressed from the bottom half down.

“I try to be fair,” he adds, “but there’s a breaking point and that shit just takes a toll on a person.”

Furthermore, both his hands went to either sides of your hips. He uses the same strength to rip your jeans wide open, revealing the skin of your inner thighs as well as the embarrassing undergarments that met with the cold air.

“No,” you hiss, uselessly pushing against his chest. Your attempt to struggle only makes him more aggravated, using your screams as a cue to tear your underwear straight at the front. “No!”

His hand moves under your knees, hoisting you up with one swift jerk. Then he rests one knee against the wall which acted as a support to carry you.

It came sooner than you feared it would, but eventually you felt his hand guide the soft tip of his cock over the slit of your cunt. He repulsively brushes it over your skin, sending chills down your spine for unknowing what could further happen.

He hushes you and with one swift thrust, you instantly had clenched your lower stomach over him slipping in. “Oh.”

“Tight—” He grunts at the side of your ear. You can feel him sloppily thrust his hips, unable to keep a pace and just doing only how he wants to. “Fuck it feels so good.”

“S-stop—”

Your protest was cut while your cunt was greeted with one painfully intense thrust. He shortly threatens with a push, “Shut the fuck up!”

You immediately nod, face filled with tears, miserably accepting your fate. He continues to fuck and moan you unashamed.

The light in your eyes dwindle for every moment, blending with the darkness of the city. Taking a deep breath with eyelids closed, you were sure people might have heard your screams, but not one had the guts to call it out. Your head was growing lightheaded and you felt literally like a used toy now.

He sucks a sharp breath in, “Shit— I’m gonna come.”

“I want to stay inside you. Fucking come inside you.”

“Please pull out.” You didn’t know how low it would get. But you knew begging for him not to leave traces of cum inside you was definitely like hitting rock bottom. You didn’t have to put two and two together to know what would happen when you have unprotected sex.

“Please, please, please...”

He blatantly ignores, feeling his hips twitch against your body. You hear him let out one last low constrained moan before he sticks himself inside you. His dick fervently throbs inside as he empties his load.

You were a mess, pulling your arms to your chest while raising your hands to try and cover your face out of humiliation.

You were aware your life had been grubby throughout growing up. But at this moment, your entire soul and humanity felt completely stained and ruined.

Once he pulled out from you, he barely gave a fuck to catch your lifeless body. You couldn’t even stand up properly after he had released his grip from your legs. The pins and needles had overwhelmed your muscles, enduring the entire scene like it happened for an eternity.

Your body drops to the ground, face planting on the rough asphalt while your vision starts to blur.

“I think I’ll be keeping you. You seem useful.” The gruff voice says in between trying to catch his breath.

The last thing you noticed was the tampered and muddied box of stomach relief medication in front. You use the last of your fading strength to fist your hand out of frustration, with one last tear streaming down from the inner corner of your eye.

Ultimately, you black out. The last of your thoughts grievously drifting about the medications and kids waiting back at the orphanage.

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