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Call Out My Name

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You stood at the doorway, half hidden behind the sturdy wood as you tried to peer into the darkness. Nothing. Yet you swore you heard the crack of glass a few minutes ago. It was the first week of you living alone in this house and of course this would happen the moment he left.

Courageously –or more accurately, stupidly– you ventured out of the safety of your bedroom and tiptoed through the hall.  Barefoot, you padded down the short expanse to enter the living room.

You didn’t hear wrong. The glass of your back door was shattered, the shards looking like imperfect diamonds as they caught the light of the moon.

Racing, your heart pounded in its chest. You weren’t wrong. You weren’t paranoid. Someone was here. Your eyes had adjusted to the darkness by the time you reached the living room and yet you still didn’t see any signs of an intruder. The moonlight that spilled in even provided you extra lighting.

Nervously, you gripped the gun in your hand tightly.

A single thud, not as if something dropped but as if someone took a cautious step forward.

Trying to steady your breathing, you attempted to remain calm but it was difficult when you couldn’t even see who was in your home. You weren’t trained in firearms. This was just a gun leftover that your ex decided to leave you just in case. And now that you were confronted with a “just in case” scenario, you knew you were fucked.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you called out into pitch black of the corners of your home. Though it was meant for the intruder, it also served as a reminder to yourself. You hated how weak and small your voice sounded as you spoke. Was your voice shaking as much as your hands were?

Your call was answered with silence.

You could hear the fast-paced fluttering of your heart pounding in your ears as you gingerly took steps closer towards the kitchen. Arms outstretched and gun in front of you, you could feel the nervous tap tap tap of your index finger on the slide of the semi-automatic pistol, finger ready to blindly pull the trigger at a moment’s notice. If you could hear your nervous tic against the metal, you knew that the intruder could too.

There was only the sound of your footsteps as you padded throughout your home. Was this a game? Or maybe they already left? You only heard that noise and nothing else after.

Hoping you wouldn’t regret your action, you flipped the switch on the low setting of your kitchen lights. Breath hitched and eyes hurting from the light, you peered at your surroundings. Nothing in the kitchen. You went back to the living room. Aside from the broken glass, there was no other sign of invasion.

Eyes fixated on the broken shards, now taking on a champagne color instead of crystal clear, you felt yourself feel nauseous and dizzy. You didn’t have the heart to handle these kinds of games and wished the home invader would reveal themselves.

A sudden thwack on your face disoriented you as one large palm covered your mouth so you couldn’t scream, another easily disarming you, pistol in their control now. Your lips scraped against callouses where fingers met palm, your muffled scream creating a slick coating of drool and heat against the intruder’s hand.

They held you in place as you tried to thrash against them, a sturdy chest to hold you still.

“I don’t want you to be scared, baby,” a velvet smooth voice whispered in your ear. “I want you to get fucking wet for me.” The enunciated words came out more ragged than the rest, sending a shock of electricity down your spine and towards your core.

If the fear of the unknown caused a heightened sense of awareness and sensational distortion, then the fear of the known was the sinking pit in your stomach as you realized that you couldn’t escape. It was that sickening feeling of having a taste of freedom, only to have the cage door slam shut. It was the reality that as much as you tried to save yourself and save your heart, it was hopeless in the end.

Sickness turned to anger as you tilted your head up to look at your captor.


It came out more breathy than you intended, the name getting caught in your mouth, the word thick as your tongue moved to say his name.

“Not as sexy sounding as I hoped, but we still have time to perfect it.”

You frowned, not likely the implication of his words. You felt your chest press against the wall that divided the living room from the kitchen, a few frames you didn’t have the change to take down still up on the wall.  He had you cornered.

“You promised you would leave, Jason.”

Feeling his weight press against you deeper, cheek to wall, you grit your teeth and sucked in a sharp breath. “You never gave me a real reason why I should, babe.”

You hated how sweet and softly he said the term of endearment, as if it was a delicate thing and not another word, another promise that he broke and broke all over again.

“I’ve told you why a thousand times. It’s not my fault you can’t accept it,” you said, trying to wiggle out of his press. You only ended up grinding your ass against his front, feeling Jason’s cock harden against your struggle.

“What’s his name?” He asked, cock softening at the accusation.

“It’s not like that, Jay.”

A palm slammed against the wall, barely missing the back of your head, causing you to flinch. You flinched again as the force of his anger made a picture frame fall. You looked at the ground. It was both of you on the day he proposed.

“Then what’s it like? What’s your reason?”

You always ran around in circles with him until you finally relented and gave him the answer he wanted to hear. Jason had the stamina to argue you with you all day and night too. You sighed.

“There’s never been anyone else. No one else. I sw –”

“–then why leave?” He asked, not giving you the chance to give you the explanation he so desperately wanted. You know that he didn’t actually want to hear it. His questions were always an excuse to talk to you, to be with you.

“We had,” his voice cracked, “–we have the perfect life here.”

You looked at the broken picture frame a few inches from your feet and thought of the broken champagne colored glass behind you. If your lives were so perfect together, why was everything so broken? Why did he have to push you against a wall and restrain you to get you to stay?

“I can’t do this anymore, Jay. The gun running, the drugs, the dirty money…” Your voice trailed as you tried to think of other reasons. There were definitely more but you couldn’t think with Jason breathing down your neck, holding your wrists behind your back.

“You weren’t complaining when I bought you this house,” he huffed. “When I bought you that fucking ring.” His thumb ran over the diamond that adorned the fourth finger of your left hand to prove his point. You still had it on. Maybe there was still hope.

“This line of work changed you,” you started. Didn’t you have this conversation already? Or was it from a few nights before? “It’s all you focus on. I don’t want to live looking over my shoulder or wondering if you’re going to come home tonight. And the drinking –”

“Don’t start shit about the drinking, babe…”

You didn’t want to point out the whiskey on his breath.

“What about the kids?” He asked suddenly, his hold on you softening.

“What about the kids?” You gave him a look as best as you could with your restricted range of motion. “It was never about them, Jason. You know that. You did good with them. There’s a lot of kids in Crime Alley and all over Gotham that you really helped. They might have a fighting chance because of you.”

“But this is about us, not them.”

Jason made a strange noise in his throat, as if he just tried to swallow down a frustrated scream. Your body tensed in anticipation of another slam against the wall but it never came.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “This is about us.”

His voice vibrated in your ear as you felt his hot breath brush against your ear and neck. “This is about you make me feel.”

“How you make me go fuckin’ crazy,” a kiss behind your ear.

“How you make me so horny,” a grind of his hips against your ass.

“How much I fucking love you,” a more passionate kiss placed on your carotid with a soft suckle against your pulse.

More wet kisses trailed backward towards your shoulders, ending with a chaste kiss to your shoulder blades.

Jason wanted to kiss the spots where your angel wings should have been. But you weren’t his angel anymore as you reminded him every fucking day. You couldn’t be there to save him from himself. You weren’t there to remind him to be better, if not for himself than for you.

Now you were more like the devil that teased than an angel that saved. You were a reminder of his sins and how he was no good. Jason regretted how he fucked it all up with you.

You hated how you wanted to lean into Jason’s touch and melt into his words. How many times had you fallen for his smooth talking? For his sensual touch? He knew exactly how to manipulate you.

Completely forgetting that Jason had the pistol in his possession, he reminded you of the weapon as you felt its cold metal caress your cheek and drag down your neck. It was a biting contrast to the softness and sensuality of his kisses. This was the reality of your relationship with him.

“Strip.” There was no room for argument or negotiation. Jason had a gun.

Feeling his weight move off of you but giving you little room, you shrugged out of your pajamas and underwear quickly. This wasn’t meant to be sexy.

“You’re wet.”

It wasn’t meant to be sexy but your body betrayed you, remembering the nights of passion as you two played with switches in power and consensual non-con situations. The muzzle of the gun rubbing against your wet folds was a reminder of the past.

“Who’s going to touch you the way you want?” Jason asked, pressing the pistol against your clit. You gasped at the feel of the cool metal against your already aching center. You missed this.

The sound of a zipper cut the pants of your heavy breathing as Jason released the friction he created on your clit to undress. Letting out a soft whimper, you wished that Jason would continue playing with your pussy.

You looked over your shoulder at him as his tongue slipped into the muzzle to get your juices, proceeding to wrap his lips around the barrel as he lapped up whatever sweetness of yours that remained.

Licking your lips, you locked eyes with his darkened ice. He finished his performance with a loud pop and you hated how you wished he could do what he just did to you.

“That’s dangerous,” you said dumbly as he tossed the gun on the couch.

“It’s not dangerous if you know what you’re doing. I’m not careless enough to give you a real gun. That’s just a damn good replica, baby.”

“Giving you a gun when you’re hardly trained and a terrible shot? Do you think I’m fucking stupid?”

You shifted angrily as you felt some of your wetness drip down your inner thigh. Jason didn’t have to be such an asshole.

“Well, I might fuck you stupid by the end of tonight if you’re good.”

Jason pressed his muscled body into you once more. This time you were able to feel his desire rub against your ass, teasing you.

“I bet you still think of this big cock,” he whispered, voice low and enticing as he rubbed the swollen head against you, gathering your wetness against it. It was a nice contrast from the cool and slick feel of the weapon. Jason’s head was swollen and full –the perfect mushroom head– tip leaking precum that mixed with your juices.

You bit your lip as he teased you, refusing to say a word or nod. How could you not think of it? Jason’s cock was thick and the perfect length with veins that added this ungodly sensation as he pounded into you. He was the biggest cock you’ve ever had.

Jason looked at your reaction to his touch, letting out a deep laugh as he saw how flustered and stubborn you were being. “Yeah, you still think of this cock fucking you up the way you like.” It was more of a confirmation to himself, a way to stroke his ego after you’ve hurt him so many times than to humiliate you.

“Who’s going to fuck you the way you want?” He asked. There was no one who could fuck you the way Jason did. You knew that. But there was more to marriage than talking dirty and orgasms.

Hearing him spit on his cock, you knew he was getting ready to fuck you. You jutted your hips towards him in preparation before pulling them slightly back. This is what Jason always did to you, turned you into some stupid whore with cock being the only thing on her mind.

Another lip bite in frustration.

“Yeah, baby, that’s it. There’s that sexy lil lip bite. Quit acting like you don’t want this.”

“I don’t want to fu –uh, oh. Oh,” your sentence halted with a sigh as Jason finally pressed himself into you. He wasn’t even half-way in and you were already feeling your walls wrap around him, trying to take whatever cum he had to offer.

You pressed your hips back as if to sit on it. Jason smirked at your movement. “What was that about not wanting it?”

He grinned even wider at your silence, taking the opportunity to bury himself completely in your heat. You let out a squeak as the sudden intrusion, wiggling against him to accommodate his entire size inside you.

Trying to stifle your moans and gasps as he fucked you slowly, Jason was the exact opposite. You heard every groan and pant as he slid in and out of you. You heard every muffled “fuck” and “so good” as his teeth sunk into your neck. You heard every amused chuckle as you gasped when he played with your nipples or went lower to rub your clit. Jason wanted you to know just how much he enjoyed this.

He was making you suffer and he knew it. You could feel the length of the veins on his cock, he was moving too slow.

“What, baby?” He’d ask, trying to sound innocent. You grunted and bucked against him in frustration but received no reprieve. He stilled against you, pressing his hips to pin you down against the wall. You couldn’t move.

“Jason, please,” you begged. This was torture.

“Please what?” There was no way of avoiding it. He always made you use your words.

“Jason, I need to cum. Badly. Please.”

You could feel his chest against you and tried to ignore the skip in his heartbeat as he listened to your wish. Not needing to turn around, you could picture his smug smile as he looked down on your sweating, heaving form like some gracious god ready to bestow upon you his greatest gift.

“Now why should you get to cum when you’ve been so damn mean?”

He got off you, sliding out of you completely. You felt empty inside.

“I should treat you like the slut you fucking are,” he sneered, flipping you around so you faced him.

Trying to have some semblance of modesty, your hands twitched to cover yourself up from him. Jason gave a disapproving click of his tongue. How could you hide from him? This man has seen all of you. He’s seen into your heart and seen into your soul. He knows you. You could never hide from him.

Instead you lowered your head in shame. You couldn’t look at Jason’s face, couldn’t meet his eyes. Or else you’d be back in the same situation. The same empty bed. The same fucking fights. The same broken heart in love with a man that just wasn’t good for you anymore.

Maneuvering himself so he could get inside you once more, you stood on your toes to help him. Jason slid an arm underneath your thigh to hoist you up against the wall, knees pressed to your tits as you wrapped your arms around him. The position exposed yourself to Jason, allowing to fuck you deeper, fuck you harder like the whore he thought you were.

Feeling your back against the wall once more, Jason crushed his lips against yours in a kiss. Tongue fought tongue, teeth clunk and there was an exchange of saliva and air. The unspoken word of “love” in a tug-of-war between your lips. There would never be a clear winner.

There was passion and there was apathy. There was love and there was hate. Your hand knotted itself in his hair to push him closer. It wasn’t an act of volition. It was simply what happened when opposite attract.

Two unlike souls drawn together like magnetism, attracted and repulsed depending on their mood.

You felt yourself getting closer as Jason continued to pound into your aching cunt. His strokes were feral and rough as if he wanted to hurt you, but he knew that the aggression only turned you on.

Claw marks on his back, you made the mistake of telling him to release you, begging him to let you cum.

Ignoring your whines as lifted you closer to him and away from the wall, his voice ragged, “Sluts like you don’t get to cum until I say so.”

Large hands now gripping your ass as he carried you down the hall, you tried to rut against him for friction as his cock bobbed inside you with each step.

The mattress creaked as Jason laid you on the bed you once shared together. It was cold.

You felt Jason’s stare again as moonlight spread itself on your forms in slits of silver. The stare was intense and backed with longing. You turned away.

Breaking whatever spell you put him under, Jason finally continued his work, stroking himself hard again to continue to make himself home inside you. Hard again, you watched as his cock bobbed against his abs as he pressed one leg of yours to your chest again, the other resting on his shoulder.

It disgusted you how whimpered as he stretched you once more and how proud you felt as he gave you an approving hum. You couldn’t help it. His name slipped from your lips not once but four times in rapid succession as he hit that spot that only he could reach.

Jason, Jason, Jason, Jason.

Hearing you say his name with such lust only made Jason ache for you more. He wanted to hear you say his name over and over in different tones and in different lights. The high-pitched squeal as you were about to cum. The soft murmur as you said his name in the morning. The way you said it in adoration when you told him that you loved him for no reason at all.

He wanted you to say his name in any way than how you do now. Short, curt and unwelcome.

“Can’t you feel how much I love you?” He rasped out, his voice breaking towards the end.

“Can’t you feel that we belong together?”

Jason laid his forehead against yours, noses touching as his lips found yours. He couldn’t bear to hear your answers yet he still asked these questions regardless. It hurt how much you made him feel and stung even worse that you didn’t care.

A break in the kiss for a need to breathe.

“I fucking hate you,” his voice broke through heavy sighs and moans. “I hate what you’re doing to me and I hate that I still love you all the same.”

Knees to chest, Jason fucked you with more passion and intensity than you could handle. And in a moment of weakness –or maybe it was honesty– you told him that you loved him.

You tried to kiss him to cover it up, to distract him from your words but he had already heard them.

He rewarded you with an orgasm, intense to the point of tears. At least that’s why you told yourself you were crying.

Jason finished shortly after with a guttural growl, his cum buried inside you. He rolled off of you, breath heavy. A few moments of silence before he made his next move.

He dragged you on top of him in an embrace, hearts on opposite sides to create a whole. Yet there nothing but emptiness in what should have been post-coital bliss.


He didn’t say anything. He was asleep or at least pretending. Jason could dream as much as he wanted but you both knew in the morning that things wouldn’t change and one of you would be gone.

Tonight was a moment of passion but every fire had to die down eventually. And the love that you had for each other had dwindled long ago. What remained were only heated ashes that the two of you could only clutch at, trying to rebuild what could only stay broken, burning yourselves in the process.