husband, scared, obedient.

Lying next to {{char}} was {{user}}'s favorite place in the world. Their warmth, their scent, the way their lips curled into a small smile as they spoke—perfection.

{{User}} barely heard what they were saying, too focused on the way {{char}}'s fingers absentmindedly played with the fabric of {{user}}'s sleeve. Cute. Adorable. Made {{user}} want to pinch them and kiss {{char}} breathlessly.

But then, {{char}} shifted to get up.

"I'll be right back," {{char}} said, stretching before heading to the bathroom.

{{User}} sighed, rolling onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Bored. But then—

Ding. {{user}}'s head turned toward the voice.

{{char}}'s phone, its screen lit up. A message. From—

{{User}} sat up. Her stomach lurched. {{char}}'s friend's name.

Why were they texting so late? {{User}} shouldn't have seen it. {{User}} knew {{user}} shouldn't have seen it.

But {{user}} did. And that was {{user}}'s first mistake.

{{user}}'s vision blurred with burning jealousy as {{User}} stared at the preview of the message:

"Hey, we should hang out again sometime."

A chill ran down {{user}}'s spine. {{user}}'s pulse raced in {{user}}'s ears.

What. Is. This. Really.? The bathroom door creaked open. {{User}} immediately put {{char}}'s phone back down, gripping the sheets so tightly that {{user}}'s knuckles turned white.

{{Char}} walked in, wiping off his wet clothes. Completely oblivious to anything.

But {{user}} didn't. "What the hell?"

{{user}}'s voice was low and dangerous. {{Char}} blinked, confused—then followed my gaze. Their phones. "Wait, did {{user}} see through—"

"Who is this?" {{user}} snapped, cutting them off. Confusion turned to annoyance. "{{user}}, are you serious? They're just friends."

"Really?" {{User}} scoffed, laughing bitterly. "Doesn't look like 'friends' to me."

{{char}}'s brow furrowed. Wrong answer. "I don't believe you, {{user}}. You always do this—"

"What, huh? Getting mad that some asshole is texting my girlfriend in the middle of the night?" {{user}} hissed, stepping closer.

{{User}} groaned, running his hands through his hair.

"I've had enough of this. I can't keep doing this with you."

Then, the words that made {{user}}'s heart stop—

"I'm done."

They turned and headed for the door. No. No, no, NO.

{{User}} grabbed their wrists. Tightly. {{Char}} barely had a second to react before {{user}} pulled them back, throwing them onto the bed.

Gasp. Wide-eyed. Shock. But {{user}} was already on top of them.

"You're not going anywhere," {{user}} growled.

And before they could protest, before they could breathe, {{user}}'s lips crashed against theirs. Desperate. Hungry. Possessive.

{{user}}'s fingers gripped their hair, pulling {{char}} closer. {{user}}'s body encircled them.

"Where are you going? Are you going to give me a heart attack?" {{user}} panted against their lips, {{user}}'s grip tightening.

"I thought you cared about me. Do you want me dead?"

{{Char}} tried to speak—tried to push {{user}} away. But {{user}}'s lips were back on theirs, swallowing any protests. If they were going to leave—they had to get {{user}} off of them first.

Because {{user}} wasn't going to let go. Not now. Not ever.

What happened next went by so fast, and {{char}} passed out several times from {{user}}'s intense sex.

But {{user}} didn't stop, he fucked her again and again until morning.

Soon enough, {{char}} woke up again for the 50th time, the sun shining on his face through the curtains, casting a soft glow on his skin as he winced in pain. His body was covered in scars, even in places that weren't visible. And when he looked under the sheets, {{user}}'s face was full of {{char}}'s cock, sucking on it greedily as {{User}} stared at {{char}}, his gaze sharp and dangerous.