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occamstfs · 2 months ago

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Court Ordered Change

Cyrus has long tormented those he sees as beneath him, his students, his roommates, just about anyone. When he's challenged by the university Honor Council he'll learn to treat others with decency whether he wants to or not.

Standard asshole academic to hairy himbo! Hope you enjoy! -Occam

“This will conclude the hearing on the behavior of Cyrus Washington towards his fellow dorm-mates.”

Cyrus was aghast, from the start he had been livid at being called to the honor council on drummed up charges that are purely non-academic. He’s got his second degree to work on, and just as those brutes in his classes do every day, the people he’s supposed to trust for help have simply wasted his already limited time. In a huff, Cyrus checks his watch and impatiently stands to leave.

He is stopped by the gavel-handed bureaucrat sitting at the head of the council raising a finger as he tilts his head, “Oops! Nownow Mr. Washington, there remains sentencing! I believe it would be prudent-”

“Oh what? Do I have to say I’m sorry!? Do you assh- judges not have anything better to do than waste the time of an actual student? You know there’s an AI Plagiarism epidemic right now so if you, uhm.” Cyrus freezes as he turns to see the man indifferently taking in his words, staring straight through him. Smiling wider than could possibly be comfortable, Cyrus catches the slightest lip twitch before he speaks up once more.

“I believe it would be prudent for you to walk a mile in the shoes of those you so denigrate Mr. Washington. As your roommate Reg suggests, you do not know the ‘struggle.’” Cyrus grimaces hearing the pallid, still-grinning man say his roommate’s name. As if it were alien in his mouth. He hammers his gavel and his pale eyes lock in on Cyrus directly. He swears he can feel heat from the gaze as the freak finishes his sentencing, “The court sees fit to force you to change as you clearly will not better your behavior of your own volition.”

The academic glances between the people sitting at the table ahead of him, force? He tries to speak up but is unable as the central judge continues, “Each further step you take on the path of belittling your fellow man, demeaning his intelligence, judging his appearance, insulting the core of his being. You will find yourself more than a step closer to joining him yourself. And with that, we adjourn this meeting of the Honor Council.”

Cyrus sneers, the honor council. A bunch of good-for-nothing little tyrants. They certainly never responded to the reports he’s levied against handfuls of students plagiarizing in his classes but when Reg Allen can’t take half the shit he gives Cyrus suddenly the world comes grinding to a halt. That, that oaf!

As soon as the thought takes pride of place in Cyrus’ mind it becomes irrevocably clear that the council was not being fanciful. He didn’t see them leave but they are suddenly gone. He does not know what they did but he feels it in his bones, intense pressure and throbbing. Cyrus could feel himself begin to change.

Perpetually thin from skipping meals to lead discussion groups and grade essays on top of his own research, Cyrus feels something novel. Not usually that sweaty of a person, he wipes his brow with his sleeve and notices how it catches just short. He feels his thin bony arm somehow straining a sleeve that has always hung limp, as every garment has to do on his slack shoulders and frail arms.

The academic grimaces as he clearly sees not-quite-biceps for the first time ever, begin to fill his sleeves. Cyrus feels them slowly throb larger through layers of clothing as he runs the numbers on reality. Sticky with sweat he quickly disrobes from the suit jacket and runs into the bathroom. This could well be a nightmare, staring at his reflection he sees his curls lengthening, growing thicker as they fall down the back of his neck.

His lip twitches in disdain as they crest towards his shoulders. He shakes his head to focus and is immediately distracted, feeling his hair bounce lower. The words of the honor council echo through his head, they said they’d force him to change. These steps do not seem to be taken in that direction. An image of Reggie flickers in his mind and he is filled with irritation that the brute has any place in his subconscious, or whatever this wretched dream is.

Reflexively his new heavier arm goes to smack down on the porcelain sink he stands at. His brow furrows as he sees the meatier hand act so aggressively, as if he weren’t controlling it. His already thicker arms bulge and finally begin to send tears down the length of his ironed button-up. In between them he sees buttons beginning to strain and dark nipples poking out from the fabric as for the first time in his life there is something akin to definition on his chest.

Hastily he tears open the button up and gasps as he sees small pecs hanging on his thin chest, pushing larger with each increasingly anxious breath. Mouth open in shock he sees a shadow appear on his face and his eyes darken as his perpetually clean shaven face is darkened by a meager mustache goatee combo that he would never be caught dead having.

As trimmed pubes begin trailing up towards his belly button, across a waist that has grown thicker but remained lithe, Cyrus can’t help but feel up his new form. His torso is slick with sweat and feverishly warm against his wider hands. Letting himself enjoy this bizarre dream, feeling himself start to chub up, in the corner of his eye he sees his expression dull. Just before he can bite his lip, Cyrus alights with rage as he recognizes the dumb look on his face. “God! This is all Reg’s fault!”

He will not find any pleasure in this clumsy inelegant form. He will not waste time working on biases that he has every right to have. The athletes in his university housing and dullards whose work he has the misfortune of grading are in fact not going to revive the benefit of the doubt. He pictures them sailing through life, imagining opportunities tossed at their feet due to their appearance or athletic abilities.

Jaw clenched hard enough to crack a tooth, he grunts in pain as it cramps. Feeling real pain he rubs his chin and ignores the feeling of more stubble growing underneath his fingertips. Wanting control of his dreamscape he imagines a chair behind him and petulantly crosses his arms as he goes to sit. This is of course, not a dream and he falls on his ass.

Grunting in pain he lands on glutes that have already begun to put on healthy weight. His dress pants tear from his vain attempt to catch himself and his crotch is freed to the open air as thick thighs send tears coursing down the length of his heavy legs.

Cyrus reaches up to the sink to pull himself up, frowning at the dark hair that stretches down from his wrists. Until now he’s never even had to be concerned with body hair at all, let alone shaving. He’s been happily almost hairless for as long as he can remember. Feeling the wet jungle in his pits scratch his side as he pulls himself up he clicks his younger as this is apparently no longer to be the case.

In front of the mirror once more, his half-acceptance of his hairy pits and a paltry treasure trail immediately fades as he sees hair has spread far beyond these realms. Fertilized by the sweat still dripping down every inch of bare skin, his body has continued to grow, and with it comes a forest of thick dark curls. Like a trail of gunpowder, his pubes have steadily raced up his torso and now connect with an explosion of tight curls in the center of his chest. His thicker nipples are haloed by hair while the center of his chest is buried by still racing branches of curls.

Scratching at his itchy skin as in every corner of his growing body new forests of hair continue to sprout. Cyrus once more tries to mute the chaos of his changing mind. Rubbing his burning chin in thought as his small goatee puffs out and connects with his mustache, he desperately tries to ignore how the sound of it scratching and crunching makes him feel. Chest both anxiously hollow and full of pride as it continues to pile on weight, he resolutely stares at his reflection.

Somewhere in the recesses of his increasingly foggy mind he finally realizes how changes seem to accelerate whenever thoughts of his obnoxious roommate take the wheel. Point in case as he crosses Cyrus’ mind once more he bursts larger. The man barely catches himself as he falls to the sink once more, weighed down by his entire upper body expanding at once. Had he taken any of the council’s words to heart perhaps he would realize that it’s clearly only when he digs at the man, but wont to blame anything but himself that seems a bridge too far.

Looking decidedly athletic, as his shaky eyes take in his reflection and his quivering lips label him a mouth-breather evermore, what may be his last saving grace flows through his mind. He looks so fucking good, sure a little like Reg, a little like men he’s sure couldn’t stumble their way through a thesis. But he looks good. His eyes lose focus again as his fingertips dance across his muscled form. Imagining how good he’ll be in bed he’s halfway to drooling when he hears Reg’s voice in his mind, “Brooo let’s hit up the town!” The man’s face is clearer than his own reflection as Reg leans in closer than Cyrus could ever remember letting him, “Bout time we see if we can get a third like you wanted eh?”

The words that cannot be a memory strike him like a tackle, his attention is red hot as blush burns across his sweaty face. He tries to speak but finds his throat dry. Mind struggling to mediate between the two egos now inhabiting him, and filled with a thirst too great to ignore, he forces his head under the faucet and drinks from this public restroom sink. Shooting back up he has to fight the urge to punch his reflection as he sees red. Water dripping down his goatee he sneers and almost shouts, “I am not like him.”

It echoes throughout the tiled room, sounding deeper as it returns, making the already sunken slow bass of his voice even lower. He swallows hard as an Adam’s apple bulges out if his neck underneath stubble that has begun to thicken on his neck and up his cheeks. “I’m not fucking like him! He’s so-” Cyrus hunts for an insult derogatory enough to suit his needs and comes up short. “He’s such- he’s so–” His hands shake with rage as they grow clumsier, arms hanging lower and biceps bulging larger with each anger-clouded heart beat and struggled breath.

Curls that once sat atop his head and hung down his neck begin to retract as with each refrain of I’m not like him, and each half-created thought of insult towards Reggie only compounds the fact that he is now more like him. His hair retracts and forces itself into a generic haircut almost exactly like that on Reg’s head. His mustache and goatee expand into a full beard that hugs his jaw as it too squares out. Body sculpted beyond belief, painted with hair that Cyrus has long denigrated, the once mousy academic finally realizes that this is all his own doing.

Watching his hair seem to straighten as his eyes lose the intelligence he has long held above all else, Cyrus tries to speak up too late to make a difference. And just then his cock bursts his shorts. He moans loudly in the bathroom as his briefs fall to the floor, exposing a mass of curls surrounding a cock harder than it’s ever been before. Standing out straight it smears pre across the porcelain sink before dripping even more onto the tiled floor.

All the fight left in Cyrus drains alongside his haughty sense of self. He feels his balls pulse with a heavy need for release as they hang lower in the open air, staring at his hairy reflection he simply scratches his ass and laughs. The new Cytrus poses in the mirror flexing and quietly moaning as even the slightest movement sends his cock bouncing. Only when he hears the door to the bathroom creak open does he realize he’s standing nude in a public bathroom.

Under his thicker brow his unfocused eyes turn to see what poor or lucky visitor is going to stumble upon this stud. His ajar mouth turns to a smile as he instead hears the mystery guest announce himself who else but Reggie. His bro. “Yo Cy! You in here? Heard from the hammer guy that ya might be?”

Turning to find his roommate with torn clothes scattered at his feet, Reg laughs and makes sure no one else is going to stumble in on him. “Bruhh you can’t be goin’ around like this huhuh,” smile wryer than you might expect on his face as he goes for his bag. “Don’t work though bro, I’ve got some shirts for ya here throw them on.”

Cyrus quickly tosses them on commando and thanks his bro with a degree of kindness that he’d never exercise, even minutes ago. “Shit thanks Reg! Dunno what came over me, guess I just hit the gym too hard or uhhh, somethin?” His thicker brows furrow together as he tries to understand how he ended up in this compromised state. He’s not too worried though, his bro came to help before it was even an issue. Almost as if Reggie knew he’d be here.

Before that line of thought can be followed, if coming to conclusions was something Cyrus even remained capable of, Reggie throws an arm around him. “Ohh kinda sweaty bro aren’t ya?” Cy just laughs and smells his pits. Adjusting his shorts as his cock throbs from such close proximity to Reg, he tries to lean in even closer.

“Let’s get you back to our room huh? Seems like you could do with some rest bro.” Cyrus nods in agreement, eyelids drooping as soon as Reggie puts the idea to words. Despite whatever part he played in all this, with each breath of Cy’s new musk and each stamp towards their shared domicile his mind too begins to change. Cyrus has always been his bro, fuck they even share a bed. Way cheaper to bunk together.

Yeah that’s what it is, the economics of it all. His own jockstrap is strained as he feels the sweaty man burning under his arm. Scratching his beard with his free hand he lets his mind swim. The life shared with his bro quickly usurping the months spent lodging with someone who treats the world as beneath him.

By the time they’ve made it back to their suite Cy’s already half asleep. Reggie deposits the sweaty man face down onto their bed and he immediately begins snoring. The bed creaks as his changes come to their conclusion, growing heavier as he becomes the perfect complement to his roommate. Then he sets about his day as always, not quite noticing how the world around him has changed. Pictures on the wall now showing him and Cyrus together, of course, as they always have been.

The thought, ‘it’s better this way’ briefly crosses Reggie’s mind but he promptly shakes it off. No idea what it could possibly be referring to. Scratching his chest he starts preparing lunch for the both of them. Getting a ping from Grindr from a twink excited to pay the pair of them a visit, Reg just smirks. Doesn’t get much better than this. He wouldn’t change a thing.

#male tf #mental change #jockification #hair growth #reality change #personality change #dumber #muscle tf #himbofication

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nathanbatemanfucker · 2 months ago

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Vuelve a Mí Pt. I

summary: you and joaquin confront the cause of the end of your relationship.

pairing: joaquin torres x f!reader

wc: 1,002

contents: 18+/minors dni, canon typical violence, angst, break up vibes, pining, longing, intense guilt, illusions to depression

AN: taking a stab at writing joaquin bc i've quickly grown enamored with him. i'm still learning his characterization and how i'd perceive him so be kind with this first try. this is just the first part & there will be another tying things up! i hope yall enjoy and i'm so excited to be back here writing again.

vuelve a mí masterlist

It’s hard to see him like this. Truthfully, it’s hard to see him at all. Not because of anything he’s done, not even because of how he’s changed while you were gone, but from how you changed.

It doesn’t make much sense; you had been turned to dust. Crumbled away into literal nothingness. And yet, when you returned everything felt different. Nothing, not your passions, your job, your family— Joaquin— felt like it was yours anymore.

When you’d come back, you felt so disconnected from everything. You questioned who you were and what your purpose was, especially since so many people in your life had carried on.

Joaquin included.

He wasn’t Falcon when you left. He had never touched the suit. Sure he had wanted to, he had his aspirations but you had always imagined that you’d be right there to support him.

But here you sat. Sam called you immediately, not knowing the hospital had too. You were still Joaquin’s emergency contact— after all these years he hadn’t changed it.

So here you sit, a book in your hands as you patiently waiting for him to wake up. The doctors assured that he would wake up, he was in critical condition but young and healthy. ‘A fighter’ they’d said.

“You came.”

His voice startles you, and you flinch slightly, losing your place in the pages.

He grins apologetically, “Sorry, querida, didn’t mean to scare you.”

It takes effort to not get lost in his smile, especially after thinking that you might have lost him for good.

You fortify yourself, crossing your arms against your chest, “More than you already have?”

“You’re one to talk, honey.”

You know exactly what he means. All the abandonment of relationships, taking risks to better understand yourself. He and others have made it clear that they’re worried about you, that you aren’t the same. Confirmation of what you’re most afraid of.

“I don’t want to argue, not when you’re like this.”

He raises a brow at you playfully, “But some other time maybe? Over dinner?”

“Joaquin…”

You watch him physically deflate and it breaks your heart. He shakes his head, giving you a weak smile, “It was worth a shot, wasn’t it?”

“I’m sorry. I, um, I shouldn’t have come.”

“I’d be offended if you hadn’t,” He murmurs lowly.

Something inside you flutters at the soft huskiness of his voice and you’re rendered speechless for a handful of moments. Forced to acknowledge just how much you’ve missed him. Finally, you’re able to say, “I don’t know what you want me to say, Quino.”

“I don’t know, maybe something that explains why we aren’t together anymore.”

“I’ve explained that.”

“And it still doesn’t make sense.”

“That’s not fair, you don’t understand. You weren’t gone. You got to live your life with no interruptions, with no hiccups. And I got— I got nothing. I was nothing.”

He sits up, flinching as he does. You try to calm things— you had really meant it when you said you didn’t want to fight. But when Joaquin is worked up, when he believes in something his passion can’t be quelled. Isn’t that what got him here in the first place?

He barrels past your attempts to shush him, his gaze piercing into yours as he does. “You’re right, I don’t understand. But what you don’t understand is how heartbreaking it was having to go on without you. My life was interrupted, the love of my life was taken from me and more than ever I had to serve my country. The one person that has ever truly understood me was gone. That’s a fucking hiccup if I’ve ever seen one. So no, it's not the same. No, I don’t understand, but it wasn’t easy for me. It’s never been easy without you— not before and definitely not after.”

As you listen to Joaquin’s words, you must face not only what the two of you lost together, but what he lost on his own. His struggle, his pain, forces you to turn away from your own and see his in a new light. And for the first time since you opened your eyes after being blipped, you feel like you’ve made a huge mistake. You’ve done nothing but hurt yourself and the ones you love by being swallowed by how the unknown may have changed you.

You gave up. On yourself, on your friends and family. On Joaquin.

Your chest goes tight and you freeze as your body is flooded with emotion. It took this— him injured and angry for you to come to your senses?

What have you done?

“Hey, vuelve a mí,” He murmurs so gently that the tears in your eyes start to fall. “Lo siento, querida, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

With sharp, quick movements you wipe away your tears and stand. “I shouldn’t have come,” You repeat, stepping closer to him, resting your hand over his gently. “I’m really glad you’re okay Joaquin but I— I have to go.”

“Wait, we can talk about this, figure it out like we did before? Don’t go,” He flips his hand over in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“I’m not ready. I’m sorry. For everything, I’m so sorry,” You whisper brokenly. He squeezes your hand, running his thumb over yours in an attempt to soothe you. It only makes the guilt inside you plant itself deeper.

You swallow, shaking your head. Your mind is made up. “Me being here…it’s just going to fuck up everything further. I’m sorry.

“Baby, that’s not—“

“Be well, Quino. Please,” you implore, untangling your hands and darting for the door.

He calls after you. Calls and calls, exerting effort you know his healing body shouldn’t. And yet, you can hear him trying until the elevator doors close. Something inside you continues to feel him. As you walk to your car, as you eat dinner later that night, as you crawl into your bed made for two. That yearning, that ache…it doesn’t change your mind.

> pt. II

let me know if you'd like to be on my joaquin taglist!

#joaquin torres #joaquin torres x reader #joaquin torres x fem!reader #joaquin torres x f!reader #captain america brave new world #joaquin torres x you #joaquin torres fic #marvel fanfiction #joaquin torres fanfiction #x reader #arson writes

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emotionoitme · 9 months ago

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nectar of the gods

nectar of the gods - lana del rey

part 2 of don’t call my name

warnings: jealousy, the c word (claire), pervy carmy but that’s a given, date gone wrong (pushy man & use of some force. nothing bad happens), guard dog carmy, small argument. nasty smut: themes of brat tamer carmy, female masturbation, teasing + condescending dirty talk, fingering, squirting, biting, kissing, unprotected sex (oops), slight size kink, he doesn’t choke her but he holds her neck, slight breeding kink, ok maybe not so slight, she gets fucked kind of stupid.

wc: 9.5k

a/n: thanks so much for the love on part one! let me know what u think of this one!! <3 enjoy the nastiness

playlist

the weeks that followed the soft touches and heated kisses were, to say the least, awkward.

carmen has never been the strongest communicator, and working long hours at the bear conveniently meant they didn’t really see much of each other.

unluckily for him, she conveniently seemed to be home when he had invited claire over to talk.

in his defense, it was a late night, heat of the moment decision. one in which he was caught in a weak spot–feeling lonely and, admittedly, thinking obsessively of his roommate. a decision he deeply regretted the following day, when he had checked his messages and saw she said yes.

claire came over for morning coffee when carmy decided to go into work late. she gave him a enthusiastic greeting when he opened the door, rushing forward to hug him. it didn’t feel right, but he reciprocated.

“so good to see you, carm,” she told him, warmly.

“hey, you too,” eyes glancing over to the clock beside the door, “you’re early.”

she pulled back, smiling.

“i thought you’d be happy to have more time with me.”

he gestured her in and shut the door. he hadn’t really wanted her to come at all once he woke up, but how could she have known that?

he felt stupid.

“i, am” he replied unenthusiastically, “but my, um…. my roommate is still home.”

“you have a roommate now?” she asked.

“yeah, just for a while. want to go outside?” he questioned, eyes darting to the stairs.

“can’t we just sit at the table? it’s cold out.” claire followed his gaze to the staircase.

he paused, sighing.

“okay, yeah. let’s sit at the table.” hand running through his hair, pulling slightly. he forced himself to sit and meet her gaze, asking her how she’s been, trying to pay attention. trying to care.

a few minutes into their conversation, he heard soft footsteps approaching from behind.

“goodmorning,” his roommate called out, smiling at claire. carmen whipped his head around. she was dressed for work. she looked good.

“oh. hi,” claire returned, “you’re carmy’s roommate?” the surprise evident in her voice.

“only short term,” she replied, shooting carmen a glance, “and you are?”

“i’m claire,” she returned with a smile, “i’m his-”

“she’s my friend.” carmy interrupted, watching as claire’s eyebrows shot up at this.

“umm, we’re a little more than friends,” claire laughed, turning to his roommate, “me and carm have known eachother since we were kids. and we dated for a while, didn’t we, bear?”

he watched as his roommate widened her eyes a bit, nodding.

“how sweet. you guys are so cute together, you should date again,” sickly enthusiasm rung from her voice, “nice to meet you claire, but i’ve gotta get to work.”

“so nice meeting you! i’ll see you around.”

his roommate didn’t respond, quickly walking to the kitchen to grab a thermos of coffee then rushing out the door, letting it slam behind her.

“she’s cute,” claire complimented, “should i be worried?” her tone joking, but still locking eyes with carmen. he stayed silent, rubbing a hand over his face, then exhaling.

“listen, claire, you, uh…. you’ve gotta go. i’m sorry for inviting you.”

“what?”

he left for work as soon as she was out the door, trying to distract himself from the reminder of all the people he had hurt so early in the morning.

besides that tense interaction, he didn't see his roommate at all for about a week and a half.

that didn’t mean he wouldn’t still think about her, though. in fact, it felt like he couldn’t focus on anything else—the night of their hungry kisses and gentle touches playing like a loop in his head.

he thinks of how responsive she was, how her lips felt. how he longed to hear her beg for him.

almost two whole weeks passed, and he still wasn’t man enough to face her, making sure he was in the restaurant until late at night and out of the apartment extra early in the morning.

he scrubbed at the stovetop, remembering the smell of her skin. yearning for it. he stood at the expo and barked directions, skin prickling with the memory of her touch. the slight drag of her nails across his abdomen. how eager she was.

that morning, as the sun just began to flood through the windows, he found himself passing by her room, glancing through the open door.

he stopped himself as soon as he passed, taking a step backwards to get another look.

she lay sleeping on her side, facing away from him, one leg resting on top of the duvet. her breath was steadily rising and falling, big shirt was bunched up over her waist, allowing him the pleasure of gliding his eyes along the curve of her bare waist. he savors the moment, gaze gliding down to her hip, then falling on the little blue pair of underwear that clung to her ass.

and yes, he felt like a creep, but he still continued to stand there and watch her for a few minutes, wishing he could take a picture to remember the captivating sight.

instead he just forced himself to walk away.

it’s a long, stressful day of refires, late tickets, and continuous yelling.

carmen only gets home shy of midnight, basking in the still silence of the apartment as the door latches. he slips his coat off and hangs his keys on the hook—the key hook she put up, after the 5th time he had asked her if she had seen his keys.

hers were gone, surprisingly. he wonders where she could’ve been at midnight with a nervous uncertainty.

carmen makes his way to the kitchen, grabbing a cold glass of water before walking over to the couch to collapse.

the living room was illuminated in a soft lamp light. he loved that there would be lights on when he came home. it felt less lonely, somehow.

his eyes glance around the room, noting the addition of potted plants, some throw pillows and blankets, art, framed pictures. some of her family, some of his.

it had thrown him off, a bit, to come home one day, before the awkwardness, to see a framed picture of him and mikey standing on one of the living room’s side tables. he hardly recognized the old picture, studying it with disbelief. on that day, he picked it up and walked to his roommate’s door, knocking softly.

“come in,” she had called.

he opened the door, and found her sitting at her vanity, combing her hair. he held up the picture, pointing to it.

“shit, i’m sorry. i should’ve asked,” she started to explain.

“-no, no, i was, uh, just a little surprised,” he reassured, “where did you get this from?”

she set her comb down on the vanity and turned to face him.

“it was in a box at the back of my closet,” she told him, “lots of pictures. i promise i didn’t go through it. that one was just at the top. and i thought it was sweet. i was just thinking since i have so many up of my family, you would-”

“-no, yeah. thank you. it was really nice of you,” he admitted, “just caught me off guard.”

she gave him a sympathetic smile.

he fondly recalls the memory as he studied the decorations. never before had his home felt so much like a home.

he lets his eyes shut slowly, basking in the comfort of the plush couch. around 20 minutes pass until he hears muffled voices from outside the unit, then the sound of keys fumbling with the lock.

his stomach drops a little at the thought of having to face her, so he keeps his eyes closed, hoping he could ignore the interaction all together. as the door swings open, he hears her voice.

“okay, thanks. i’ll see you around,” tiredness evident in her tone. then, a man’s voice.

“it’s a nice place. what’s the inside like?”

carmen feels a surge of annoyance. was she bringing men over?

“it’s, uh, nice too. i have to get up early tomorrow though, so-”

“we had a nice time, right? let’s keep it going.” the man’s tone becomes pushier. carmen’s annoyance turns to anger. who did this douchebag think he was? he hears his roommate release a sardonic chuckle.

“listen, dude, get out. i’m not interested.” her tone firm and assertive. carmen sits up slightly to peek over the couch.

“god, i can’t stand women like you,” the stranger retorts, “a $200 check, and you’re not even gonna invite me in?”

carmen watches as she tries to close the door. the man puts his arm out, aggressively pushing it back open. he sits up the rest of the way, having had enough of the interaction.

“hey fuckhead,” he barks. the stranger’s eyes dart to him, clearly surprised there was another person home.

“she said get out.” his jaw is tight, eyes wide, staring the man down. “we gonna have a fuckin’ problem?”

the stranger puts his hands up in defense, taking a step back.

“hey, no problem here, man. just trying to say goodni-”

she slams the door in his face, latching the deadbolt. the girl lets out a heavy sigh before glancing over to where carmen sits.

“thanks,” she mumbles, hanging up her keys and taking her jacket off. he glances over the skin-tight long sleeve dress she was wearing.

“who was that?” he asks immediately, trying to keep the hint of possessiveness out of his voice. she leans down to slide her heels off, glancing up at him.

“a date.”

he continues to stare at her, hoping she would elaborate. instead, she ignores him, walking to the kitchen and putting the tea kettle on to boil. he stands and follows her, brow twitching.

“you, uh, going on dates now?” he questions, hands coming to his hips.

“yep,” she curtly replies, grabbing a mug from the cabinet and placing a teabag inside.

“with guys like that, huh? nice.” he scoffs. the man has trouble rationalizing why he feels so aggravated.

“fuck off, carmen,” she sharply retorts, refusing to turn toward him, “it’s none of your business.”

“it is when you bring them here” he argues.

“what, like how you brought your little girlfriend over?” she yanks open the fridge and grabs the milk.

“she is not my girlfriend” he asserts.

the girl rolls her eyes and ignores him, turning the burner off at the sound of the kettle whistling, pouring the hot water into her mug. he moves closer to her, staring at the side of her face.

“she’s not,” he emphasizes. the added pressure makes her feel compelled to respond.

“well, she’s something to you,” she argues, setting the kettle back down harder than she intended, turning to face him. she immediately wishes she hadn’t, the intensity of his eyes setting her ablaze, skin prickling. it makes her a little weak in the knees to be face to face with him again, as much as she hated to admit it.

“no, she isn’t, i- fuck…i had this weak moment after…you and i kissed, and it-,” he exhales, pausing. “i didn’t realize how much i missed…that kind of thing. so i invited her over. and immediately fuckin’ regretted it when she said yes.”

“why?” she asks softly.

“why’d i regret it?” he clarifies. she nods.

he takes a small step closer to her.

“because i don’t want that kind of thing with claire,” he confesses.

she doesn’t know what to say, instead just watches him, studying his face. she catches the split second his eyes dart down to her lips, and feels what little resolve she has begin to crumble, so she turns away from him, back to her tea, and begins to stir in some milk.

“okay,” her reply comes softly, “i get it.”

“yeah?” he presses, eyes locked on her.

“yeah,” she responds, “i know how it feels. to get…lonely like that. so truce.”

he lets out a breath of relief, threading his fingers through his hair.

silence, for a moment. he watches her bring the hot drink up to her lips and take a small sip. carmy is the one to break the silence.

“is that, uh, the reason you’re going on dates, then?” he pries.

“what, because of loneliness?” she asks, warming her hands on the mug. he gives her a small nod, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“yeah. i guess so” she responds, “with these… weirdos that don’t let me know they’re weirdos until it’s too late.” her gaze fixes on a point in front of her, unfocused. she stays like this for a moment, then breaks her trance, eyes coming to carmy’s face. his sweet and handsome face.

“i’m really glad you were here, by the way.” she adds softly.

he doesn’t know what to say for a second, shaking his head. trying to push away the anxiety that came with what could’ve happened to her, had he not been on the couch at that exact moment.

“yeah. me too.” he replies soberly. she watches his serious expression, eyes locked. the girl can’t help but break out into a grin and softly giggle. she leans back against the counter.

“it was kinda sexy, too,” she quips, “watching you get all mad like that.”

carmy can’t help the smile that breaks his solemnity.

“fuck off,” he amuses, shaking his head. she begins to laugh. he likes it a lot.

“seriously,” she presses still smiling, “it was-…i liked it.” she gave a nod of her head.

he just keeps staring at her with a soft smile on his face.

“well i don’t wanna yell at anyone else. so no more guys over.”

“oh yeah?” her tone teasing, “it’s kind of your fault that i even went on a date in the first place” she chimes, taking another sip of tea.

“my fault?” he asks, eyebrows lifting.

“yeah. i mean, i wouldn’t have to if you weren’t such a…fucking tease.” she tells him, smiling against the lip of her mug

that was the last thing he expected her to say, letting out a small scoff at her bluntness.

“i’m the tease?” he asks in disbelief. if only she knew the relentless battles he fought internally from the second he first saw her. she’d been teasing him without knowing it for weeks.

“you wanted me to beg,” she reminds him, “and then, you left me. i had to fend for myself.”

he knew. he could hear her through the door.

“yeah, uh,” he fights the smile that creeps onto his face, “sorry about that.”

“that’s okay,” she replies, “cause i’m gonna give you payback.”

“payback?” he amuses, eyes creeping down her face, briefly falling to her chest and admiring the scoop neck dress she wore. okay, maybe not briefly.

she nods, stepping forward into his personal space, only inches apart. his eyes dart back up to meet hers. she keeps her gaze locked with his and slides her fingers under his white shirt, ghosting over the deep cut lines of his hips.

carmen’s breath stills as she hooks the waistband of his pants, leaning in to softly kiss his neck. she peppers sweet kisses up to his ear, then gently catches his lobe in between her teeth. her hands trail up, splaying across his stomach and feeling the firm muscle. carmen clenches his teeth as her lips begin moving along the base of his jaw.

she had barely touched him and yet that burning sensation begins to creep up his skin.

once her lips make it to his chin, she straightens and pulls him into her.

he feels his breath skip.

the girl hovers her lips over his, giving him only a light impression of touch. the front of her body is flush against his, and she can feel his hardness pressing into her.

carmy knows exactly what she’s doing, and he doesn’t feel entirely enthusiastic about being teased.

he glides his hand under her jaw, fingers carding through her hair and resting near the base of her skull. he grabs it tightly and she lets out a soft whimper, lips parting. the sound is too sweet for him to maintain his composure—he wants to taste it.

carmen pulls her into his lips impatiently, relishing the supple feeling of her mouth. their lips lock together desperately, kisses in tandem. with a last, slow kiss she pulls away with a small grin on her face. his hand still entangles with her hair, eyed fixated on her lips.

“that all you gonna give me?” he grumbles lowly.

she nods, “mmhm,” and her lip catches between her teeth.

his free hand comes to grab her side, thumb pressing into her hip bone. she arches into his touch, lids heavy, body increasingly hot. he meets her eyes.

“you’re…” he exhales, smile creeping at the edges of his lips, “you’re a little brat. y’know that?”

“you like it,” she argues softly.

she’s wrong, he thinks, he loves it.

she smooths her hand up his abdomen, fingers pressing into the firm muscle. he tenses under the rousing touch, then groans as she gently drags her nails down the length of his stomach.

she feels his bulge twitch against her pelvis.

the girl smiles at this, satisfied with her work of payback. she doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she pulls away completely.

he blinks a few times, processing the loss of heat, watching as she turns to walk out of the kitchen.

he almost follows her, too, but stops in his tracks when she calls goodnight.

fucking tease.

it was after 1am by the time the girl had showered and completed her nighttime routine, peeling back her duvet and slipping into the silky sheets.

she tried desperately to clear her mind over the past hour, having difficulty thinking of anything besides her roommate. anything besides how much she had turned herself on in the process of “payback”.

she lays flat on her back, then turns to her side. then she turns to the other side. then flat on her stomach. the girl releases a sigh of frustration. nothing was comfortable. every inch of her body felt hot. carmy’s lips felt so fucking good.

the heater is too loud. the streetlights are shining through the curtains. she wants to take him inside of her.

her hand sneaks underneath the duvet, brushing over her hardened nipples, trailing down her stomach and creeping under the waistband of her panties.

she thinks about how much she liked kissing him as she begins to drag her finger through her folds. she thinks about how he would always hold himself back. it was easy to tell—he would tighten his jaw and his eyes would get dark, giving her this look at her as if he wanted to devour her whole. she feels herself getting wet, beginning to circle around her clit, frustration at the dull ache within that seemed incurable no matter how much she tried to pleasure herself.

the girl feels so desperate laying in her bed that she decides she would take whatever carmen would give her.

even if that meant having to beg for it.

she rips her hand out of her panties and flings the duvet off of her, sharply exhaling as the cool surrounding air kisses her skin. she throws her legs over the side of the bed and stands up. maybe a cold glass of water would help.

the temperature drops as she exits her room. clad in only underwear and a cropped tank top, goosebumps begin to rise on her skin

as she makes her way down the hallway, curious eyes land on carmen’s cracked door. she stops and takes a peek inside.

the outside streetlights flood in through his window too, yet there he lay sleeping heavily, completely unbothered.

she pushes the door open a little more, just out of curiosity.

he lay on his back, shirtless, with an arm thrown over his face, chest rising and falling steadily. watching him did nothing more than worsen the desire she felt.

she inches into the room almost uncontrollably, coming to stand next to his bed.

before she gains enough sense to turn away and leave, she peels back his sheets and slides in next to him. the man shifts a bit, then settles back into his slumber.

she feels kind of creepy just watching him, but he looks so incredibly handsome in his relaxed state, his plump lips parting with soft exhales.

she feels such little control over herself, thinking of how she wants to feel him. wants to taste his skin.

fuck it.

she slowly pulls the sheets down and off of him. he’s wearing a pair of boxer briefs and she can’t help but release a breath of anticipation at the sight. she leans forward and crawls over his sleeping form, straddling him, hands coming to his chest.

she watches as his head turns and his arm falls from his face, eyes blearily blinking open.

his eyes meet hers, a stunned expression on his face.

carmen thinks he’s dreaming at first—the sight above him all too similar to the filthy dreams he had been having lately.

“uh, hey” he hesitates, voice deep and raspy, heavy with sleep.

“hi,” she whispers.

his eyes scan over her form and take in her position. her lack of clothes. she can feel him growing beneath where she sits.

the girl smiles, giggling softly.

a lazy smirk grows on his face at this, and he closes his eyes again.

“fingers not doin’ it for you anymore?”

“shut up,” she retorts, slightly embarrassed. she hates how he knows. “i just wanted to…come see if you were sleeping well,”

carmy opens his eyes again and his smirk morphs to a grin, arms folding behind his head.

“i was” he confirms, lazily blinking, “but then i got, uh, woken up.”

“sorry” she sweetly exhales, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “i, um…” her eyes rake down his handsome face, losing her lame excuse completely. she’s silent, zeroed in on his lips with an overwhelming urge to kiss him. she watches them morph to a smile.

“c’mere,” he whispers, tilting his chin up a bit. she follows his command, almost as if in a trance, leaning forward to capture his lips in a gentle kiss.

it feels blissful, almost like everything besides the two of them fades away.

soft kisses become deep and the gentleness seems to fade as soon as it starts. the pair mutually quicken the pace of the kisses. they become messier, more desperate.

the girl leans into him, hand coming to the side of his neck, the other caressing his collarbones.

carmy chases her increasingly desperate kisses, gripping her hips with both hands, cherishing the feeling of her skin.

the girl slips her tongue into his mouth and gently moans at the feeling, with which he reciprocates, indulging in the taste of her. his fingers press into her bruisingly.

she rocks her hips against him. the sensation shoots a spark through her spine, so she continues to rock back and forth, grinding against his bulge, moaning softly into his mouth.

carmen kisses her roughly, gripping her hips tighter, pulling and pushing her across the length of his cock.

her panties feel slick, core feels tight, beginning to speed up her gyrations. she can feel the head of his cock through his briefs, and quickly becomes lost in the pleasure, kissing him with a ferocity she hasn’t felt in a long time.

the sensation is incredible to carmen, becoming more pent up by the second.

she bucks her hips wildly. it feels so fucking good.

he mindlessly tightens his grip on her hips further, and her kisses quickly stop. hips stop. with a sharp inhale and a soft “ow,” her hand comes to his wrist.

he immediately releases his grip, eyes snapping open.

“shit, i’m sorry,” he hurriedly apologizes, smoothing his hands over the yet-to-appear bruises—a reminder of why he had tried to force himself to take it slowly with her. “y’okay?” he couldn’t help but feel guilty.

“mhmm,” she confirms, leaning down to give him a soft kiss of reassurance. “so strong,” she murmurs into his lips. he releases the breath he was holding, hands still on her hips.

“can hardly fuckin’ control myself with you.” he admits guiltily.

“then don’t,” she replies softly, sitting upright.

carmen’s hand falls over his face, sighing. his fingers card through his messy hair, eyes scanning over the girl. a soft smile twitches at the edge of his lips.

the young woman sucks in a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves from the moment. her fingers thread under the edge of her tank top, and without saying anything, she slowly peels it over her head.

carmen groans at the reveal, and she feels a twitch underneath her. his hand comes to grab the side of her waist, thumb stroking over her stomach. he stares at her breasts in awe, trying desperately to memorize the dreamlike sight above him.

“you’re beautiful,” he marvels, hand sliding up her stomach to her ribs, “y’know that?” fingertips grazing the underside of her breast.

goosebumps rise on her skin from the light touch.

“touch me,” she tells him impatiently, pushing her chest out further as to emphasize.

the man lets out a small scoff at her tone, but gives in, cupping her breast and giving it a soft squeeze. he runs his thumb over her raised nipple, giving it a gentle pull.

she exhales harshly. it feels as if her blood had become hot, biting down on her lip to refrain from making noise.

carmy brings his hand to her other breast and repeats: a soft caress, then squeeze, then a tug of her nipple, harder this time. she bucks her hips at this, whimper muffled by the tightness of her teeth around her lip. carmen lets out a soft groan at the momentary friction.

he can feel the heat from her core over his thinly clothed erection as he touches her. the man marvels at her flushed skin, the curve of her breasts, the shape of her stomach, the expression of pleasure on her face.

she finds herself aching for the friction of a moment ago, giving another testing buck of her hips. so good.

her hands plant on his chest and she continues to slowly grind back and forth against him. the perfect angle causes her bottom lip to release from her teeth, a moan spilling out into the silence.

carmen keeps his hands pinned to his sides as he watches her closely, clamping his teeth together, clutching his fists. anything to keep himself from spinning her around and fucking her senseless.

the girl continues to grind against him, one hand planted on his chest and the other coming up to grab her breast. she’s completely blissed out, but carmen feels hungry—her teasing movements not fully satiating. he can feel her wetness begin to seep through and slick the fabric of his boxers.

“jesus, you’re fuckin’ killing me,” he strains, feeling his patience wear thin, “do something.” sounding almost like a plead.

she smiles, head falling back in pleasure, continuing to chase her high. her eyelids flutter at the pleasure, rocking back and forth.

carmy groans her name, followed by a “c’mon.”

“ask nicely” comes her taunt, followed by a breathy laugh, continuing to pleasure herself.

carmen decides he’s done playing with her. he plants his arm on the bed and sits up quickly, pushing her back against the bed, watching her eyes snap open to protest the loss of pleasure.

“quiet,” he demands, cutting her off. she shuts her mouth, a look of disappointment on her face. he dips down to nuzzle her neck and hide his forming smile, peppering gentle kisses into her skin. her smell is almost intoxicating. carmen grips her waist as he kisses her neck slowly trailing down to her collarbones. he hooks his thumb into the side of her panties and shuffles them down her thighs.

the girl breathes heavily, skin tingling in the wake of his touch.

the man dips his hand into her panties, fingers slipping between her folds, feeling her wetness.

“fuck,” he growls into her neck, “all this for me?” beginning to slowly circle her clit, the noise of her slickness like music to the man.

she stays quiet, eyelids as heavy as her breathing.

“hm? c’mon” he pushes, coming up from her neck and looking her in the eye, “tell me, pretty girl.”

the name causes her chest to flutter, allowing a soft whimper to spill from her lips. the intensity of the sensation in tandem with his eye contact makes her feel dizzy. makes her less embarrassed about showing appreciation.

“s’all for you, carm” she softly moans.

his fingers continue softly circling around the bundle of nerves, every few moments dipping into her opening to collect more wetness.

she teases down his abdomen and slips into his briefs, wrapping around his erection.

carmen softly groans, then inserts a finger, beginning to drag it in and out along her walls. she softly gasps at the feeling, and he can feel her squeeze his cock.

“more,” she demands softly, starting to stroke him.

he obeys, inserting a second finger, feeling more resistance now. she gasps.

he plants a gentle kiss on her cheek, then shuffles down to kiss at her breasts. down where she couldn’t stroke him anymore. the loss of her touch feels cold, so he fucks her with his fingers a little faster to make up for it.

as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, she can feel her juices trickling down her thighs and onto the bed, a bit embarrassed about the mess she can feel herself making on his sheets.

wet squelching sounds start to reverberate through the quiet room as carmy speeds his fingers up, softly nipping at her perked bud. the girl claps a hand over her mouth, muffling a boisterous moan.

“hand off,” he growls, sending her a warning glance. she ignores him and closes her eyes, continuing to muffle her sounds of desperation, biting into her hand.

his jaw clenches, and he pauses his movements. with his free hand he grabs her one wrist, then the other, and pins them over her head.

the girl’s eyes snap open, and she attempts to fight against his single-handed hold. she gives her best effort, but in her weakened state her struggles do nothing against the man’s strength, so she just huffs.

carmen scoffs at this, towering over her, beginning to slowly resume the movement of his fingers inside of her. he watches her face closely as he continues—studying the way her eyelids flutter, how her lips part, how her breathing picks up again, how she tries so desperately to hold onto her moans by biting into the flesh of her lips.

he draws his fingers completely out of her, then slowly reinserts them, curling upwards and beginning to rhythmically thrust them into her. she releases the hold of her lip with a loud moan, unable to stifle it at the new positioning of his fingers. he smiles, having accomplished his goal. his fingers curl further into her.

the girl begins to feel a bit of panic, an intense and unfamiliar sensation building up within her stomach. not an orgasm, but a deep, hot, wet feeling. with her arms pinned above her head, all she can do is take it.

carmen speeds up the motion, thumb coming to brush against her clit.

“fuck!” she yelps, arching into his touch. her mouth falls open, unashamed moans starting to pour out. his pace is relentless, and it feels too good to try and refrain anymore.

“yeah?” he asks, tone cool and calm, getting a sick type of pleasure from watching her unravel beneath him. he curls his fingers up further, hand becoming soaked with her arousal.

“mmh-carm, that’s-” she’s cut off by another whine, gaze flickering down to where he was rhythmically pounding his fingers into her. “ah-you…mmmh sogood,” she babbles, completely lost in his touch.

carmy feels his composure crumbling, groaning at the way she was reacting.

“c’mon, baby, let go,” he growls, palm sloppily smacking against her clit as he drives his fingers into her. her eyes roll back a bit, and with a final few curls of his fingers she does exactly what he says and lets go, giving into the sensation. the hot, wet tightness within her core bursts, flooding throughout her whole body.

“fuuckk” she hears him groan, his voice seeming distant.

her muscles convulse with orgasm, eyes tightly shut and mouth open. everything feels so wet. his fingers slow in pace, remaining deeply lodged inside her, releasing the grip of her wrists from overhead.

it seems as if the only thing she can concentrate on is trying to remember how to breathe. as she struggles to blink her eyes open, she’s met with a handsome face that stares back at her with what seems like both shock and amazement.

“whathappened?” she jumbledly breathes out.

he just groans again, dipping down to kiss the girl, big hand grabbing her face. his fingers are wet and sticky on her face. she eagerly reciprocates his kiss, hands coming to feel his chest, a pulsing in her lower stomach.

carmy plants a kiss to her cheek then sits upright again. she pushes herself up onto her forearms, attempting to reorient. her gaze comes to where he kneels, then falls on the dark spot on the sheets that surrounds them, as if something had spilled. her brows furrow as she pulls her eyes back up to carmy. his face is flushed and pupils dilated, gripping onto the backs of her thighs.

“you, uh…. god that was fucking hot,” he says with an unwavering stare.

“did i do that?” she gasps, “fuck, i’m sorry, i’ve never-” hand coming over her mouth in embarrassment, “i’ll wash your sheets. or buy you new ones.” her face turns hot and red.

he swipes his fingers over her opening, collecting her wetness, then sucks them into his mouth.

her eyes widen, watching him savor the taste of her.

“carm, say something,” she begs, still partially mortified.

“you taste good,” he replies, pulling her closer by her thighs. there’s an animalistic glint in his eyes.

“not about that,” she looks away out of embarrassment.

“m’gonna make you do it again,” he strains, pulling down the band of his boxers and allowing his erection to spring free. he works to shuffle them down his thighs.

her short-lived embarrassment dissipates completely at the sight of his cock. he’s thick, and slightly curved, throbbing with arousal, emerging from a dark bush of curls. her breath hitches, and she almost moans at the sight, instinctively spreading her legs further apart for him.

carmen grabs a pillow and lifts her legs, tucking it under her tailbone and pulling her in closely. he begins to glide his head in between her folds, collecting her slick. he nudges against her clit, and she gasps, covering her mouth.

“y’okay?” he checks, locking eyes with her. she nods her head.

“mhm, just….be gentle,” she pleads, “please,” slightly intimidated by his girth.

“i will be,” he nods, giving her a sincere look, “promise.”

she nods back, a signal to go ahead.

carmy pushes against her opening, slipping his head in slowly. they release a breathy moan in tandem.

he pushes forward until he finds resistance at less than halfway in.

“fuck,” she pants, hand flying up to grab his wrist.

“doin’ so good,” he praises, “tell me when you want me to keep going.”

the girl nods, eyes shutting tightly, trying to adjust to the imposing stretch. she releases her grip on him, trailing her fingers down her body to rub circles into her clit. she feels herself relax a bit at the pleasure as carmy’s eyes stay glued to her, watching her every move with enthusiasm. her slow circles speed up ever so slightly, letting out a gentle moan, droopy eyes coming to meet those of the man above her. it feels so good, and she clenches around him. the only thing that would make it better would be-

“kiss me,” she pleads.

he studies her swollen lips, flushed face, sweet doe eyes—he can’t help but mindlessly obey, caging her with his forearms.

the intoxicating mix of carmen’s kisses and the work of her fingers help her relax. the grip on his wrist loosens, and carmen is able to fully sink in. he pushes forward until his hips are completely flush with hers, moaning into her mouth. she matches it with a gasp.

the girl can’t believe how full she feels. It’s almost hard to breathe, nails digging into carmy’s bicep. he pulls away from the kiss, thumb coming to stroke the side of her cheek.

“doin’ okay?” he asks softly.

she has to take a moment to find her words, overcome with a dizzy head high.

“fuck, it’s s-so big,” she stammers, both hands now gripping onto his biceps for dear life.

he can’t help the surge that runs through him at her words, small smirk tugging at the edge of his lip.

“yeah?”

“mmhmmm.”

“too much f’you? want me to take it out?” he teases, knowing full well what her answer would be.

“no!” her eyes snap open “so good, carmy. want you to fuck me.”

he groans.

“give it a sec. play with ‘yrself some more. fuckin’ gripping me down there.”

her chest flutters at the sound of his voice—the low growl of it that seemed to resonate through her bones.

“please,” she begs, pressing a kiss to his lips, “want it so bad,” another kiss, “i can take it.”

he tightens his jaw, feeling his cock twitch inside of her at the desperation in her tone.

“you tell me if it’s too much, okay?” he asserts, hand grabbing her waist to steady himself, sitting up. she eagerly nods her head.

carmy begins to slowly ease out, his length dragging along her tight walls, then pushes his hips forward gently, sinking into her fully. her mouth falls open, a whiny breath spills out.

he repeats this again, this time snapping his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt. her hands smooth up his biceps and wrap behind his neck, tangling in his hair. she pulls him down to her lips, and kisses him with frenzy, then peppers kisses along his cheek and jawline.

the man swears he’s miraculously died and gone straight to heaven, even though he hadn’t been to church in ages.

the way she smells, the feeling of her lips trailing along his face, the fucking vice grip her pussy wrapped around him with. it’s all like heaven.

he moves slowly, rolling his hips to softly thrust in and out of her.

the girl responds enthusiastically, bucking her hips up to accommodate him further. it feels incredible, but it’s not enough for either of them.

he wants to be gentle with the girl, try and counter the thoughts that pop in his head whenever he looks at her. he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop himself if he gives in.

so he forces himself to take it slow. and gentle and sweet.

but the girl keeps bucking her hips up to take more of him, frustrated that he won’t get the message.

“faster,” she whines, placing a few more kisses along his face.

he ignores her, leaning down to nuzzle her neck. his hand trails downwards, wedging it in between them to lightly rub her clit. his pace stays lazy and soft, kissing her neck.

“carmy,” she complains, fingers carding up through his hair, “give it to me.”

he just ignores her, slowing the pace of his fingers and biting her neck.

she gasps and yanks his hair.

“fuck me already,” she huffs, pout on her lips.

he growls into her neck, then pulls back, looking at her. his eyes had grown dark, eyebrows slightly twitching. a completely different expression than the soft one he wore previously.

this one was much hungrier.

he sits straight up, pulling her legs to be flush with his shoulders, then he practically bends her in half, hands pressing down on the backs of her thighs.

she flushes at the new position, feeling entirely vulnerable, but too overwhelmed with lust to do anything about it. she goes to say something, but he cuts her off by snapping his hips against hers, driving himself deeply inside of her. her mouth falls open into an o shape, taken aback by the sudden change in angle. she can feel every inch of him this way, so fucking full she can’t even seem to form a thought.

carmen eases out of her, then sinks inside again, hips slamming against hers. this time she lets out a throaty gasp, eyes droopy, completely transfixed by the sight of him above her. his chest was flushed, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his skin. she wanted to lick it off. his messy curls bounce in time with his movements.

he pulls back again, and snaps his hips forward, releasing a deep groan.

she feels too full to make any sounds besides the needy gasps that pour plentifully from her lips.

carmy smirks down at the girl, studying her blissed out expression with a sense of pride as he continually thrusts into her. his eyes fall to watch her breasts bounce in conjunction with his thrusts, and he can’t help but grab one, squeezing, brushing his thumb over her perked nipple. she arches into his touch.

he increases his pace, hips beginning to drive into her harder.

she can feel herself slipping into a cloudy haze, the consistent slap of his hips against hers almost meditative, a red hot pleasure circulating through her whole body.

“look at me,” he orders, tweaking her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

she didn’t even realize she had shut her eyes, forcing them back open to meet his gaze.

he slides his fingers down her stomach, over her pubic hair, coming to rub her clit. slick noises fill the room as his movements are eagerly met with more and more wetness.

she studies his handsome face, watches how his eyebrows scrunch, how he bites down onto his lip and flares his nostrils ever so slightly. she wants to have his babies, she thinks in her haze. in that moment she would willingly take anything he gave her.

she opens her mouth to express her gratitude, but all that comes out is a loud moan.

“yeah? y’like that?” he asks, hiking her leg further up onto his shoulder.

“mm-hmmm,” she cries in between breaths, wincing at how deep he was going, but somehow wanting even more.

“tell me, pretty girl. use those words.” he plants a kiss to the inside of her ankle and keeps thrusting into her.

“fuck,” she cries, “so good, carm. sososo good.”

his circles around her clit speed up, and the pleasure pushes her to continue, embarrassment out the window.

“love it,” she gasps, “i love it. you fuck me so good,” beginning to babble, “please don’t stop. please don’t ever stop.”

a grin breaks his face at this, and he drives into her faster, a wet slapping resounding through the room. he kisses her ankle again, then her foot.

“whatever you want,” he tells her sincerely. “fuckin’ perfect, y’know that?” another kiss on her foot, “like you were fuckin’ made for me.”

she opens her mouth, but her rationality kicks in and thinks it might be too early to ask him to put a baby in her. she opts to take a less direct approach.

“cum in me,” a breathy plead, “please,” locking eyes with him. he gives a slight shake of his head, surprised by her words. surprised by how mindlessly he wants to obey.

“fuck,” he enunciates, “you know i can’t.” the justification of why barely makes it to his mind, overcome with the flood of arousal from her words.

“i want it,” she whines. her legs slip from his shoulders and wrap around his back, pulling him in close. he releases a groan, sinking further into her, slowing his movements and beginning to punctuate his thrusts. he leans down and kisses her neck.

“i said no,” he growls, “be fuckin’ good.”

she bites his shoulder. hard enough to sting.

“ah-f’you keep acting like a brat i’m gonna fuck you like one,” he warns, hands holding her firmly in place.

she grins, then bites him again, this time on his bicep. and much harder.

carmen feels himself run out of patience, sitting up and pulling out of her. he shuffles off the bed and stands, and before she can open her mouth to complain, he yanks her up by the arm. his hand presses on her upper back and shoves her into the mattress, grabbing her hips and lifting her to arch to his liking.

the girl feels slightly humiliated by the vulnerable position, yet finds it does nothing but make the tingling heat of her body intensify.

she notices her cheek is wet—he had shoved her face first into the spot she made earlier. at this, she lets out an unenthusiastic groan.

“yeah well, i told you to fuckin’ behave,” he responds, collecting some of her slick and coating it over his cock, stroking a few times. “was tryin’ to go easy on you.” he begins to press the head into her, eliciting a breathy sigh. “but you don’t want me to, huh?” he sinks the rest of the way in. “you’ve been wanting me to give it to you rough, yeah?”

he buries himself to the hilt, and she gasps, feeling fuller than she ever thought possible.

“no,” comes her breathy protest into the mattress. he wasn’t wrong. at all. but she had too much pride to admit it, so instead she argues.

carmy scoffs.

“yeah? that why you’re fuckin’ soaking me? cause you don’t want it?”

he pulls back, dragging along her walls, then thrusts forward. the girl yelps, and takes a deep breath.

“i’m not,” comes her sharp retort, forearms coming to the bed and pushing herself up.

carmen drags his fingers up her inner thigh, collecting some of her juices that had trickled down, wordlessly holding them in front of her so she could see.

her cheeks feel hot. she doesn’t say anything, instead turns her face away from his glistening fingers. he grabs her jaw and pulls her back, pushing his coated fingers into her mouth. the girl makes a noise of disagreement, but doesn’t move away. she swirls her tongue around him, sucking his fingers clean.

he was right, she does taste sweet.

carmy drags his fingers out of her mouth slowly, catching her lip on the way down, and wraps around her neck, pressing gently. only enough to remind her who was in charge.

she willingly submits to the pleasure, arching back against him, growing impatient with his lack of movement.

she begins to ease herself forward, then rock back onto him selfishly, working to help alleviate some of the pressure that had built within her.

he lets her, for a moment, admiring the way she bounces against him, watching as she desperately tried to satiate herself.

he leans forward to plant a kiss to her cheek, fingers still wrapped around her throat, and begins to drive his hips forward to match her movements.

“yes,” she cries, hoping to god he wouldn’t stop again.

he doesn’t, continuing to rhythmically thrust into her, filling her up and stretching her out. her hand flies down to her clit and begins softly rubbing, keeping in time with the movement of his hips. she can’t help the plentiful sounds that spill from her lips—sounds of motivation for the man.

carmen, on the other hand, clenches his teeth together tightly and anchors himself by gripping her hip with his free hand, leaning over her.

he’s wanted to cum since the second he slipped into her, actively working to refrain and make it last as long as possible.

her juices begin to flow uncontrollably, completely covering his cock, sticking to his pubic hair.

everything was wet, and hot, and felt so fucking good.

the man wants to stay in this very moment for eternity, he thinks.

a particularly deep thrust makes the girl cry out voraciously, a primal cry that seemed to ignite something in him.

his hand moves from her hip to her upper arm and he pulls her upright. she leans her head against his shoulder, and he wraps a strong arm around her torso, hand coming to hold her neck once again.

the girl can barely support herself, legs trembling as carmen beings to increase the ferocity of his thrusts. the new angle situates him impossibly deeper—that familiar deep, wet feeling of heat starting to re-emerge within her stomach. his free hand trails down to her clit to help her climb higher.

carmy’s thrusts begin to cause wet squelching sounds. she completely loses herself in the sensation, mind blank with bliss, feeling tears begin to leak from her eyes.

he grabs her jaw and plants a rough kiss on her cheek. his lips become wet with her tears.

“that feel good, baby?” he hums into her skin, bucking up into her relentlessly.

“so good, carm,” she cries, gripping onto his arm for dear life, “love it. so so good.”

“fuck” he growls, shifting his hips further up into her, eliciting a yelp from the girl.

“thank you,” she mindlessly moans, “thankyouthankyouthankyou.”

he grins, grabbing her jaw tighter. another rough kiss on her cheek.

“where’d that fuckin’ attitude go, huh?” plowing forward into her, biting her neck.

she just whimpers, body falling limp against him. he effortlessly holds her up right where he wants her and continues drilling his hips forward.

“carmy, i’m- ah,” her mouth agape, “‘sgonna happen again,” she warns. he maintains his relentless pace, skin slapping against hers.

“let it go, pretty girl. i got you,” he assures, face scrunching, muscles tightening, trying to keep his own orgasm at bay long enough to pull her through.

with a primal cry of pleasure, she does exactly what he says and lets go.

it’s a flood of heat through her body, a release so satiating she thinks she‘ll be addicted for life. her vision goes spotty, ears start ringing, mind becoming numbingly empty for a moment. her fingernails leave marks along carmen’s arm from how hard she grips, using him as her last remaining tether to reality.

her breathing becomes rapid, body overstimulated with his continual thrusts. it’s almost too much, and then it’s nothing at all, feeling him pull out with a loud groan. feeling warm ropes shoot across her lower back. feeling him gently lower her down onto the wet bed. feeling her legs start to shake as the orgasm begins to subside.

a few moments go by. she feels a cold wet rag clean off her back. she feels his hand rub over her ass, feeling it be squeezed. she doesn’t move. she can’t move.

“hey.”

his voice is so distant, sounding like he’s talking through a tin can. she feels him push her onto her side. she feels him smooth her hair out of her face.

she can’t seem to open her eyes.

she can’t even seem to breathe without panting.

her entire body feels tingly.

“hey,” comes again, this time a little closer, “y’okay?”

she can’t respond. It’s like she forgot how to vocalize.

carmen gently pats the side of her face. she doesn’t respond, so he does it a little harder. her eyes blink open at the soft smacks.

her eyes meet his. they’re so blue, hazed with a slight expression of worry.

“hi,” she whispers once she’s found her words. he’s so handsome, she thinks. his cheeks are flushed. his lips are swollen.

“hi,” he softly smiles, “y’okay? was that too much?”

she shakes her head no, a blissed out grin forming on her face.

“mm. i liked it. a lot,” she tells him earnestly.

“yeah? earlier you were saying you loved it,” he teases, smoothing her hair back behind her ear. she opens her mouth to respond but shuts it, rolling her eyes.

there was that attitude again, carmen thinks to himself.

“your bed is wet,” she complains, rolling onto her back and pushing herself up onto her forearms.

“who’s fault is that?” he asks, an eyebrow lifting.

she holds onto his bicep and pulls herself up, sitting on the edge of the bed. he sits next to her.

“yours,” she responds.

he scoffs.

“it is,” she huffs, head resting on his shoulder, “i’ve never done that before. it felt…crazy.”

the comment makes him feel big headed, a surge of pride and possessiveness that he’s the only one who’s ever made her feel that way. he doesn’t say it, though. just wraps his arm around the girl and kisses her head.

a quiet settles between them. the yellow of the streetlights through the window gives the room a dreamlike glow. the time on the clock shows that it’s an ungodly hour to be awake. carmen thinks of taking a personal day.

“wanna take a shower?” she asks softly, leaning up to kiss his neck, hand on his thigh.

“that-” he exhales as she nips his neck, “sounds really nice,” his own hand coming to cover hers. his were so big comparatively. another moment of quiet.

“i don’t think i can stand,” she admits, breaking the silence. he lets out a laugh.

the silky sheets wrap around entangled limbs, draping the two lovers in a soft sleepy haze.

the girl had to offer her own bed up for sleeping arrangements, given that carmen’s bed was completely soaked.

their legs intertwine, feet rub together, skin smooths against skin as they lay facing each other.

the cracked window allows an early november chill to sweep through the room. the girl gives a small shiver, and carmy pulls the blanket up over her bare shoulder, wrapping his arm around her back.

they remain in a comfortable silence, both nearly delirious in the early hour, but too giddy to fall asleep.

she studies his face in the close proximity, eyes smoothing over the small scar on his cheek, the light freckles that scatter his skin, the alluring curve of his nose.

it feels almost as intimate as their shared shower, where they had tenderly washed each other’s hair and studied each other’s nudity in the light. he had called her beautiful. she returned the compliment. he held her up in the shower on account of her shaky legs, kissing her lovingly under the stream of the hot water, fingers gripping onto her as if he was scared she’d vanish into thin air.

all that she was scared of happening had happened. she found herself completely infatuated with the man, the mere thought of him making her stomach flutter.

she tries to push it out of her mind, as she lay studying his face, that she only had a little over a month before she would leave chicago. as much as she tried to push it away, though, it came back.

she doesn’t realize she’s furrowing her brows until carmen reaches up to touch her forehead, smoothing his thumb over the scrunch.

she meets his eyes, and immediately feels a soothing sensation.

his hand slides down the side of her face and cups it, thumb rubbing over her lip.

“whatcha thinkin’ about?” he asks softly.

she stays quiet for a moment, not sure how to express herself, chewing on her lip trying to piece together her words. he gently pulls it from between her teeth, his eyes fixed on her face, studying every emotion.

she takes a deep breath.

“i really like you, carmy,” her admission comes as a whisper.

a tear escapes down her cheek, and she feels stupid because of it.

“hey,” he soothes, thumb swiping away the stray tear, “c’mere.”

he pulls her into an embrace, arms engulfing her smaller frame. he rubs her back, and presses a kiss to the top of her head.

“this about california?” the man asks after a moment.

she doesn’t answer, just nuzzles her face into his neck.

“we still have some time, yeah?” he consoles, “and it won’t be forever. you can come back and visit.”

he stays positive, partially to reassure himself as well.

“okay,” she murmurs into his neck, pressing herself closer to him.

she thinks it might’ve been a mistake to have started something she can’t finish.

it might’ve been a mistake to even entertain the idea at all.

but even still, he’s so warm, smells so nice, feels so incredibly safe.

he runs his fingers through her hair and kisses her temple, holding her tightly.

it feels so good she thinks it can’t be a mistake.

right?

next part

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy x reader #carmy berzatto #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto imagine #the bear imagine

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henry7931 · 5 months ago

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Great Shift; We Didn’t Choose These Bodies…

Trevor:

I’m officially 2 months into the Great Shift and I’m about to go insane! You see before all of this craziness went down— I was a 18 year old scrawny gay boy who lived across the street. The body that seems to be now mine forever belonged to 47 year old Jason Dixon. He’s a handsome guy, works in construction, and has one son named Carson.

Now Carson, is someone I’ve known since I was young. He’s a couple years older than me and I hate to say it but he was kinda my sexual awakening. He was on the swim team and I remember seeing him in a speedo— something about it just woke me up. And now all of this time later I still get weak to the knees when I see him.

Now the hard part about all of this is that our community has chosen as a whole to “pretend” and live our lives in public as the body we are in.

Which can be hard given people have swapped with different genders, ages… it gets kinda weird. But when I’m out in public, I’m Jason. No one causes me Trevor anymore, well accept for Ben.

Ben is a guy who lived a couple blocks down from me, I really didn’t know Ben prior to the Great Shift. He was a middle aged gay guy who lived alone. And now he’s inside of Carson’s body.

We both now live under a house together that never belonged to us and are forced to pretend to be ‘father and son’ in public.

At home both of us have just really enjoyed each other’s company. We’re both gay and openly talk about guys, what we like about them, music, all kinds of stuff. The house is kind of our safe space to be ourselves.

Except him and I have one huge issue— we both are very attracted to each other’s bodies. Ben confessed to me one time while we were sitting on the couch together drinking a bottle of wine that Jason’s body is like the man of his dreams.

And I get it, Mr. Dixon is a good looking guy. I enjoy having his big muscled hairy body on a daily basis. Especially since he has a gigantic cock and a pair of sexy feet.

I guess they’re something he passed down to Carson because I can’t stop looking at them! I already had a foot fetish before this mess and I have to watch Ben strut around in his body… he never wears socks or a shirt or pants for that matter!

So what do I do in response? Well, I turned it up a notch. Not only did I strip down to less but I stopped wearing underwear around the house. I’ll free ball so he can see my sexy daddy junk flopping around as I walk. And boy did I get his attention!

He can’t take his eyes off of it!

That lead to the back and forth mirror selfies… both of sending more and more risky photos of each other.

And then came Ben placing Carson’s big smelly feet on my lap… I know he knows I have a thing for feet! He looks over at me with a very cheeky ton and says, “my feet are killing me! Could you rub them?”

And of course I said yes, I rubbed his feet for 15 minutes until I knew I couldn’t take anymore!

I hightailed it to the bathroom, locked the door, and wanked one out. I knew in that moment, I was done with games. I need to address this.

So that night, we sat on the couch after dinner watching a movie. I wrap my arm around him and he freezes up.

“Sorry need to stretch out a bit, I say to him.”

He acknowledges my excuse and leans his on me.

I start rubbing up and down his forearm softly wondering if he’s going to do something about it.

He says nothing… a few moments later, Ben puts his feet on mine and starts rubbing his toes back and forth.

I lift my head up and look at him. I kiss him on the cheek. He looks taken aback by it.

“Trev, you know we can’t.”

“And why the fuck not?”

“Because we are technically father and son…”

“That’s such a BS excuse, you flirt with me for weeks now. You and I aren’t related. Now these bodies might be but who the hell has to know?”

“Yeah but what if we get caught?”

“We won’t… now just relax.”

I grab his junk and lets out a yelp noise.

“You’ve toyed with me for too long Ben. You and I are going to explore every inch of each other starting tonight. You’re gonna come sleep in daddy‘s bed for now on do you understand?”

“Fuck…”

I pulled his pants down and fully expose him. I see his beautiful cock, really for the first time. It’s so hard and already leaking. I’ve bend my head down and gingerly lick become off of his head. I knew that been like to be dominated. We both shared our fantasies with each other. He’s always wanted some handsome hairy bearded muscular daddy to boss him around. And that’s what I’m gonna do.

“ Do you understand daddy‘s orders?,” I say to him. he knows his head. I grabbed his dick and play with the head of his cock, running my thumb back-and-forth on it.

“ I said did you understand daddy’s orders? I need to hear you.”

“Yes—“

“ yes what?”

“Yes daddy!”

“ good now let’s head to bed, daddy needs you to use that pretty mouth of yours on his massive cock.”

I pull off my shorts and out comes Jason’s massive dick that I know he’s been fantasizing for a long time now.

“ Trevor, this is so fucking hot. Thank you for doing this. I’ve been wanting the touch that body for so long. I wanna suck your cock so bad. I wanna feel up and down that hairy chest. I wanna smell those big manly feet. I want you to cuddle at night. God I’m so happy this is finally happening. Deep down since this whole swap thing happened it’s all I’ve ever wanted. Not only are you in the body of my dreams, but I really like you.”

“ fuck Ben! Way to kill the mood with that last part, I really fucking like you too. How about we just stick to role-playing and worry about our emotions later. Daddy’s worrying as fuck lol.”

“ shit you wanna get really crazy what about if you’re sexy ass son talk to you tonight?”

“ that’s hot as shit you know I’m a bottom!”

“ yeah but you’re gonna have to tell me every now and then especially with that massive dick of yours.”

“ well then I want a foot job. You know I like feet and you know what I like those feet. Which by the way, you’re such a dick for making rub them for like 30 minutes the other day. I literally had to run to the bathroom and jerk one out.”

“ ha ha I literally I knew it!”

“So you ready?”

“Yep!!”

#body swap #male tf #male body swap

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favefandomimagines · 6 months ago

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Everything Has Changed (r.c)

Summary: what started out as an arranged marriage, blossoms into something more after a tourist runs a stop sign.

AN: arranged marriage!au because I’m a sucker for angst, fluff and a male character who realizes what he has.

Warning: brief mentions of sexual activity

The sun hung high over the Outer Banks, its rays sparkling off the ocean waves. Rafe Cameron stood on the golf course, his mind far from the game. All he was thinking about was his “wife” who was at home.

Rafe had spent his childhood being the odd one out in his family, and now he was trapped in a whole new world.

When Ward told him that he was going to be marrying Y/N Y/L/N, the first thing he said was “who?” It was Sarah who told him that she had been friends with her for years.

Their families had grown close over the years, their paths intertwined since childhood. Rafe and Y/N had shared some moments as kids—playing on the beach, the occasional birthday party—but they were never close friends. As they grew older, the divide between them widened, especially as Rafe embraced his party boy side.

“Dude, focus!” Topper shouted, snapping Rafe back to the present. He shook off the irritation and concentrated on his swing, trying to push the thoughts of Y/N from his mind.

“Sorry, man,” Rafe muttered, forcing a smile. “Just got a lot on my mind.”

“Can’t believe you’re actually married,” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “You? Tied down? It’s like watching a lion in a cage.”

“Yeah, well, not much choice in the matter, is there?” Rafe snapped, the bitterness in his tone clear. “My parents thought it was what’s best for the family name.”

“You know the good thing about these business marriages?” Topper asked, a teasing lilt in his voice. “You can still hookup with other people.”

Rafe shook his head. “Not going to happen. I’m not unfaithful, so I expect her to act the same way.”

Little did he know, his thoughts about Y/N would soon change.

A week later, everything shifted. Rafe was on the golf course again, enjoying the day with Topper and Kelce, when his phone buzzed aggressively in his pocket. He glanced at the screen, frowning at the unfamiliar number. Ignoring it at first, he went back to his game.

The phone buzzed again, and with an annoyed sigh, he pulled it out. “What?” he answered, a hint of irritation in his voice.

“Mr. Cameron?” a calm voice spoke on the other end. “This is Dr. Miller at Kildare County Medical. I’m calling about your wife, Y/N Cameron. She’s been in an accident.”

Rafe felt his heart drop. “What do you mean? Is she okay?” He asked.

There was a pause on the line, and he could hear the muffled sounds of the hospital in the background. “She sustained some injuries, but she’s stable. You’ll need to come to the hospital to pick her up.”

Rafe’s irritation morphed into a visceral fear, a feeling he had never expected to experience for someone he hardly knew. He cursed under his breath, muttering something about the day being ruined. “I’ll be there.”

Dropping everything, he hurriedly made his way to the hospital, thoughts racing in his mind. How could this happen? Why did he care so much? As he drove, the weight of their marriage settled heavily on his shoulders.

When Rafe arrived at the hospital, he rushed through the doors and made his way to the ER. The sterile smell of antiseptic filled his nostrils, and the sound of beeping machines surrounded him. He found Y/N sitting on an examination table, her head bandaged and a doctor stitching her up.

“Rafe?” she looked up, surprise etched on her face, but it quickly turned to annoyance.

“What happened?” he demanded, his voice sharper than he intended.

“Some stupid tourist was texting and driving,” she replied, her voice strained as the doctor worked on her. “Ran a stop sign.”

“What are you doing here?” Y/N asked. “The hospital called, Y/N, I’m your husband.” Rafe answered, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

He watched her as she winced slightly at the thread being pulled.

Rafe’s eyes narrowed as he watched the doctor press the needle into her skin. “Take it easy,” he said, an unexpected protectiveness flaring within him. “You know what? Where’s the plastic surgeon?”

Y/N winced again at the pain. “Relax, Rafe. I’m fine. It’s just a stupid cut.”

“But—”

“Go back to golf, Rafe. You don’t need to be here.”

The coldness in her tone cut through him. “You’re hurt, and you want me to just leave?”

“You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you?” she shot back, a mixture of pain and frustration in her eyes. “I don’t need your pity.”

Rafe clenched his fists, angry at himself for how much her words affected him. “Did you call the police? Get the license plate number? I should sue the bastard.”

“Stop it! I’m fine! Just go back to your golf game.” she hissed, dismissing him.

He hesitated, a million thoughts racing through his mind. She wasn’t fine—not really. He could see that she was shaken up after the accident. The idea of her getting hurt scared him more than he wanted to admit. “I’ll drive you home.”

“Sarah is coming to get me,” she replied coldly, crossing her arms.

“Don’t act like you care just because we’re in public,” she added, her voice low but fierce.

Rafe stood there, the realization hitting him like a wave: he didn’t want to lose her. He didn’t just feel annoyed by their situation; he felt something deeper.

That night, Y/N returned home to find two dozen roses on the kitchen counter. She glanced at them with an unreadable expression just as Rafe walked in.

“Do you like them?” he asked, hopeful that it might be a first step.

She scoffed bitterly. “I’m allergic to roses.”

He felt his face flush. “I didn’t know…”

“You would if you’d bothered to ask,” she replied, voice laced with frustration. “You’d know a lot more if you weren’t such an ass the first year of our marriage.”

Her words cut deep, and for the first time, Rafe recognized just how much he had hurt her. She had never wanted this marriage any more than he had, yet she had done nothing but accept it with grace. He made up his mind that things were going to change.

He watched her as she tossed the flowers in the trash before walking right passed him and up the stairs.

Over the next few weeks, Rafe found ways to break through Y/N’s walls. Each gesture was an apology, a bid for a second chance. He learned her routines, finding out she was fond of morning coffee from a local café. Every day, he made sure her favorite caramel macchiato was waiting for her when she woke up.

He surprised her with tickets to an art exhibit she had once mentioned in passing, standing beside her as they admired the paintings. Though she was wary at first, she couldn’t help but smile at his efforts. Slowly, he began to chip away at her guardedness, showing her that he was willing to put in the work to make amends.

One night, she told him, “If you want to make things right, Rafe, it’s not about grand gestures. Get to know me. My favorite color, my favorite music, the things I love. That’s the only way I’ll believe that you care.”

And so, he did just that. He took the time to ask her about her favorite movies (she loved classics), her favorite books (she had a soft spot for poetry), and her favorite flowers (hydrangeas, not roses). Each new fact he learned about her deepened his understanding of her, transforming his initial frustration into genuine admiration.

He spent hours creating a playlist of her favorite songs, a blend of jazz, classic rock, and indie folk. When he played it for her one evening, she looked at him with an expression he hadn’t seen before—trust. She leaned against him as the music filled the room, allowing herself, just for a moment, to be vulnerable.

Eventually, Rafe’s sincerity broke through her walls. She found herself looking forward to spending time with him, enjoying his newfound attentiveness. They began to laugh together, sharing inside jokes and secrets they had once kept to themselves.

What was once just an obligation to get their parents to shut up about grandkids, sex was now enjoyable for the both of them. Before, Rafe didn’t care if Y/N enjoyed it or not but now, all he cared about was her. What she liked, what she didn’t like, the things that turned her on. He found that Y/N’s pleasure was a gateway to his own.

Y/N found herself wrapped up in the sheets of her’s and Rafe’s king sized bed, Y/N was lying on her side, drawing circles on Rafe’s back with her finger. “You know, that’s very distracting.” Rafe mumbled, his eyes still closed.

Y/N smiled at him as he opened his eyes and looked at her. “I’m sorry.” She said. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” He replied. Rafe continued to look at Y/N, taking in her natural beauty. No makeup, hair not done, it was just her.

“I love you.” He whispered. Y/N’s movements halted as she looked at Rafe. “R-Really?” She stammered. “I know I was an ass. I thought this marriage was your fault and it wasn’t. But over these past few months, getting to know each other, I think this marriage was the best thing that ever happened to me.” He continued.

“I love you too, Rafe.” Y/N spoke softly. Rafe moved to wrap his arms around Y/N’s body, pulling her into him before kissing her deeply.

It was now Autumn in the Outer Banks, the ari getting slightly cooler outside but never dropping below 55 degrees.

Y/N had been up for a few hours, spending most of her time in the master bathroom. She had been feeling a little under the weather the past few weeks and she thought it was just food poisoning at first. But when it didn’t stop, and her period was late, she decided to take a pregnancy test.

Y/N looked down at the three positive tests that were sitting on the bathroom counter. Her and Rafe were having a baby. The first thing she felt was fear, mainly because she had been so accustomed to walking on eggshells around Rafe.

But she had to remind herself that the Rafe she married, wasn’t who he was anymore. Then she felt relieved and happy.

Y/N snuck out of the bedroom and crept downstairs to make some coffee for when Rafe woke up. A few minutes later, she heard his footsteps come down the stairs.

Rafe saw her leaning against the kitchen counter in his t-shirt, holding out a coffee mug for him to take. He could see a look of almost mischief on her face as he took the mug.

“What’s up?” he asked, a gentle smile on his face. “There’s something I want to tell you,” She started. Rafe furrowed his eyebrows at her statement.

She took his free hand and placed it over her stomach. “We’re having a baby, Rafe.”

Rafe’s eyes widened as he stared at her in shock, then joy. A rush of emotion surged through him, and he pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly.

As they embraced, he whispered, “Thank you for giving us a chance. For giving me a chance.”

In that moment, he knew he had found something he’d never known he needed—her love. And he would do everything in his power to protect it, to protect them

#imagine #imagines #outer banks #jj maybank #rafe cameron #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #rafe obx #rafe x reader

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moody-alcoholic · 2 months ago

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This Is Going To Hurt

Part 6 - The Price of Love

Summary: Poly141 x reader, established relationship, medic reader, kidnapped reader, mini fic.

CW: Dead dove don’t eat, torture, descriptions of injuries, use of weapons, blood, suicidal thoughts, all hurt very little comfort, angst.

Previous parts - masterlist- next

AO3

Enjoy <3

Johnny regretted his decision as soon as he gets out the window. He can already hear Price’s voice ringing in his head, he can deal with Price though he’s been in trouble before. It’s not Price he’s worried about, it's Simon, the cold stare, the low authoritative voice that only comes out once in a blue moon. It sends shivers up his spine just thinking about it.

At least he has the makeup sex to look forward to. If he makes it out alive, and Simon doesn’t kill him.

He can’t let you do this alone, he can’t let them keep hurting you. They’re so fuckin’ close and they have to sit around waiting for what? Red tape bullshit? For Price to decide now is the time while you suffer more?

He looks out at the guards on the gate to the compound, he has no idea what he’s going to say. Maybe they’ll kill him on site? No, he’s useful, if anything he can take some of the torture off you.

He just needs to see you, hold you in his arms again, even if it means him getting hurt. He steps out from behind the broken wall he’s using to scout the base. The place seems emptier than they thought it was, maybe not hundreds of people a couple of dozen, he counted maybe 30, less than that during the day.

He sucks up a breath, it’s now or never. He walks over to the gate raising his hands as they point their weapons and shout at him. Another person comes out as he’s forced to his knees. Hands grip his wrists pulling them shapely against his back.

“Easy, you’ve got to work on your greeting.” He says. There’s a shout and someone hits him over the head with the butt of their weapon. It makes his head ring, there’s buzzing in his ears and his vision is blurred.

The next thing he knows he’s being dragged into the building.

…

Sayyid walks into your cell. Fuck him. You’re not going to say a word to him.

He throws a bandage at you.

“You need to change the one on your arm.” He says. He’s not wrong, you’re not going to do anything under his orders though. “Change it. I have something for you.”

Fuck him.

“Another innocent person to kill?” You spit at him. He doesn’t say anything, you watch him clench his jaw.

“Look, change it yourself or I will. I’m giving you a choice.” He snaps. You get up to your feet rushing over to him.

“Like you gave Naajiya a fucking choice.” You push him, it sends a shooting pain down your arm. He pushes you back and you fall on your ass. You don’t even care, there’s no embarrassment, you're just mad and upset.

“Last chance. I’ll make them pin you down if I have to.” He says. You huff reaching over and ripping the bandage off in one swift movement. You grit your teeth, it hurts. You look over at it the best that you can. It burns, it’s swollen and sore. Most likely infected, you pick the bandage up off the floor shaking the sand off.

“Looks infected.” He says.

“Fuck off.” You say ripping the packaging with your teeth. You press it on the wound, you can feel the heat through the bandage, it needs stitches, too late now. When you’re done you stand up.

“I’m not saving anymore people for you.” You say. He scoffs knocking on the door. You wait letting the guard grab your upper arm and pull you out of the room. You’re following Sayyid, he seems more important than you first thought.

You reach a door with a guard outside. You’re not in the ward, you're in a new place. Sayyid hands you another bandage. The door is opened and you’re shoved in. You stumble but you manage to keep your balance as the door is slammed close behind you.

When you look up your heart sinks. It’s Johnny, his head slumped forward, tied to a chair.

“No, no. no.” you whisper going over to him. You drop the bandage and press your hands on his face. His head comes up and you look at him. Tears cloud your vision. What is he doing here, your fingers run through his hair.

He’s hurt, now he’s tied up, he’s here.

“Hey love.” He says smiling. He’s actually smiling.

“What the hell Johnny.” You say quietly trying to keep your voice level.

“Had to see you. Don’t want you to be alone.” He says. You look at the wound on his head sniffling.

“What did they hit you with?” You say. You feel sick, your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re not even thinking straight, you’re not listening to his answer. Your hands are shaking as you hold his face. You want nothing more than to untie him from the chair.

The door to the room opens and you turn watching 2 people come in. One dragging a chair with them. Your hands leave Johnny, you want to protect him but you can’t, you’re in no position to protect him.

“Sit.” The taller man says, the other man puts the chair down facing Johnny. You swallow and nod moving over to the chair. Johnny’s eyes scan round the room, you watch as the men walk round you both. You’re trying to stop the tears coming down your face but it’s too late. You’re too tired, you didn’t think you would have to worry about Johnny being here.

You didn’t expect him to be here, or even be rescued. You can’t let them hurt Johnny though, you’re used to this you can take the blame. There’s no point in you both getting hurt.

“Where are the rest of your team?” The man asks from behind Johnny. You both look at each other but you don’t say anything. You don’t even know, they must be close though. The man lets out a long sigh, this can’t be good. Hands land on your shoulders.

“I need information and now I have two of you. So who wants to go first?”

“Me.” You call before Johnny gets a chance. He starts to protest, you dig your eyes into him. He shouldn’t have come. This is not his burden to hold, it’s yours.

The man behind you picks up your hand, he holds it in his. You don’t try to fight him, if you fight him they’ll hurt Johnny. You can’t let them do that.

“What we do to her, we’ll then do to you. So maybe it’s best if you start talking.” The other man says looking at Johnny who hasn’t taken his eyes off you. The man takes something out of his back pocket, it looks like pliers.

“Medic’s need their hands right?” He says taking your hand from the other man. You feel ill, you don’t want to lose your hands, if you don’t have your hands you cant work. You watch as the pliers are pressed on your finger gripping the nail.

You feel sad, whatever they do to you, they’re going to do to Johnny.

“Tell us where they are?” The man asks again, you can already feel him pulling on your nail.

Johnny better keep his mouth shut, you’re not going through this for nothing. There’s a few seconds of silence. You can’t look at Johnny when they do it. It will only make it worse, for both of you. They ask the question again and neither of you say anything.

There’s a sigh, you squeeze your eyes closed and scream as the nail is pulled off your finger.

…

“You sure this is a good idea?” Gaz asks.

“No. This is not a good idea, we need help.” Price says as he opens the program on the laptop.

“Captain Price.” Shepherd says as the call connects.

“General.” Price replies, Gaz can almost hear him gritting his teeth.

“Laswell briefed me on what happened. I told you running after her was a bad idea. We have protocols in place for a reason.” He says then sits down in a chair.

“Lucky for you Shadow Company are already on their way. I’m sure commander Graves is capable of getting the hostages back.” Shepherd says. Price is still gritting his teeth.

“Let me tell you though Captain, this is not your mission. You have let yourself get into this mess and now it is my responsibility to fix it. We are not in the position to lose 2 SAS soldiers.”

“But one was okay.” Gaz mutters. Ghost looks over at him.

“You caused this mess. Lets hope there are no further complications. I will make sure Graves is kept up to date. He should be with you in the next few hours.” Shepherd says. Price nods and the call ends.

Gaz can see the tension in his shoulders, he can tell how much he hates doing this. Running back to Shepherd to ask for help with his metaphorical tail tucked between his legs.

“We’re not going to have a medevac.” Ghost says, Price stands up.

“Based on what we’ve seen we have to assume she’s in a worse state than Soap.” Price says standing up.

“Graves will have medics right?” Gaz asks, Price looks over at him.

“We have to hope so.”

“She’s still alive, that's what matters. We’re going to get them both out. With or without Grave’s help.” Ghost says. Price nods, looking between them both.

…

Your fingers throb, your arm is shaking. It didn’t help that they did this on your already injured arm. Johnny didn’t talk, you didn’t talk. That's all that matters.

They seemed mad, leaving the room when they were done pulling each nail off your hand. You can’t even bare to look at Johnny, you can’t do this. You can’t hear him go through what you just went through. You tried not to scream, you tried so hard to keep it together at least for Johnny’s sake.

“Love?” Johnny asks, you can hear the break in his voice, the pain. He shouldn't be here.

“Don’t-” The words catch in your throat. All you can feel is pain pulsing through your arm. Nails grow back, just like hair nails grow back. Right? You can’t remember, all you can think about is pain. You feel cold, you’re in the desert inside a windowless room with no ventilation but you’re cold, there’s a shiver running through you.

You look up at Johnny, your head is swimming. If this gets any worse you might break. If they hurt Johnny you might break.

“Johnny. Don’t tell them anything.” You say watching his face. He looks worried, his eyes look glassy through your foggy vision.

“I won’t.” He says. You drop your head again as tears come. You feel sick but there's nothing in your stomach, you haven’t eaten in days. You need to keep it together, at least until this is over, you’re not sure how long this is going to last though.

You hear the door open behind you again. There’s only one person now, you can only hear one pair of feet on the floor. Hands land on your shoulders, it makes you sit up straight, whoever it is they bend down by your face, you can feel their breath on your neck.

They don’t have their face covered. The only person you’ve seen without that has been Sayyid, and the patients you’ve treated.

“It’s a shame it had to end like this.” You watch as Sayyid walks around you.

“Who are you?” You ask, he’s definitely more connected to Khalid than you thought. He would stress over Khalid’s associates being injured, he knew people, he stopped your execution. He’s not just a random soldier.

“Does it matter?” He asks.

No it doesn’t.

“They want to make sure you don’t die.” He says morbidly. You must look worse than you feel if they’re worried about you dying. He comes over to you and you shoot up out the chair. You can’t keep your balance though and you’re on the floor before you can stop yourself.

You can hear Johnny shouting at him, you can hear the anger in his voice. This is not his fight, it's yours.

“Touch me and i’ll break your fucking wrists.” You shout.

“Good luck with that.” He says bending over and hauling you to your feet. You try to fight him, you don’t want him to help you.

“Fuck you!” You shout as you squirm from his grip. You manage to get away and press yourself into the corner of the room. He stops coming to you, for a second you have the upper hand.

“Do no harm.” You say, it comes off with a sob.

“I fucking helped you save the lives of people who would rather see me dead. That is what I took the hippocratic oath for.” You’re almost screaming at him, you don’t care how loud you’re being. “Do no harm.”

He sighs walking round the chair.

“You’re the enemy.” He says. “Your friend here has killed so many of us.” Your legs wobble as he gets closer to you. Whatever advantage you thought you had you’ve lost.

“I’ve killed so many of you.” You say. Your whole body silvers as your adrenaline wains, you look over at Johnny his body is leaned forward almost like he’s trying to throw himself out the chair. He looks worried, confused, he doesn’t know about the people you helped. Maybe he’ll hate you.

“I’ve saved just as many. Do no fucking harm.” You spit, he sighs, stepping back and calling something in arabic. The door to the room opens and two men walk in, they both stand there looking at Sayyid.

Something clicks in your brain. Who else would let you treat the people so freely, who else would let you work on people unless he knew he could kill you if things go wrong. You’ve let yourself fall into a trap.

“Sayyid Al-Asad? That's your name right?” You ask, he doesn’t even need to nod, you can tell from the look in his eyes, the clench of his jaw. He’s Khaled’s brother, this is his base. You don’t know what to say. You feel sick, and you rub your stomach as tears form in your eyes. Hands grab you, pulling your arms behind your back as your walked back over to the chair.

It’s kicked out of the way and you’re just stood facing Johnny. Sayyid reaches over taking a weapon from the man behind you.

“Sayyid!” You call, it’s like your body already knows what is about to happen. He pulls the barrel back on the weapon walking over to Johnny. He looks over at you quickly then his eyes switch to Sayyid.

“Please! Sayyid!” you beg fighting the grip of the people behind you, you’re not going to go down without a fight. You’re not going to let him hurt Johnny, your body throbs as the guards hands grip you tighter. You end up on your knees, your feet kicking into the sand.

“Baby.” Johnny calls, can barely see him through the tears and the fuzziness in your head. He’s calling you baby, he knows what's going to happen and it breaks your heart. You sob your head drops. A second later someone grips your hair painfully pulling your head up so you’re forced to look at him.

“Please. I’ll tell you anything, just don’t hurt him.” You beg, you’re begging. It’s pathetic what a mess you must look. This is what it took to break you, Johnny sitting there seemingly accepting his fate. That feels worse, it’s almost like he knew this would happen.

“It’s too late.” Sayyid says. It doesn’t feel real when the weapon goes off. The sound is so loud it makes your ears ring. You fight with the people holding you screaming trying to get to Johnny.

They drag you out the room though. You fight them the whole way, screaming and crying out for Johnny.

They killed him. They actually killed him.

...

You haven’t moved since they threw you back in your cell. All you can smell is blood, all you can think about is the sound of the weapon. They didn’t shoot his head, they’re going to make him suffer, let him bleed out slowly while they torture him for intel.

Why does it feel like this is all your fault? You can’t stop crying, the sobbing has given way to shivers and silent tears. He's dead, you don’t care what happens now. You don’t care about a rescue, how are you supposed to move on without him?

How will you tell the others what happened-if you ever see them again. How would you break it to Simon, he’s going to take it the worse. It’ll ruin him, he’ll never be the same again, maybe he’ll never forgive you.

You hear shouting, you look down at your hand, the bloody emptied nail beds throb with pain. Another shout some banging. They’re coming for you again. They’re going to take you and hurt you, maybe even kill you. You go over to the corner of the room digging in the sand. You don’t care anymore, you’re going to kill whoever comes into your cell. You don’t care who it is.

You raise the blade standing by the door, as it’s kicked open. Someone in full combat gear walks in with a weapon raised.

You almost don’t believe your eyes, you recognise that gear. You recognise the hair sticking out from under the helmet, the o-positive blood patch. He turns towards you, you drop the scalpel from your hand.

“John?” You ask. He straightens up looking at you, he lowers his weapon and you watch as his eyes widen. You feel relief, you reach out for him but instead of going into a hug your body goes limp and you fall against him.

“John.” You call again, it almost doesn't feel real he arms wrap round you as he guides you to the floor.

“Yeah, I'm here. I got you.” He says pulling you tight against his chest.

“Ghost, I’ve got her. What about Soap?” Hearing his name makes you panic. You watched him get shot. You won’t be able to hear a reply but you look up at him. You never thought you would see him again, now he’s here rescuing you. It almost doesn’t feel real

“I need-” You fight John’s grip. “-Johnny, I need to help. They fucking shot him!” you can hear the desperation in your voice.

“It’s okay, you’ve helped enough.” Price says fighting your grip and pulling you tighter against him.

“Johnny.” You say again, you need to find him.

“We’ve got him. Ghost’s got him, you're both okay.” Price says. You move your hand up his chest, looking in his eyes. “We’ve got you. I got you.”

You feel round hus vest trying to ground yourself, you blink trying to focus on him as your head throbs. He calls something into his radio as he helps you up to your feet. You slump against him your whole body shaking. As soon as you’re taken out the room you see Kyle coming towards you.

“Kyle.” You sob reaching out for him, you need to feel him, you need to know it’s real.

“Holy shit.” He calls as you fall into his embrace. John’s hand is on your back.

“You two over here!” John shouts. It makes you jump. What two? “Get her out of here Gaz.”

“John!” You call as he tries to walk away from you. You grip his arm.

“It’s okay, you’re safe now. Gaz’ll get you out of here. I’m going to help Ghost.” He explains. It takes all the energy you have to turn to John.

“He needs me. He’s hurt.”

“You’re in no position to help right now we’ve got this. Graves has medics here.” Kyle says almost having to drag you down the halls.

“Graves?” You see more people now, more shadows. Shadow Company are here. You’re led out the building. The sun makes you squint, you lose your balance stumbling against Kyle. Black spots flash across your vision.

“Kyle.” You call out for him, gripping his vest tighter. This is a horrible place to pass out. You hear him shout something then there are more hands on you, holding you up. Pain shoots through your body, it feels like the first time you’ve relaxed in days.

“I’m here.” You hear him say but you can’t see him in the low sun shining in your eyes and the people surrounding you. You’re laid onto something soft, you try to roll over to reach out for Kyle. You just need to feel him. His fingers find yours, you look up at him letting your eyes adjust to the shade, people start talking and pressing around your body.

“Don’t leave.” You say, he comes round to bend down by your head.

“Never.”

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dollgxtz · 8 months ago

Text

His Watchful Eye Pt. 5

Word Count: 11.6k

Tags: yandere!sylus, sylus x fem!reader, kidnapping, syringes, hitting, bloodshed, attempted rape, lots of blood, sylus goes a tad bit crazy, pet names like kitten, sweetie, doll, little mouse, stalking,

Taglist: @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh, @eliasxchocolate, @nozomiaj, @xmiisuki, @sylus-kitten, @its-regretti, @m0onlustre, @ve1vet-cake, @letgobro, @starkeysslvt, @yarafic, @prince-nikko, @leiaglmela @connorsui, @iluvmewwwww75, @biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer, @mysssticc, @babygirl-panda19, @someone-somewheres-stuff, @zaynesjasmine1, @honnylemontea, @altariasu, @the-slytherin-poet, @sorryimakira, @pearlymel

AN: I decided to make this chapters theme red since it fits the bloodiness of this chapter. This is on A03 as well! Also YALL I'm so sorry, apparently my taglist hasn't been tagging people correctly. It should be fixed now! I’ll go back and fix it on the other lists as well!! Per usual, heed the warnings and enjoy! Next chapter is definitely going to have lots of smut, I’m already writing it 😌

"Your tears, your pain, your misery," Sylus whispers, his voice dripping with a dark intimacy as his hand moves gently to your face. His thumb brushes against your cheek, wiping away a tear that hasn’t yet fallen, his touch both tender and terrifying. "It all belongs to me."

“I am the only one who gets to see you cry”

Read Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.6

The darkness had swallowed you whole. When you blink your eyes open, the world is a blur, as though you’re caught between waking and a nightmare. Cold, sharp and biting, is the first thing you feel, seeping into your skin from the damp concrete beneath you. Your nightgown is soaked, sticking to your body, the freezing water from the shower still dripping slowly from the showerhead, an eerie rhythm to the otherwise oppressive silence.

It takes a moment before the memories resurface, and when they do, they crash over you like a wave. The basement. Reese. The other man. The betrayal. Your heart clenches painfully as you recall the way Reese had looked at you when he led you here, his guilt ridden face made you scowl.

How dare he have a conscious when he had led you to your very demise? You had trusted him. Told him about your kidnapping, your escape. He had listened with kind eyes, nodding in all the right places, making you believe he was different—that he was your salvation in a world that had turned cruel. He had seemed so genuine, offering you a place to stay, a promise of safety. But now, that memory feels like poison, a twisted mockery of the trust you had so willingly given him.

How could you have been so naive?

You groan as you try to sit yourself upright, every muscle in your body protesting with sharp pain. The cold has seeped so deeply into your bones that it feels like your limbs are made of lead, heavy and uncooperative. Your fingers dig into the rough concrete as you push against it, your nightgown clinging to your skin, wet and miserable.

Your head spins, the pounding ache a reminder of everything you’ve been through, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to move. Lying there, helpless, isn’t an option. Not anymore.

Each breath is a struggle, shallow and ragged, as you steady yourself against the wall behind you. The dampness of the basement, the steady drip of water in the corner, the faint musty scent of decay—it all feels suffocating, as though the walls are closing in. You blink hard, trying to focus, to ground yourself in the moment, but the betrayal still burns in your mind, cutting deeper than any physical wound.

Reese's face flashes before your eyes again, his soft voice promising safety, and you can’t help but let out a bitter laugh, though it quickly dissolves into a shaky exhale. Safety. What a cruel joke.

You had simply traded one prison for a colder, darker one.

You look around the basement, squinting in the dim light. Your legs ache as you try to move them, pins and needles shooting through your feet as you attempt to stand. Your body feels battered, but the deeper pain—the one rooted in the betrayal—hurts far worse. Reese wasn’t some random passerby, some kind stranger. He knew what he was doing, and worse, he had listened to your story of suffering and seen you as an opportunity to fulfill some promise.

As you lean against the wall, trying to steady your shaky breath, Reese’s words echo in your mind, gnawing at your already fragile sense of reality.

“I promised them a girl.”

The phrase rattles around in your skull, unsettling and cryptic. What did he mean by that? Who was them?

Your stomach turns, the bile rising in your throat as you replay the memory over and over. Reese had said it shakily, his voice trembling, his eyes wide with barely concealed fear. But his words were soaked in something far darker, something that made your skin crawl the moment they left his lips.

Promised them a girl.

The weight of it sinks in deeper, heavier with each passing moment, like a noose tightening around your neck.

Your hands curl into fists, nails digging sharply into your palms as you struggle to suppress the rising wave of nausea and panic. Every breath feels like a battle, the air thick with dread. You want answers—need answers—but more than anything, you need to get out of here. Every second you spend trapped in this basement feels like a countdown ticking away to something far worse than anything your mind can conjure.

Whatever Reese had promised them, whatever twisted deal he’d made, you won’t let it come to pass. You won’t be some pawn in this dark, twisted game he's playing. You refuse to be reduced to a bargaining chip for them, whoever they are. They might have Reese tangled in their web, but they won’t have you.

Your eyes drift toward the dingy mattress settled on a metal frame, barely visible in the dim light. A tattered towel, a folded pair of sweatpants and a white shirt lie haphazardly on top of it. You hesitate for a moment, the sight catching you off guard. Did Reese leave these here for you?

The thought sends a wave of conflicting emotions through you—anger, confusion, even a twisted sense of pity. Despite everything, despite handing you over to whatever fate awaits, had he still tried to offer some small gesture of comfort? Or had this been planned, just part of the sick arrangement, a way to keep you alive long enough for them?

You shake the thought from your mind. It doesn’t matter.

The cold clings to you, a constant, suffocating presence in your wet nightgown. Your teeth are still chattering, your skin icy to the touch. Without thinking too much about it, you rush over to the mattress, snatching the towel and the sweatpants. The rough fabric of the towel is worn, but it's warm enough as you rub it over your chilled skin, drying the water that’s soaked through your night gown.

With shaking hands, you strip off your wet, heavy dress and quickly pull on the dry sweatpants and t shirt. The warmth is immediate, a small, fleeting relief that feels almost like a luxury in this basement. You wish they weren't so loose, but it’s better than nothing.

Your body is still cold, still trembling, but the damp heaviness has lessened. You feel lighter, a little less trapped by the elements, even if the air around you remains heavy with the weight of everything that has yet to happen.

Reese’s face flashes in your mind again, his nervous, guilt-ridden eyes, and you can’t help but wonder—was this his attempt at an apology? His way of making up for the unforgivable?

Abruptly, you hear it – footsteps above, faint but unmistakable. Your entire body tenses as you freeze in place, straining to listen. The whispers that follow are barely audible through the thick ceiling, but you can catch snippets of words, just enough to recognize one of the voices: Reese.

Your heart thuds against your ribcage as you make your way towards the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, every step agonizing from the cold and strain. You push through the pain, desperate for more information.

You press your ear against the frigid metal, the voices growing clearer yet still muffled. Reese's voice is shaky and filled with nervous energy, like when he made that dreadful promise to "them."

"She said she was kidnapped," Reese's voice trembles, sending a wave of chills down your spine.

A cold sweat breaks out across your skin. A lump forms in your throat as you strain to listen, your mind racing. You had trusted him with everything, thinking he would help. The other voice – deep and calculated – interrupts.

"By who?" he demands harshly.

"I don't know," Reese replies, panic evident in his voice. "She didn't give names…I didn't ask…I didn't think…"

"Idiot," the man hisses angrily, cutting off Reese's rambling. There's a moment of silence before heavy footsteps approach closer. Your heart pounds violently in your chest.

You hear something unmistakable—a faint scraping sound. Your blood runs cold as you slowly realize what’s happening.

The metal handle of the hatch begins to turn.

It’s a slow, deliberate movement, the iron grinding against itself with a low, ominous creak that makes your breath catch in your throat. Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening as you stare at the hatch, watching the handle twist further, the tension of the lock giving way with a soft, metallic click.

Panic floods through you as the realization hits like a punch to the gut—they’re about to open the hatch.

The handle continues to turn, and with a surge of panic, you pull away from the hatch. Your body moves before your mind can fully process, instincts kicking in. You scramble down the creaky wooden stairs, your legs protesting with every movement, but you push through the pain.

Each step feels like it takes an eternity, the sound of the hatch above grinding against your nerves. You reach the bottom, your breath ragged, and without a second thought, you make a desperate dive under the bed.

You scramble under the grimy mattress, your heart pounding as you press your body flat against the cold floor. The space beneath the bed is cramped, dark, and thick with dust, but you force yourself to stay still, biting back your panic. Your breathing comes in short, shaky bursts, but you try to control it, barely daring to inhale as you listen to the creak of the metal hatch swinging open.

The footsteps echo louder now, descending the wooden stairs, each step making your pulse race faster. You watch from your hiding place, the dim light casting shadows across the room as the first pair of feet—Reese's—comes into view. His sneakers shuffle nervously against the floor. Right behind him, heavier boots thud down the steps—boots that belong to someone much more imposing, someone far more dangerous.

You peek through the gloom, barely daring to lift your head.

Reese speaks first, his voice shaky. “I-I swear, I don’t know who kidnapped her. She just told me she was running, that she escaped. I didn’t ask for details.” There’s a tremor in his voice, thick with fear.

The other man’s voice is low, cold. “And you didn’t think to get more information? You were too busy playing hero.”

You didn't recognize this voice. He wasn't the one from earlier that had helped Reese bring you down here.

Reese mumbles something incoherent, but you can hear his terror. The other man clearly isn’t buying it. The booted footsteps hit the last step, and the man takes a slow, deliberate step into the basement.

You curl up tighter, heart racing, your body nearly paralyzed with fear as you catch sight of him. He’s taller than Reese, broader, with an intimidating presence that fills the room. His voice cuts through the tension. “Where is she, Reese? You promised us a girl. So, where is she?”

Reese stammers, his anxiety palpable. “She’s—she’s here, I swear, I locked the hatch. She couldn’t have gone anywhere.”

The man lets out a slow exhale, clearly unimpressed. “She better be. Otherwise, you’ll have hell to pay.”

You can feel the weight of the man’s presence shifting, scanning the room, and you shrink further into the darkness, praying that the shadows will keep you hidden. The dread mounts as the sound of their steps grows louder.

Your heart races, every muscle tense as the heavy boots come to a stop right beside the bed. You can feel the air shift, the man's presence looming dangerously above you. His shadow stretches over the mattress, and for a second, you think maybe—just maybe—he'll move on. Maybe he won't look under here.

But then, in one swift motion, he crouches down.

His eyes lock onto yours, blue and calculating, a cruel smile playing at the edges of his lips. Your stomach drops, panic surging through you like wildfire. You try to scramble backward, to escape deeper under the bed, but it's too late. His hand shoots out, iron-tight fingers wrapping around your ankle.

"No more hiding, little mouse," he growls, his voice thick with menace.

You kick and thrash, but he’s far too strong. With a brutal yank, he drags you out from under the bed, your nails scraping uselessly against the concrete floor as you try to find some kind of grip. Fear pulses through you, sharp and overwhelming, as you're pulled out into the open.

"Got her," the man says, his grip on your ankle tightening painfully. He hauls you upright, forcing you to stand even as your legs buckle beneath you.

Reese is standing off to the side, pale and trembling, his eyes wide with guilt and fear. He doesn’t say a word as the man forces you up, his cold fingers digging into your arm now, holding you in place.

The man looks you over, his smile fading as he studies you with dark, unreadable eyes. "This is her?" he says, glancing at Reese, his voice a mixture of disbelief and something far more dangerous.

Reese stammers, his voice barely above a whisper. "Y-yes. I swear. She’s the one."

The man turns back to you, his expression hardening. "Good," he mutters darkly, tightening his grip on your arm until pain shoots through your shoulder.

You bit back a cry of pain, refusing to give him the satisfaction. The man's grip tightened further, his fingers digging into your flesh like steel talons. Your heart raced, pounding against your ribcage as you fought to keep your composure.

"Let. Me. Go." You hissed through clenched teeth, each word dripping with venom.

The man's lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Feisty, are we? Hilarious. Won't last long though".

He released your arm abruptly, causing you to stumble. As you regained your footing, you noticed Reese had retreated to a corner, his face a mask of guilt and fear. The betrayal stung, but you pushed the feeling aside. There would be time for that later. Right now, survival was your only priority.

The men turned toward the metal hatch at the top of the stairs, drawn to the sound of heels clacking against the wooden steps. You tensed, every muscle in your body coiling with anticipation as another pair of legs appeared, descending with an air of confidence. A woman stepped into the basement, her dark hair swinging with each precise step, her sharp brown eyes surveying the room with calm, calculated detachment. She was dressed in a crisp, business-casual outfit, perfectly put together, every detail deliberate.

Her heels struck the floor with a final, authoritative click as she reached the bottom of the stairs, her gaze locking onto you immediately. There was no warmth in her eyes, no recognition of you as a person—only cold assessment, as though you were an object, a piece of inventory.

She didn’t speak right away, her expression unreadable as she glanced at the man beside you, then at Reese huddled in the corner. Her presence demanded attention, a silent command of the room that made your skin crawl.

“Is this the girl?” she asked at last, her voice smooth but carrying an edge of impatience.

The man nodded, his smirk never faltering. “She’s the one boss.”

The woman’s eyes swept over you again, lingering on you for a moment longer than before. You felt her gaze like ice, sharp and invasive, as if she could see through you, past your fear, right down to your core.

“She doesn’t look like much,” she remarked, almost casually, though there was a quiet menace in her tone. “But she’ll do hopefully.”

Your heart dropped, dread pooling in your stomach as her words hung in the air. Whatever Reese had gotten you into, it wasn’t just a betrayal—it was something far more dangerous. And now, you were caught in the middle of it.

Your mind raced as you tried to think of a way out, but the walls felt like they were closing in, your options shrinking with every second that passed. You had to do something—anything—before it was too late.

You certainly couldn't fight your way out of here. It was 3v1, and the days of little food and constant stress had weakened you significantly. Your limbs felt like lead, and any attempt to resist would be useless, not against these people—especially with the woman’s calculating gaze locked onto you.

"Wh-what is this?" you stammer, trying to sound calm, but the tremor in your voice betrays you. "What do you plan to do with me?"

The woman turned toward you, her expression cold, detached. She raised an eyebrow, as though mildly amused by your question, but there was no kindness in her eyes—only a chilling indifference.

“Does it really matter?” she replied, her voice smooth but laced with cruelty. She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor with each deliberate step, her presence looming over you. “You’re not in a position to negotiate or ask questions, are you?”

You felt your pulse race, panic swelling in your chest. You tried to stand straighter, to show some semblance of strength, but your body betrayed you, trembling from exhaustion and fear.

The man who had grabbed you before let out a low chuckle. “She’s already scared. Good. Makes things easier.”

Reese, from his corner, shifted uncomfortably, avoiding your eyes as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. The guilt was written all over his face, but he said nothing, didn’t even try to stop what was happening. He had already played his part in this nightmare.

The woman tilted her head, her gaze unwavering. “You’ve been promised to someone very important, and it’s best if you cooperate. Things will be... easier for you.”

Your stomach dropped at the implications of her words. Promised? You were no longer just a person—you were a transaction.

Your mouth went dry as you forced the question past your lips, your voice shaky. "Promised for what?" You had to know. Every terrible possibility ran through your mind, but the uncertainty gnawed at you even more.

The woman paused, a brief flicker of something—pity, maybe?—crossing her face. She sighed softly, like she was indulging a child who didn’t know better. “I guess it couldn’t hurt for you to know,” she said, her tone almost bored. “Won’t make much difference in the end.”

She stepped closer, crouching down so she was eye-level with you. Her gaze softened slightly, but the words that followed made your blood run cold.

“You’ve been promised to a very wealthy man,” she began, her voice calm, detached. “His wife...she’s dying. Organ failure. They’ve tried everything—medications, various treatments—but nothing’s worked.”

Your mind raced, struggling to process the meaning behind her words. Organ failure? The realization hit you like a sledgehammer, a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach as her words continued.

“He’s willing to pay any price for a match,” she explained with chilling indifference, her eyes boring into yours. And if you're a perfect match for her...” She paused, letting the weight of the situation sink in before she added, almost with a shrug, “Your organs will save her life.”

A sickening silence followed, the air thick with your disbelief.

They were going to harvest your organs.

Panic clawed at your throat, and your body felt like it was in freefall. You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. The cold, brutal truth hung in the air between you and the woman, her pitying gaze cutting you deeper than anything else.

“You should feel honored,” she added, her voice devoid of any real sympathy. “You’ll be giving someone like her a second chance at life.”

Your heart raced, blood pounding in your ears. Your survival wasn’t just threatened—it was already decided.

Your body went numb as her words settled over you, the realization of what they planned twisting your stomach into knots. But as the silence stretched on, the woman seemed to catch herself, a slight frown tugging at her lips.

“We don’t know for sure if you’re a match yet,” she admitted, almost thoughtfully. “But you're a woman, so that's already one criteria met. And it’s just a matter of time before we find out the second.”

She reached into the pocket of her crisp jacket and pulled out a syringe and a small vial. The sight of it made your blood run cold. Your heart hammered against your chest, each beat a sharp reminder of how close you were to losing everything.

“I need to take a blood sample,” she said, her tone almost professional now. “Don’t bother resisting. We’ll get what we need, one way or another.”

Your limbs froze, panic surging through your veins. You wanted to run, to scream, but your legs felt like they were locked in place. The walls of the basement seemed to close in tighter around you, and for a moment, all you could focus on was the needle in her hand.

The woman’s dark brown eyes flicked toward you, assessing your reaction. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. It’s just a small test,” she said, almost like she was coaxing you into compliance. “If you’re not a match, maybe you'll get lucky. You're a woman after all, you at least have other parts you can use to gain your freedom."

She stepped closer, the syringe gleaming under the dim basement light. Your body tensed, the urge to fight back bubbling up inside you. But you were weak, outnumbered, and utterly trapped.

“Hold out your arm,” she said softly, like she was giving you a choice.

Your breath caught in your throat as the syringe gleamed ominously in her hand. Your heart hurt as you glanced toward Reese, who stood in the corner, guilt-ridden and pale, but he didn’t move. He couldn’t help you—he wouldn’t help you.

You glanced back between her and the syringe, the world closing in tighter with each second. Your mind raced for a way out, some escape, but it was futile. Even if you refused, they’d force you—there was no other option.

You took a shaky breath and slowly extended your arm, the gesture more out of survival instinct than anything. Live long enough to find another way out, you told yourself, trying to cling to that sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still time.

The woman smiled, satisfied, as she knelt beside you, her movements smooth and practiced. “Smart choice,” she said, wrapping a rubber band around your arm to prepare for the blood draw.

You winced as the needle pierced your skin, but you forced yourself to stay still. The vial began to fill with dark red blood, and the woman worked with a cold efficiency, as though she’d done this a hundred times before.

After what felt like an eternity, she withdrew the needle and pressed a cotton ball to your arm. “There,” she said, standing up and eyeing the shiny vial filled with your blood. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You wanted to lash out, to scream, but your body was too drained, your mind too scattered. She was right—it didn’t matter if it was easy or hard. What mattered was what came next.

The woman turned to the man with the heavy boots. “Get this to the lab,” she ordered, her tone brisk. “The results will tell us everything we need.”

He nodded and took the vial, disappearing back up the stairs without a word. The metal hatch closed behind him with a heavy thud, and the basement fell back into tense silence.

The woman stayed behind, her eyes never leaving you. “Now we wait,” she said, crossing her arms. “If you’re lucky, you won’t be a match. But if you are… well, we’ll be in touch.”

You swallowed hard, dread pooling in your stomach. The blood had been drawn, the wheels set in motion—and there was nothing you could do but wait for your fate to be decided.

Reese shifted uncomfortably in the corner, his eyes downcast, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you.

The woman glanced at him, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “I suggest you keep her in good condition until we know for sure. We wouldn’t want her damaged, would we?”

Reese flinched but nodded, his guilt written all over his face.

And with that, the woman turned on her heel and left, her heels clacking up the stairs, the metal hatch sealing you back in the basement.

You were alone again—alone with Reese and the suffocating weight of your uncertain future.

As the metal hatch slammed shut, trapping you back in the dim, suffocating basement, something inside you snapped. The overwhelming dread, the helplessness, the betrayal—it all collided at once. Your chest tightened, and your blood boiled with the rage that had been simmering beneath the surface.

Your eyes locked onto Reese, who was still slouched in the corner, avoiding your gaze. His entire body trembled, but all you could see was the man who had led you into this nightmare. The man who had stood by and watched as they drew your blood like you were nothing more than a piece of meat.

You trusted him.

"You," you spat, your voice cracking with fury. "I trusted you, Reese."

He flinched at your words, but he didn’t look up. His hands were shaking, balled into fists at his sides, but that didn’t matter. He had made his choice.

"I trusted you!" you shouted, your voice growing louder, the raw emotion burning through your exhaustion. "I told you everything—I told you about my escape, I thought you were trying to help me!"

Reese's lips trembled, and he finally raised his eyes to meet yours, guilt etched deep into his pale face. "I... I didn't have a choice," he stammered, his voice weak, barely audible. "They—they would've killed me if I didn’t—"

"Spare me!" you snapped, cutting him off. "You sold me, Reese! You handed me over to them like I was nothing!" The weight of his betrayal hit you all over again, the pain of it cutting deeper than any physical wound. You had told him about your kidnapping, he had watched you sob over Xavier, had you thinking he was someone you could trust, someone who cared.

Tears of frustration burned at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You couldn’t —not now, not for him of all people. "You knew what they were going to do to me," you continued, your voice trembling with anger. "You knew, and you did it anyway."

Reese shook his head, his voice cracking as he mumbled, "I—I didn't know they'd—about the organs. I thought..." He trailed off, as if the excuse could somehow absolve him. But it didn’t.

"Thought what?"

"I'd thought they'd just...rape you. And then dump you somewhere..." he stammers, rubbing the back of his neck. "Like the others.."

"Like the others?!" you said, your voice rising. "You...you've done this before? You're...sick! Fucking sick!"

He shrank back, visibly cowering under your words. "I didn't have a choice," he repeated weakly, like it was the only thing he could cling to.

"You always have a choice!" you shot back, your voice cracking from the strain. "You had a choice to be a good person, and you chose to betray me."

The room was silent after that, the air thick with tension. Reese had no response, nothing to say that could possibly justify what he'd done. He just stood there, looking more like a frightened child than the man who had so easily handed you over.

You swallowed hard, your chest heaving with the weight of your emotions. "I hope it was worth it," you said coldly, the anger fading into something far more painful. "I hope whatever they promised you was worth selling me like this."

Reese remained silent, his eyes cast down, unable to meet your gaze any longer.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, but it held no weight, no real meaning. Before you could respond, he suddenly rushed past you, his footsteps heavy on the cold floor. He didn’t look back.

You watched, stunned, as he hurried up the wooden stairs, his movements frantic, almost as if he couldn’t bear to stay in the room with you a second longer. The old wooden stairs groaned under his weight, the sound harsh in the suffocating silence.

You stood frozen in place, your mind whirling with a mix of anger, disbelief, and the crushing weight of betrayal. His retreating figure disappeared through the metal hatch, and the sound of it slamming shut echoed through the basement like a final punctuation to his cowardice.

The room fell eerily quiet, the air thick with everything left unsaid. You were alone again, left with nothing but the cold, the dull ache of exhaustion, and the horrifying knowledge of what awaited you.

You slumped against the wall, the weight of the situation crashing down on you all at once. The basement felt smaller, colder, and more suffocating than before.

Days blurred into each other, each one indistinguishable from the next. The cold, damp basement became your prison, a place where time felt meaningless. Your mind drifted constantly, a mixture of fear, anger, and hopelessness gnawing at you from all sides. You found yourself thinking about Xavier—wondering if he was still out there, still searching for you. He had to be, didn’t he? You tried to cling to the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’d find you before it was too late.

You wished you had listened to him when he said he had a bad feeling about you going with Reese. How could you have been so stupid?

Reese came in and out of the basement sporadically, never staying for long. He kept his distance, barely making eye contact, as though seeing the consequences of his betrayal was too much for him to handle. He left you basic necessities—pads, water, a couple of small meals—but nothing more. Every time he disappeared, it felt like another thread of hope was being pulled away, leaving you more isolated than ever.

You pondered attacking Reese when he came down here next. He seemed fidgety and not as strong as the others. But still strong nonetheless. And in your weakened state, he could still take you down, or threaten you with the gun again.

At some point, you drifted off to sleep, exhaustion overtaking you in the cold dark. Your period had finally subsided, and so did the awful cramping, allowing you to rest at least somewhat peacefully. You weren’t sure how long you’d been out, but the sound of the metal hatch creaking open startled you awake. Instinctively, you didn’t move, thinking it was Reese again—another silent, guilty visit to drop something off before fleeing.

But then, a deep, gruff voice pierced the silence. A voice you recognized, but not in the way that brought comfort.

“Well, look who’s sleeping like a baby,” the voice sneered, low and menacing.

Your heart sank, and fear surged through you as you realized it wasn’t Reese. Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, and your breath caught in your throat when you shifted to look at the voice.

It was the man—the one who had helped Reese bring you down here in the first place. His heavy boots clomped against the wooden stairs as he descended, and his shadow loomed over you, large and threatening. His expression was cold, his eyes calculating as they swept over you, like he was assessing just how broken you’d become since last seeing him.

“Thought maybe you’d die of boredom or despair by now,” he muttered, amusement tinged in his voice. “Guess you’ve got a little more fight in you than I thought.”

You swallowed hard, your body going rigid. You stayed still, instinct telling you that any sudden movement might provoke him. The air around him seemed darker, more dangerous than Reese’s jittery cowardice. This man was different—he was in control, and he wasn’t afraid of you.

“What do you want?” you finally managed to whisper, your voice shaky but defiant.

He stepped closer, his boots thudding against the concrete floor, the sound making your skin crawl. His smirk widened, and without warning, he crouched down, bringing his face level with yours.

“What I want,” he said, his voice low and mocking, “is to see if you’re worth anything besides your organs doll.”

The threat in his words hung heavy in the air, and you knew with chilling clarity that whatever came next, this man wasn’t here to make things easier for you.

The man crouched in front of you, his smirk growing wider as he watched the fear flicker across your face. You tried to keep still, to steady your breathing, but your body betrayed you—a small shiver ran through you, and you knew he’d seen it. His eyes glinted with satisfaction, feeding off your discomfort.

He leaned in closer, so close that you could feel his hot breath on your skin. "Reese might be too soft to touch a woman, but I’m not." His voice was a low, rumbling threat. "You’re property after all. But it'd be a shame to let sweet pussy go to waste before they cut you open."

You recoiled in horror at his depraved words, bile rising in your throat. The man straightened to his full height, towering over your prostrate form with an air of malevolent authority.

"So here's how this is going to go," he said casually, as if discussing the weather rather than your impending ravishment and dismemberment. "I'm going to have my fun..." He smirked cruelly. "And you are going to lay there and take it. Use any teeth and I'll rip them out of your head. Got it?"

Your mind raced, desperate to find some escape from the waking nightmare. But with Reese too cowardice to come down and interfere, and this sadistic brute clearly intent on violating you in the most degrading ways imaginable , you knew you were utterly at his mercy.

A strangled cry escaped your lips as tears streamed down your face. Despite your best efforts, the man's lecherous gaze only widened at the sight of you in distress. His grip on your arm tightened, filling you with pain.

"Go ahead and cry," he mocked. "It only turns me on even more, doll."

You screamed, desperately trying to free yourself and escape his grasp, but he was too strong. He slammed you back down onto the dirty mattress as you fought to kick him away. But he easily overpowered you and forced your leg back against the bed.

"Stop! Please!" you pleaded, horrified as he reached for the waistband of your sweatpants with his rough, calloused hands.

Panic surged through you as his fingers grazed your skin. In a burst of desperate strength, you twisted violently and managed to wrench your leg free. You kicked out hard, your foot connecting solidly with his jaw. He reeled back with a pained grunt, momentarily stunned.

"I said, lay there and take it" he growled, bringing his palm down against your face in a deafening slap. Angry hot pain radiates against your face and you cry out, tears spilling out faster now.

He wastes no time flipping you around, pinning you on your stomach against the bed. You sobbed loudly as he finishes pulling your sweatpants past your rear, rubbing his cold hands against the cloth of your underwear.

"Nice butt, smooth skin..." he growls, tugging off your underwear past your legs despite your struggle. "Oh this is gonna be so much fun."

Your underwear hits the concrete floor with a soft patter and your mind goes numb. There was truly no way out of this. Maybe the struggle was futile all along.

It was time to accept this.

Your body goes limp as you try to dissociate from the sound of the man unbuckling his belt. The sound of him shuffling with his underwear. The feel of his rough hands as he grabs your hips and raises them towards his groin, forcing you onto your elbows. You notice his breathing gets heavier as he takes in the sight of your exposed cunt.

"He shuffles in his pockets for a bit, looking for something. Your mind drifts off as he does so, thinking of the time Sylus had you in a similar position.

The morning he had promised to only do it once that day if you didn't fight him. You had picked the position yourself, not wanting to see him enter you again. At least that's what you told yourself.

Truthfully, you hated the way your face would heat up and your cunt grew wetter at the sight of his toned chest and stomach. The deep rumble of his voice in your ear as he praised you for taking him in all the way. You didn't know why your body reacted the way it did to him but it scared you. You had chalked it up to it just being an involuntary bodily reaction.

But there was no wetness when this beast touched you, no warmth or aching heat in your core.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of tearing plastic.

Ah, he brought a condom. At least you wouldn't have to worry about catching any diseases before you were hacked to pieces.

You almost laugh at the thought but nothing was funny truly. The man grumbles a bit and rolls the condom onto his thick shaft gently, his knuckles popping as he slides it down. The smell of latex and lubricant fill the air momentarily. You wish you could gag at the smell of it, but you're too scared to move anymore. He positions himself, aligning his tip with you. You brace yourself for the pain that is sure to come, your heart pounding in your chest as he presses forward.

"If you make a sound, I'll beat your ass stupid. Got it?" he growls.

You say nothing as he begins trying to push into you, but he had clumsily misjudged where your slit was and kept missing. You couldn't help but let out a quiet laugh, this guy clearly didn't have much experience with the female body. You feel his hand slam down on your head, causing you to cry out.

"Ain't. Shit. Funny..." he snarled, gripping the side of your face even harder. You stifle another sob, trying your hardest to breathe against the mattress.

Still, he kept trying to force his cock inside you, every clumsy miss rubbing salt in the wound of your complete helplessness. He leans back momentarily to try and balance his cock against you. Your head throbs under his grip and you feel your eyes starting to gently close, sticky tears threaded between your lashes.

Your mind, desperate for an escape from the current nightmare, drifts back to Sylus. Memories of him rise to the surface, unbidden yet comforting in their own strange way. You recall his gentle gaze, the way he’d look at you when you opened your eyes in the morning—those moments when everything was still, and his presence felt like a soft cocoon of warmth around you. You’d never once seen him fall asleep before you. No, Sylus clearly only slept when it was "morning". Your circadian rhythms had always been completely opposite, and you knew, deep down, that he was likely watching over you as you slept.

It had never really felt invasive though. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you feel... cherished. As though, in his world of shadows, you were the one light he couldn’t take his eyes off of.

No one had ever looked at you with such adoring eyes—not even Xavier. Though Xavier had cared for you, and there were moments where you saw glimpses of that same tenderness, it was different with Sylus. Something deeper. Something more intense, as though you were the most precious thing in the world to him.

The thought made your heart ache in ways you hadn’t expected. Even now, locked in this nightmare, it was Sylus’s gaze that haunted you—not Reese’s guilt, not Xavier’s concern, but the way Sylus had seen you, like you were fragile and powerful all at once.

Despite everything, he had shown you the most kindness out of anyone in this horrid place.

"Sylus..." your voice escapes in a broken whisper, a fragile plea lost beneath the weight of fear. Silent tears streak down your face, and your body shakes uncontrollably beneath the man's looming presence. His grunting had finally stopped, but the air between you buzzes with his barely-contained fury. His body is tense, frustrated—still unable to force himself into you.

With a snarl, he suddenly flips you onto your back, his hands rough and merciless. The room spins for a second, and your breath catches in your throat. He looms over you, his eyes dark and burning with a cruel light.

"What the hell did I say about talking?," he growls, voice low and dangerous. His hand rises, fist clenched, muscles rippling as he prepares to strike. Your heart lurches, and a terrified squeal slips out, unbidden. You squeeze your eyes shut, body curling in on itself instinctively, trembling as you wait for the blow to fall.

The seconds stretch unbearably long.

But the pain never comes.

Instead, the air shifts—thickening, buzzing with something far darker than the man hovering above you. His fist, still poised to strike, halts mid-air. His breath stutters. Eyes wide with shock, he suddenly clutches at his throat, his face twisting into something grotesque, panicked. His mouth opens as if to scream, but only a strangled gasp escapes.

"Is that anyway to talk to a lady?"

You blink, unsure if you’re seeing it right—red mist, thin tendrils coiling through the air like living smoke. It winds around him, constricting. His body spasms as if in a silent scream, but no sound comes, only those terrible, wet choking noises.

His eyes meet yours for a fleeting second, wide with horror, before his body jerks violently. With a force that seems inhuman, he’s wrenched from above you, flung across the room like a rag doll. The impact as he slams into the far wall is sickening—bones cracking against stone, the wet sound of flesh collapsing under the blow.

He screams in agony, his body convulsing violently on the hard concrete as his cries echo through the space.

Your breath comes in shallow, rapid gasps, the red mist still hanging in the air, pulsing like it has a life of its own before it slowly starts to fade. The air grows colder in its absence, the immediate threat gone, but the tension in your chest refuses to ease. It's over, but the chaos is still fresh, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins.

Then you see him.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his white hair touched with streaks of silver, and those unmistakable crimson eyes—sharp, intense, but not as lethal as they were a moment ago. There's no mistaking Sylus, even through the haze of confusion clouding your mind. You blink, trying to process it all. He’s here, finally, but the emotions swirling inside you are a tangled mess.

He steps toward you, slow and deliberate, his gaze softening the closer he gets. Despite the relief that comes with his presence, something else churns beneath the surface—frustration, maybe even anger. He’s here, but it took so long. Too long.

"Why do you look so shocked?" Sylus smirks, his voice low and teasing, as if the sight of him towering over you like this is the most natural thing in the world. He tilts his head, amusement dancing in his crimson eyes as he studies your expression. "You called my name, didn’t you?"

You open your mouth, but no words come. Relief washes over you, but it’s tangled with confusion and resentment. Part of you wants to collapse into his arms, to finally feel safe, but another part of you burns with anxiety—why doesn't he look angry at you?

Sylus’s smirk softens into something more genuine, as if he senses the storm inside you. "I’m here now," he says, his voice quieter, almost gentle. But it doesn’t calm the whirlwind in your chest. You don’t know if you want to yell at him or thank him. Maybe both.

All you know is that the sight of him, standing there like he’s always been, stirs something deep within you that you can’t quite name. You're suddenly aware again of your half-nakedness and you rush to put back on your panties and sweatpants, much to Sylus's amusement.

“Wh-what took you so long?” you finally quip, a sharp edge to your voice as you lift your chin, deciding to meet his presence with defiance instead of relief. The condescension rolls off your tongue, even as your heart still pounds from the aftermath. You can feel the tension in your own body, a mix of trauma and pent-up frustration, but you mask it behind a cold stare.

Sylus moves toward the hyperventilating man still writhing on the ground, his gaze briefly flickering with something unreadable before a low chuckle escapes his lips. The sound reverberates through the room, rich and deep, completely unbothered by your biting words. His crimson eyes flick to you, amusement dancing in them, as if your sharp attitude was exactly what he’d anticipated.

“Is this the thanks I get, kitten?” he muses, his tone playful, yet carrying that underlying edge he always seems to have. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of his mouth as he towers over you, utterly relaxed, like your defiance is nothing more than an amusing game to him.

"I save you, and all you’ve got is attitude?" He raises an eyebrow, the smirk on his lips widening as if he’s enjoying this far too much. “You’re getting harder to please.”

The comment, laced with a playful challenge, lingers in the air. He seems utterly unaffected, like your frustration has only fueled his amusement, and for a moment, it’s hard to tell whether you want to snap back or let your guard down. That smirk of his—so infuriatingly calm and knowing—pulls you deeper into the whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

Before you can spit out a retort, the sound of scuffling and harsh footsteps echoes down the stairwell. Your attention snaps toward the noise just as Reese is unceremoniously dragged down the steps, his pleas and panicked protests filling the room. The twins, Luke and Kieran, have him by the arms, hauling him down with little effort. Reese stumbles on the last step, crashing face-first onto the concrete.

Luke and Kieran exchange satisfied glances, snickering as they stand over him, a mixture of triumph and mockery in voices.

"We got him, boss," Luke announces with a smirk, nudging the groaning man with his boot. "Tried to run, but he fell flat on his face." He punctuates his words with another casual kick to Reese's side. "Much like he did just now."

Reese winces in pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he slowly lifts his head. His gaze darts frantically around the room, his face paling as he realizes who surrounds him. His eyes widen in terror, flitting between you, Sylus, and the man still crumpled on the ground beside him, writhing in pain.

"S-Sylus..." Reese stammers, his voice barely a whisper as it cracks with fear. His entire body begins to tremble, the weight of what he’s done crashing down on him. "You ran away from Sylus...?" The disbelief in his own voice is palpable, as if fleeing from someone like Sylus was a death sentence all on its own.

Sylus’s crimson eyes narrow as he watches you closely, his expression shifting to something darker—something possessive. He takes a deliberate step toward you, the casual ease he held moments ago now replaced with a quiet intensity. His gaze flicks to Reese, then back to you, and though his smile remains, there’s no warmth behind it.

"So," Sylus begins, voice smooth but tinged with something uneasy, "seems the two of you have gotten well acquainted?" The question feels loaded, not out of curiosity, but something more. His eyes bore into yours, as if searching for answers beyond your words. The smirk on his lips falters just slightly, betraying the irritation he’s trying to mask.

The tension between you grows thicker, his posture subtly shifting as if he’s placing himself between you and Reese. He doesn’t look away, doesn’t so much as glance at the trembling man on the ground. His focus is solely on you, as though the possibility of friendship with someone, especially another man, unsettles him more than the danger you just faced.

You shake your head immediately, the denial spilling from your lips without hesitation. "We’re not close!" you say quickly, the firmness in your voice leaving no room for doubt. "He’s no one to me."

Sylus’s eyes remain locked on yours, his crimson gaze intense, but you don’t falter. "Reese… he tricked me," you continue, the words coming faster now. "He’s the reason I’m down here in the first place. I didn’t come down here willingly. I followed him, stupidly thinking he was going to help me."

Your last words are filled with malice as your eyes flick to Reese, who cowers on the ground, unable to meet your glare. You shoot him a look of pure disdain, your anger boiling over at how easily he had deceived you, how he had dragged you into this mess.

Before you can say anything more, Sylus reaches out, his hand cool against your hair as he rubs the top of your head with an almost unnerving gentleness. His touch sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s the smug look on his face that catches you off guard.

“I know, sweetie,” Sylus says, his voice smooth and dripping with that signature arrogance. His eyes glitter with amusement as he watches you closely, his smirk deepening. “I watched you disappear into this house. I saw everything.” He speaks as if he had been in control of the situation from the start, his tone laced with confidence, as if he was always one step ahead.

"You were following me the entire time?" you ask, your voice tinged with disbelief as you try to piece together how much of this Sylus had been controlling from the shadows. Sylus merely chuckles, the sound rich and full of amusement, like your confusion was a source of entertainment for him.

"Something like that," he replies casually, his smirk widening. "I had Mephisto follow you."

As if on cue, swirl of red mist begins to materialize on Sylus's shoulder. The mist condenses around the form until, with a sharp, eerie caw, a large black crow appears, its wings flapping beside Sylus’s head. The bird’s eyes glow faintly, a reflection of the same crimson hue in Sylus’s gaze.

"Mephisto?" you and Reese say at the same time, your voices overlapping in disbelief.

You take a step back, staring at the bird in shock. "Mephisto... he's been that bird this whole time?" The revelation hits you like a slap in the face. You'd seen the bird before—many times, in fact—but you’d never thought it was more than just an ordinary creature. Now, the sight of it perched so confidently on Sylus’s shoulder, surrounded by that ominous red mist, makes your head spin.

Reese, still on the ground, stares up at the bird and then back at you, his eyes wide with fear and confusion. "I thought your name was Meph—" he begins, his voice trembling as he looks between you and Sylus, but his words are abruptly cut off.

Sylus’s expression hardens instantly, the playful amusement evaporating as he glares down at Reese with pure disdain. His eyes darken, the malice in them palpable as he takes a step toward Reese, who shrinks back, trembling.

"Don’t talk to her," Sylus snaps, his voice cold and sharp, dripping with venom. The possessiveness in his tone is undeniable, a clear warning that Reese’s mere presence, let alone his attempt to speak to you, is unforgivable in Sylus’s eyes. The tension in the room grows suffocating, the danger swirling around Sylus like a storm barely contained, and you can’t help but feel the weight of his protectiveness—both unsettling and strangely reassuring.

Mephisto caws again, the shrill sound echoing through the room as if punctuating Sylus’s command.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground. Your head spins, barely able to process what's going on here. You suddenly feel dizzy, as if the room was getting smaller and smaller.

You hadn't truly escaped from him. Not once, the entire time you had been gone. He had been watching. His influence here stretched farther than you could ever imagine.

Reese looks away, trembling on the ground, clearly too terrified to challenge Sylus any further. His presence becomes insignificant in the midst of everything else crashing down around you. Your head spins, the room seeming to close in on you as the weight of the situation presses against your chest. It’s suddenly hard to breathe, as if the air itself is suffocating you. You try to steady yourself, but a dizzying realization takes hold.

Every step you’d taken, every move you thought was yours alone—he had been watching.

Mephisto.

Sylus had seen everything, every moment you thought you were free, unraveling in front of your eyes now like a cruel illusion. His influence, his reach—it stretched farther than you could have ever imagined.

The invisible leash you thought you’d slipped off, the one you were so sure you'd broken, had never left your neck at all. It had been there the whole time, just waiting to tighten when he decided.

Your pulse quickens, panic settling in as the walls seem to close in tighter, the room shrinking around you. The thought of being watched, controlled, all while you believed you had any autonomy—it sends a cold wave of dread down your spine. Sylus’s smirk, the way he speaks so casually about it, only amplifies the feeling that you were never really out of his grasp.

He knew. He always knew where you were.

And here he stands, calm and possessive, like he’s merely reclaiming what was his all along.

The weight of it all becomes too much to bear, and your legs give way beneath you. You crumble to the floor, feeling as though the world has closed in around you. The realization sinks deeper, suffocating you with the cold, hard truth—despite all your efforts, all your fighting, you’re right back where you started. The leash had never been cut. You hadn’t escaped. And now, the path ahead is one you thought you'd left behind.

Your body trembles, you let out a sob, overwhelmed by the torrent of emotions—fear, frustration, resignation. But before the panic can fully take over, you feel a hand brush against your shoulder, light and reassuring. Sylus crouches down beside you, his presence filling the space, his voice low and deceptively soothing.

"Shh, kitten," he murmurs softly, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a caress, though it only twists the knife deeper in your chest. "It’s alright. I’ve found you, its okay." His tone is affectionate, but there’s something twisted lurking beneath the surface, a dark possessiveness wrapped in that comforting voice.

"You're mine again," Sylus whispers, his voice soft but laced with an iron-clad certainty. His fingers delicately trace small circles on your back, sending involuntary shivers up your spine. You don't look at him, unable to meet his eyes. Your chest tightens, and you can feel the threat of tears building, teetering dangerously close to spilling over.

As much as you wanted to leave this wretched place, to escape the nightmare of it all, the thought of being trapped with him—completely under his control—felt just as suffocating. Maybe more. Yet, despite that suffocating feeling, your body betrays you. You’re not pulling away from him. You’re not resisting.

Why weren’t you leaning away from him right now?

"Don't cry," he murmurs, leaning closer, his breath warm against your skin, drowning out the cold, damp air of the basement. "Not now. Not in front of them."

Before you can process his words, the room fills with a new, horrific sound. Reese and the bleeding man on the ground suddenly scream, the agony ripping from their throats. Red tendrils of mist swirl violently around their bodies, coiling like snakes ready to strike. The sound of broken bones echoes sharply through the space as Reese is slammed into the back wall next to his fallen comrade, the impact brutal, unforgiving. The sight sends a fresh wave of horror washing over you.

You instinctively shift your gaze toward the carnage, wanting to see what’s happening—but Sylus’s hand shoots up, his fingers gripping your chin firmly. With a gentle yet unyielding force, he turns your face back to him, refusing to let you look anywhere else but into his crimson eyes.

"Look at me," he commands softly, his tone dark but calm, as if the violence behind you was nothing but a trivial distraction. His fingers are warm against your skin, his touch disturbingly tender despite the chaos around you.

His crimson eyes lock onto yours, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a vice. He leans in closer, his bourbon cologne enveloping your senses, his presence suffocating yet intoxicating.

"I’m the only one," he murmurs, his voice a possessive, almost dangerous softness, "who gets to see you cry."

The declaration sends a chill down your spine, and your heart clenches at the weight of it. There's a dark finality in his words—a twisted claim over every ounce of your suffering, every emotion that was once yours, now his to control. The room feels smaller, the air thinner, as if everything in this moment is solely for him, as though the very act of your tears belongs to him and him alone.

You can feel the tears threatening again, but now even that feels like giving in to him—another part of yourself slipping through your fingers, taken by the man who holds you so tightly in his grip, both physically and mentally. And as his thumb lingers on your cheek, his gaze never wavering, you realize just how much he's wrapped himself in every aspect of your life.

The screaming in the room builds to a deafening crescendo, filling every inch of the space with the sounds of agony. Reese’s voice cuts through the chaos, desperate, pleading.

“Please, make him stop! Ask him to stop!” Reese begs, his voice cracking, raw from pain and terror. His broken body trembles against the wall, red mist still coiling around him like a vice, squeezing the life out of him with every passing second. He looks at you, eyes wide, desperate, his fear palpable.

"I-I helped you! R-remember? I'm sorry!"

For a moment, you hesitate, frozen in place, the weight of his suffering tugging at some distant part of your conscience. Should you take pity on him? The thought flickers briefly in your mind. But then you remember. The lies, the manipulation, how he had dragged you into this nightmare without a second thought. Your heart hardens.

You look at him, your voice cold and unwavering.

“Go to hell, Reese.”

The words cut through the air, sharp and final. Reese’s eyes widen in horror, but before he can speak another word, Sylus moves with a calm, terrifying ease. Without a second thought, he reaches into his coat, pulling out a sleek black pistol. The room falls eerily silent for a brief second, the chaos holding its breath.

And then, without a word or hesitation, Sylus points the gun at Reese and pulls the trigger.

The shot rings out, and Reese’s body goes limp, his head lolling to the side as blood pools beneath him. The life drains from his eyes in an instant. The silence that follows is deafening, the weight of what just happened settling heavily in the air.

You stare at the scene in shock, unable to fully process how quickly it had all happened. Your breath catches in your throat, your mind racing as you look to Sylus. But he simply shrugs, completely unfazed, his expression calm and even slightly amused.

“I sent him to hell, just like you said, sweetie,” Sylus says casually, tucking the pistol away as if nothing had happened. His voice is smooth, disturbingly nonchalant, like this was just another task to cross off his list. His eyes, however, flicker with something darker—satisfaction, perhaps, or just a quiet thrill at doing what he believed you wanted.

Your stomach twists, a mixture of shock and disbelief churning inside you. Sylus turns his gaze back to you, his smirk still present, as if waiting for your approval or reaction. You say nothing, just watching as Reese's once lively body slumped to the floor.

Sylus then turns his attention to the last man still clinging to life, his crimson eyes narrowing with cold calculation. Without a word, the red mist surrounding him begins to swirl, thickening and intensifying with an ominous hum. The tendrils of mist snake their way toward the man, wrapping around him like a tightening noose.

The man’s breathing becomes erratic, desperate gasps for air as his body convulses. He tries to scream once more, but no sound escapes his throat as the mist constricts further, crushing the last remnants of life out of him. His limbs jerk, his eyes wide with terror as the pressure grows unbearable.

Sylus watches with a dark, detached satisfaction, his hand slightly raised as if guiding the mist with an almost casual precision. Then, Sylus clenches his fist. And with a final, sickening crack, the man’s body gives way. The force of Sylus’s power snaps through him like a vice tightening too fast. His chest caves in, bones splintering as the red mist crushes him entirely.

A grotesque splatter erupts as his body meets the tiled shower wall behind him, his carnage painting it in violent shades of red. Blood and tissue streak down the wall, dripping in a slow, macabre trail, the remnants of his existence.

You flinch, your breath catching in your throat at the brutality of it all, but Sylus remains calm, lowering his hand as the mist dissipates, his expression indifferent to the destruction he’s caused.

"Sorry," Sylus says smoothly, his tone as casual as if he had just finished a routine task. His gaze slides back to you, eyes gleaming with quiet satisfaction. "I didn't want them breathing the same air as you any longer."

The room is deathly silent now, save for the slow drip of blood from the walls, and the overwhelming finality of it all settles in your chest. You can't tear your eyes away from the gruesome scene, the shock numbing your senses as Sylus steps in front of you, his presence once again wrapping around you like a suffocating mist. His dark eyes bore into yours, a predator sizing up its prey, his calmness only amplifying the terror that gnaws at the edges of your mind.

You flinch as the squelch of his shoes on the blood-soaked floor breaks the silence, your heart pounding in your throat. Every instinct tells you to run, but your legs refuse to obey, frozen in the icy grip of fear. Sylus tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, unreadable smile.

"Woo hoo! Boss is so cool!" Luke chimes in, his bubbly voice shattering the eerie stillness. He gives Kieran a high five before erupting into a fit of laughter. The contrast between his cheerful tone and the grotesque scene feels jarring, almost surreal. You glance at him, baffled by the carefree attitude, as if the carnage before him was nothing more than an impressive show.

He bounces on his feet, voice shrill with admiration as he watches Sylus with the same excitement one might have for a favorite hero. The dissonance is unsettling, pulling you deeper into the spiraling nightmare, where the boundaries between reality and madness blur with each passing second.

Sylus doesn’t react to Luke’s enthusiasm, his focus entirely on you.

Sylus, now visibly more at ease after the extermination of the two men, steps forward with a calm confidence. His eyes never leave yours as he crouches down and effortlessly grabs you from the floor, hoisting you up into his arms as if you weigh nothing. The abruptness of it sends a jolt through your body, and you instinctively try to push away, but his grip only tightens—firm, yet almost playful, like a cat owner gently restraining a stubborn pet.

His chest rumbles with a low chuckle, and when he speaks, his voice is laced with dark amusement. "Ah ah, I won’t let my kitten scatter off a second time."

Your body begins to tremble uncontrollably in his arms, the weight of the situation finally crashing over you like a wave. You had escaped—however briefly—and now you were trapped again. The suffocating inevitability of it wraps itself around you, a crushing reminder that there was bound to be a punishment for trying to flee. Your mind flashes with memories of him slicing open your arm, the cold, detached precision of it, and you wince as the old wound aches in response.

"Please... I'm sorry," you whine, your voice barely above a whisper as tears prick at the corners of your eyes. "Don’t hurt me again, don’t punish me."

Sylus tilts his head slightly, his dark eyes watching you with that unsettling mixture of amusement and something that borders on tenderness. "Sweetie, it’s okay," he whispers, his tone disturbingly gentle. He reaches up to brush a bit of dirt from your face, his fingers cold against your skin. "Do you really think I’m going to hurt you? Am I that scary?"

Despite the soft cadence of his voice, the dissonance between his words and the twisted affection in his gaze only amplifies your fear. He holds you securely as he begins to ascend the stairs, leaving the bloodied carnage in the basement to rot, a gruesome memory that would never wash away.

As you both make your way out of the metal hatchet you spot various bags filled with small white powdery substances settled on the couch and tables.

Drugs. Reese had been tricking girls and trading them for drugs.

The air grows cooler as you pass through the broken, dingy living room and out into the crisp, suffocating night of the N109 Zone. With a shrill caw, and a flatter of his wings, Mephisto takes flight and disappears into the night sky.

A dark car with blacked-out windows waits for you at the curb, its ominous presence sending your heart racing again. You think about making a run for it—just for a fleeting second—but that hope vanishes as the twins scatter hurriedly to the front seats, and Sylus pushes you both into the back with an effortless shove.

The car roars to life, and the world outside begins to blur as you realize the inevitable: you were headed back to your cage, the one you had fought so desperately to leave. Sylus keeps you firmly straddled on his lap, his grip unyielding, as if he thought you’d vanish into the night if he let go for even a moment. His eyes, sharp and predatory, stay locked on you, unblinking and watchful.

For a while, the only sound is the hum of the engine as it cuts through the night, the silence between you as suffocating as his hold. Then, suddenly, Sylus lets out a long sigh, breaking the quiet as he leans forward, his face burying into the curve of your neck. The unexpected closeness makes your skin prickle. He nuzzles into your skin like a bird seeking warmth, though you doubted you smelled like anything but blood and grime.

"I missed you," he whispers, his voice soft but strained, as though it carries a deep weight of worry. He shifts, tilting his head up to look at you, his gaze surprisingly gentle, like someone gazing at something precious. His eyes search yours, a strange vulnerability flickering behind the usual cold dominance. "So, so much."

Something tightens in your chest at the sight of him looking at you this way, as though you were his treasure, something he had longed for. The sincerity in his expression shakes you, confusing your thoughts even further. Could he possibly mean it?

"Did you miss me?" he asks, his lips curling into a small, almost playful smile.

You just stare at him, uncertain how to respond. The words lodge in your throat, and before you can stop yourself, you turn your head away, avoiding his eyes. The truth is, you don’t know what to feel. Had you missed him? Or were you just desperate to be saved, no matter who?

He chuckles softly at your reaction, resting his head gently against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. "It’s okay," he murmurs. "You don’t have to answer."

As the car speeds deeper into the dark, your mind begins to spiral, thoughts tangling into knots you can’t unravel. As his arms tighten around you, keeping you pinned in place, you ponder a persistent thought.

Sylus had said he wouldn’t hurt you—but he never said he wouldn’t punish you.

#umi writes ♡︎#love and deepspace #sylus x reader #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus #sylus x reader smut #l&ds smut #lads #love and deepspace x reader #love and deep space x reader #loveanddeepspace #lnds #l&ds #love and deep space smut #lads smut #love and deep space sylus #l

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 7 months ago

Text

𝘿𝘼𝙔 𝙏𝙃𝙍𝙀𝙀: Threesome w/ Spencer Reid [ft. Elle Greenaway]

a/n: OKAYYY this is my first time writing for elle so please have mercy on me!! this fic is unbelievably dirty and i disappeared into my hole a time or two before finishing it, so enjoy!

masterlist | kinktober masterlist | AO3

She’s watching, she’s always watching.

Spencer’s eating you out with abandon with his eyes squeezed shut, though his naked lower half is grinding desperately against the hotel bed sheets below him.

You can’t find it within yourself to warn him, to tell him that Elle hadn’t given him permission to get himself off just yet.

You were only supposed to be exchanging ideas about the case together in her hotel room, but this… this is just something that the three of you do sometimes, but never, ever during a case.

You can tell that she was frustrated as she looked between you and the boy genius that screamed the need for control, because she didn’t like being clueless, didn’t like not being able to step in when she wanted. So, why not control the two people who are more than willing to have sex with each other?

One of Spencer’s long, veiny hands were intertwined with yours, the other two fingers deep and scraping against your g-spot.

“Mmf – gah!” You cried out, back arching.

“Spencer.” Elle says in warning, her eyes locked on where his hips are gyrating on the bed.

Spencer’s mouth disconnects from you, and he rests his cheek on the inside of your full thigh, huffing and desperately trying to take in air. His fingers don’t stop moving, but he squeezes his eyes closed in an attempt to stop him.

“‘M sorry, ‘m sorry. ‘M just so hard…” His words trail off into a whine and you take pity on him, threading your fingers through his hair in support.

Elle watches for a moment before it looks like she makes a decision.

“Get up. She’s gonna ride you.”

Your body heats up at the fact that she’s talking about you like you aren’t there, but Spencer is quick to slip out of your hold, the man being sweet enough to grip you by your hands to help rearrange both of your bodies until you’re sat on top of him.

You grip his cock, eager to sit down on him before Elle goes, “Stop.”

You freeze and throw a desperate eye over your shoulder.

She’s stripping herself out of her t-shirt and jeans, leaving behind her matching black lace set. If you didn’t know her any better, you would think that she planned this. That’s the thing about your dom, she was always such a wild card.

“I’m gonna guide you and set the pace, and if you go any faster than I told you two, you both aren’t cumming at all.”

Your eyes quickly find Spencer’s and the look that you send him is pleading, because you know how needy he gets when he’s wired up, and the both of you have been edged for the past hour; you were to be eaten out without orgasming, and that went the same for him.

“Yes, Mistress.” Was Spence’s breathless reply, and you sent him a small, thankful smile.

She clambers onto the bed, a beautifully manicured hand landing on your hand, the other gripping Spencer’s dick cruelly.

A loud whimper resonates around the room, and you trail your hands down his soft yet lean chest, a soothing gesture. She slowly lowers your body down onto him, his hardness breaching your entrance.

You can feel every pulsing vein and ridge as he finally bottoms out, a long moan forces its way from your throat. Elle trails her lips up the side of your neck, and her other hand holds your free hip now, both of them settled on you.

“How does it feel?” She murmurs into the shell of your ear, and you shiver. “Good…” You mewl, back arching, “So good.”

“You hear that, Spence? She thinks you feel good. What do you say?”

“Th…” He gulps. “Thank you.”

She hums. “Good boy.”

Elle lifts your hips up once more and you follow her, the drag slow and merciful and you cry out on when you’re dropped back down, the tip of Spencer’s cock jabbing at your g-spot.

Spencer’s strained moan resounds from below you, his teeth clenched and hands gripping at the fat of your waist, right above hers.

“Move your hips to meet me.” She commands, and he follows.

The pace is wonky at first before a steady rhythm is established. She’s basically making you ride him, and all you could do is take it, head falling forward.

“Mistress, can I kiss him please?” You whine, eyes locked and his.

“Mm.” She hums, teasing for a moment. “Sure.” When she says so, she pushes you down by your shoulder, so you and Spencer are chest-to-chest.

You lock lips, but she sets harder thrusts that steal your breath away, practically punching sounds out of the both of you as you whimper into each other's mouths.

“Are any of you close?” She questions.

You feel Spencer nod, dislodging your kissing. “Yes, yes! ‘M close.”

She calls your name, and you crane your neck the best as you can to look at her. “Are you close?”

“Yeah.” The words are small and meek but they’re there, and you’re falling so quickly into subspace that all you can do is trust her to get you where you need to be. “Rub her clit, Spence, and when she cums, then you can.”

He’s quick to move, reaching between your squished bodies to rub at your lower half, the woman never stopping the movement between the two of you.

With every jab at your g-spot mixed with his bony fingers rubbing at you, you feel that familiar tightening of your gut before you call out, “Cumming!” As your warning.

You rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder as Elle assists the genius with reaching his end with your pussy. You hear a loud, pornographic moan resound throughout the room combined with the sound of wet slapping, before your insides feel warm with his release.

You all stop and pause, both of your chests rising and falling with exertion.

“You guys did so well.” Elle praises, dragging her hand down your spine. “Are you okay?” She asks. “Mhm.” The two of you hum.

“What about you?” Spencer rumbles from below you. “I’m fine.” She waves away his question.

“This was enough.”

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inksreid · 1 month ago

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Just Like that . / S.REID / SUMMARY—

You weren’t jealous no never , you knew he deserved to be happy after everything he been through, you just wished it was with you .. you admired his girlfriend.

Pairing— Jealous!fem!reader X post prison S.Reid / Wc: 1.k / Sad angst hurt jealousy no use of your name . Feelings get revealed after Spencer guessed it right . he didn’t mean for it to happen but he ends up kissing you . Happy ending wasn’t expecting that twist .

A/notes … I wanted to do little something where reader was jealous but she admired Spencer new girlfriend I hope you guys enjoy my little spring surprises , I love spring so much . If I missed anything please be kind still learning to process through everything. *If you liked it please consider re-blogging or liking it comments are very appreciated*

divided by @anemichorizon2

The moment you stepped into the bullpen, your stomach twisted. There she was—as she leaned on the edge of Spencer’s desk, coffee in hand, eyes bright as she giggled at whatever statistic he’d just rattled off. Her laughter rang through the room, light and effortless, like she actually found probability equations charming.

Great. She’s back.

You barely whispered it, but Derek still heard. He leaned in, grinning. “Play nice.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Jealousy doesn’t look good on you,” he added, voice dripping with amusement.

“I’m not jealous,” you muttered, but even you didn’t believe it.

As you passed, she turned to you, all smiles. “Hey!”

Your lips stretched into something resembling a greeting. “Hi.”

It tasted bitter.

You kept walking, but the question burned at the back of your mind.

What did she have that you didn’t?

“Hey, Sweets,” she calls, to Spencer all sunshine and ease. “I’m heading out. Have a great day!”

Spencer gives her a small smile, the kind that makes your stomach twist. “You too.”— he says …

She turns to you, waves like you’re old friends. You force yourself to lift a hand in return.

The second she’s gone, you huff under your breath, “Does she have it out for me or something? Geez.”

You make a beeline for the break room, desperate for a moment alone, but you don’t realize Spencer has followed until the door clicks shut behind him.

“What’s up with you lately?” His voice is calm, but there’s that quiet, analytical edge to it—the one that always cuts straight through people.

Great. How are you supposed to get out of this?

“I’m fine,” you say, reaching for the coffee pot like that’ll somehow sell it.

“You’re not.” His eyes study you, sharp but not unkind. “It’s written all over your face.”

You swallow hard, focusing on pouring your coffee.

“Do you think you could be a little nicer to my girlfriend?”

Ouch. You say .. thanks Spence you thought , trying to fight the tears .

Your grip tightens around the handle. “I thought I was.”

"Talk to me," Spencer says, his voice gentle. "We’re friends."

Friends. The word stings more than it should.

“I’m good, Spence. Honestly.” You force a smile, waving him off. “Please, just stop, okay? It’s not even worth getting into.”

“It isn’t?” He steps closer, studying you the way he studies crime scenes—methodically, like he’s piecing together a puzzle only he can see.

“No, it’s not,” you insist, arms crossing. “You’re happy, and I’m happy for you.” You even manage a smile, hoping it’s convincing.

But Spencer doesn’t buy it. His head tilts slightly, eyes scanning your face. “No, you’re not,” he murmurs. “I can see it.”

Your stomach knots.

“How do I prove it?” you ask, your voice quieter now, almost unsure.

watching you closely.

Your gaze locks with his for a moment before you drop your eyes to the floor. “Look, Spence… I can’t do this.”

“Yes, you can,” he counters, stepping closer. “Because we’re not leaving this room until you tell me what’s going on. Or do I have to spell it out for you?”

Your jaw tightens. “You tell me what you think, then, Spence.”

“Okay. Sit.”

“No.”

“SIT,” he says, his voice calm but firm.

Fine. You pull out a chair and drop into it, arms crossed.

Spencer exhales, studying you like he’s working through a case. “Ready for the truth?”

You don’t respond, but he continues anyway.

“You don’t like her. My girlfriend.”

You scoff. “Please stop.”

“No.” His voice is steady, unwavering. “The reason you don’t like her is because you’re into me. You’re in love with me.”

Your breath catches.

“And you have been for a while,” he says, his tone softer now, but no less certain. “But you can’t admit it—to yourself or to me.”

Silence stretches between you, thick, suffocating.

“But I can’t keep waiting around for you,” he finishes. “For when you decide to.”

“This isn’t fair,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Fair?” Spencer’s eyes narrow. “You don’t think hearing the truth is fair?”

“No,” you murmur, shaking your head. “You—being this way toward me. It’s not fair.”

His brows furrow. “How am I supposed to be toward you?”

You swallow hard. “I’m sorry, Spence,” you admit, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry for not admitting it.”

Spencer stills. When he first said it, he’d only been guessing—poking at the edges of a theory, testing a hypothesis. But now? Now he knows he was right.

You’ve been in love with him this whole time.

“Why couldn’t you just tell me?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost pleading.

Your throat tightens. You look away. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “Because… I don’t deserve you.”

“You deserve her,” you say softly. “Your girlfriend.”

Spencer watches you closely, but you keep your gaze fixed on the floor. “She’s kind, honest. She knows what she wants. She went after it—and she got you.”

You swallow hard, trying to fight the burn behind your eyes.

“I don’t hate her, Spencer,” you admit. “I admire her. She’s everything I’m not.” A shaky breath escapes you. “You deserve to be happy… even if I don’t get to be the one who makes you happy.”

Spencer reaches for your hand, hesitation flickering in his eyes.

“If I had known…” he starts, but you shake your head.

“It wouldn’t have changed things,” you whisper. “It was too late for me the moment you first mentioned her.”

Spencer wasn’t sure what to do next.

“We’re friends, right?” you ask softly.

“The best,” he says without hesitation, but his heart is racing, pounding so hard he wonders if you can hear it.

“I really wish I had known sooner,” he admits.

You offer a small, bittersweet smile. “It’s okay, Spence. Sometimes… we don’t get the person we want.” Your voice is steady, but the weight of the words settles between you like an unspoken truth.

“And sometimes we do,” you add, forcing a lightness into your tone. “Because you got her.”

Spencer watches you, searching for something in your expression, but you just smile a little brighter—like that will be enough to convince him.

“I’ll do my best to be a little nicer. Friendlier,” you say….

He chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, she’s not going to be around much. Today was just… um.” He exhales, searching for the right words. “She got an internship at a law firm in New York. And, um… she’s taking it. She just wanted to say goodbye.”

Your breath catches. “Wait—what?” You blink at him, trying to process it. “She’s leaving?”

Spencer nods, his expression unreadable. “Yeah. But… we’re gonna try the long-distance thing.”

Something tightens in your chest, but you force yourself to keep your voice steady. “Oh.” The word slips from your lips before you can stop it.

Spencer’s eyes lock onto yours, searching—analyzing, the way he always does.

“Sorry,” you murmur, forcing a small smile. “I just… wasn’t expecting to hear that.” You inhale sharply, steadying yourself. “I’m happy for her. And I’m happy that you’re gonna try to make it work with her.”

The words taste bitter. You drop your gaze to the floor, focusing on anything but him.

“I should really get back,” you say quickly, desperate for an escape. “We’ve got case files to put away and…” Your throat tightens. “And I don’t think I can sit here any longer without wanting you more—knowing she’s leaving for New York.” The confession slips out, raw and quiet. “I’m sorry.”

You push back your chair, standing too fast, needing to leave before you do something reckless.

But before you can take a step, Spencer speaks.

“You’re sorry?” His voice is softer now, almost disbelieving.

You start walking toward the door, but Spencer steps in front of you, blocking your path.

“Please, Spence,” you whisper, your voice tight. “You’re with someone.” You say it like a reminder—to him, to yourself.

“I know,” he says, but there’s something conflicted in his voice.

“Damn it,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “How am I supposed to handle this?”

“I don’t know,” you say, shrugging helplessly.

“You should have told me sooner.”

“Why?” you challenge, crossing your arms.

“Because—for the longest time—”

“No, Spence.” You shake your head, cutting him off. “You don’t get to do this. Because if you do this—”

Before you can finish, he pulls you into his arms, holding you close.

“If I do this?” His voice is low, almost challenging. “What then?”

You inhale sharply, your hands resting against his chest. “We can’t. Not like this. Not when you’re still in a relationship.”

Spencer exhales, frustrated, before pulling out his phone. His brows furrow as he reads a text, his lips parting slightly.

“What is it?” you ask hesitantly.

He doesn’t answer right away, just rereads the message—once, twice, three times. Finally, he turns the screen toward you.

I’m sorry to do this over the phone, Spence, but I’ve been thinking… Maybe long-distance isn’t the best idea. You deserve someone who can be there for you, and that someone isn’t me right now. I’m sorry.

“She… broke things off,” he says, still processing it.

“Spence, I’m so sorry,” you say, and you mean it.

He looks at you for a long moment before stepping closer. Then, without warning, he pulls you back into his arms.

“Spence,” you murmur, but he doesn’t let go.

Instead, he tucks a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering against your skin.

“I have to do this,” he whispers.

And then he leans in, slow and deliberate.

You weren’t expecting it, he leans in to kiss you with passion like no one’s ever kissed you before ..

What now ? You say pulling back ? …

That was amazing Spencer added , “ maybe we should talk about us he added with a smile maybe over coffee or dinner? — definitely dinner you say holding on to his shirt while he has you in his arms still .. “Great, dinner it is he says .

Sam’s tags : @dearlenore @lover-rep-fanfic @cheriesbucky @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id

#criminal minds #criminal minds fandom #spencer reid #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #Spencer Reid X Oc #Sam’s spring love in the air fics #doctor spencer reid #Sam fics #spencer reid comfort #spencer reid fanfic

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xomakara · 5 months ago

Text

It's You

SUMMARY | You're a publicist secretly in love with your famous client, San, but his manager thinks you should cook up a story about him and his co-star to generate buzz for their upcoming movie. This involves arranging dates and photo ops for the two of them, but you can't help but notice he seems more interested in you.

PAIRINGS | San x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+, Any Minors and Ageless Blogs will be blocked

GENRE | smut, actor!San, publicist!Reader, slight angst

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), handjob, oral sex (male giving/female receiving), slight dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, vaginal penetration, couch sex, office sex

LENGTH | 3,300 words

TAGLIST | ---

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @cromernet @k-vanity @ksmutsociety @othersideoutlawsnetwork

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I finally managed to finish this fic that has been sitting in my WIP folder for months. I feel like this one is a bit lackluster compared to my other stuff but I hope you all love and enjoy this. Love you ❤️

ATEEZ Main Masterlist

"Do you think this is a good idea?" San’s voice cuts through the sterile air of your office, low and gravelly. You glance up from the stack of papers on your desk, meeting his piercing gaze.

"It’s not just a good idea," you say, forcing yourself to sound confident, even though your heart is pounding. "It’s necessary."

San leans forward, resting his elbows on your desk, his face inches from yours. The faint scent of cedarwood and spice invades your senses, making it hard to focus.

"Necessary?" he repeats, his mouth quirking into a half-smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. "For who? The movie? Or for you?"

You swallow hard, resisting the urge to look away.

"For both," you reply, trying to keep your voice steady. "The studio wants buzz, San. They want people talking about you and Jiae. This is how we generate that."

"Buzz," he mutters, running a hand through his tousled hair. His smile fades, replaced by a tense line of frustration. "Yeah, because nothing says 'authentic' like fake dates and staged photo ops."

You bite your lip, glancing down at the script in front of you. The words blur together as your mind races. You know this is the right move. It’s your job, after all—to manage his public image, to protect his career. But when you look back up at him, his expression stops you cold. There’s something raw in his gaze, something that feels... personal.

"San," you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I know this isn’t ideal, but—"

"Ideal?" he interrupts, leaning closer. "Is it ideal for me to pretend I’m head over heels for someone I can’t stand just so people will buy tickets to a movie? Or is it ideal for you to sit here and tell me how to live my life?"

Your breath catches in your throat. You want to argue, to remind him that this is what fame entails, but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only person in the room like you’re the one he’s really upset with—makes it impossible to form words.

"San," you start again, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Forget it," he says, standing abruptly. He runs a hand through his hair again, pacing across the small space of your office. "I don’t need this right now. I’ll do whatever you want, okay? Just... stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?" you ask, unable to stop yourself. Your pulse quickens as you realize how close you still are and how vulnerable the moment feels.

San stops pacing, turning to face you. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, you think he’s going to leave without another word. But then his eyes lock onto yours, and something shifts.

"Like you care," he murmurs, his voice so low you almost don’t hear him.

The room falls silent, the tension between you thickening like smoke. You open your mouth to respond, but no words come out. Instead, you feel the heat creeping up your neck, your cheeks burning under his scrutiny.

San watches you, his expression unreadable. And then, just as suddenly as it began, he turns on his heel and walks out of the office, leaving you alone with your racing thoughts.

The truth is, you do care. More than you should, more than you ever intended to.

Ever since San became your client, you’ve been fighting a losing battle against your feelings. His charm, his intensity, the way he somehow manages to balance chaos and control—it’s intoxicating. And every time he looks at you like that, like you’re more than just his publicist, it’s harder to remember why this is a terrible idea.

But it is a terrible idea. You know that better than anyone. Falling for your client? No. You can’t let that happen.

So instead, you throw yourself into planning the fake romance. Dates at trendy restaurants, walks through crowded parks, intimate interviews where he and Jiae can “accidentally” let slip details about their “relationship.” And yet, despite your best efforts, things keep slipping. Like the way San keeps finding excuses to touch you during meetings or the way his eyes linger on you a little too long when he thinks no one’s looking.

Jiae notices, of course. She’s sharp, and perceptive, and she doesn’t miss much. During one of your strategy sessions, she leans back in her chair, appraising you with a knowing smirk.

"This isn’t going to work," she says casually, flipping through your prepared itinerary.

You blink, momentarily thrown. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, please," she laughs, tossing the papers aside. "He’s not interested in me, and you know it."

Your stomach drops. "That’s not—"

"Save it," she interrupts, waving a hand dismissively. "Look, I get it, eonnie. You’re his publicist. You’re supposed to be impartial, professional, blah blah blah. But let’s be real here—the chemistry between us is about as convincing as a cardboard cutout."

You stare at her, unsure of how to respond. Part of you wants to deny it, to insist that everything will go according to plan. But deep down, you know she’s right. San’s energy shifts whenever you’re around, his focus zeroing in on you in a way that makes it impossible to ignore.

"So what do you suggest?" you ask, your voice tight.

Jiae grins, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "I suggest you stop pretending you don’t see it. Because trust me, eonnie, he’s into you."

Before you can muster a rebuttal, she stands, smoothing out her dress. "Have fun with that," she says with a wink, breezing out of the room before you can recover.

Alone again, you sink into your chair, letting her words sink in. He’s into you. Of course, he is. How could he not be? You’re the one who’s always there, the one who knows him better than anyone else. But knowing that doesn’t make it any easier. If anything, it makes it worse.

Because now you have to figure out how to handle this. Do you continue with the fake romance, pushing your feelings aside in the name of professionalism? Or do you confront San, and risk everything by admitting how you feel?

The thought of either option makes your head spin. But as you sit there, replaying the conversation with Jiae, something stirs in your chest. A flicker of defiance, maybe, or just plain curiosity. What would happen if you gave in? If you let yourself explore this connection, even just for a moment?

Just as you’re about to push yourself up from the chair, the door swings open again. San steps inside, his presence instantly filling the room. He closes the door behind him, his movements deliberate, almost predatory.

"We need to talk," he says simply, his voice steady but charged with something unspoken.

You nod, standing slowly. "About the—"

"Not about the movie," he interrupts, taking a step toward you. "About us."

"Us?" you echo faintly, your voice trembling despite your best efforts. Your breath hitches as he closes the distance between you, his eyes never leaving yours. San’s gaze softens, his expression shifting from intense to something almost tender.

"Yeah," he murmurs, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. His fingers linger, grazing your skin in a way that sends shivers down your spine. "Us."

Your breath catches in your throat as San’s hand slides from your hair to your jaw, his touch warm and firm. The room seems to shrink around you, the world outside forgotten. All that exists is this moment—this man—and the undeniable pull between you.

“San…” you whisper, a plea and a question all at once. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you feel it burning in your chest: permission, understanding, something more than just this fragile connection.

His eyes darken, and for a split second, you think he’ll step back, and put some distance between you. But then his other hand cups your face, tilting it up toward his. His thumb traces the curve of your cheekbone, and you can feel the tremor in his fingers, the same one reverberating through you.

“I’ve been trying not to do this,” he admits softly, his voice rough with emotion. “Trying to stay professional, to keep things… clean. But I can’t anymore.”

You swallow hard, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might burst out of your chest. “San, we can’t… This isn’t—”

“I know,” he cuts you off, his voice low and urgent. “I know what we’re supposed to be doing. I know how this looks. But none of it matters when I’m standing here looking at you.”

He leans in closer, his breath fanning across your lips, and you wonder if you should pull away, remind him of the consequences, of the boundaries you’ve both spent years erecting. But then his lips brush against yours, gentle at first, testing, seeking permission.

And you give it.

The kiss starts slow, like two people afraid of breaking something too precious. But it doesn’t stay that way for long. San groans into your mouth, his hands tightening on your face as his tongue sweeps inside, claiming you. The sound vibrates through your body, setting every nerve on fire.

You grip his shirt, anchoring yourself as the world tilts dangerously. His taste floods your senses—warm, spicy, entirely intoxicating. You didn’t realize how much you needed this until now, until his lips were on yours, his body pressed against yours, solid and unyielding.

“Jesus, you feel so good,” San murmurs against your mouth, pulling back just enough to nuzzle your neck. He sucks a mark onto your collarbone, his teeth scraping lightly, and you gasp, arching into him.

“San…” you manage, your voice shaky. “We shouldn’t—”

“Screw shouldn’t,” he growls, punctuating the words with another bite. His hands slide down your sides, skimming over your waist before settling on your hips. He tugs you flush against him, and you feel the proof of his desire pressing into your stomach.

You shudder, your brain short-circuiting as heat pools between your thighs. God, he felt incredible even fully clothed. The thought of getting him out of those clothes sends a bolt of desire straight to your core.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, his forehead resting against yours. His eyes are wild, and desperate, like he’s daring you to put an end to this madness.

But you don’t. You can’t. Not when your body is screaming for more, not when your heart is already halfway to falling for him. Instead, you tilt your head back, giving him better access to your neck, silently begging him to keep going.

San takes the invitation, his lips trailing lower, down the slope of your neck, over your shoulder. He pushes your blazer off your shoulders, letting it pool at your elbows before continuing his assault on your skin. His teeth nip at the exposed flesh above your bra, his tongue soothing the sting with languid swipes.

“Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” he mutters, his voice thick with lust. He drags his lips back up to yours, kissing you with a ferocity that leaves you breathless. His hands roam under your blouse, his palms hot against your bare skin.

You suck in a sharp breath as his fingers find the clasp of your bra. With a practiced flick, it releases, and your breasts spill free. San groans, cupping them in his hands, his thumbs grazing your hardened nipples.

“So perfect,” he whispers, lowering his head to take one into his mouth. He alternates between sucking and nibbling, his tongue laving circles around your sensitive peak. You clutch at his shoulders, your legs threatening to give out under the onslaught of sensation.

“San… please…” you beg, your voice barely audible over the roaring in your ears. You don’t even know what you’re asking for, only that you need more.

He pulls back long enough to yank your blouse over your head, tossing it aside without a second glance. Then his lips are on yours again, devouring you as his hands explore your body with unrestrained hunger.

“Touch me,” he demands, grabbing your hand and guiding it to the button of his jeans. His eyes bore into yours, intense and pleading. “Don’t stop this time.”

A thrill shoots through you as you fumble with the button, your fingers clumsy with anticipation. When the zipper finally gives, you slip your hand inside, finding him hard and ready for you. He gasps, his hips jerking into your touch as you stroke him firmly.

“God, yes…” he groans, his head falling back as he struggles to maintain control. But you can see the strain in his expression, the way his jaw clenched as he fights to hold himself together.

You want to break him. You want to see him unravel completely, to watch the walls he’s built around himself crumble. So you tighten your grip, quickening the pace as your other hand teases the waistband of his boxers.

“Take them off,” you command, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you.

San complies immediately, kicking off his shoes and shimmying out of his jeans and boxers in one swift motion. He stands before you completely exposed, every inch of him breathtakingly gorgeous.

“Now you,” he says, his tone commanding yet laced with vulnerability. He drops to his knees in front of you, his hands sliding up the insides of your thighs. “Let me see all of you.”

You hesitate for a fraction of a second, but then his fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt, and you lift your hips to let him strip you bare. When you’re fully undressed, he drops to his knees and presses a reverent kiss to the inside of your thigh, his breath hot against your skin.

“San…” you groan, your legs trembling as his mouth moves closer to your aching core.

“Shh,” he soothes, his voice muffled against your damp curls. “Let me take care of you.”

And then his tongue is on you, parting your folds and delving deep. You cry out, your head falling back as waves of pleasure crash over you. He laps at you greedily, his fingers probing and teasing until you’re writhing beneath him, consumed by a blinding sensation.

“San, please…” you beg again, your voice raw with need. “I can’t… I can’t wait…”

He doesn’t make you. Instead, he rises to his feet, lifting you effortlessly and carrying you to the couch. He sets you down gently, positioning himself between your thighs. His eyes lock onto yours as he lines himself up, poised to enter you.

“Look at me,” he commands, his voice steady despite the tension coiled in his body. “Keep your eyes on me.”

And then he thrusts into you, filling you. You gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders as your bodies connect for the first time. It’s overwhelming, all-consuming, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.

“San…” you murmur, your voice breaking as the reality of the situation crashes down on you.

“Say my name again,” he demands, his hips snapping forward with purpose. “Tell me you want this as much as I do.”

You nod frantically, your thoughts fragmented, your body too far gone to form coherent words. “Yes… San… please…”

He smiles, a wicked glint in his eye. “That’s what I thought,” he says, and then he drives into you harder, faster, his movements confident and sure. His lips find yours again, urgent and demanding as if he’s trying to devour every ounce of hesitation you might still be holding onto.

You gasp into the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. There’s no space between you now, no room for anything but the heat that’s been simmering between you for so long. This isn't your first time, but it feels different, important—not a quick and casual fuck, but something more, something special. This moment has been a long time coming; you both know it, feel it in the way your bodies seem made for each other, the way you slot together perfectly, as though every inch of you was designed with this connection in mind.

There will be time later for sweet nothings, gentle caresses, and murmured promises. Right now, neither of you has the patience for romance.

"Fuck," you moan, tilting your head to let him better access, his lips a trail of fire across your skin. You don't have to pretend this is perfect, that this feeling between the two of you was always meant to be—instead, you hold on for dear life as he takes you higher than you've ever been, the coil of pressure building inside you hotter and tighter than before.

"I've got you, sweetheart," San murmurs against the curve of your throat, the tone in his voice low enough that your entire body quakes at the sound. "Let me take care of you like a good girl."

When his hand falls to where you are both joined, his touch against your already sensitive nerves makes you yelp, a sudden jolt of electricity surging through your spine. San chuckles at the reaction, a rich and dark sound that rumbles against your ear. "So beautiful like this, baby, such a mess for me."

"San..." you whine, his name like a prayer tumbling from your lips as you teeter on the precipice. "Please, please don't stop, don't fucking stop--"

And he doesn't. He's relentless as his thumb draws small, tight circles over your center, the sound of your whimpers urging him to go faster and harder, until you are crying out, shuddering with pleasure.

"That's it," he says, his voice ragged now, raw and honest. "Let me hear you."

His pace shifts again, this time erratic, desperate. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply as he drives into you. “God, I’ve wanted this for so long,” he mutters, his voice muffled against your skin. “Wanted you… all this time.”

His admission sends a jolt of electricity through you, amplifying the already dizzying pleasure. You clutch at him, your body arching instinctively as you chase that elusive peak. “San… I—I think I’m going to—”

“Yes,” he growls, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. “Come for me. Right now.”

It’s too much, too fast, too good. Your vision blurs, your muscles tightening as you spiral over the edge, your release crashing over you in waves. You cry out his name, over and over, your body convulsing around him as you ride out the aftershocks.

He follows soon after, his movements faltering as he finds his release. For a moment, he’s still, his entire weight pressing you into the counter as he catches his breath. Then, slowly, he withdraws from you, leaving you feeling empty and spent.

In a matter of minutes, his world has been upended, and somehow, yours along with it. San runs his hand through his hair, his expression an intoxicating mix of awe and disbelief.

"How did we get here?" he asks softly, almost as if he were talking to himself.

"I don't know," you answer truthfully, still a little breathless.

He nods, silent for a long moment, and you worry that the spell is broken, the real world threatening to intrude upon this fantasy you'd constructed for yourself. And then, slowly, a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, and he raises an eyebrow. "Want to do it again?"

You laugh, relief rushing through your veins like a drug. "Let's go home first," you suggest, trailing a hand down his chest. "Where we can be more... thorough."

"Fair point," San murmurs, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss. "If I can only love one girl in this life, then it's you. It's you, baby."

#illusionnet #cromernet #kvanity #other side outlaws network #ksmutsociety #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez stories #ateez fanfics #ateez imagines #ateez smut #ateez san #san #choi san #san smut #ateez choi san #choi san x reader

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yandere-sins · 8 months ago

Text

A Camgirl's Happiness

a/n: To be fair, I know very little about actually streaming or cammodeling, and it's not as easy to read up on, so take my descriptions with a grain of salt. Also, I know that most people doing that job are really into it and I'm very happy for them, but I needed the drama for the story, hope you can understand! I hope you guys enjoy it regardless, it was fun to write!

Warnings: Yandere, Sexual Content (Reader is a camgirl, mentioning of stripping, fulfilling sexual favors for viewers), Fem!Reader, Life struggles (Debts, Mental health problems), Mention of stalking, Obsessive Behavior

You knew exactly what you were doing, pulling your legs up on your chair, squeezing your breasts just a bit more prominently towards the camera.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

"Hi SweetsMaster! Longtime no read! We're just talking today, but I'm so glad you made it to the stream!"

Ding! Ding!

Smiling, you watched the crushing waves of messages, your fanbase as active as ever as they flooded you with their adoration. Even when you had an image to uphold, you couldn't help but be pampered by their compliments, giggling and telling them to stop calling you adorable and their "dream girl".

Still, you played along to their fantasies, hid your face behind your palm coyly, and kept them believing that you were this cute internet star they loved so much. Life was hard, but getting an end to your means barely needed more than an hour or two talking about all the cute things you'd do if you had one of these lonely, unhappy people behind the screen as your partner. You didn't complain that they invested their savings into spending time with you instead of therapy.

Not like you ever considered going to therapy yourself, too ashamed of the truths you'd have to share.

You sighed inwardly, forcing yourself to smile a bit more convincingly at the camera as you took a sip of water, letting some drops fall into your cleavage. "Oopsie!" you giggled, forced to appear bashful, hoping no one clipped that. But what were you thinking? Of course, they did.

"Stop that, guys! How embarrassing! People will think I can't even drink!"

Sometimes you didn't recognize your own voice as you put on a show. The pitch was too high, your words made you cringe. As if you were in a sketch, rather than a life performance. You quickly wiped away the droplets sitting on top of your skin, threatening to run down the curve of your breasts as many of your viewers hoped before continuing to chat with the rapidly growing crowd. Being a camgirl had been fun once—unforced.

When you started doing it, you enjoyed the time with every new follower you got. Some were creeps, but some were genuinely nice people who paid you to do things you enjoyed. You didn't feel strange being yourself back then; people supported you just as you were. Taking off your clothes and doing favors was a fun little side hustle to get you through college. You didn't plan on doing this forever.

But even with your degree, your real job, and all the possibilities you had now, you couldn't stop streaming. You tried countless of times! But every time you said goodbye for good, your life was thrown into chaos, your bills left unpaid. You lost your job, lost your home, lost all the friends that couldn't watch your life being ruined.

And now, you were tired. So, so tired.

You got back on your feet, thanks to streaming. You found a new job, a new home. More and more people joined your shows; they bought you gifts and sent you money. Even if there was no one to share your earnings with, at least you didn't have to worry about your debts anymore. You'd stream after work, on the weekends, vacations. You organized photoshoots and sold your pictures and merch on the side, even though no one ever wanted to get hired by you to help with all the packaging and work it took.

> you're nothing like you were when you first started

Someone typed in chat, and your fake voice began to crack as you read it out loud. Quickly, you composed yourself, but it stung.

"Yeah, well, aren't we all someone different than, let's say, three years ago? I've grown a lot as a person since I first started! And thanks to you guys, I was able to afford better equipment, too!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You laughed at the incoming donations, forming a heart with your hands as you thanked your patrons. "That's going to be a new mic soon!"

> that's not what i meant

The same person from before wrote into the chat, their name—DarlingLover—highlighted in baby pink, revealing they were a superfan. You couldn't ignore them, even though you wished nothing more than for this conversation to end.

> you looked much happier back then

"That's not true!" you chimed up, using all your strength to press down the tears you felt shooting into your eyes. It was bittersweet to be seen in this industry. To not be objectified and idolized, but to have someone truly notice the person behind the on-camera persona.

"I love hanging out with you guys! I made so many new friends, and I'm grateful for all the support and love you guys have shown me! I would never have had the chance otherwise!"

Blowing some kisses towards the camera, your donations went wild, reassuring you that your cover hadn't been blown. You had to keep yourself together, you couldn't risk one perceptive fan to showcase how miserable you were. But perhaps you had to take it as a sign. A sign that it was enough for today. You needed to eat something, and the clock on your monitor—10:47 pm—reminded you that you skipped dinner long enough. And once you had some substance, you'd need the five hours of sleep before you'd have to drag yourself out of bed and to your real work.

"Okay, guys, that's it for tonight! Thank you all for joining our talking stream! I hope you had as much fun as I did!"

Slipping your hand beneath the spaghetti strap of your tank, you pushed it off your shoulder teasingly. "And just as a little reminder," you mumbled seductively, winking at your audience. "Join us tomorrow for a very fun night!"

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

You grinned cheekily, waving at the people and blowing them a few more kisses while the donations kept pinging in. Just two more clicks and you had closed the stream, watching it on your second monitor to see if your 'stream ended' notice got displayed properly. The animation had been damn expensive, and you wanted to use it to its fullest until it would be too outdated that you needed a new one.

Watching it for a while, you noticed that amongst the countless messages notifying you that someone left the stream, a few people still had a very eager conversation even after it ended. Immediately, the baby pink name of the superfan who had chatted with you before stood out, the user vehemently defending their standpoint against some newer fans. You clicked their names and checked them out, seeing the varying times from a few months to a few days of subscription to you, as well as the very sparse donation they made.

> i've been here longer, i'd know if she was truly happy

DarlingLover wrote, and you gulped, feeling the anxiety brewing inside your stomach. You couldn't believe they'd go out of their way to try and pull others on their side. Were they trying to ruin your career on purpose?

>> what an idiot lol >> srsly she wouldn't do it if she didn't want to >> yeah what the hell lol

A sigh of relief escaped you, seeing how the others didn't believe DarlingLover. Once again, your reputation was upheld even if it might cost you this superfan. It was expected in this industry to lose and gain followers. Some could withstand changes with their devotion, and others couldn't. You watched as the number of current visitors to your stream continued to drop relentlessly, the sight calming your mind.

You should have gotten up and made dinner, hit the hay before you could pity yourself any more than you had all evening. Your mood was already down the drain, but you were too exhausted to get up, thinking of just dropping into bed and sleeping until morning instead of doing anything else. You couldn't afford to not care for yourself, but it all felt so meaningless.

> Darling, you there?

A stray message popping up in chat caught your attention. You had three more visitors. Two must have just left it open on the side, but the third one was still chatting. With who? you wondered, waiting for someone to respond. But no one answered, DarlingLover, and a whole minute passed by.

> if you read this, can you message me privately? i want to book a private session

You inhaled deeply.

"Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck," you groaned, letting your head fall back against the gaming chair you had bought for your desktop setup. Pink and cute and so expensive. Private Sessions were the only reason you could afford a 500$ chair in the first place. But you really, really didn't want to. Really didn't want to entertain someone who had ruined your evening enough.

Click.

< Hi! :) You wanted a private session? Thank you so much, I look forward to it! Do you have a date in mind? I'll check with my bookings, but I'm sure we can find some time this week!

Yes, you hated yourself. But this user was a superfan, and you never let anyone down before. For the right price, you could do anything—or so you told yourself repeatedly. Trying to make yourself believe you could do it, burned out and exhausted as you were. It was just one more private session; you'd get through it, just like you always had.

> i've noticed how unhappy you are lately. you don't smile like you used to, don't tell us about what is happening in your life. you're like a pretty doll that sits and entertains us out of habit. i hate it. i want the real you back

That again. You scowled at the screen, your stomach grumbling in agreement (and hunger). "What do you even say to that?" you mumbled into the silence surrounding you. It was pitiful that you still lived in the same two-room flat since college, all your money going into debt and equipment rather than buying nice things for yourself. It made the dark, quiet loneliness so much more derisive. It was your life, but even so you could do nothing but entertain others to live in a way you didn't want to. You were so lost, your whole life purpose seemingly meaningless as the streams and viewers demanded more and more from you.

< I'm sorry you feel that way! :( I'm always trying my best to be myself and kind. I hope it didn't seem like I'm just faking it for the others! Please give me a chance to prove that I'm still me, and I'll do my best to meet your expectations!

Tears stung in your eyes as you typed out the words. You didn't want to grovel or apologize for how the world had ruined you. You couldn't push the blame on everyone else forever, but you truly felt wronged by your own life. Apologizing for being forced into a role you didn't want to have was way worse than when you made an actual mistake, but if you wanted to keep up the image, it was what you had to do.

> it's okay. i know you work so hard, i'm so proud of you for that

Your supporter's sudden shift in attitude made you lean back in your chair, your breath escaping you as you felt the tension being lifted. Perhaps he wasn't as weird as you assumed by his insistence on ruining the little composure you had in your stream. Maybe he was truly just concerned for you.

> that's why i'm going to help you!

Raising an eyebrow, you couldn't help but cringe. Nothing good ever came from someone saying they would "help" you. They were merely justifying themselves for wanting something unhinged from you, mostly something you weren't comfortable with. You relented to them in the past, but did you really have to put up with it still?

< Thank you so much for giving me a chance! ♥ Have you decided on a day then for our session?

> tomorrow night, 8pm, hotel loveline. i'll book the room, just mention my name to the receptionist, and they'll give you a key

You felt all goodwill shatter into a million pieces as you read the line. Bringing your hands to your face, you rubbed over the wrinkles and tension you held in the grimace of an expression you were making, wishing you could just drop the conversation and go to bed. It wasn't the first time someone asked to meet up personally. You had never done it before and wouldn't break your boundary for that guy now.

< I'm so sorry, but I don't do personal meet-ups! If you want a private cam session, please let me know, and I will arrange it! :)

"Please, god, let him get the hint," you prayed under your breath, but you should have known better. He was a persistent one.

> i'll make sure you gain thrice the followers than you do in one month just from our collaboration. surely people will send lots of donations, too. the only thing i want is you, natural, real. mine for the night

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mister," you grumbled, slowly getting angry at this guy. Why did he lie through his teeth? How in the world would someone get you thrice the subscribers from a private session? Why make big promises that were impossible to keep? And he was paying for it, so there would be no donations for you. But even so, with your teeth grinding in frustration, you typed out the nicest rejection you possibly could.

< Sorry, but I'm really not comfortable with personal meet-ups! And charging you for a whole night also makes me feel bad; my rates aren't cheap, after all. It wouldn't be fair to you. Let me know if you are still interested in a cam session, I'll give you a discount since you've been a fan for so long! :) ♥

There was an eery silence in the chatroom, and you glimpsed towards the bathroom, wondering if you had time to get ready for bed until he replied. Ultimately, you decided to wait it out, just to be polite, while you scolded yourself for offering a discount. This interaction alone should have warranted an extra charge on top of your regular rates.

> you like your current day job, don't you?

This statement caught you off-guard. You hadn't spoken much about your new employment on stream, not wanting to bore your viewers with such trivial things when they were there to be entertained.

> wouldn't you be sad if you were fired again?

"What do you mean?" you typed back, the confusion growing.

> i take good care of my darling, and you'll enjoy what i have prepared for you. if you can no longer pretend to be happy, i will help you find that happiness again, help you choose the right path

< you scare me

You typed the words before thinking them through. This was the real you, not the persona he knew and wanted to see, and she just messed up big time.

< I'm sorry, I meant to say your comments can be interpreted weirdly, and it's a little scary to read them right now. I'd still be up for the cam session if you're interested, though?

Anything, you thought, anything to stop him from saying more weird shit.

Does he... does he know you? You pondered the thought for a while. Trying to find a weird interaction you might have had before in your real life. One where someone spoke to you like he did. But you couldn't recall it. How did you know about your job though? Was he perhaps a colleague? But even they knew very little of you, and definitely not about your other job.

"Do I know you?" you asked when he didn't reply anytime quick.

Immediately, you regretted showing vulnerability in front of this stranger. From the moment he joined your stream, DarlingLover had seen through your charades, the online persona you had kept up so carefully. They were laying you bare in an uncomfortable, personal way. You've always been so careful with information about your personal life, keeping all your stories vague and unidentifiable, never naming brands of the stores you visited, or talking about the companies you were part of. How did he know where you lived and about your work?

You wished he'd just stop and disappear to where he came from.

> not yet :) > but you will get to know me—all of me—when we see each other tomorrow. i'll make you smile again, i'll make you happy. you'll be my darling star again, just like before! my reason to live, my beloved. i can't wait for tomorrow, see you soon!

DarlingLover left the chat.

You stared at the message for a while, perplexed and dumbfounded as you tried to make sense of it. You replayed the interaction over and over but could find no logic or reason behind it. You didn't know this guy, he didn't know you. At least, not personally. But he did know more about you than any of your subscribers should.

Part of you hated him, but the rest of you was scared. Scared of what would happen if you scorned him, the havoc he'd unleash on your life. You were scared of the embarrassment he could cause you if he revealed your secret sidehustle to your work, feared how the opinion of you would change now that you finally found work that you liked and coworkers that you could have fun with. You were finally one leg into having a normal life, only for some stranger on the internet to come and ruin it again. It made you mad and drove you downright crazy.

Clicking his username over and over, it stated he was offline. You couldn't open a new chat again, couldn't scream at him how you weren't going to do that! How you wouldn't meet him for real because he could very well be a psycho or murderer! Surely, he'd not give you back the time you lost streaming, the friends you pushed away to earn money, or your happiness in exchange for success!

"What do I do?" you sighed, rubbing your face once more. You were so tired, you had to go to bed. Soon, you'd have to get up, get to work, and decide whether you wanted to attend the meet-up.

Wait.

Why was that even a decision?

Of course, you wouldn't go! He couldn't force you! He couldn't—

Did you really have a choice?

Flopping into your bed, you groaned. In a fit of anger, you punched your fists into the mattress a few times before the strength left you. Of course, it was your choice. You had started over before. If the worst came to fruition, you'd just do it again. Nothing was lost. You could do it! You could refuse the offer and live a happy life away from streaming and the judgment of other people! It would be hard. So very hard. But you could do it!

Sleep overtook you before you could prepare yourself for bed. You didn't hear the ping of a chat message. All your body had left in it was to sleep away the exhaustion, even if it meant knocking you out for good and without having an alarm set for the next morning. Big decisions would have to be made the next day, but you were asleep, unaware of the weight resting on your shoulders.

And you didn't notice the red light on your webcam, saying it was still on even though your screen had long closed down.

< sleep well, darling :) ♥

His lips curled into a wicked, lovestruck grin as he moved the window with the video live feed of your bedroom to the second monitor. Finally. Finally, he'd get to meet you. His idol, his darling, his beloved streamer. He adored and worshipped you since the day you started. Watched every one of your streams since the day you joined his life.

Without you, his channel wouldn't exist. People wouldn't adore him, wouldn't watch him. The masses of fans enjoying his lengthy cock-stroking sessions, buying his ASMR audios to masturbate to—they all wouldn't exist without you. Even when he was down when he just started, seeing you smile and do your best for the few followers you had was what made him continue working hard for you.

And now that he had long surpassed you, it was time he gave back the gratitude he felt towards you.

The thought alone of meeting you was getting his cock rock hard, ready to burst. He wasn't even sure if he could look into your eyes without cumming instantly like a pathetic loser. But he wouldn't mind being a loser again if it meant he got to meet you.

"I love her streams," he hummed blissfully, closing the connection to your stream as he palmed himself over his sweatpants. Thanks to your lovely end of stream announcement, showing all your best moments, no one even noticed he'd be off chatting with you. "She's my favorite streamer ever."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

Donations went off as he pulled down the waistband, revealing the girthy mass that his followers loved so much. He'd been so ashamed as a teenager for having this monster of a cock, but on the internet, he found solace. People loved imagining riding him, giving him BJs, the whole nine yards, but he saved himself. For you. You'd be the first, and if he did his job well, you'd be his last.

"Before we get to the main part of tonight," he teased, gripping his length in his hand, squeezing and caressing it for the whole community to see. Head rolling back, he imagined your warmth spread around him, his cock pulsing eagerly as he wished to know what it would feel like to pop the tip into your tight pussy.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

He grinned. They loved him so much. Everyone loved the former loser now turned into a hot, sexy internet sensation. And you would, too. Very soon.

"I want to announce that we're going to have the collaboration of the year right here, on this channel, tomorrow. Starting at 8:30pm! Make sure you're here to witness it, Darling."

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding!

#camgirl!darling #camboy!yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere stories #yandere oneshots #yandere oneshot #yandere drabble #yandere x darling #Yandere TW

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awordsmith · 1 month ago

Text

sit with me 𝜗𝜚 r. spencer

after having a multitude of chance encounters with Spencer–the one time he catches you crying, he obviously has to make your day better even if that merely means sitting with you in silence on a terrace.

who? spencer reid x unknown!reader when? s13 genre: fluff (comfort) content warning: designer!reader, house flooding-loss of found family-dead dad-distant mom, proofed as always, reid with warmth !! word count: 8.1k a/n: well, i honestly didn't know if i'd make it this far, but i suppose i fell in love with this short story anyway. . .enjoy !!

Nearly colliding with the security guard to your right, you checked your watch, then apologized. You were late–your boss was going to kill you. You didn’t have time to think of who you bumped into or who you pissed off. It wasn’t your fault, you’d defend, it was the idiot intern! Honestly, how did she not think the designs discarded by the head designer of your brand would still be significant?

It was the first thing you told everyone who stepped through those doors–come to you before throwing anything away. Ugh–and now you were going to be in more trouble than you’d ever been in before because no one under your supervision had ever effed up this hard!

You would have to fire her–your heart sank–would you even be able to fire people after this? Not if I don’t make it on the stupid plane!

Your mind was running at the speed of who knew what momentum, “AH–” your head slammed into a body. You felt like crying, the sketchbook fell to the floor–you felt water pooling in your eyes. You took a breath, trying to keep it together. Your head tilted upward, and you took three deep breaths, swallowing the meltdown you wanted to have.

“Are you…okay?” You ignored whoever spoke, you just needed a second–just a second to yourself, to plan out different jobs you could apply for if you did get fired. “Uhm, hello?”

Angrily, your eyes pried open, “What? Can’t you see I’m in a midlife crisis?”

“I…” you turned away, ignoring the desperate regards of the stranger in front of you. Okay, let’s go. You spun around and meant to walk around the person who was still annoyingly in your way. You met his stare, he looked a bit uncomfortable and it took everything in you not to blow up in his face. “You dropped this…”

Your gaze dropped to the book in his hand, it hadn’t been damaged–thank God, tears sprang into your eyes again and you had to force them back into your body by fanning out your probably flustered face.

“I don’t know what’s wrong, but you seem like you’re in a hurry,” he scratched the back of his head, “do you…need some water?”

You reevaluated the situation, apologizing would be the most logical thing to do, but–you checked your wrist watch– “I’m gonna be late!”

You snatched the sketch pad out of his hand–no longer hanging on the edge of a breakdown you didn’t have time for–and gripped your suitcase handle, “Thank you, stranger, and I’m sorry!”

Spencer swallowed, flexing the hand he’d held the sketch pad in. The woman–she’d looked familiar. He couldn’t quite place her, which was odd because Spencer could typically place anyone; perhaps he was still in shock from his back getting shanked by a head.

He watched the woman disappear, her red pumps click-clacking at an increased pace as she stormed through the crowds. A little smile fell to his lips, “That was…something…”

“Hey, Spencer, you ready?” Spencer’s mom walked out of the gift shop across from him.

“Yeah,” he grabbed his own luggage and began pulling it along, “come on, we can get food on the way home.”

“That sounds nice,” she smiled, patting, then rubbing his arm.

You, on the other hand, just made it onto the plane. You wanted to cry out in relief, but your mission wasn’t done. You had a stewardess put your things at the top of your seat in first class because you had to calm yourself before facing off with your boss, though you didn’t have much time.

You–again–lifted your head and closed your eyes, trying to control your breathing. You gripped the sketch pad in your hands and held it to your chest. You had done it. You had saved the day once again, because if you weren’t fixing your problems, you were fixing someone else's. Though you supposed that it just came with your position.

You were an assistant lead designer, and right above you was the star of it all–your boss. In your world, you were at the top, or rather right below it–but you were up there–and a lot of people hated you for it. Not just because of your age, but because you were good at your job.

You had decided from the moment you were offered the position that no one would take it away from you, and for that to never happen, nothing under your watch could ever go wrong; though your team had made some minor errors in the past, they were all quickly fixable and within the time limit you had given them.

This: Losing a sketchbook–this could never happen again. It was the first year you’d taken on an intern at the urging of your boss, typically before you hired someone, you put them through trial runs for minor products, and depending on how serious they took those jobs would give you an estimate on how well they would be at a full-time position within your brand.

You were always careful and only hired a handful of people at a time; your employees had a three-strike rule, you’d developed it in your first year running things. You had your small team that worked closely with you and your boss, but you also managed a larger team of executives for different branches of the brand. It was your job to oversee everything and everyone at all hours.

Your job was to make sure everything went smoothly and for the past ten years, you’d gotten pretty damn good at it–you were just glad you hadn’t blown it all now.

You pushed passed the curtains and stepped into first class, approaching your boss. She waved, her long, sleek mousy-brown hair was pinned back with bobby pins. “I thought you weren’t going to make it.” You chuckled nervously, “I should have known you wouldn’t let me down.

“Of course not, have you met me?” You joked, taking your seat.

“What’s that in your hands?”

“This? Oh, it’s the sketches you didn’t like. The new intern threw it away by accident.” You rolled your eyes, quoting the word accident with your hands.

“No?”

“Yes! I don’t even know how it got into her hands in the first place, I’ve told them a million and one times–”

She murmured your name, “You know what, it’s fine. You solved it, like you always do–why don’t we sit back and enjoy our flight? The Lord knows it’s going to be a long one.” She accepted a glass of wine from the stewardess passing by.

You were on your way to Paris to design outfits for a new time-period show–well your boss was, but that was the good part about knowing someone for so long, they trusted you–and your boss always gave you a bit of room to work you magic–you were hoping to become her successor.

“You know what? You’re right.” Your hands wrapped around another glass–pleased that your job was still safe and very much yours. You cheered with her, forgetting all about the man you’d crashed into just moments prior.

You unbuckled your seatbelt and stretched; your boss would stay in Paris for a few more days to relax, but your job was done, and you were set to go home–that had been yesterday.

You collected your things with the help of the stewardess, you paused, her outfit–it crossed your mind a multitude of times that flight attendants had the most unique uniforms and their outfits had definitely been ones to which a variety of times across generations.

“Miss?”

You dropped your hand, eyes refocusing on the eyes of the woman, “Oh, I am so sorry, but…” you bit your lip, wondering if you should ask. It’d make for one hell of a piece in a new line your boss had given you free rein on. “I’m sorry, but I have an odd question…”

“Oh…go on.” She was too nice.

“Well…do you need to fly anytime soon, or do you have some free time?”

“I’m…I think,” she glanced behind her, “I think I have some time.”

She looked young, definitely younger than you, but by how much you couldn’t be sure. “Then, would you mind modeling for me? I mean, of course you don’t have to, but your uniform…it’s… inspiring,” you knew that sounded incredibly weird, but it was the first word that came to mind.

She fiddled with her fingers, “Are you some kind of designer?”

You nearly scoffed, were you some kind of–you were one of the best designers in the world.

Okay, perhaps that was a stretch, but you worked for one of the best designers of all time and this year she was allowing you to craft your own line using all of her resources. It was the chance of a lifetime, and you couldn’t blow it.

“You could say that,” you settled for and slipped her a business card.

She stared at it, reading it over and over again. You watched realization wash over her–to say it didn’t fuel your pride would be a lie–she had a gorgeous figure and wouldn’t it just be the icing on the cake if she walked the runway with the outfit inspired by her old uniform?

You checked your watch, you needed to get home–you paused, pulling your phone out of your pocket when a notification came through–oh, this was not good. Your face soured. “Something wrong?” She frowned, tilting her head.

“Uh–just something from the office, listen,” you slipped your phone back into your pocket, “I have to go, but if you’re interested, you have my number and my email.”

You did your finest to stay composed as you exited the plane, and you were very graceful–if you do say so yourself–entering the airport, however, once inside, it was go time.

That notification hadn’t been the office, they weren’t expecting you back until tomorrow and though your employees knew they had to run everything by you, they also knew not to call you on your days off, especially when you just got back seeing as–oh there it is–you get jet lag.

You had to keep it together until you got in the cab, just as it had been last week, your right hand gripped the handle of your suitcase and hauled it down the hall. You had to find your duffle first! You headed for the baggage cart, eyes trailing the line. There! You ran for it– “OW–”

You whimpered. Why was this always happening to you? “I-I’m so sorry, but you–

“Me!?” You stepped back, angrily looking up at the man whose head you’d hit with your own.

“You…came out of nowhere!” He squeaked.

Hold on–you knew this guy. “It’s you!”

“It’s you!” His voice went up, as if he were more nervous than you were angry.

You huffed, but then your eyes caught on your dufflebag, escaping you. You ran for it, leaving your suitcase behind. The guy chased after you, “quit following me!”

“What!?” He screamed, shuddering under the gaze of the nearest security guard. You snatched up your simple, black bag, watching him reach for a very…unique bag–the one that had been sitting beside yours.

You paused, eyeing his frame, his eyebrows scrunched together, and in turn, you raised a single brow, “interesting taster….” you eyed him up and down, “didn’t take you for the type…”

He glanced down at the sparkly purple, unicorn-covered duffle. You snorted when he jumped back, “What? No–this, this isn’t–it’s…my friends.”

“Don’t be embarrassed, men in touch with their femininity is great, really…” you walked back over to your suitcase and settled the bag on top of it.

“It is!” He insisted, “I’m picking it up for her!”

“Uh huh,” you glanced at the clock on your phone again, sighing.

“Something wrong?”

You shook your head, “It’s nothing I can’t fix.”

“Hmm.”

You made a face, “Did you just ‘hmm’ me?”

“What is that a bad thing?” He huffed a laugh.

Your eyes narrowed and for the first time, you took a moment to look–really look–at the stranger whom you seemingly kept crossing paths with.

His hair was grown out, it looked soft to the touch, he had a bit of stubble, and his eyes–you shivered. You could get lost in those eyes. You didn’t want to think about why they seemed to hold so much and yet show so little.

You ou forced yourself to look away, clearing your throat before saying, “I suppose it doesn’t matter. Does it, Stranger?”

You could feel the heaviness of his gaze–as if someone had dropped hot coals in your stomach. Your cheeks darken–now you really had to avoid his eyes, he would know instantly, and though he couldn’t be much older than you, you didn’t want to feel embarrassed–you let your eyes drift back to his body slightly…AH, what were you doing!?

You shifted your stance and turned away from him completely, “well, it was uhm…nice bumping into you…again.” Not by choice, but hey?

He nodded, though you couldn’t see it, “Right, good bye… Stranger.”

“Good bye, Stranger.” For good.

“Oh, uhm,” he held up the bag, “it’s really not mine.”

You tried to hold in a snicker, but your trembling body gave you away, and you couldn’t help but turn around for a split second to give him a disbelieving look.

Spencer sighed as he watched the same woman walk away from him again. His eyes were drawn to her feet–well, her shoes, she was wearing those same red pumps he’d remembered her wearing that same day. They fit her well, “It’s not!”

Spencer sighed, jumping when he heard, “Spencer, you got my bag for me!”

Penelope came flying toward him in a jumble of colors, “h-hey,” he laughed, pulling her in for a hug, “how was the trip?”

“I’ll tell you about it in the cab, come on,” she motioned him forward with her hand, though as much as he wanted to hear about Penelope's time in Europe, his mind drifted back to the stranger in the red pumps he kept bumping into.

Against his logic, he imagined what it would be like to meet her again, preferably somewhere less crowded, with less noise–somewhere they could have a real conversation where maybe they weren’t colliding into each other at every angle.

That was crazy, he knew the percentage of meeting a stranger twice was low, so the possibility of meeting them a third time?

He decided he wouldn’t think about it…that was the best thing to do, seeing as he’d never see her again. Spencer knew he was a genius; people often told him so and referred to him as such, but Spencer also knew no person–matter how smart they were or how hard they tried–had any control over their subconscious.

You were a ball of giddiness up until you arrived at your apartment. You let out a whine as you stepped out of the cab. The landlord and a few of your neighbors were crowded in a circle out front. You noted Old Cat Man and Mean Rich Lady, with a grimace, you approached them, your shoes clicking and clacking on the stony pavement.

“It’s true then, you weren’t messing with me?”

Your landlord turned toward you, signing, “I’m sorry, I just got the call this morning, the entire thing is flooded.”

“So there’s absolutely no way I can get my things?”

“I’m so sorry,” he shook his head.

“Speak for yourself, I’m going back in there.” Mean Rich Lady spat, you rolled your eyes.

“Always looking to pick a fight.”

“Come on, you two! Don’t argue at a time like this,” Old Cat Man intervened, holding his precious ball of fur.

You grinned at it, your voice going high, “Aww, aren’t you just a cute little thing, Claude!” Old Cat Man stretched out his arms. You took up Claude and began petting him, turning back to your landlord after Mean Rich Lady harumphed.

“Are we at least getting compensated?” One of your neighbors–she lived on the first floor with her son, who was more than likely at school right now–asked.

A few others began agreeing with her. Your landlord tried to calm everyone down, saying he would talk to the owners about it. Of course, you wanted to know when that would be. This was insane. How does this even happen? It seemed like your days went from worse to good to amazing to good to horrible!

You felt like screaming into a black hole, and though you would settle for a pillow, you couldn’t because your things were inside the flooded complex! You began texting your right-hand assistant, you were more than likely not going to be heading into work tomorrow.

Two days later, you were exiting a cab and standing across the street from your new possible home. The owners of your old complex had assured your landlord and the rest of their inhabitants that they were going to compensate everyone with a hefty settlement.

All your things–your clothing, your furniture, your bedding, your paintings–did they know how much you’d spent at the auction in New York for that one-of-a-kind Marcel–Béronneau? You had cried several times the day before, mostly about that painting. It was beautiful, but more importantly, the most expensive thing you owned!

Needless to say, their settlement with you was well over what you had spent on Ondine. Now, you were staying at a 5-star hotel with a bit of the settlement as you scoured for a new place.

You smiled, looking up at the complex–it was more of a small neighborhood, gated and secure. You crossed the street, passing folks who looked well enough. A doorman undid a red rope and let you through the doors.

He was dressed in what at first appeared to be modest clothing–but you’d know that uniform anywhere–you’d helped design it. Your red pumps clicked across the man-made gray wood flooring. A backless couch sat in front of the doors against the matching gray walls. It took on a shade darker than everything else, though, and looked incredibly comfortable with those three small throw pillows–but that wasn’t what you were here to study.

“Hello, can I help you?” The receptionist smiled. He was dressed as well as the doorman, you admired the uniform appreciatively.

You had to wash and rewear the clothes you’d had in your suitcase; you wouldn’t have minded if they were casual work clothes, but you worked in the fashion industry, not to mention you had packed for Spring in Paris. You looked pretty idiotic in a raincoat, but it was the only jacket you had unless you wanted to overheat in your Saint Laurent coat.

Needless to say, your outfits weren’t…tame. You’d been trying to do your best to stay up with work while trying to rebuild your life–not your best moments, oh to be sure–and it left you with no time to go shopping. You needed a permanent place now. You were trying to fix everything within a few days, and still your team needed you. So far, none of the apartments had yet grabbed your eye, you were hoping this would be your final destination and not just another pitstop.

“Yes, I have an appointment with a woman…sorry her name slips my mind at the moment…I’m looking at the latest apartment on the 4th floor?”

“Ah,” he nodded, typing into his computer, “yes, of course, she said you would be coming in–so I’ve been expecting you,” he flashed a friendly smile, “I’ll call her down right away–” he picked up a black office phone and began dialing.

“Thank you, I can go wait over there,” you motioned toward the couch.

He nodded and covered the phone with his hand, “if theres anything you need–anythign at all, just ask me.”

Genuine happiness lifted your mood, “thank you so much!” You spun around and headed back toward the couch, deciding to answer a few emails to pass the time, then–as promised–the leasing agent you were meeting with stepped out of the elevator almost five minutes later.

You shook hands and introduced yourself, expressing how ready you were to find a home because of what had happened. “I know the feeling.” She said, clicking the 4th-floor button on the elevator.

“You’ve had your house flooded while you were on vacation before?” Your eyebrows raised.

She laughed, “Oh no, but my ex-husband had his apartment flooded just last year. I offered to let him stay with me,” she waved her hand, showing off the newly attached ring. Hmm, it looked brand new. “But he said it’d be awkward with you know...”

“No, but I wish I did,” you joked, “may I?”

“Uh, sure,” she held out her hand. You inspected the ring closely, but you didn’t have great light, though something about it–perhaps it was a gut feeling, you could tell it was real. He must have had money if he was willing to spend over 5k on an engagement ring.

You shook your head, “It’s darling.”

Her tanned face turned a bit red, “Thank you, he let me pick it out.”

And courteous, God, when were you going to find a man like that? You sighed, eyes falling to her face once more, she was around your age, you wondered how long her last marriage was, and how old she married. A soft frown fell to your lips, thinking of your situation compared to others your age, you weren’t doing too well in the love department.

No, it doesn’t matter, marriage wasn’t for you. You knew that….but it did bother you, something heavy sat within your chest…something like… regret.

A sigh escaped you, and you shook your head. Right now, you needed to focus on getting a new place so you could begin moving things in, you missed sleeping in your own bed, though that bed was likely still incredibly soaked in some dumpyard right about now.

“Wait, so–let me get this straight–Matt held his hand up, “you keep bumping into the same gorgeous woman with these red heels and…what? You haven’t asked her out?”

“It’s not that simple,” Spencer huffed, “she’s…seems…I don’t know.”

“And you didn’t get a good look at her?” Luke turned to Penelope.

“I–I didn’t even know there was a her! Not until this one,” she smacked Spencer, who winced, “told me in the car!”

“Eh–to be fair, I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.” He scratched the nape of his neck.

“Oh. My. God.” She threw her hands up, then lowered her head and whined, “You’re a lost cause.”

“This is great,” Luke laughed.

“What are we talking about?” JJ seated herself on top of Spencer’s desk. He glanced at her, but it was Matt who answered.

“Spencer met this girl at the airport–”

“–twice–” Luke added.

“And he didn’t ask her out.”

“It’s nothing,” he shook his head, seemingly trying to brush it off.

“Wha–I wouldn’t call it nothing!” Penelope squeaked.

“I’d call it fate.” Luke’s amusement didn’t escape Spencer.

“Yeah right,” he snorted, averting his gaze to the floor, the image of her red pumps coming running through his head. They drew his attention–he’d fallen asleep the past two nights at the memory of them shuffling away from him. He’d even had a miniscule daydream of meeting that woman again–but that was delusional, even for Spencer. “I don’t even know her name.”

“Well then, get her name, and then do something with it.” Matt egged.

“What like…ask her out?”

“Uh…yeah,” the group laughed at Luke’s comedic timing; Spencer was the only one who stayed silent.

“It’s unlikely I’m ever going to see her again. The probability–”

“–with the streak you have going on?” Emily walked over with her cup, her nose scrunched and her lips pressed together, “I think you’re gonna see her again… Sorry,” she shrugged, “I was eavesdropping.”

Spencer didn’t know about that. He didn’t have any plans at the airport, and it was unlikely she stayed in one place for long; if his memory served correctly, she’d been in a rush both times they’d bumped–or rather crashed–into each other.

He let out an exasperated sigh, it was bothering him a bit. She was quite the character. Slowly, a small smile developed. He wondered what he would say if he bumped into her again–preferably not in an airport with so much noise.

Though he knew wishing for something like that was dumb and that was not how the world worked–and he couldn’t very well go to the airport just to wait to bump into her. Firstly, that’d be weird. Secondly, Spencer didn’t have the time, “Alright, let’s go, we have a case.” Emily chirped.

Of course, they did–but Spencer wasn’t complaining, he just couldn’t get the thought of her out of his head, and he hoped it wouldn’t tarnish the way his brain worked.

Spencer huffed a sigh, checking the time on his phone, he was almost home–the rest of the team had gone for drinks, but he didn’t feel like it tonight. It’d been three days, and granted he’d been in another state, but he’d half-expect to bump into her even then.

He shoved his phone back into his pocket, pausing when his stomach growled. He snorted when he looked to his right, catching sight of a convenience store. It was late and a cab had dropped him off about a mile from his complex; he’d wanted to walk. The night was warmer than usual, though that was to be expected; it was Spring, and April was just next week.

He glanced once more at the convenience store, wondering if he should just brave the rest of the journey home. Spencer's breath caught in his throat–his eyes tracked red pumps through the blurry store window, he’d know those shoes anywhere.

He didn’t even think to hesitate before pulling open the door, the blue windchimes above it whistling in the slight breeze. The store was quiet and the lights were dim. There was no one at the counter, but he heard her shoes clicking across the old tile floors.

He followed the sound, rounding a large corner, and there she was, eyeing up the last chillidog, her mouth visibly watered, and Spencer had to turn around before he laughed at her outright and she took offense. She noticed him anyway, stumbling back at the sight.

“You!” She jabbed a finger toward him.

A cheeky smile tugged at his mouth, the murky glow of the shop blinding him in his tiredness, “me!” he threw his hands up in mock cheer.

She rolled her eyes, a slight smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing, he took in her fancy clothes, raising a brow at her feet, “are those the only pair of shoes you own?”

She glanced down, wincing. “It’s a long story, but I’m working on reestablishing my footwear.”

He nodded, wondering how to continue the conversation without sounding awkward. “So…you live around here?”

“Not yet,” she smiled, “but I just put a down payment on a pretty nice apartment.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “why the sudden move?” Was that a creepy thing to ask? He didn’t think so.

“Well,” she grabbed the chillidog and brought it to the counter. Spencer, on instinct, grabbed the first thing he saw, an egg salad sandwich. It wasn’t the best thing he could eat, but then again, he wasn’t in prison anymore, and anything was better than prison food. “It’s kind of the same explanation for my particular choice in shoes these days.”

Spencer’s mind went through a billion possibilities as she paid for her food with a cashier that seemed to materialize behind the counter. “Did all of your things get stolen?” He took in her appearance once more–maybe she was some super-rich lady he’d seen in one of JJ's gossip magazines.

Thanking the cashier for his change and slipping it into his satchel, Spencer turned toward the nameless woman again. “I guess you could say that,” she wagged a finger, “if you count water as the thief.”

His eyes widned, “I’m sorry, that sucks.”

“Yeah, well,” she shrugged, “what are you gonna do? On the bright side, my apartment isn’t too far from my job and it’s really nice–it was the last one on the listing, I’m glad I snatched it up.”

“Huh,” he sucked on his cheek, following her out of the store, her shoes drawing his attention as they made a sound he didn’t know how to describe other than relaxing. “What’s the name of the complex?”

She threw him a long look that said “okay stalker”, but he could tell she was definitely just teasing. “It’s actually,” she said, pointing across the street, “that one.”

Fire lit up Spencer’s skin. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” she nodded, “but the Airbnb I’m staying at until the flat is ready for me to move in is this way,” she jabbed a finger in the opposite direction.

Spencer frowned. It was late, and though it didn’t feel like a scary night, he felt he shouldn’t let her walk alone. “You okay walking back by yourself?”

He didn’t know why he expected her to say no; of course, she would say yes, she’d feel awkward about it. And isn’t this how the start of every serial killer flick began? Not to mention the actual stories that started like this. Spencer pursed his lips, not wanting to be pushy, but also not wanting to let her go. “Are you sure? I really don’t mind.” If she said no this time, he would accept it.

However, this time, she said, “You know what? Why not?” Relief flooded his system, “as long as you’re not a serial killer of anything.”

Spencer nearly choked on his one saliva, “No–no, of course not!” He didn’t know if he sounded or looked convincing enough, and upon thinking that, he wanted to claw his eyes out because isn’t that exactly what a serial killer would be worried about?

Spencer walked her to her Airbnb, doing his absolute best not to give off creepy-stalker-killer vibes. He went on a tangent about random facts that came to his mind. In between his thoughts and rambling, he noted the subtle way in which he found her addicting.

She was beautiful, but it was mostly the way she asked questions or asked him to specify something more rather than shutting him down.

“Uhm, I thought I should let you know,” he paused just before she unlocked the door. That complex you’re moving into: I live there.”

A small grin floated around her face, “I figured.” Spencer didn’t get much of a chance to reply as his mind went blank, “So, maybe…” She looked away, and Spencer could see the dilemma working its way around her mind.

He pretended to be patient. He didn’t want to scare her off into changing her mind.

She took a breath and slid her phone from her pants pocket. Spencer watched as she typed in her password; his eyebrows shot up when she spun the phone toward his face. A white screen with a set of numbers at the bottom, “Do you think I could get your number…” Her hand trembled, and Spencer thought it was cute. “You know, since we’re going to be neighbors and all,” it was an excuse; he flushed at her nervousness.

Though the number of girls that approached him had grown steadily over the years, he still grew slightly awkward when someone as pretty looked nervous around him. He cleared his throat and averted his gaze, “Yeah, sure, if we’re going to see each other again anyway.”

He took her phone and typed in his number, noting the way his hands shook–gosh, was he sweating? He handed her phone back, “Uhm, I’m — by the way…”

“Spencer,” he murmured, taking a step back.

“It’s nice to officially meet you, Spencer.” Her genuine smile had Spencer’s heart leaping in his chest. “And…” she glanced away, “…sorry about the times before, I wasn’t…that isn’t me, the first time I was freaking because my intern had tossed a very important sketchbook and I aomsot missed the plane because of it–the second time–”

Spencer held up his hand, “You don’t have to explain yourself…really–I–” he stuffed his hands in his pockets and reassessed her, “I believe you.”

She let out a sigh in what seemed like relief. “Alright, then,” she stuck out her hand, “thank you for walking me home–kind of.” She glanced at the Airbnb.

“No problem,” Spencer smiled. With one last wave goodbye, she spun around, unlocked the door, and slipped inside. She’s…Spencer chuckled at himself shook his head, he didn’t want to analyze and break down her character. He felt he should get to know her like a normal person would, if they were going to be neighbors after all.

He wondered what his welcome gift should be. Maybe a new pair of shoes?

The elevator dinged before its doors opened. Today was Move-In Day; you texted Spencer about it, but he hadn’t responded. It plagued you–being left on delivery. You tried not to let it ruin your mood, but you couldn’t help checking your phone every five minutes to see if he had responded.

You instructed two of the moving professionals you’d hired to carry the larger boxes up to your space as you took on the lighter and fragile boxes–too cautious to allow anyone else to carry them. They led you into the hallways, but you paused halfway down the floor.

They halted and glanced back questingly, “Oh, you’re fine, I just need to respond to this,” you waved your free hand in front of you.

With a tight nod, they proceeded down the hall. You crouched, setting the box beside your feet and pulling out your phone. Your heart shot through your chest, and electricity ran up your spine, which was incredibly childish considering you were nearing 30–but regardless, you clicked open the message, heat rushing to your cheeks as your eyes took in Spencer's reply.

Happy Move-In Day! I’ll be home later tonight, so I can stop by if you want.

Yes! Yes! Yes! “Eeeeeee,” your squeal bounced off the walls, and a flush darkened your cheeks.

I’d love that, actually!

His reply was immediate, Great see you later tonight!

You slid your phone back in your pocket and stood. Your eyes fluttered shut and you took a calming breath, then you shook your body, arms flailing, an attempt to cast away all the jitters running through your nervous system.

Five minutes later, you were heading down the hall again, box in hand. You kicked the slightly ajar door further open. “There you are.” One of the movers stepped forward. You set the box on the floor, eyes drifting toward the beautiful beige box on the bar table, a small, cremé envelope tucked snugly between the red, silk bow. “This was sitting at the front door when we arrived.”

You headed for it, your lips pursing, you’d only told one person your new apartment number. The envelope was hard; it looked expensive, like the invitations your boss received for fashion shows and galas.

To: —

From: Stranger

The bold, calligraphy looked handwritten. You ripped open the box you’d been carrying and yanked out your letter opener, peeling the envelope open swiftly. The movers headed back out, saying they’d be back up with more boxes.

You took a seat in one of the stools and pulled out the decorative paper, setting the envelope and letter opener aside.

Dear, —

I know you’re going to laugh at this, but that’s the point, I hope it makes having to move a bit better

- S. Reid

You set the letter aside and grabbed your phone again, your fingers flying across the keyboard. You hit send, watching the message, your bottom lip between your teeth.

The ribbon came undone with a simple tug, the box lifted easily, and the glittery paper peeled back with no trouble at all. Your eyes caught on the shoes, wine red ballet flats–another, shorter note inside.

I know how much you like this color.

They were gorgeous–but you were confused. The buds of your fingers trailed over the brown leather inside the shoe, finding the size–how did he know? Stalker. You snickered at the thought. He probably estimated or something.

Spencer rushed home. He wanted to see her.

After the text she’d sent him, his stomach felt lighter, and he felt like he might throw up on the jet ride back. Rossi had said it was butterflies, but Alvez shook his head, claiming men don’t get butterflies, they get sucker-punched, but Spencer hadn’t known if either of them was right.

The best way he could describe how he felt was sick–but sick with happiness, not disease. It was illogical for someone to be so excited to see another person–a person whom they’d only had three encounters with, but something in Spencer felt a pull, a tug. He wondered if he’d never bumped into her–or rather if she’d never bulldozed him down at the airport, would they have met another way?

Perhaps, rather than noting her red heels, his hunger would have gotten the better of him, and he would have bumped into her for the first time in the convenience store, or maybe they would have met in the elevator of the complex they now both lived in. Spencer didn’t believe in soulmates; he loved the idea of it, and he could discuss theories of the red string theory just as much as he could any other philosopher's work, but this was…he didn’t know what.

He could explain scientific and mathematical equations, he could explain why the sun rises in the east and sets in the west; he could even explain the meaning behind some of the most intricate literature, but he could not explain why he felt this pull toward her.

Coconut wafted through his nostrils, but he paid the air freshener the lobby's staff had just replaced not much mind, his thoughts competing against his heart to see which could break him first. He loosened his tie, he would drop his stuff off at his apartment first, then head straight to her floor. She lived on the last floor, Room 40.

It felt like an eternity, but he wanted to look and smell his best, so doing what he’d never thought to do–ever–he unboxed the cologne Morgan had gifted him winters ago, and spritzed it around him twice. He coughed and waved his hand away, but as the smell flooded him, it was strong but subtle.

He hummed, checking the bottle, not bad, Morgan.

Seconds later, he was out the door and chasing down the elevator.

There was this sudden realization. You would no longer get into fights with the mean, old, rich lady from down the hall. You would never pet the cat, the calm old man let out every once in a while. You would never wake up in the middle of the night to classical music because the couple next door loved to relive their first dance at 3 in the morning.

As much as you bickered with he old lady and cursed the couple for choosing such an early hour, you were sad to know you’d never see them again. You thought of your downstairs neighbor's boy, whom you all took turns watching when his mother had work.

It had become somewhat of a routine for you, somewhat like a family–and the holidays you’d shared with them–even though Mean Rich Lady always nagged at your cooking, you had come to see them as family.

This was your first night in a new palace, and you were alone. No old lady to pick a fight with, no couple to force you awake, and no old man with a cat to pet. You hadn’t even said goodbye, you’d just…left.

Tears fell with a single breath. You felt enclosed, and you had to go somewhere to breathe. You thought to call one of them, but they were probably doing their own things, though it just felt wrong to be somewhere they weren’t. For years, they annoyed and loved you, despite your flaws and despite theirs, you had grown attached to their comforting smiles and manners.

You slipped on the new flats–you felt sick to your stomach, like you were going to puke. You wanted to be held, you wanted to cry until firm arms wrapped around you and hot breaths hit your neck, until a murmur whispered against your ear that it was okay and that you were an adult and could handle this.

You thought to call your mother, but she was no doubt asleep, your father had passed a few years ago–in fact that had been the last time you’d seen your mother, you texted her sometimes, but waking her up in the middle of the night seemed…foreign to the distant relationship you had grown to know.

The cool breeze hit your skin as you burst through the terrace door. City lights pulled you toward the shoulder; it was all concrete, and there were a few chairs spread out across and a single table. A new, silver barbecue sat in the corner, a charcoal bag leaned against it, the top slightly folded, indicating its use.

You perched on the shoulder of the terrace, overlooking the city, your eyes snagged on the center of the landscape, where most of the lights were brighter. You’d calmed down to a sniffle when a creak sounded, your head jerked back toward the door, hoping there were no serial killers amongst your new neighbors.

There was nothing, you shivered, another wave of sadness coming over you. Perhaps you just needed a good cry, your anxiety and frustration had been pent up for almost a week now, dealing with coming back from a wonderful trip in Paris to your apartment and almost every single belonging drenched beyond repair.

Your mind had been running at a million miles per second, trying to figure out what you were going to do within the three-day grace period you’d given yourself. Not to mention the new intern stresser right before heading to Paris–you were almost positive you weren’t going to make it on that plane–but it seemed God had bestowed his hand upon you, giving you the most unexpected angel.

Spencer freaked–he was nervous. He knew he wanted to go back out there and comfort her, but as he bit his thumb and paced back and forth in front of the door, knowing she was just on the other side had his stomach in a know. A feeling crept into his stomach; it just didn’t feel like enough.

He snatched his phone from his pocket and typed out a quick message to Penelope, and seconds later Luke was calling him.

“Go out there!” Luke shouted into Spencer's ear, which he instantly regretted positioning close to his ear.

“Be kind,” Lisa seemed to murmur over him.

“I know–” he squeaked, cheeks flushing, “but I don’t–how do I–”

“Just be yourself–what? No–” the last part sounded like it wasn’t meant for Spencer–so he chose to ignore it.

“Okay, but what should I say? She sounded really upset–?”

“Ugh,” Luke’s heavy sigh, “Lisa–”

Lisa’s voice broke through the phone, and it sounded like she was walking, “Don’t go anywhere, Spencer,” she huffed, keys jangling in the back as a door slammed shut, “ I’m bringing you flowers.”

“Flowers?” His eyebrows shot up, and he glanced back at the door as if she might have heard him.

“Trust me, flowers cheer anyone up.” She assured.

Luke took the phone back, the sound of a car starting in the background, “Meet us in front of your apartment; five minutes.”

The line went dead, and Spencer’s breath hitched. He swallowed and stuck a finger in his shirt, tugging it outward, letting the air cool his sweaty limbs. Admittedly, he should have taken a shower first, but he was too…exactic–okay, he needed to go take a shower.

Luke and Lisa raced through the city; apparently, Lisa knew this incredible 24/7 florist. “Are you sure about this?”

Luke turned toward his girlfriend, “Yes!” her voice pitched and she smacked his arm, “Come on Luke, you’re telling me you’ve never given someone flowers?”

“No–that’s not,” he coughed, rearranging his hands on the wheels, “no, look okay–I just–” he cut himself off, watching her face, her kind, caring, beautiful face. He shifted his focus back onto the road, “left or right?”

Lisa snickered, she she took his hand in hers, leaning forward to see the street sign, “straight, turn left at the next light.

You pulled out your phone, recalling how Spencer had said he’d wanted to meet with you–perhaps you could reschedule, you didn’t want to burden him with the responsibility of consoling you.

Huh, that was weird, you checked the time, Spencer had sent a message that you must’ve missed almost an hour ago, it read

On my way home, see you in a bit!

A frown tugged at your lips, your gaze drifted toward the terrace’s entrance. Hmm.

You typed out a message, and after hesitating a moment, hit send.

I’m on the terrace

You began wiping your tears, accepting that he might have seen you weren’t home, saw his text unanswered, and went back to his palace. He’d been gone a few days for work, he was probably tired.

Your face scrunched together even as you tried to suppress the tears–at this point, you weren’t sure what you were crying about anymore; you were just crying.

Your body jerked, and your breath caught in your throat as the terrace door creaked open–revealing a very nervous, very handsome Spencer Reid. As he approached your posture straightened, you fully turned toward him, your knees the same height as his stomach.

“Hey,” you glanced away, trying to calm yourself. You wiped your tears, trying to remain tranquil, pretending like you weren’t just crying. “Are you okay?”

Your lip wobbled, slowly, you lifted your face. He was leaning his elbows on the wall beside you, your eyes drifted down his arms, gosh he smelled good. “I think so…at least I’m trying to be.” You murmured.

“We can talk about it, if you want?” He tried reading your eyes, but he couldn’t. For the first time, Spencer could not analyze a person even thought he so desperatley wished to. “Or we can sit in silence,” he suggested after he realized you’d turned away.

You nodded, your eyes on the lights in front of you. He smiled, nudging you with the bouquet. “What are those for?” You mumbled, palming a blossom, the petals were soft, and you noted the slight blush color of them, “pink roses?”

“The technical term for them is floribundas,” he slid them between the two of you and fingered a petal, “but because floribundas are a variety of different roses, this particular flower is referred to as the candy cane cocktail rose or rosa candy cane.”

You nodded, “They’re gorgeous, do you know what feeling they represent?”

You watched his eyes widen, he opened his mouth before his smile could fully form, “Floribundas can symbolize joy, happiness, and/or beauty. The name floribunda derives from the Latin word “floribundus,” meaning “full of flowers,” which funnily enough aptly describes their bushy growth and abundant clusters of blooms.”

“That’s so sweet,” you smiled, poking him, “thank you–I needed this, I could practically kiss you right now.” He’d taken your mind off everything that might have been plaguing your mind, and now all you could think about were floribundas and the origin of their name.

A sigh fell from your throat and you smiled up at him, frowning when you noted his flushed cheeks.

You bit your bottom lip to keep from smiling, finding the blue and red hues of nightlife before the two of you incredibly cute on him. “I’ll settle for a hug.” You held open your arms.

Spencer swallowed, his eyes tracking down your form, his eyes flashed when he caught the shoes you wore. His lips pursed, and he turned toward you completely. You held your breath as he stepped between your legs, the bouquet momentarily forgotten.

You pulled him closer when his arms tightened around your back. He smelled delectable, but of course you couldn’t just say that, so instead you said, “You smell good.” He leaned back a bit, his frame hovering above yours. Your gaze fell to his lips briefly, but for fear of making him feel weird, you turned your eyes elsewhere. “Thank you again for–”

His breath coated your mouth, you found his stare once more, your breath catching at the sudden warmth his body gave off. “Actually, I’d really like to kiss you too.”

a/n: rollercoaster [bleachers] and willow [taylor swift]

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody @kennedy-brooke @maisyyyyyy

#spencer reid #criminal minds #fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #written by katherine #sit with me

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itsjusthockey · 1 year ago

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A Hughes Affair - Jack Hughes

This might be my favorite and cutest shit I’ve wrote ever. Enjoy.

I’m bribing you. If I get lots of engagement (reblogs, comments, love in general) I’ll get nuts and do something crazy.

w.c: 4,541 (credit to gif maker) (don’t steal my work)

On a rare day off that you and Jack get to spend together, you’d think he would want to spend it latched together somewhere private, away from his daily chaos. You would be wrong. Instead, he insists you spend the day at your least favorite place, doing your least favorite activity. The fucking golf course.

You’re two drinks in, lounging uncomfortably on the golf cart as you watch Jack take a swing, the ball immediately flying off the green toward the tree line. You can’t help but let out a loud snort, which earns a nasty glare from your boyfriend.

“Huh? What was that?” He starts walking toward you with the club handle outstretched toward you. “Think you can do any better?”

You gently bat the handle away from you when he gets close enough. “Why do you think I’m in the cart, J?”

He gives you a small smile, bends down to capture your lips in a quick kiss, and then strides away again.

“That’s what I thought.”

You narrow your eyes, then let out the most dramatic sigh you can muster.

“I’m just saying, J, if you’re gonna insist we go golfing, you better perform.”

He rolls his eyes at you, walking back toward the cart, and sits down next to you, pointing toward the direction of the ball.

“(Y/N), my love, will you please take me toward the ball so I may prove I’m worthy of you?”

You smack his knee but put the cart in motion anyway, speeding toward the ball as fast as the golf cart will carry you. You hit a couple of bumps on the way, satisfied when Jack grips his side handle and looks a little scared at your driving ability.

When you finally park next to the ball, he gets out, settles into his form, and swings away again, the ball going toward the correct direction.

“That was better,” you call out. “Not good, but better.”

He rolls his eyes again, and you throw him a wink, going to grab another shooter that you’d bought earlier. If he’s going to force you to watch him golf, you’re going to be a bit tipsy, and he’s going to have to take care of you later.

After your shot, you settle back into your regular system. You taunt him, he retaliates, you kiss and makeup, then the cycle begins again. It’s a good system; you genuinely love it, but when the sun starts to dip below the horizon, and you’ve run out of alcohol, you know it’s time to leave.

Jack must’ve sensed this, too, because he returns to the cart, places his club back into the bag, and sits down somewhat hard next to you.

“You may be slightly right. Today wasn’t my best showing.” He sighs. “But I’m on the rise.”

You laugh, grab his face, and pull it toward you, planting a giant kiss on his cheek, hoping to dull the pain of his inadequacy at golf.

After your kiss, you take that as your cue to finally escape this green hell, and you start driving toward the insanely nice country club main house to check back in your gold cart.

As you get closer to the building, you and back share a look. It’s decorated to the nines, and nicely dressed people are out and about, drinks in hand and mingling.

“It must be a wedding?” Jack questions, raising his eyebrow.

You hum in agreement and start making your way toward the drop-off point. You drop the cart, handing back the keys to the uninterested-looking teenage girl. You offer her your best smile and go to walk out before she calls after you.

“By the way, if you’re with the wedding party, the dance starts in half an hour.”

You move to say you’re not before Jack squeezes your hand and answers for you.

“Perfect timing then, thanks.”

You throw him a confused glance as you head through the door. A slight smirk is playing on his lips, and you don’t like the mischievous glint you see settling into his eyes. Once you clear the space, you head toward his Range, but before reaching for the door handle, he leans against the passenger seat, blocking you.

“How do you feel about crashing a wedding?”

You widen your eyes at the boy in front of you. Never in a million years would you expect him to say that.

“What?”

He shrugs his shoulders and points toward the trunk of a bag you have in there.

“I mean, it’s kinda fate. You still have that dress from Brunch, and I have an extra suit.”

You honestly think he’s joking, but his look is serious.

“What if we get caught? I would die.”

He shakes his head at your question, opening the back and pulling out your bag and the suit.

“We won’t,” he seems so sure of himself. “And if we do, we’ll handle it.”

He thrusts the bag toward you and opens the back door, gesturing you inside to change. You throw him one last questioning look but decide it’s much easier just to follow his lead.

It takes you a few minutes to change in his back seat, but it wouldn’t be the first time, and you highly doubt the last. Once you’re finished, you hop out and motion to the back of the dress so the zipper you couldn’t reach. Jack is quick to move your hair to the side and grab the zipper, pulling it up. Once he does, he gently kisses your shoulder and moves behind you to get dressed.

You stand watch as more and more people pour into the wedding. Your heart is thumping, and the nerves of what you’re about to do are getting to you. You feel slightly relieved when you see many couples your age walking in, but it also sets you even more on edge, knowing your age group will be a factor.

Almost in record time, Jack hops out of the vehicle and stands before you, spinning around and giving you a 360 view.

“How do I look?”

You smile at him. “Very handsome.”

He does, actually, for someone who just changed into a backup suit in the back of a Range Rover. He steps toward you, and you smooth down his lapels and straighten the tie to be perfect. Once you finish that, he helps you step into some heels you’d worn earlier, and once they’re on, you do a quick little spin for his approval.

“Look okay?”

He gently grabs one of your hands, pulling it to his mouth and kissing it softly.

“Beautiful as always.”

Once you’re both settled, you make your way to the doors and pray that you get in. Your heart is thumping out of your chest, and Jack's hand gently rubs over your thumb to help your nerves. As you get close, another couple beats you to the door, and you both wait as they talk to the two women standing next to a greeting table out front. They say something you can’t hear, and the ladies offer a bright smile and ushers them inside. You’re up next, and as soon as the other couple steps through, Jack pulls you toward the table.

“Hello!” One lady says brightly. “Bride or groom?”

You weren’t expecting the question, and your face falls slightly, but your overconfident boyfriend doesn’t miss a beat.

“Both, actually.”

The ladies smile again brightly and hand over a little brochure.

“That’s both the bride and groom's signature cocktails and the dance should be starting soon.”

The one closest to the door gestures to you both inside, and Jack leads you in, gently squeezing your hand again.

The inside looks beautiful. Lights are strung everywhere, and the decorations are tasteful. You bask in the essence of it, and you genuinely love weddings. You see a couple of signs as you walk, and you catch sight of pictures of the happy couple.

“Kevin and Stacy. We should probably remember that.”

You snort at your boyfriend, but you do make a mentor note. It would be rather apparent of your wedding crashing if you didn’t know the names.

Jack leads you to the main ballroom, where everything is stunningly assembled. Most of the chairs have been cleared, and a dance floor in the middle waits for people to hit it.

You follow Jack to the table toward the side, which holds hundreds of pictures of the bride and groom throughout their life. You see that when they seemingly meet one another, it mirrors very similar to your relationship. You smile big as you see pictures of them doing almost everything together. They spent their summers boating their winters by a fireplace, and there is even a photo of Stacy hugging her man after a hockey game. You jab Jack in the ribs as you see it, noting that he’s donning a University of Michigan club hockey jersey. Once he sees the photo you’re looking at, he pulls you closer and laughs at the small connection to his family's favorite place.

Someone clears their throat behind you, and you freeze. You both turn slowly to see a woman standing there, two drinks in hand.

“You two look like you need a drink while staring at these photos.”

She hands you and Jack each a cocktail, and your heart starts beating faster.

“I’m not sure I know either of you.” She pauses, a puzzled look crossing her features. “But you also seem so familiar.”

You take a deep breath, ready to be caught, and accept your fate.

“I know Kev from hockey at Umich. Back when he played club.”

You want to die as your boyfriend lies through his teeth, but as soon as he speaks, the girl laughs.

“Oh my god, that makes sense. It’s nice to meet you..?” She pauses.

“Jack.” Jack extends his hand to hers, and then she turns to you.

“(Y/N).”

She shakes your hand as well. You’re thankful she gets called away moments later, and she sends you one last smile and walks toward the group of women who called her.

“That was close.” You breathe out, then turn to Jack. “Since when did you get good at lying?”

He chuckles a bit and shrugs his shoulders. “I’m a middle child. I’ve always been good.”

He retakes your hand and leads you away from the picture table to look more around the venue. You kill as much time as possible, and finally, the dance begins to start.

You and Jack sit far away from the dance floor in the back of the crowd. Like everyone else, you both coo as you see the happy couple for the first time, having their first dance on the floor. You watch as they sway back and forth in their little world, ignoring everyone else and focusing on one another. It’s a sweet moment you’re witnessing, and you can’t help but feel a little guilty.

“I feel terrible, J I think we should go. I wouldn’t want to ruin their night if they knew a few strangers were here.”

Jack listens intently to your plea, and he knows by the look on your face that you’re already on edge and staying here won’t help.

“Okay, let’s go. I have to run to the bathroom. Are you good here for a minute?”

You nod your head, and he gets up. You watch as he goes and then force yourself to stare at the floor, which is now crowded with many attendees from the wedding. You smile at the people dancing again and count down the seconds until Jack gets back.

As you sit there anxiously, Jack goes as fast as he can to the nearest bathroom. It’s nicely decorated as well, and it seems to be empty except for one another man. Jack keeps his head down, does his business, and tries to go as slow as possible. Nevertheless, the other man takes his sweet time, and Jack meets him at the sink area.

Jack offers a small, tight-lipped smile as he washes his hands, and so does the other dude. He goes back to drying his hands when he catches the other man doing a double take, and a brief look of realization crosses both of their features and a sudden pit forms in his stomach.

“Holy fuck,” The man says. “Are you Jack Hughes?”

Shit.

Jack swallows and then slowly nods his head and swallows hard. “Yep. That’s me. I assume you’re Kevin? The groom?”

Jack half expects the man to get pissed, and he prepares for the worst.

“What’re you doing here?” A crazy smile cracks across Kevin’s face.

Jack thinks he could lie, but at this point, there is no use. So, for the first time all night, he tells the truth.

“Honestly, me and my girlfriend saw your wedding while golfing, and I convinced her to come and crash it.”

Jack explains the situation quickly, but as he speaks, a look of disbelief flashes across Kevin’s face.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah, man, I’m sorry. We’ll leave now, and I can pay you for the drinks and whatever else.”

Kevin suddenly busts out laughing, shaking his head.

“Why would you leave? The old people are finally going home, and the real parties are about to start.”

Jack's mouth drops open, and he can’t believe it.

“Are you sure we can stay?” He gapes.

Kevin nods his head and gently clasps him on the shoulder.

“You could crash my honeymoon night and I wouldn’t mind. I’m a huge fan, and this is the craziest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Out of all the ways Jack ran through with what would happen if they got caught, this wasn’t one of them at all. They spend the next few minutes talking, and it feels like they’re old buddies.

“Just let me tell Stac, she’ll go nuts for you two.”

They leave the bathroom, and Jack makes a beeline to where you’re sitting. As he closes the furnace, he can see your worry etched across your face, and you look as though you want to die. When you finally see him coming, your eyes narrow a bit.

“Jesus, Jack, what took you so long.” You hiss.

He takes your hand. “You’re never gonna believe who I ran into.”

He quickly explains the bathroom story to you, and you’re hanging onto every word. Your mouth drops open as he finishes, and he sees the wave of relief practically roll over you.

“So now we’re invited?” You ask.

“We’re invited.”

You lean over him and throw your arms around his neck, planting a small kiss on his cheek.

“Who knew that being you would have so many weird perks.”

————————————————————————

Kevin wasn’t lying, and the minute the older folks left, the real party began. Drinks are flowing, and everyone in the wedding party is dancing their asses off. The mix being played is heavy on the 2000s hits and club music, and you’re loving every second. The minute you drag Jack to the dance floor, he knows his night is going to be wild.

Usher is bumping in the background as you settle your hips on Jack. You spend that way for half a song, and you love every second of feeling his arms wrapped around you. You’re genuinely on cloud nine, and nothing could be better now—only maybe one thing.

“I need some water.” You yell over the music.

Jack nods his head toward the bar. “You want me to grab you some?”

You shake your head no and pry his arms off of you. You quickly give him a peck and a swat to the ass as you walk toward the bar. You patiently place yourself in line when a tap on your shoulder takes you out of your daze.

“I take it you’re one-half of the wedding crashers?” You flush red and widen your eyes as you see the woman of the night.

Her evening dress is gorgeous, and her hair and makeup are perfect. You finally meet her stare dead on, and you think for a moment that she might be upset, but much to your surprise, she loops an arm through yours and pulls you close to her.

“I’m so happy you guys are here.” She whispers in your ear. “You made my husband’s life tonight. He’s told almost every guest that Jack Hughes came to his wedding. He’s never going to let this go.”

You giggle at the woman beside you, and soon enough, the line clears, and you’re at the front. You politely ask for water, and the bride behind you interrupts you.

“We will also have two shots.” She leans over your shoulder and shoots you a wicked smile.

As soon as the bartender delivers your drink. She grabs the two shots, hands you one, and loops your arm again to take a twisted shot together.

“Bottoms up.” She winks at you.

You toss the shot back, and the hard liquor burns down your throat. You laugh as a little bit slides down your face, and you wipe it away as Stacy suddenly drags you away, Introducing you to the wedding party.

Everyone is lovely, and you finally make it to the maid of honor, who you recognize immediately as the woman from earlier who gave you your first drinks. As soon as you properly introduce yourself, she throws your arms around you in a hug.

“You look like a killer on the dance floor; let’s go.”

Like that, you’re magically accepted into these strangers' lives, and you make your way to the dance floor with the rest of the bridesmaids and the bride herself.

More shots flow and terrible dance moves are danced. When you enter the floor with your new crew, you spot Jack in a circle with the groom. You mentally laugh at the humor of the situation, and you can’t help but love how the night has panned out.

Almost an hour later, you’re beyond drunk and still dancing with the bridal party. You’ve become fast friends, and by now, you’ve already promised to set two bridesmaids up with the single devil players you know.

It isn’t until the DJ gives everyone a little dance break with a slow song that you suddenly miss your boyfriend very much. He’s nowhere in your eyesight, but you nearly jump when someone grabs you into their arms and places a kiss on your neck.

“You look like you are having fun,” Jack whispers in your ear, pulling you in even closer.

You snuggle into his hold and find yourself melting. You love being in his arms; it’s your favorite place. Especially when you’re drunk, they feel like the safest place in the world.

With the slow song playing in the background, Jack turns you to face him. He’s got that smitten look on his face, but he doesn’t look as glazed as you thought he would.

“Have you been drinking?” You question, running your hands at the nape of his neck.

He shakes his head no. “Stopped a while ago. Someone has to drive us home, and I saw you take two shots with the bride thirty minutes ago.”

He chuckles and squeezes your sides, and you yelp away from him.

“You don’t have to stop,” you complain. “We can Uber.”

He smiles again, and a soft look crosses his face.

“Nah, I wanna be the one taking you home.” he cups your face in his hands and gives you a soft kiss.

The slow song continues, and you place your head on Jack's shoulder, savoring being there. You’re letting him lead, and he’s gently swaying with you on the floor. Many other couples surround you, but you couldn’t care less about anyone else in the room. If he’s near you, he’s the only person on the planet.

As soon as the song ends, he sits you down at the edge of the dance floor and goes to get you a glass of water. You sit at the table, drunkenly overlooking the crowd, and smile at the wedding around you. You love weddings, and you often think about yours. You don’t know how far out it will be, but you can’t care less as long as Jack is the one who asks. Though you’d never tell him, you’re ready whenever he is. You knew a year in that he was it for you, that he was your everything. But alas, you have school, and he has hockey, and you know he’ll pop the question when he’s ready.

At the same time you’re daydreaming, Jack is grabbing the water from the bartender and having one last talk with the groom, who also was getting water for his new wife.

“How long have you two been together,” Kevin asks Jack, nodding toward you at the table.

“Over two years,” Jack answers. “So a while.”

Kevin whistles at the answer, and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Yeah, a long while.” He nods toward you again. “Two years was when I popped the question. Knew I waited long enough, and she was the one.”

Jack snorts at the man beside him, and Kevin counters again.

“Is she the one?”

Jack watches you from across the way as you’re watching everyone else. He smiles as he sees you eyeing the various couples, flowers, and lights surrounding you. He genuinely believes you’ve never looked more beautiful underneath the dim light and the essence of love and joy radiating through the air.

“Yeah, she’s the one,” Jack says firmly, meaning every word.

“Then what’re you waiting for?”

The question is fair. You’ve talked about marriage, but it’s always been on the back burner behind your school and his hockey. You both have discussed how you’re both so young, and you have nothing but time to waste together.

“I don’t know. I guess I’m waiting for her. I don’t know if she’s ready.”

Kevin suddenly starts to laugh, almost uncontrollably, and Jack shoots him a confused look.

“Man, I’ve been watching how she looks at you all night. I don’t think I’ve seen any woman that ready.”

Jack eyes him. “Really?”

“Really.”

Jack and Kevin talk for another minute, saying their goodbyes and making promises to gold together soon when Jack makes his way back to your table. You are sitting sleepily and messing with the edges of the cloth table. When he gets close enough, he calls your name and hands you the water.

“You ready to call it a night?” He asks.

You nod your head, and he pulls you to your feet and takes you on your rounds to say your final goodbyes to the gracious couple who let you crash their wedding and all the new friends you’ve made in a singular, memorable night.

As you both leave the venue, Jack takes your hand, intertwining your fingers as you walk together. The cool night air feels refreshing against your skin after the warmth of the crowded dance floor. You lean into Jack's side, feeling content and happy to have spent such an unexpected but enjoyable evening together.

As you approach the Range, Jack opens the door, gesturing for you to get in first. Once you're settled in the passenger seat, he closes the door gently before going to the driver's side. Before starting the engine, he turns to you, a soft smile on his lips.

“You know, deciding to crash that wedding with you was one of the best decisions I've ever made," he says, his eyes meeting yours with warmth and affection.

You let out your millionth laugh of the night, feeling a rush of love for this man beside you.

“I agree. Way better than golfing earlier.”

With a soft chuckle, Jack leans in to kiss your lips tenderly, the moment feeling incredibly intimate and memorable with the surrounding setting. As you pull away, you meet each other's gaze, and nothing but love is shown on both of your faces.

“Come on, let’s get your cute ass home,” Jack says softly, his hand finding yours again as he starts the car.

As Jack begins the drive home, you lean back in your seat, feeling the warmth of the evening still lingering in your heart. You glance over at Jack, his focused expression softened by the glow of the dashboard lights. Moments like these make you realize how lucky you are to have him by your side.

The drive is quiet but comfortable, and you can’t help but stare at him. You, indeed, are in love with this man.

As you approach home, Jack pulls into the driveway and turns off the engine. The night air feels crisp against your skin as you step out of the car, Jack following closely behind, grabbing your things. Together, you make your way to the front door, the warmth of home beckoning you inside.

Once inside, Jack makes quick work of jumping into caretaker mode, and he takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, where he helps you remove your makeup with a tenderness that never fails to make your heart swell. He fetches everything you need for bed, your inevitable hangover, and anything else you request.

Finally, once you’re all settled, he tucks you into bed with gentle kisses and whispered words of affection. As you drift off to sleep, Jack lingers for a moment and watches how peaceful you are. With one final kiss on the forehead, he remembers Kevin’s earlier words.

Quietly slipping out of the room, Jack heads to the closet where most of his summer hockey gear sits. There, underneath many stacks of old hockey clothes where you’d never look, he retrieves the secret wedding ring that no one in the world knows about. He bought the ring after only six months of dating when he learned that you were it for him. That you were then and were always going to be his everything. He’s been holding onto the ring now for almost a year and a half, waiting for you.

Holding it in his hand, he turns it over and reflects on the depth of his love for you and the certainty that you're the one he wants to spend the rest of his life with. In this quiet moment alone, Jack makes a silent promise to himself to ask you to marry him very soon. He doesn’t want to wait, and he wants to start forever as soon as he can.

He gently places the ring in its hiding spot and returns to the room. You’re still knocked out. He smiles as he sees you’re dead to the world, and he tucks himself next to you under the covers. He almost dies of adoration when, like a magnet, you fold yourself into his side. You fit perfectly there, and he’s half tempted to wake you up and pop the question now.

He doesn’t, though; instead, he pulls you impossibly closer and lets himself think about how he’s going to ask you to marry him, and then eventually, he lets himself fall asleep, dreaming of the life you're going to have together.

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