#slams this down before gunning it

[beps-brainrot]

I need Lunar to be held and carried more than I need air.

I scribbled these a while ago and cleaned them up. But now I have no desire to finish them, so. Sorry y'all

[silusvesuius]

n*loth not being able to bag anyone over the (human term) age of 25-30 at most is the only logical and real conclusion to me because it can be just explained away as him wanting to prove and control everything and anyone (Cus he's a man!) but being stuck in that demographic because his unbearable and vile personality is a force that nobody can look past once they've outgrown the possible fear and idolization period of anyone but also n*loth in particular.

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Soldier x Reader - NonCon

Yandere! Soldier with his foreign accent and foreign guns. With muscles that show even underneath all his body armour.

Yandere! Soldier who's part of a platoon sent to keep an eye on your neighbourhood. Who's looking for insurrectionists hiding in plain site.

Yandere! Soldier who's suspicious of everyone and everything.

Yandere! Solider who notices you all too quickly, with your books and your pamphlets. Who's immediately suspicious about the people that come and go from your apartment at all hours.

Yandere! Soldier who barely even waits for permission from his commander before he's leading a squad to bust down your door.

Yandere! Soldier who somehow ends up in your panty drawer and who lingers far longer than he needs to. Who searches through them - ostensibly for contraband - just so he can feel the silk and lace on his calloused hands. Who keeps picturing these lacy little things under your neat pleated skirt.

Yandere! Soldier who's pissed as hell when he can't find any evidence of rebellion. Hell, even those pamphlets you were carrying around the other day are gone. Who's disturbed by how calm you are - despite a bunch of soldiers ransacking your place.

Yandere! Soldier who grabs onto your wrist right before he leaves, who looks into your eyes and says that he knows something about you is suspicious. That you might have escaped this time but at some point, you're going to slip up.

Yandere! Soldier who can't help but notice how fragile your wrists are, how delicate your neck looks. How helpless you would be if it weren't for your frighteningly sharp tongue.

Yandere! Soldier who grins just a little when you threaten to demand a replacement door from his Sergeant.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself stopping outside your apartment more and more on his patrols. Who tells his squadmates that he's suspicious of you, when really he just wants a chance to watch you go about your day.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself gripping his rifle when he sees you walking alone with your male classmates. Who more than once has them stopped and searched.

Yandere! Soldier who takes his frustration out on his sparing partners - to the point that no one wants to train with him for fear of splintered bones.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps running into you. And despite his body armour, his rifle, his rank and power, you never seem impressed or even afraid of him.

Yandere! Soldier who watches as the martial law on your city becomes stricter and stricter. First the curfew, and then the armed checkpoints, and then the armored vehicles parked on seemingly every street corner.

Yandere! Soldier who knows what really happens to suspected rebels when they're held for questioning. Who keeps thinking of your wrists dwarfed by his hands. Who keeps thinking of your pretty hands mangled by the interrogators.

Yandere! Soldier who finds himself alone outside your apartment, so nervous that his hands are trembling. Who knocks and knocks on your new door until you open it, still sluggish with sleep.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't give you a chance to scream as he shoves his way into your apartment and kicks the door closed behind him.

Yandere! Soldier who manages to hold onto you even as you kick and bite and swear at him.

Yandere! Soldier who hisses at you to just shut up and listen. That for once, he's trying to help you.

Yandere! Soldier who has to literally grab you by your collar and slam you against the wall before you stop trying to bite him.

Yandere! Soldier who tells you that the army intends to arrest you tomorrow morning on suspicion of insurgency. That he knows a place where you'll be safe.

Yandere! Solider who doesn't listen to your complaints or objections. Who zip ties your wrists together and gags you before hoisting you up on his shoulder.

Yandere! Soldier who doesn't even notice you banging your fists against his back.

Yandere! Soldier who drives all the way across the city in an armoured vehicle with you tossed across the backseat. At the checkpoints, his fellow soldiers just smirk and tell him to enjoy himself.

Yandere! Soldier who brings you to an old room in an old building. Who tosses you down on the bed and suddenly realises just how close you are.

Yandere! Soldier who slowly leans down to kiss your cheek. Who smells your perfume and feels himself slowly going feral.

Yandere! Solider who kisses down your jawline and then down your neck, his lips as light as feathers. Who runs his palms up your waist, marvelling at the softness of your skin against the roughness of his hands.

Yandere! Soldier who pins your hands above your head so he can admire your body stretched out underneath him.

Yandere! Soldier who knows this is wrong. Who knows it's going to hurt you and haunt you. Who feels his heart clench when he looks into your crying eyes.

Yandere! Soldier who knows, but fucks you anyway.

Yandere! Soldier who is so gentle, that you almost wish he meant it. Who keeps one arm wrapped around your waist the entire time. Who keeps whispering to you in his native language, his voice rough as in prayer.

Yandere! Soldier who keeps his forehead pressed against yours even as he thrusts deep inside you.

Yandere! Soldier who stays inside of you even after he comes. Who just wants to feel the warmth of your body under his. Who wants to pretend that the little muffled sounds you're making are out of affection.

Yandere! Soldier who cuts your bonds away with his combat knife. The blade catches the moonlight and it breaks his heart when you flinch away from him.

Yandere! Soldier who tries to convince himself he did the right thing. You're safe from the interrogation room, aren't you?

Yandere! Soldier who looks at your tears in the moonlight and realises his love was the worst thing that ever happened to you.

Yandere! Soldier who falls asleep with you in his arms, his dog tags pressed against your shoulder blades. Yandere! Soldier who knows that he's a monster, but holds you all the same.

Yandere! Soldier who whispers to you just before he falls asleep.

Мне жаль

I'm sorry.

Но я люблю тебя

But I love you.

[yannawayne]

not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

SYNOPSIS: You get kidnapped and Damian snaps. TAGS: Graphic Depictions Of Violence! Genderneutral! Blood, Hurt/Comfort, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Kidnapping, Childhood Trauma, My Mother is the Worst Woman Alive and I'm her Favorite Son, Damian is Eighteen.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

YOUR PALMS WERE PRESSED tightly against your eyes, wrists raw and burning from the rope that had bound them just minutes ago. Sobs slipped from your lips, eyes bloodshot, and mouth parched dry.

The rotting smell of the warehouse was an assault on your senses—an acrid mix of trash, harsh chemicals, and the faint tang of gunfire that lingered in the air.

There was a hushing in your ear as you leaned against a cloaked figure—Batman. Bruce. 

His hand rubbed at your back, firm and steady, a grounding presence amid the chaos. His cape, dark and imposing, wrapped around you like a shield, blocking out the violence unfolding just in front of you.

Shadows danced erratically on the walls as Robin moved with lethal precision. Bodies fell unconscious, thudding heavily against the concrete floor. Blood splattered. Screams echoed. Each punch landed with a sickening crunch, bones breaking. Crates and debris were scattered haphazardly, wood and concrete slamming onto the floor. 

Damian couldn't see anything but red.

His vision was tunneled, focused solely on the next target, the next blow, the next scream. 

A swift roundhouse kick sent one assailant crashing into a stack of crates, the wood splintering under the impact. One punch connected with a jaw, the sickening crunch of bone breaking echoing through the air. Blood sprayed on his fist. Another one rushed toward him, brandishing a knife, but he disarmed the man with a swift twist of the wrist, jamming the blade into the attacker's palm. The man screamed, clutching his arm as red streaked his skin.

Damian's eyes flickered with a dark satisfaction as he watched the thug stumble backward, clutching at the wound.

One last man remained. One who had lunged at him from behind, grappling onto his back. Damian scowled and surged backward, driving both himself and his attacker into the wall with bone-crushing force. The man's grip loosened, a pained gasp escaping his lips as the air was knocked out of him.

"Fool," Damian spat, his voice dripping with venom. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?"

The thug whimpered, trying to scramble away, but Damian was relentless. He twisted sharply, dislodging the assailant and slamming an elbow into his ribs. The man crumpled against the wall, clutching his side, his eyes wide with fear and pain.

"You think you can touch those I care for and get away with it?" Damian growled. He didn't give the thug a moment to recover. He swung a powerful fist into the guy's face, the impact sending a spray of blood and teeth into the air. 

"F-Fuck you, man!" The man yanked a gun from his waistband, but before he could even line up a shot, Damian’s foot kicked out, sending the weapon flying through the air. The gun clattered against the concrete with a deafening clang. With a snarl, Damian lunged forward, grabbing the thug by the collar and slamming him into the ground.

"H-Hey! Mercy! Mercy! I'm a-already down!" the assailant wailed, his hands clawing at Robin's uniform in a desperate plea. "The Bat don’t kill! You—you ain't gonna kill me!"

Damian's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as his voice dropped to a low, menacing growl.

"I'm not Batman," he spat, the tone amplified and darkened by the modulator. "Every breath you take is a mercy I choose to grant. By the time I'm finished, you'll be begging for death."

He raised his fist, the tension in his muscles coiling like a spring ready to snap. The thug’s eyes widened in terror, his pleas growing frantic as he braced for the blow. However, just as Damian’s fist was about to land, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, grabbing onto his hand with a vice-like grip. Before he could react, Batman—Bruce—had tackled him, pinning him firmly against his chest. 

“Robin,” Batman’s voice was firm, concern barely concealed. “That’s enough.”

Damian's struggle was fierce, his body thrashing under his father’s strength as he roared in fury.

“Let me go!” he screamed, his voice raw with anger. “I’m going to kill him for what he did to them!”

The anger engulfed Damian like a stormy ocean, dragging him beneath its violent waves. Visions of his mother’s face, his grandfather’s form, and accusing shadows surged from the depths, all condemning him. Damian’s cries erupted into a raw, guttural scream, gradually dissolving into ragged gasps as he battled the relentless tide.

Though Bruce had shaped him into a hero, a beacon of justice, and his family had offered him a fragile semblance of belonging, Damian was still his mother’s son.

The violence and anger roiling within him were like roots twisted deep within his soul. There was not a thing that could purge the primal rage and pain that had taken root before his first breath.

When he finally broke through the surface, baptized in blood and weighed down by sins that clung to him like chains, he sought you out with an urgent, almost desperate need.

A heavy thud. Ragged breaths. Then the sound of footsteps.

The same hands that had ruthlessly beat your kidnappers to a pulp—the ones that had pulverized flesh with blood splattered across his knuckles, the ones that had heard the crack of bones beneath his grip, the ones that bore the scars of countless cuts and stabs—now traced your cheek with a featherlight touch.

"Beloved."

Your hands were carefully peeled away from your eyes, and you met soft emerald eyes through a veil of tears. His hands moved to unlatch his cape, the soft fabric pooling around your form. His lips, speaking in his mother tongue, murmured a soothing litany of comfort, Arabic endearments flowing like silk. He pressed your head against his chest and you found refuge in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

Bruce watched the scene with a pensive look. His son's body had dwarfed you, broad shoulders and strong muscles enveloping your form like a shield. His head was tucked into your hair, his hands raking all over your tense and sweaty skin.

Damian had momentarily shed the hardened exterior he so often wore—a soldier with a heart that, despite its armor, occasionally revealed cracks. This was a side of him that often surprised people.

Because Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

He was all sharp edges. Poisonous, scalding words that could sear through the thickest armor of patience. Rough, nearly violent in his touch, like a blade pressed against skin. There was no gentleness in his movements, no softness in his gestures, only the relentless precision of a trained killer.

From the earliest moments he could walk, his life was an unending series of tests, each more grueling than the last. Each cut and bruise was a lesson. Failure was met with harsh punishment, success with silent approval. Affection and praise were as rare as mercy. 

The League’s doctrine was ingrained in him: emotions were vulnerabilities, attachments were liabilities, and loyalty was owed only to the mission and the League. His purpose in the League of Assassins was clear—to be the perfect instrument of their will, a living embodiment of their principles. 

Emotion was his enemy, a weakness to be purged.  He was taught to suppress his feelings, to turn them off like a switch. Pain was an illusion, fear a phantom to be banished. He learned to compartmentalize his thoughts, locking away his humanity in the deepest recesses of his mind. 

By the time he reached ten, he was a finely honed instrument of death.

A living weapon in a world that knew no peace.

It had taken Bruce eight grueling years to begin undoing the damage. And even then, he had barely scratched the surface.

Then there was you.

The trembling, warm-faced student Damian had introduced during his senior year—his partner for a science project, he said. 

At first, the interactions were subtle—a fleeting glance here, a hesitant smile there. But as time went on, it became impossible to ignore the way your presence began to soften the sharp edges of Damian's demeanor.

Bruce had seen you both fall for each other over the months. And he saw hope. 

You were the opposite of every lesson Damian has ever been taught.

To him, you were soft, in every sense. Soft movements, soft features, soft voice. Everything about you exuded comfort.

You made something he had always pushed down and shut away come to the surface.

You made him feel things—things he should not.

When you touched him with your soft hands, everything in him burned. The gentle brush of your fingers against his skin ignited a searing heat, a raw and unfamiliar longing that clawed violently at the walls he had worked so hard to maintain. Each touch chipped away at the concrete barriers of his training, breaking them down and leaving him exposed, aching for something he couldn’t quite name.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

Mania. Drake had called it, a wild obsession of his that could consume and devour.

Damian's arms encircled you like a lifeline, holding you close as though he feared you might slip away. His lips brushed against your temple, warm and tender, while his biceps pressed firmly under your chest, anchoring you in his embrace. The air was thick with the mingled scents of sweat, blood, and the lingering residue of fear. 

And yet, amidst these odors, there was an underlying, almost imperceptible hint of Damian’s cologne—Arabian oudh. It was rich and smoky, with notes of aged wood, a faint earthy sweetness, and subtle undertones of leather and spice.

You buried your face into the crook of his neck, the fabric of his suit brushing against your cheek.

A Crush. Todd had chalked it up to puppy love, something that would eventually fade with time.

He lifted you effortlessly from the floor, his strength evident in his smooth, controlled movements. The way he adjusted his hold with such care to ensure your comfort spoke louder than any words could.

Warmth enveloped you—Damian had always run hotter, like a human furnace. On sweltering days, his clinginess (no matter how much he denied it) had been a nuisance, his heat making you feel as if your skin might melt off. But now, that same warmth was a comforting embrace, a welcome shield.

Infatuation. Grayson had suggested, thinking it was just a fleeting, intense passion. But there was something deeper in the way he looked at you, something that felt permanent and unshakeable.

“I am here. I am here, beloved," he spoke to you lowly. "It's alright now."

Love. His father called it.

In an instant, everything seemed to collapse around you. Tears welled up and streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed into his chest, each shudder of your body sending waves of anguish through him. Damian’s heart twisted painfully at the sight of you. 

He has seen suffering—he has inflicted suffering. But this was different. Your pain was a torment he was helpless to alleviate. 

Face twisted in guilt, he pulled you tighter against him, as though he could hold the world’s pain at bay if he just held you close enough.

A hand tapped at his shoulder, and he flinched, turning to see his father.

“The Batmobile is just by the docks. We can—”

“They're in shock,” Damian scowled. the fire back in his eyes. “Do you honestly believe they're in any state to be moved at this moment?”

Bruce’s gaze was firm. “Damian, we don’t have time to—”

“They need to be stabilized first,” Damian cut in sharply, his tone brooking no argument. He turned abruptly, striding towards the exit. “If you want them to survive this, we need to take care of them properly, not rush them into a car. I shall be outside.”

Without waiting for a response, Damian moved swiftly, the clatter of his boots echoing as he stepped into the cool night air with you. Once the warehouse door closed behind him, he turned his full attention back to you, his hand gently brushing your tear-streaked face. 

He moved to press his forehead gently against yours, the warmth of his skin meeting yours in a tender connection. He could offer no verbal comfort anymore; words seemed woefully inadequate. Your cries gradually subsided as you drew comfort from his presence.

Love.

He lifted his hand to the side of his face, pressing a button. As his mask retracted, his eyes met yours. Damian knew that more than anything else, you loved his eyes.

Time and again, you found yourself drawn to them, unable to tear your gaze away. They were hypnotic—an exquisite blend of emerald green, green as vibrant as the leather cover of his sketchbook, flecked with gold and streaked with brown paint.

His eyes were windows to his soul, offering the only genuine glimpse into the depths of his emotions. In them, you could see his anger burning like a stormy sea, joy dancing like sunlight on rippling water, embarrassment flitting like a shadow, and pain etched as deep as his scars.

At times, his eyes grew gentle, revealing something much softer—something that made your heart swell and your knees feel weak. A love so pure and unexpected that it could melt the coldest of hearts.

Damian Wayne was the farthest thing from soft.

But in these soft, fragile moments he shared with you, where his heart beat in sync with yours, Damian found an unexpected calm. It was in these rare interludes, away from the brutality and darkness that defined his world, that he could truly be himself.

Here, he was not a weapon but a person—capable of loving and being loved.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ♱

ao3: yenwayne

NOTE: I want to delve into the line I wrote: 'Damian is still his mother’s son.'

It's just to show his trauma, I despise Talia with all my guts.

Talia's control over Damian is a textbook example of manipulative conditioning at its most extreme. In psychological development, early experiences and parental influence are crucial in shaping one's self-concept. From his earliest days, Damian was deprived of a normal childhood. His personality, thoughts, and desires have all been sculpted by the League of Assassins from day one.

His anger, protectiveness, and sense of duty are manifestations of this—a child raised to be a killer, now struggling with the fragments of a humanity that was never fully allowed to blossom.

I'm not saying he hasn't changed!!! He has turned into so much more than the weapon they intended him to be. He is genuinely good. But the impact of such deep-seated trauma cannot be easily overlooked or resolved. It’s not something that can simply be swept under the rug or fixed overnight.

So, this was my attempt at capturing his character! I’m very open to constructive criticism since I’m new to the fandom. Please be kind and gentle with your feedback :)

[hintsofhoney]

Ladies With Experience

Paring(s): Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean makes an off-handed comment about "preferring ladies with experience", you try (and fail) to not let it get under your skin. You're a virgin, but you've done just about everything else, and when you talk to Dean about it, he offers to be your first. He's your best friend, and you've been in love with him forever... who are you to deny him?

Tags: smut, first time, virgin!reader, dom/sub dynamics, dom!dean, p in v, oral (female receiving), spanking, fingering, not-so-innocent reader

Word Count: 5k

A/N: As always, thank you to my loves @wayward-dreamer and @makeadealwithdean for beta-ing. Would be nowhere without you two 🥰

You can also read me on Ao3!

DEAN WINCHESTER MASTERLIST | SUPERNATURAL MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

“Anyways, let’s say you’re right, fine. Who would want virgins?”

You know Sam didn’t mean it like that , and you felt stupid for letting it bother you. For letting this case bother you.

“You got me,” Dean replied with a shrug. “I prefer ladies with experience.” 

And there it was, like a punch straight to the gut. You hated that it hurt you as much as it did. So what, you’ve never had sex. But you’ve done almost everything else. You knew what you liked and what you didn't. You’ve been around the block a few times with the various sex toys in your nightstand drawer. It’s not like you weren’t experienced at all . But that didn’t make Dean’s words hurt any less. You swallowed down the burger and fries from lunch that were threatening to come up, before standing up from your seat at the small motel room table. 

The brothers looked at you, eyebrows raised.

“I — bathroom,” you managed, before quickly making your way there, slamming the door shut behind you. 

Staring at your reflection in the dirty bathroom mirror, you let the tears fall. Silently, you wiped them away as Dean’s words echoed in your head, and you hated that you loved him. Hated that you’d never be ballsy enough to admit it to him, especially now.

Something like five minutes passed and you knew you didn’t have long before one of the boys — likely Sam — would come knocking to check on you. You flushed the unused toilet so they wouldn’t suspect anything and turned on the faucet, splashing your tear-soaked face with cold water before using a hand towel to wipe it dry. When you emerged, the guys were packing up their duffels.

“Did you find them?” you asked, hopeful.

Dean checked his gun, before flipping the safety on and stuffing it in the back waistband of his jeans. 

“I sure as hell hope so, ‘cause if I’m about to crawl through the goddamn sewers for nothing —”

“They’re down there, Dean,” Sam replied, giving him a pointed look. He turned his attention to you, and if he had noticed anything off, he hadn’t let his face show it. “You coming?”

You grabbed your gun off the dresser and holstered it in reply.

Six hours later, the three of you were sweaty, panting, and splattered in blood after a close fight with dragons in the sewers. Thankfully, you hadn’t had to wade in any actual sewage. You hadn’t said a word to either brother since you had gone to the bathroom six hours ago, and to keep them from growing suspicious of your sudden silence, you opted to take a nap in the backseat of the Impala on the way back to the motel. 

You stirred awake as Dean pulled into the parking lot, barely conscious enough to catch the end of the brothers’ conversation.

“I’ll get her,” Dean said. 

Sam nodded and got out of the car, gently closing the passenger side door before heading inside. 

You rubbed your eyes, blinking away the sleep in them as Dean’s face came into focus. He was looking at you over his shoulder, one arm resting on the top of the front bench seat. 

“Mornin’, sunshine.”

It took a moment for the feeling you had been filled with prior to your nap to come back to you, his words from earlier echoing in your head. I prefer ladies with experience . You shot him a cold glare.

“Alright. What’d I do?” he asked, turning in his seat to better angle himself towards you. 

The question caught you off guard.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You haven’t said a word since we left for that hunt, Y/N.”

“How do you know Sam didn’t do something?”

He replied with a knowing look.

You stared at your hands, clasped together in your lap, and muttered, “It’s nothing. Stupid.”

“C’mon, talk to me,” he urged.

You hated this. How easy he was to talk to. How you had always been able to tell him what was on your mind.

But not this . You couldn’t tell him this. 

You shook your head. 

“Hey,” he said softly, shifting in his seat. He was fully turned around now, reaching out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to look at those green eyes. “Talk to me,” he repeated, no room for argument in his words.

“I can’t,” you whispered. You wanted to throw up. He was your best friend, and you were utterly, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with him. He preferred girls with experience, and you had none. Not in the way that it mattered. And he had known that, thanks to a late-night stake-out game of Never Have I Ever . 

His jaw clenched. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

You briefly met his gaze. You couldn’t hold it for long. 

“Was it something I said?” he prodded. 

You stared at the buttons of his open flannel, your eyes quickly darting up to meet his in silent confirmation. 

He sighed, pulling his hand away from your face and folding his arms on top of the backseat, resting his chin on his forearm.

“Do I at least get a hint?”

“Dean, I —”

“C’mon, Y/N. You’ve never not told me anything.”

“Why are you pushing this?”

“Because I can’t stand not talking to you.”

Your heart leaped at that confession, however innocent it might have been. 

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I?”

“Because I’m making you. You would have silent treatmented me into next week.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed again, defeated. “Y/N, c’mon. Please? Whatever I said, I’m sorry. I’m sure I didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean that you ‘prefer girls with experience’?” you retorted quite sassily. The question tumbled out before you even had time to think of the implication that came with asking it. 

Dean opened and closed his mouth like a damn fish. 

“Thought so.” You began to move to make your way out of the car, when Dean reached out and grabbed your wrist.

“No,” he finally said. “I didn’t mean it.”

“It’s okay if you do. I told you, it was a dumb thing to be upset about.”

“No, it’s not. I didn’t stop to think about how this case might have been affecting you. You know I wouldn’t have let anything happen to you, right?” 

You swallowed, nodded. His hand felt like fire around your wrist.

“But for what it’s worth, I wasn’t serious. I don’t prefer anyone one way or the other. Sex is sex. If anyone’s willing to have it with me, I consider myself lucky.”

“Romantic,” you quipped.

A smile tugged at his lips. “I could show you, y’know.”

You almost threw up right there in the backseat. Your eyes grew wide.

“What?” you croaked.

“Well, if you’re worried about not having any experience… I just mean I’d be happy to, y’know. Show you the ropes.”

“… Of sex?” Really, you thought it was cute that he had this misconception of you. You knew about the ropes. You’d just never been tied up with them. 

“Of whatever you want.”

“You think I want to have sex with you?” It came out harsher than you meant it to, like part of you still thought you could hide the fact that you were in love with him. Like if you just joked it off it would go away, and you wouldn’t have to cross this line with him, even though you so badly wanted to. But you had to protect yourself, your heart. 

You didn’t miss the flash of hurt in his eyes.

“No, that’s not what I —”

You suddenly felt the need to clarify your question.

“No, I — I didn’t mean it like that either.”

Dean’s face morphed into one of confusion. “…So you do want to have sex with me?”

Your cheeks flushed red, and your throat bobbed. “Uh…”

“Forget it, stupid question, you don’t have to an—” 

“Yeah,” you answered, your voice barely above a whisper. Fuck it. Who were you to hold yourself back from the one thing you’ve been wanting for years? You cleared your throat. “Yeah, I really, really do.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Seriously?”

“Oh, cut the shit, Dean. Like you’re surprised. Everyone wants to have sex with you.”

He scoffed. “ Everyone , Y/N, really?”

“There are literally smutty fanfictions written about you,” you replied, reaching into your back pocket for your phone, dead set on proving your point. 

“Gross. And Becky doesn’t count as everyone.”

“Actually, Becky only writes for Sam.”

You realized what you said at the same time he did, and he eyed you suspiciously.

“Why do you know that?”

God dammit. “I don’t. I mean — I — like, she obviously loves Sam. So, like, she wouldn’t write porn about you. Obviously.”

“Uh huh…” There was an uncomfortable silence for a beat or three. And then, “How much smut have you read about me?”

Your face felt like it had just been rinsed with fucking lava, and you knew it probably looked as red as it, too. 

“None!” you exclaimed, way too quickly. 

Dean smirked. “You do really wanna have sex with me,” he remarked, like he couldn’t believe it.

“Trust me, the urge is fading by the second.”

His grin disappeared almost instantly. “Would it help if I told you that I think about fucking you all the time, too?”

“Well, I don’t think about it all the —”

“Y/N.” He said your name like a warning, and the tone of his voice settled right in your core. 

“Yeah,” you squeaked. “Yeah, that helps.”

“Good,” he smirked, before grabbing his phone from beside him. 

“Uh… What are you doing?” You watched as he scrolled for a second, pressing a button before putting the phone to his ear.

“Telling Sammy to beat it.”

Your eyes grew wide. “What!?” you whisper-yelled. “No! Just — we can just do it back here!”

He gave you a pointed look. “I’m not taking your virginity in the backseat of my car, Y/N.”

“Why not!?”

“Because we’re not sixteen, for one. And for two… I wanna make it special.” He rushed the last bit out, like he was embarrassed to say it. And he should be. You cringed as you heard it. 

“Oh my God,” you began.

“Shut up.”

“You did not just say that.”

“Shut up. Sam, answer your phone, God dammit!”

“I have done, like, almost everything else, you know. In the backseats of many, many cars. You don’t need to make it special for me, Deano,” you teased. 

“For the last time, shut your mouth, or I’m gonna shut it for you,” he said, the look he gave letting you know he wasn’t in the mood to play. No, he wanted to fuck you. Beyond that, he wanted to dominate you. And you were more than happy to submit.

You might have been a virgin physically, but mentally? Mentally, you’d probably give Dean a run for his money. 

Sam didn’t answer. Naturally. He was probably in the shower, but you were kind of grateful because as much as you wanted Dean, you didn’t want to make Sam uncomfortable. Or worse, give him any reason to give you the talk . Because he totally would. After trying his brother two more times, Dean decided it would be better to just get a room of your own, and you were much happier with that decision. 

You watched as he unlocked the door, pushing it open and stepping aside, gesturing for you to go ahead. 

“Ladies first.”

“You mean you’re not gonna carry me over the threshold?” you joked. “Thought you wanted to make this special .”

He gave you an unamused look, and you shot back a sarcastic closed-mouth smile before you were being swept off of your feet and over his shoulder faster than you could process.

“Dean!” you squealed, as he carried you through the doorway, kicking the door shut behind him before practically throwing you onto the bed.

He was hovering over you seconds later, his face a few inches from yours, and the mood shifted from playful to serious.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.

You nodded, your fingers coming up to play with the collar of his flannel.

“If I tell you something, you promise you won’t make fun of me?” you questioned, your eyes glued to the plaid pattern on his shirt.

“Promise.”

“I was kinda… holding out for you.” You drew your eyes up to meet his.

“Seriously?” he asked, half laughing. You could tell it wasn’t because he thought it was funny. It was because he couldn’t believe it.

You swallowed nervously, nodding again as you stared into those green eyes, and you hoped that this meant as much to him as it did to you. Something told you it did.

“I wasn’t kidding, you know,” he said.

You tilted your head in question.

“About making it special for you. I know it’s like, the grossest thing I could have possibly said but, you deserve so much better than me, and so if —”

“There’s no one better for me, you idiot.” And you almost told him everything. That you’ve been in love with him ever since you met one summer at Bobby’s, back when you were just kids. That everything felt like it led up to this moment. That you wanted him to fuck you and make love to you all at once. That you didn’t want this to be the only time he did. But instead, you grabbed his face in your hands and pulled him towards you, your lips meeting in a kiss that felt like it could have powered an entire country’s electric grid. 

He deepened it, and the two of you were nothing but tongues and teeth and lips — it wasn’t sexy. It was hungry. Starved, more like. Like he had been thinking about kissing you just as long as you had been thinking about him. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling his hips down towards your denim-covered core, down until you felt the hardness underneath his jeans pressed up against the spot where you needed him most, down until you couldn’t help but grind against it. He moaned as he kissed you, so you did it again. And again. And again. And —

“You need to stop that.” It wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. You noticed that your arms were above your head, his hands pinning your wrists against the mattress. You don’t know when that happened, but you weren’t complaining. In fact, it spurred you on. 

You smiled mischievously and rutted against him once more. 

“What’re you gonna do about it, Winchester?”

He dropped his forehead to yours, steadying his breaths.

“I can fuck you like it’s your first time, or I can fuck you how I actually want to.”

“And how’s that?”

He took a shaky breath, like he was actually having a hard time controlling himself. You felt a sense of pride shoot through you at that.

“Like the fucking brat you are.”

You almost came from that alone. 

Wanna know some common misconceptions about virgins? That they don’t have kinks. That they don’t watch porn. That they don’t have a plethora of sex toys  in their nightstand. That they sit and crochet in their convent dorm room all day. Sure, you were years past the age when girls typically lose their virginity, but you were no saint. In fact, you enjoyed being quite the opposite. And you enjoyed being put in your place. 

“Do your worst.”

It was like something in him snapped. His eyes were lust-blown and hungry and you didn’t miss the way his jaw ticked, and then he was undressing you so fast that you could’ve been part of a quick change act. He muttered something about a light system as he took off your clothes, and you nodded in a way that let him know that you already knew how all of that worked. 

When you were down to just a black lace bra and panties, he paused as his fingers hooked under your waistband. He stared at you, his expression serious, and you knew that he was going to give you one more warning. One more opportunity to say, “Actually, I’d like to have a totally normal, non-kinky, first time experience, please.” But that wasn’t what you wanted. 

“You sure you know what you’re asking for?”

You rolled your eyes. “I trust you. Put me in my goddamn place, Winchester. You’ve only been wanting to do it for the past two hours.”

“Oh, I’ve been waiting to do it for a lot longer than that, sweetheart.”

“Really?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah,” he replied, huffing a small laugh before pulling off your panties in one swift motion. His hands came to rest on your bare thighs as he locked his eyes with yours. “Any hard limits?”

You shook your head. “I trust you. I mean, like, don’t pee on me or —”

“Not gonna happen. But… most everything else?”

“Dean,” you began, looking at him pointedly, “I trust you. If it helps, I’ve used like, toys on myself before. And I don’t mean just a vibrator, I mean like… well, you get the gist.”

“So I don’t have to go easy on you, is what you’re saying?”

“Put me in my place,” you repeated.

“Alright,” he replied, his hands gripping the underside of your thighs as he roughly pushed them apart, “but just so we’re clear, that’s the last order you’ll be giving tonight.”

Your throat bobbed and you nodded. “Yes, Sir.” 

You meant it as a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. No, the title came out in a way that made his jaw clench and his eyes darken and it stoked the fire raging in your core. 

Dean didn’t waste any more time talking after that, his tongue moving through your folds seconds later, drawing gasps and soft moans from your lips. You arched into him, your hands in his hair, silently begging for more. It wasn’t the first time a man had gone down on you, but it was the first time it felt like this . 

He pinned your hips down to the bed with one hand splayed over your abdomen and then his tongue was inside you and “eating you out” didn’t come close to describing his ministrations. He was devouring you like his life depended on it, like the sounds you were making were a goddamn Zeppelin song that he wasn’t anywhere near done listening to. And then he added a finger, and then another, and it didn’t matter how many times you had imagined him doing this while you had your own fingers inside you — nothing would have prepared you for how good the real thing felt.

“Oh — fuck,” you gasped, and he chuckled into your sex and you had to actively think about not coming on his face and ending this whole experience early. 

“You’re close,” he observed, flicking his tongue over your clit as he continued to pump his fingers in and out, and it was so fucking hot how he just knew that. It was like he had been fucking you for years, the way he knew your body, your tells.

You nodded. “Mmhm,” you confirmed, unable to form words with the way the coil in your abdomen was tightening. 

“Hold it,” he ordered.

Your eyes shot open, because it wasn’t the command you were expecting, and you tried to lift your head to shoot him a cold glare but you couldn’t. And he just kept pumping, flicking, licking, chuckling — fucking asshole.

“Mm — fuck — please!” you cried out.

“When you come tonight, it’s gonna be on my cock. So hold it.”

You didn’t think you could. You had played this game with yourself and your vibrator and your self-control was majorly lacking and God his mouth and fingers felt so fucking good and you were there, the coil wound so goddamn tight, it would take nothing for you to let it snap, and then — 

He stopped.

He pulled his mouth away from your core, his fingers out of your pussy, and you were writhing underneath him, because you had been right there and you needed him to be touching you again right the fuck now.

You whined.

He spanked your pussy. Not hard or anything, just enough to see if it was okay with you, and fuck, was it. 

“Stop whining,” he demanded. He positioned himself so he was hovering over you again, his face inches away from yours as he stared into your eyes. “Or I’ll give you something to whine about.”

You were curious as to what that something would be, but sensed that right now wouldn’t be the best time for that question. You nodded instead.

“Good girl.” He smiled when he said it, like he knew exactly what those two words would do to you. 

You squirmed underneath him, it had been too long since he’d last touched you. Too long being thirty seconds at most, but still. It had felt like hours.

“Has anyone ever told you,” he began, dipping his head to place a soft kiss on your collarbone, “that you are very,” another kiss to the other side, “very,” one more to the middle of your chest, “impatient?” He slowly pulled down the left cup of your bra, your breast spilling out of it. “Makes me wanna take my time.” 

His eyes stayed glued to yours as his head moved down to your hardened nipple, taking it into his mouth at a goddamn snail’s pace. You arched your back, and he let you this time, chuckling at how easy it was to make your body react. His other hand slipped underneath you, unclasping your bra in a way that reminded you that he had a lot of experience doing so, and you refused to water the seed of jealousy that had sprouted from the thought. It didn’t matter that he had done this a million times. All that mattered was that he was doing it now, with you. 

He pulled your bra off and threw it haphazardly over his shoulder, and you were suddenly very aware of the fact that you were completely naked, and he still had 87 fucking layers on, the outermost of which was still speckled with dragon blood, and it’s not that you were anywhere near clean, but you certainly didn’t want those clothes touching your bare skin.

“Dean?” you rasped, and he pulled away from your nipple to give you his full attention.

“You okay, sweetheart? Do you want to st—”

“No! God, no. It’s just —” you sighed, exasperated. This was dumb. You were going to stop him for this? Your eyes landed on a spot of blood on the shoulder of his flannel. Yes, yes you were, because that’s gross. “It’s just that your clothes are covered in monster blood and I’m like, totally naked, and I don’t want —”

He chuckled like you were the most adorable thing he’d ever seen. “I gotchya, baby.”

Baby. Baby ? You tried not to overthink the pet name as he climbed off the bed to take his clothes off, watching you the entire time. Sweetheart, you’d been called a million times. He called everyone sweetheart. But baby? Baby was his car, and no one else. Unless, that’s what you were to him now. His, and no one else’s. You filed the thought away under “Things to Think About After You Lost Your Virginity to Dean Winchester”.

He was in nothing but his boxers now, his cock already hard underneath them, and you bit your lip as he hooked his thumbs under the waistband and slid them off. And then, there he was, exactly like you’d imagined him but also better, because this was real and happening. You gaped at him, at his size. He wasn’t any bigger than the fake one you had in your nightstand, but that one was nine inches and you could never fit it all the way in. He was perfect. All of him. 

“You okay?” he asked again, crawling back onto the bed.

“Mhm,” you managed, gulping.

He was on top of you again, his forearm holding up his weight as his free hand came to grab your thigh, hooking it over his hip and leaning down to kiss you. You could feel him against your core, his cock moving between your folds as he moved his hips, teasing you with it. 

“Dean,” you breathed.

“Hm?”

“I want…” you couldn’t find it in yourself to finish your request.

“I know, sweetheart,” he whispered.

You decided you liked “baby” better. 

“Please.”

“I thought you wanted me to put you in your place?”

You shook your head. “N-next time. Just, please .”

His eyebrows shot up, and you realized what you had said. 

“Next time, huh?” he asked, with that shit-eating grin of his. 

You rolled your eyes. He stopped moving, the smile wiped off his lips as he gripped you underneath your chin, somewhere between rough and gentle, the look on his face telling you he wasn’t messing around. 

“Roll your eyes at me again, and next time I’ll really do my worst.”

You bit back a smile, and you just knew he was thinking, Brat. But you asked your question anyway.

“But not this time?” There was a devilish gleam in your eyes. You were tempting him, and he knew it.

“Do you ever get tired of being such a brat?” 

“Dunno,” you shrugged. “Do you ever get tired of it?” 

His jaw tensed, and he forced a sardonic, closed-lip smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Hm. But not this time, right?”

“Y/N —” he warned.

“Afraid you’re gonna hurt me? Scare me? What’s really keeping you from putting me in my place… Sir?”

For the second time that night, something in him snapped. You yelped as he flipped you over and grabbed your hips, dragging them upwards so your ass was in the air and your chest was on the mattress. Four hits to your cheeks came down in quick succession, and when you reached your hand behind you to block them, it was quickly pinned to the small of your back. Three more hits followed, accompanied by a pathetic, “Ow!” from your lips.

“Color?” he questioned roughly.

“So fucking green,” you replied, dazed.

Seven more hits followed, each one harder than the last, and you didn’t think there was anything better than the sting you were feeling right now. There was nothing more you wanted than for him to mark you up like this.

“Fuck, you’re dripping,” he commented. Five more hits. 

“Oh, fuck!” you cried out at the last hit, one that felt like it reverberated through your entire body. One that definitely left a handprint behind. 

“Yeah, but you like it, don’t you?” It was a rhetorical question. He spanked you four more times. “You just wanted me to mark you up, is that it? Think of me every time you sit down for the next few days, hm?” Three more. 

“Mmph!” Your cries were muffled by the comforter. 

“Yeah, I can tell. Look at this fucking mess.” He dragged his fingers through your soaked folds. “Jesus Christ,” he said under his breath, and then he was flipping you back over. He nestled himself between your legs, his tip teasing your entrance. His expression softened as he stared into your eyes. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathily. 

He slid into you slow and easy, your mouth open in a silent moan as he bottomed out. 

“Good?” he asked.

“So fucking good.”

When he started to move, you thought you were going to die. In a good way. In a way that made you decide right there and then that when the time did come, this was how you wanted to go out. 

“Harder,” you encouraged, and he obliged. “Faster.”

He was properly fucking you now. Hard and fast and dirty. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, your heels digging into his ass, forcing him to go deeper. His head was buried in your neck, your nails were clawing up his back, and the room was filled with moans and pants and expletives that put a sailor’s mouth to shame. 

“Shit, baby,” he panted into your neck. “God damn, you feel good. So fucking tight.” He sped up his thrusts, and the bed was squeaking so much that you thought it was going to fall apart underneath you, but you were too far gone to care. He reached a hand down in between your bodies, his fingers finding your clit, circling it expertly. You were on the precipice of your release in seconds. And then —

“Come. Soak that fucking cock, baby. Come for me.”

And you screamed loud enough to get both you and him kicked out of the motel if they cared enough as your orgasm ripped through you. He fucked you through it, his pace only faltering moments later, right before he pulled out and painted your stomach white. It looked like a Jackson Pollock on your abdomen. Kinda hot, actually. 

“You okay?” Dean asked, looking down at you as he finally caught his breath.

“More than,” you smiled.

He mirrored the look on your face before crawling off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He came back moments later with a damp washcloth, gently cleaning his masterpiece off of your skin. When he was done, he threw it across the room, aiming for the bathroom, and it landed on the tile in front of the toilet. He laid down next to you, pulling you into his chest as he pressed a soft kiss into your hair, and you wanted to ask so many questions, all at once. What were you two now? How long had he been wanting this? Would there be a next time? Instead, you opted for —

“You know in fanfictions, they write you as a submissive most of the time.”

He snorted. “They’re half right.”

“A switch?” you asked, surprised. “Lucky me.”

He chuckled softly. “Sorry about your ass.”

You shrugged. “I was asking for it.”

“Oh, you were definitely asking for it. Still, I… I dunno. It was your first time, I didn’t want to get too —”

“It was perfect, Dean.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, smiling, dozing off already. “Yeah.”

[shadow4-1]

I'm just imagining having spent the night with a lover who isn't in the 141, only to wake up the next morning and there's in intervention waiting for you in the rec room.

Like, at first you're just confused. But when Price opens his mouth to ask you about how you slept...you have a bit of a meltdown. Why does it matter? Why is everyone staring at you? What's going on?

Soap grabs the collar of your t-shirt and pulls it down so everyone can get a look at the dark hickies dotting your neck. You slap his hand away, tears in your eyes.

"So all of you can do whatever you want? Sneak bitches on base and fuck around at all the bars we pass through! But I'm not allowed to do anything with someone I actually like?!"

It hurts. It feels like you're being stripped bare in front of them.

Price sighs, his gaze softens. It's obvious he doesn't want to have this conversation but something you've done has given him no choice. Soap just stands a few feet away, chest puffed out, eyeing you with a strange annoyance. You know if you try to leave he'll stop you.

"You are...not in the same position as us." Price tries and winces. He's obviously not putting his thoughts into soft enough words, but he continues. "You are...it is our responsibility to keep you safe."

"Safe? You're trying to keep me safe?" Your voice is raised higher than you've ever raised it at Price. "Safe by what? Fighting off all the guys at the bars? Safe by spreading lies about me to all of the PMCs and the other Task Forces?"

Price just closed his eyes and set his jaw. He had to know about the subterfuge you'd been experiencing for well over a couple years now. Everyone in the room was guilty as charged.

"You're and asset. And you're also a liability." Ghost speaks up, eyes narrowed, stance way too relaxed against the metal folding chair he sits in. "Do you remember what happened to the 7th Division?"

Saliva pools in your mouth, a sudden queasiness filling your stomach. Yeah, of course you remembered. Their beloved medic had been kidnapped by a group of angry drug lords using a mercenary group as their muscle. The 7th Division had gone in guns blazing to get their member back and well...they'd been wiped out. And their star medic they'd sacrificed everything for? She'd been brainwashed and inducted into the very agency that stole her away.

KORTAC

"Are you saying what I think you're saying?" You mutter. "Please tell me you're not."

"We can't have you fraternizing with anyone." Price states smoothly. "As our medic, you have a responsibility to us, your team. We can't have you getting caught up in something bigger."

"I understand what you're saying, but can't you see how ridiculous this is?" You try to reason. "I'm human, I have- god this is embarrassing. I h-have wants and...needs, just like you guys."

The silence is loud. You can't meet anyone's gaze. Price steps closer to you, swallowing hard. His next few words are spoken softly, conspiratorially.

"All of your needs will be taken care of. We will never let you suffer by yourself."

Price cocks his head to the men before you both. All of them straighten beneath his gaze. Price places a hand on the small of your back.

"Whatever it takes." He commands them. "I better not hear or see anything. Do I make myself clear?"

A trio of "yessirs" bounce off the white walls. Price just smiles and nods. He pats your back.

"There we go. You'll be fine." He sighs. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to talk to your guest."

Your eyes widen, your throat drops into your stomach.

"Wait!"

"We've got ye, Bonnie. You n' all yer needs."

Six hands are on you from several different angles. Their massive frames block out the fluorescent lights.

"Ah, where are you goin'?" Gaz chuckles, his arm wraps around your belly.

You try to run after Price but the rec room door is slammed shut and locked. You try to push the closest man away, but he just grins down at you.

[bamjio]

❛ 𝗱𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝘆 ❜— ✿ .. deadpool headcanonns!

BEING WADE WILSONS' ONE AND ONLY ❛ WIFE. ❜ !

⋆˚✿˖° — CLINGY! it's honestly feels suffocating. Does he know personal space? of course. does he oblige to that rule? he'd rather dig logans burial.

— it doesn't matter, wade believes that if you love someone you won't let them go, literally.

— you'd always wake up to him tightly hugging you down, his arms and legs hovering your figure. don't think of letting go, cause he'll just grip more.

— expect him to go over your workplace and hang out there till the end of your shift, he won't budge even if the manager threatened to call the cops.

— goodness, he's just so obsessed with your scent, skin, hair, face, lips, arms, ❛boobies❜, and everything. he'd rather cut his head off than avoid you for a solid 3 days.

⋆˚✿˖° — CHILDISH! is wade a grown man that kills people or a child that wants your attention 24/7? Well, he's a child that kills and wants your attention.

— him being your husband feels like your with a child that won't grow up, he loves making a huge mess, doing anything to impress you, even fighting Logan for fun to show off who's stronger.

— wherever you both go, he'd always wander off somewhere; bothering someone or touching things that aren't supposed to be touched. and you're always panicking looking for wade, usually takes a few hours until he magically finds you, or you find him.

— loves likes seeing you angry, he claims that it's ❛super hot❜ and ❛cute, looks like a cat❜, so he'd bother you every unexpected time, whenever you'd read a book he likes to steal it and read it out loud, whenever you're on the verge of slumber; he'd either yell or picture your sleepy state.

— you're like a mother always scolding wade, and thankfully he obeys you, like a guilty child. yet his manners still come back like his life, you will never get tired of him though, and he knows it.

⋆˚✿˖° — OVERPROTECTIVE! your friends call it lovesick, but him and his 'audience' call it protecting! yeah, maybe he did kill your co worker because he called you crybaby, but thats besides the point.

— special forces, mutant, anti-hero, killer; yadayada, he's everything not a simple man could protect, call him delusional but unexpected things happen, you could get assassinated while eating breakfast, or worse. It's not being too weird, it's being considerate.

— definitely forced Logan to look after you once, not that he minds; Logan admires you. and that turned out to you finding out and scolding wade, being a big baby he is— he definitely didn't talk to you.

— ❛whos that in my bosses office??❜ suprise! it's wade holding a gun to your superiors head while waving at you, well because your boss threatened to fire you.

— in realities and seriousness, he doesn't wanna loose you. loosing someone pains him so much, yet being annoying is the only way he can cope. he lost so much people and he can't afford to loose you too. and him being wanted and a so called 'villain' in every story, he knows one day theyll figure you out.

⋆˚✿˖° — LOYAL! before the day you guys talked, he vowed that if he finds himself attach to another woman romantically, he'd hang himself. he loves you and even if you didn't, no one could ever replace you.

— despite lotta girls getting attracted to him, his eyes will be locked at you. his ears and eyes will forever be yours to catch.

— won't hesitate to slam a girls face into a metal table if they'd ever flirt with you, even with him showing you off. What's only stopping him is you not wanting him to harm anyone, and he's definitely obedient when it comes to you.

— define bare minimum, cause he definitely isn't just the minimum. his profiles in every social contains either your face, or you and him. not only profile, also his header and posts, tagging you whenever he interacts with his 'fans' putting "with — y/n wilson" "my wife — y/n Wilson" "fbm —y/n wilson" and anything that contains you.

— would you really doubt your crazy husband and his whatever audience? Looks can deceive and he's the frame for it, honesty and loyalty is his integrity, he vowed to you and shown his loyalty, and he would never break it.

⋆˚✿˖° ❛iris — tggd❜ , ❛she will be loved — M5❜.

[fangirl-dot-com]

🚕Accidentally Kidnapping a Mafia Boss

*part of the reverse tropes series*

Pairing: MafiaBoss!Max Verstappen x UberDriver!Reader Genre: Crack/Humor/Fluff? Summary: Uber seemed like a brilliant plan to get money to buy a new car. However, a mistake has you picking up the wrong passenger. Pretty blue eyes turn dangerous when you notice the gun in his belt.

*this was actually so much fun to write! this is in no way dark whatsoever. it's super funny and the reader is pretty ditzy but it's all in good fun! hope you like it!*

TAG LIST CLOSED

You hummed to whatever tune was playing on your half-broken radio. Most of the lyrics came out as muffled voices, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Because like the radio, your car was almost dead. 

Key word being almost. 

You had bought the car at the beginning of your high school career and refused to give it up. But, your father had finally convinced you to buy a new one. However, buying a new car was expensive, hence why you were driving around town at 7 p.m. on a Friday night trying to find someone who needed an Uber. 

Your family had mentioned how dangerous it was to drive for the “taxi” company, but no one else was hiring at this time. 

“It’s an easy way to make bank,” you had told your very confused parents. 

Your hand came up and smacked the top of the dash, causing the radio to spam for a moment before finally, clear voices played out. However, your eyebrows furrowed once you could actually listen to the song. 

“This is not my playlist,” you muttered while trying to get your Bluetooth to come back on. Once your fingers reached the dials, your phone lit up with an Uber notification. 

“Finally.”

You quickly put in the address and drove down the street. Your humming resumed, playlist reaching out through the speaker. You hadn’t even glanced at where the location was, or you would have realized that you were going in the wrong direction. 

When you were supposed to be going further into the town, you were headed for the city. The only place your parents refused to let you drive. 

It might have to do with the local mafia war that was going on. Something about track limits or whatnot. However, that was not going to stop you from getting paid that night. 

You finally came to a stop at the corner of what you thought to be Fifth and Main, like your phone said to stop at. The actual corner was Fourth and Main, but you couldn’t tell because half of the word “fourth” was smudged with some type of brown substance. 

Your shoulders raised in a shrug while your gaze landed back on your phone. At least you were supposed to be picking up a nice older looking lady. That’s what your Uber app said anyway. You leaned forward in the driver’s seat, making the entire car squeak. Before you knew it, your fingers had started to tap along to the song that was still playing. 

The sound of the door opening and slamming shut caught your attention. 

“Drive!” you heard from behind you. 

Your entire body turned in the seat as you looked to the back row of your car. 

That was not a nice looking old lady. 

The man that now resided on the back road had a mean glare as his eyebrows cocked. Sea blue eyes met your own as the man leaned forward and pointed out the window. 

“I said drive, let’s go!” the accented voice yelled.  

If you had taken a moment to actually look at the man, you would have noticed his roughed up suit, along with the bright red splatters along his white dress shirt. And on his belt line, a gun seemed to be tucked. 

But you hadn’t noticed. 

“Yes sir!” you cheerfully said, putting the car into drive. A loud boom sounded outside the car, but your radio had decided to turn up full blast, masking the sound. Your car squeaked as it started to move away from the corner and farther along the road. 

The man in the back seat seemed agitated, but slowly relaxed the farther away you got on the highway. He had leaned back against the window and rubbed his eyes. You wanted to keep glancing back at him, but you needed to drive. When you noticed that the Uber app had not updated with his next location, you gathered the courage to speak. However, he beat you to it. 

“Is this your first time?” 

You sheepishly grinned back at him. “Yes, sir. Sorry, is it that noticeable?” 

A grunt escaped his lips. 

“The damn Get Away Car sticker on the back is not very inconspicuous. You need to get rid of it.” 

“Oh! So you don’t like Taylor Swift that much?” 

The man glared at you through the rearview mirror, before he shut his eyes. His hand waved at you through the gap between the front seats. 

“Just don’t miss the exit.” 

“Sir, you’ll need to put in your location first.” 

His eyes shot open. “I guess this is your first day. How did you ever get through training?” 

You glanced back. “Training? It was all online?” 

A huff only answered as he reached for what you hoped was a phone in his pocket. 

“I’ll have to let Lando know that online training will not work.” 

You let out a nervous giggle, noting that there was no “Lando” in the Uber training video. But, once again, the money promised kept you going down the highway. You kept glancing at your phone, hoping that the guy would just put his address in. Now you were getting annoyed.

“Sir, I really need the address or I’ll have to make you get out.” 

A click near your ear made you freeze. 

“Who do you think you are? Giving orders to de Leeuw.” 

You had definitely picked up the wrong person. You wanted to start explaining yourself, but the gun near your head made the words die out in your throat. You could feel his breath on your ear as he spoke. This would be hot, if you weren’t scared to lose your life. 

“Now, you’re going to tell me who you are and why you don’t know where the right exit is. Are you working for Hamilton? Vettel? Alonso?” 

You were so caught up in not wanting to die that you missed the car in front of you slamming on your breaks. You were thankful for your fast reflexes as your foot pressed down on the left pedal, making your car lurch to a halt. A thump on the back of your seat had you reeling around to see what had happened to the blond man. 

You were surprised to see him now sprawled on the back seats, eyes closed and gun now on the floor. Your hands were shaking as you were now able to take a random exit. When you got to a random parking lot, your head hit the steering wheel. 

“I have de Leeuw in my back seat.” 

Your breathing started to grow ragged. 

“I have  de Leeuw in my back seat!” 

You were now panicking. 

“I HAVE AN FUCKING UNCONSCIOUS MAFIA BOSS IN MY BACK SEAT!” 

Charles’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched Max’s tracker come to a stop in a parking lot. The Dutchman was supposed to come back right away after a swift deal with Gasly on the other side of town. But, Charles’s heart had dropped when the car, that Max was supposedly in, turned at an exit too soon. He took off his headset and rolled his chair over a bit. 

“Lando, who was picking Max up today after the deal? Was it Carlos?” 

The curly-haired Briton spun in his seat to look at his fellow mafia worker. 

“Uh, Carlos called in sick. I thought it was Oscar’s turn?” 

Something felt weird in Charles’s stomach. 

“No, Oscar is on that mission? Daniel was then after Oscar.” 

Lando’s eyes widened with fear. “Daniel is out of the country.” 

The Monegasque turned back to his computer screen. All vitals for Max were still good, but he had yet to leave the location. His finger pointed and pressed against the screen. 

“Then . . . who has Max?” 

Back in the parking lot, you had gotten out of the car and were currently rocking back and forth in the fetal position. 

“This is not happening. Why did this happen to me? I only needed some money. Why did I get stuck with a mafia boss. I want to live. I need to get back home to my plant and cat.” 

Last time you checked, de Leeuw was still out cold. You had taken the gun just in case he woke up in a panic and started to shoot at stuff. That would not end well for you. You grabbed your phone and pushed a button. 

“Yes? Hi? Hello, I am calling about what to do if I picked up the wrong passenger. Uh-huh. Yes. I didn’t have his address. Well, no. He’s unconscious. I can’t call the police, he probably owns them. What? Ok. No? The hospital is under the law as well? Yep. I can’t just take him back! No, wait. Don’t hang up. Uhg.” 

So much for customer service. 

You stuffed your phone back into your pocket. Your feet took you over to your car, and you opened the back seat. The blond man was still looked like he was asleep. Your face got closer to his. 

Hm. Up close he was quite handsome. The freckle on his lip really added bonus points. You were so engrossed with the small dot that you missed the twitch of his eyes under his eyelids. When you looked back up, your eyes met blue, which made you shriek and fall back on your butt. 

Max was a bit out of it when he was trying to wake up. What he wasn’t expecting was a face to be so close to his when his eyes finally opened. He would laugh if he had the strength as he watched you fall onto the concrete. His hand immediately went to his belt, but his heart dropped when he didn’t feel his gun. 

“Looking for this?” you asked, gun outstretched at the man in your back seat. Max’s eyes widened at the gun pointed to his head. It took all of his strength to put his hands up. 

“You don’t want to do this,” is the first calm thing that the man said to you. You, however, kept the gun pointed directly at him. 

“You’re right, I don’t. But I can’t have you freak out on me and shoot my face. Who would take care of my cat back home? My cousin Lan could, but he kills everything.” 

Max registered the slight hitch in your voice. While his hands were still up, he took a moment to look around the parking lot. In the depths of his mind, he was hoping that Lando or at least Charles were on their way to come get him. Yet, his heart rate rose as he saw a few familiar things surrounding him. 

He turned back to you. “Ok, you need to listen to me. We are in Rosberg territory right now. And he’s not going to like us on his property. So, you need to give me the gun and get back into the car.” 

Your eyes flickered around, and caught some movement to the left and then to the right. You slowly inched the gun down as you walked closer. When you were right in front of the Dutchman, you quickly handed him the gun as you rounded the car to the drivers seat. 

Max quickly reloaded the unloaded gun with a smirk on his face. You couldn’t have shot him if you tried. It took a bit for him to do it, but when the magazine fit back in the gun, he was wondering why you hadn’t taken off yet. 

“We have to go, now,” he said sternly. 

You turned around. “But I need to find a good get-away-song.” 

Max could count the pout on your lips as adorable, if it weren’t for the fact that Rosberg’s men were quickly making their way to the car. 

“You’re going to have to pick a good funeral song if you don’t hit the gas pedal.” 

“Aha!” 

The music blared out of the broken speaker as you finally put the car into drive. You heard metal hit metal and prayed that you still could trade your car out for another (even with a few bullet holes). 

Max had pressed himself up against the back seat, gun cocked and ready. 

“You better not shoot out my back window. I have to trade this car for a new one.” 

Max muttered, “You won’t trade anything if you’re dead.” 

“I heard that!” 

The mafia boss ignored you as he kept watch. When a few cars started to gain, that’s when he leaned back and aimed the gun, firing shots through your back windshield, shattering the glass. 

“Do you listen to anyone? Or is my voice just static in your brain?” you asked as you swerved onto the highway. When Max didn’t answer, you huffed. You steadily drove your car down the big roads as Max tried his best to keep the cars at bay. 

“How far am I driving?” 

Max grunted as he ducked from a bullet. “Just until exit 7. That’s my track.” 

You wanted to hit your head on the steering wheel once again. “You’re telling me that if I just kept driving, I wouldn’t be in this situation?” 

When he didn’t answer, you swerved a bit to knock him off balance. Your chuckles hit Max’s ear, pissing him off even more. 

“And to think, I was going to replace this utter junk if you made it out alive.” 

“We’re not done yet mister.” 

There was still a bit of road to go, and you were hoping that Max would try to shoot out one of their tyres, instead of trying to shoot at their drivers. He was about reload when he heard a clicking sound. Max really wanted to through himself out the door. 

“Is your blinker seriously on right now?” 

Your fully turned around to glare. 

“Yes.” 

You jerked the wheel as you got onto exit 7, making the cars behind slowly back away and continue on the highway. You wiggled in your seat as you did a little celebration. When some familiar houses came into sight, you gasped. 

“My cousin lives around here!” 

Max was out of breath as he was flabbergasted by your upbeat spirit. “Cousin?” 

“Yeah! He has this like high tech job and stuff. I come over to swim in the summer.” 

He had no words as you pulled up to a familiar house. You scrambled out the door and fell face flat on the asphalt. 

“Sweet mother, thank you, thank you.” 

You could kiss the ground, but that would be super unsanitary. When the garage creaked, you quickly got up and scrambled behind Max, who raised his gun out of instinct. However, he wanted to laugh when he saw his two best friends in full oversized gear. 

The two friends froze at the sight of their boss and, well, Lando’s cousin. 

“Y/n?” the Briton questioned, pulling the visor on the oversized helmet up. 

Your sprung in your place. 

“Lando!” 

“Max?” 

“Charles?”

Lando squinted at you. 

“Y/n?” 

A nervous giggle escaped your lips. 

“Lando?” 

The curly-haired man rushed at you, making you dodge around Max. Which, that resulted in Lando chasing you around the yard. 

“You kidnapped my friend?” 

“Why are you friends with de Leeuw and apparently Il Predestinato? I’m telling Aunt Cisca!”

“Not if I tell your mum that you Ubered in the city!” 

Max and Charles watched as the two of you ran after each other, hurling insults and threats. The two jumped when they heard a loud creak behind them and then a crash. When they looked, your car was down to the ground, wheels askew. 

“My car! De Leeuw, you’re paying for that!”  

uber_y/n has posted

uber_y/n new baby from my new baby 🖤

liked by bestie, land0, max_v, and 204 others

bestie um excuse me ma'am 🤨 what happened to bessie? 😭

uber_y/n someone (not saying any names [max] ) SHATTERED HER BACK WINDOW

max_v I hope you like bessie 2.0 schatje

uber_y/n I dooooooo(not)

max_v woman 🙄

land0 you just had to go for my cousin 😐😑😐

uber_y/n he was very charismatic, unlike you noRIZZ 🫵💀

sharl_lec pls, for the love of everything good in this world, quit uber

uber_y/n NOPE on my way to pick up someone named...lewis?

max_v oh no

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[radiance1]

"Danny!" Danny turned around to find Plasmius, gunning straight for him on his motorbike, and came to a quick stop as if he wasn't about to run him over. "You need to keep your alternative self on a leash. You hear me?"

Danny took one long sip of his tea, staring Plasmius straight in the eyes, savored the taste for a moment before swallowing. "Nuh uh."

"What do you mean 'Nuh uh'!?"

"Nuh uh."

Plasmius straight up hissed, red eyes glowing from beyond his pair of sunglasses as he stared the teenager down. "Do you know how many times he's woken me up, before the sun itself is up, just to annoy me into spending valuable hours of my time with him!?"

Danny took another sip of his tea, reaching a hand under his shirt to scratch his stomach. "That sounds like a you problem, really."

"Da-"

"You know he's also made from you right? If I had to fight him, you're going to be annoyed by him." Danny stated plainly, making a gesture with his thermos. "Also, it's a bonus for me since you're too busy to do your frootloop things-"

Plasmius grabbed Danny by the back of his shirt and wrinkled his nose. "You really need to get better pajamas than a simple shirt and oversized pants." He placed the boy under his arm and took the sky. Danny idly shifted to Phantom as he took another sip. "So like, where're you taking me?"

"To go and put stop to that imbecile."

"You know I had plans today."

"Ice cream for a month, all from my card."

Phantom humed. "Make it two."

"Deal."

Phantom flexed his fingers. "...Three..."

"Doable."

"Oh, you're actually serious about this."

A drive later

You see, Dan was having the time of his life. Strongarming that old man at the asscrack of dawn, driving to Metroplis and causing mass amounts of property damage with the crown jewel being that he got to chase around Superman in an attempt to run him over.

He should've expected something to go wrong.

One moment, he was casually minding his business, trying to trample one of the Earth's greatest heroes under his motorbike. The next he was nearly knocked off of it when something slammed into him.

"Ello." Phantom said calmly, as if he wasn't just thrown by Plasmius right into his alternative self from a future that no longer exists. "Twerp." Dan also said 'calmly' as he grabbed onto Phantom and lifted him off of him.

Then dropped him.

Superman was very quick to catch the boy. "Thanks." Phantom said, and Superman smiled. "You're welcome! Are you here to pick him up now, or are you just waiting?"

"I'm getting three months worth of ice cream if I stop him now so like, pick him up I guess."

Superman help him up under the armpits and faced him towards Dan. "He's here to pick you up, by the way!"

"I fucking heard that!" Dan shouted at Superman before turning his attention to Phantom. "Also, what the fuck! You can't just do that! Did that old fuck put you up to this!?"

"Whaaaat? Noooo, he would neveeer..." Phantom glanced around, looking for Plasmius before clicking his tongue. There was an unfortunate lack of said halfa to throw under the bus. "If you stop for like, now, I'll share some of my ice cream with you."

Dan genuinely considered this proposal. "Know what, fine." He yanked Phantom from Superman's hold and dropped him onto the seat beside him before driving away.

"Enjoy your ice cream!" Superman shouted.

"Shut the fuck up boy scout!" Dan shouted back.

[scap34]

bottom! sub! virgin! Toji x clan leader! top! sadistic! male reader

Turning your hired gun into your partner <3

warning: cussing, dirty talk, degradation, mild manipulation, loss of virginity, sex

The Zenin elders are stupid. You think idly as you look down. 

Dumb fucks that obviously didn’t notice a gem. You think as you thrust into Toji’s tight hole roughly. The man under you gasped, gritting his teeth, his face scrunched into a twisted expression of pain and pleasure. 

He squirmed away from you, unconsciously. You grabbed his bruised ankle and pulled him closer, a strangled moan left his throat, when your cock fully entered him. 

He clenched the sheets under him, with a white knuckle grip. The corner of his eyes reddened and shiny with tears. His eyes refused to meet your gaze as you leaned down, smirking. 

“Too much? Should I stop?” As expected he shook his head, too stubborn to quit halfway. His body trembled under you.

You leaned back grinning. Your hips rocking into his ass, as you took in every soft whimper and moan that left Toji’s mouth. 

It took all your effort not to hold him down and fuck into his tight virgin hole roughly, leaving your claim on him. To watch him fall apart under you, the big man, so small under you. 

Instead you steeled your will. You wouldn’t let this be a one time thing. From the minute you saw Toji. You need him. Under you, sobbing as you fucked him senseless. 

You knew about Toji. Of course you did. Everyone did, even your clan did. The black sheep of the Zenin family, Toji, was a taboo. 

Fucking stupid idiots. 

When you saw him first, he was trying to steal from you. The darkness had barely let you see the man. But when he stepped into the moonlight you could immediately tell. So you did nothing and watched as he snuck out without a single person noticing. 

After he left you pulled up your phone and placed a hit on a man. 

The next day he walked in through the front door instead of the window. More accurately he burst into your room, and tossed a head at your foot. 

Unseeing eyes met your own. It was the man you placed the hit on. A small-time sorcerer that was looking to go big in the wrong places. You looked up at him amused, crushing the head under your foot. Toji glared at you. 

��Pay up.” He said curtly, tossing the scrolls he stole back to you. You caught them and smiled at him. 

“I have a job for you. Sit down.” You said smirking. He gave you a suspicious glare, but you could see his weary shoulders, the grease in his hair, and the desperation in his eyes. Young and desperate. A perfect combination. “It pays a lot.” 

He sat down. 

It was absurdly easy to keep him close to you. A bodyguard post you said to him. He didn’t question it. No one in your clan questioned it. No one would. Other than your brother, you were the strongest. Being a clan leader had its benefits.

It was even easier to seduce him. A few gentle touches, soft glances and forgotten towels, and he was wrapped around your finger. All but crawling into your lap when you called pretty and selling his body to you with false reluctance. 

You hadn’t had the heart to tell him how his eyes betrayed his words. When he looked at you with such trust craving validation, all you wanted to do was to fuck him until you were all he could think about. 

So here you were, pinning the poor man to the bed, taking his virginity. You pulled your cock halfway out and thrust it into his hole. Toji bit his lip and whimpered, muscular thigh flexing like he wanted to break free. But he wouldn’t, they stayed in place, calves hooked on your shoulder exposing his pretty pink hole.

You leaned down, hovering over him. Kissing his tits, you licked his nipple. He arched into your mouth, moaning. His useless cock twitched against his stomach. 

“I’m gonna fuck you now.” You muttered against his chest, pulling out your cock and slamming it into his hole before he could respond. 

He let out a strangled moan, pretty face scrunched up as he let out muffled sobs. You could take it slower, let him adjust before you fucked him, but you wouldn’t.

It wouldn’t change the way his cock hardened, leaking pre-cum against his stomach. You rolled your hips, watching him twitch and clutch down on your cock with a moan. Large hands gripping your sheets tightly as he whined, so sweetly.

Face flushed, with moans slipping from swollen pink lips, he was a sight. Your sight. Yours to toy with, yours to protect, and yours to fuck. 

His body was so perfectly slutty despite being a virgin. his greedy hole sucking you in, begging for you. He was meant for you, to be yours. And now he is all yours now. All for a measly 50,000 yen. What a steal.

…

Life, it turned out, was hard without skills other than fighting. He’d gotten kicked out of 4 jobs within a week of leaving the clan. Living on the streets left him feeling more exhausted and dirty. 

If he couldn’t find a job outside jujustu, he’d find one within it. He’d be a killer, a hired gun. 

The offer came from a man who claimed to be a handler with promises of money if he joined. He accepted.

Money, was the fucking leading cause of all things shitty. He decided he needed a fuck ton of it. 

His first job was supposed to be simple: sneak into the Gojo clan and steal a scroll. 

But as it was, nothing would ever work out for him. A man was in the room.  A strong sorcerer too. Toji’s body was tense, expecting an attack at any minute as he took the scroll. 

None came. Instead, the man watched him leave. Curious. He didn’t care. 

His phone rang a few minutes from the meeting spot, in the morning. It was the handler, there was a hit placed on the man who asked him to steal the scrolls. 100,000 yen to kill him and return the scrolls. 

He’d known exactly who’d placed that hit. In the cold morning light, he strolled towards the man and cut off his head and delivered it to you. 

You were crazy or bored. He decided when you offered him a job. The rumors about him weren’t pleasant. He knew that. But here you were, smiling at him with that cunning light in your eyes. You, a sorcerer, that was strong enough to probably kill him. 

He hesitated for a second and thought about his life if he left. He’d probably go to the handler and take more jobs. Lose all the money with his shitty luck and end up living in shitty apartments eating cheap noodles. 

“It pays a lot.” You continued.

He sat down. 

…

He didn’t even realize when he got so invested in you. 

You were beautiful. It wasn’t just your face, your body was slender compared to him. Soft hands, and lean fingers that seemed to have never touched a weapon. Even the way you dressed was elegant, traditional kimonos and long sleeved shirts. 

He had fallen for you. You, the Gojo heir, a man he should hate. And yet when you brushed your long hair out the way looking frustrated he could do nothing but pull out a clip he brought with his own money and clip it back. 

The smile you gave him, washed away all the coldness he’d felt since his birth. Like all the cold words, sneers and abuse he’d received was gone, healed by a single glance from you. You were a spring waterfall, cold and bottomless, ethereal in the light, beckoning him to you.  

You, and your stupid mind games were all he wanted. So when you gave him a slutry smile and called him pretty, he immediately gave in, offering his body to you for 50,000 yen. He was worth less than that. He thought, distantly, as your hands settled in his hips. But he could never afford you. 

You were priceless and he needed you. So he played along. You were stupid to think he was the prize when he clearly won you.

[fortunekookie07]

Are requests open? May I request a sylus x wife reader (not the mc) where she is afraid of him and feels like he doesn’t love her cause of his cold and intimidating nature. Then mc arrives and she’s hurt and shocked with how he treats her. Now convinced that he doesn’t love her and hates her she keeps her distance and sits alone everyday on the rooftop. Barely eating anything nor sleeping properly she lost the will and strength to sleep next to him and sleeps on the couch or on the rooftop (after she saw him pin down mc onto the bed ya know that scene) . Even starts to think of packing up and leaving telling herself to “prepare” whenever he divorces her.

But one time she gets kidnapped for bait and injured yet sylus hasn’t come for days so she tells her kidnappers “ it’s a waste of time cause sylus won’t come for me, i mean nothing to him , he was already planning to get rid of me. so you might as well kill me right now and save your breaths.” Not knowing that her husband overheard her when he entered before she passed out due to lack of food and exhaustion.

Did You Ever Love Me?

The day you married Sylus was the happiest day of your life. You had been by his side for 3 years. It wasn't the easy life you had once dreamed of, but this was the reality of the N109 Zone. Nothing was easy, and everything had a price.

You still remembered the day you had first met, what a blood bath that had been. Your family had been one of the most influential in the area. Having long established their authority when it came to weapons dealing. Only supplying top-notch weapons.

From a young age your father had made sure you knew the business, drsminf of having you take over. He taught you everything he knew. From the making of the orders, to quality check, and even materials secured.

That day it was your parents 25th anniversary and a big party was thrown for them. Business partners and friends were all invited to the event.

The only thing your father had not warned you about, was the extensive dangers of the N109 Zone. He'd tried to shield you from just how dirty the world could be.

A rival family had crashed the party with a seemingly endless group of thugs. Before anyone had realized what was going on, gunshots filled the air. People started screaming and running in a desperate attempt to get to safety. Pushing and shoving others out of their way as they went.

A stray bullet hit your arm and blood immediately started pouring from the wound. You grunted as the pain slammed into you and momentarily lost your footing just a another bullet whizzed past the air where your head had been seconds ago.

You heard your father calling your name and pushing through people trying to get to you. You could see your mother sitting on the ground near one of the stairs columns. She was tying a makeshift bandage around someone's leg. Trying to staunch the bleeding.

You felt like your life was running in fast forward as you watched your father continue to push through the crowd and then he suddenly stopped moving as his eyes widened and he looked down. Blood was blooming across the white shirt of his suit and staining the black jacket. In the center of the stain was a hole. You felt sick seing that hole pierced through his chest over his heart.

"Father!" Your scream rang over the gunshots and panic as you tried to run to him. The long him of your dress got stepped on and you fell to the floor landing hard on your side. Pain zipped through your body at the hard smack to the unforgiving marble floor.

You desperately fought to get to your feet as it finally seemed like the crowd was thinning out. Thankfully no one stepped on you or your clothes again. Just as you reached your father the gun shots stopped and the following silence seemed to bring the air of dread.

The scent of blood was strong, making you gag as your stomach heaved. You push the feelings back and reach out to the injury, hands shaking as you try to staunch the blood flow. He grunts with the pressure and his eyes open slightly. You start muttering words but even you don't believe what you are saying.

"It's ok father, we can fix this. I'll get help, the doctor will fix you right up and then everything will be ok." Tears arr pouring down your face as he smiles weakly. He reaches for your face, trying to touch your cheek. Just before his hand can touch you a great force yanks you back.

You scream out at the pain, pulling you scalp. A heavy fist has gripped your hair, yanking the strands hardly and then a voice is in your ear. "I'll blast a hole in your head if you move a muscle." The voice growled near your ear as he tightens his grip on your hair. Your cried our in pain and he just tugged harder, you bit back the second cry as hot tears rolled down your face.

His arm grabbed your hand and forced you to your feet, perking you to face the way he wanted. He kicked the back of your knees forcing you to kneel in front of a man. Tugging your head back as he allowed you to stare at the man clearly responsible for this entire plot.

Fear stuck you as a cold, malicious smile stretched across his heavily scarred face. His eye was like flat steel. No luster or shine to its grey depths. A scar cut through his left eye and down his cheek, going all the way down to his mouth. Burn scars were also intermingled on his face.

His eye itself was an ugly milky color, it held no pupil or iris. On the right side of his face three long jagged scars could be seen stretching from his ear down to his chin. Little tremors went through your body. This man had an overwhelming presence and the sense of evil wrapped around him like a cloak.

"Well, well, well if it isn't the little princess. Your father was careful to hide you away from me. Protecting his biggest weakness. I must say I do admire him for that."

In contrast to his appearance his voice was smooth, a slight rasp clung to his words. Whatever had attacked and scarred him had obviously affected his vocal cords. He worked it to his advantage, speaking in a way that soothed you on the surface. Even if his words were unsettling or foul.

He reached for you, his fingers and thumb just barely brushing your face when a loud caw shattered the silence. With the bird cry black and red mist began pouring into the wide space and the air got heavy. As if gravity itself was pushing down on everyone and everything in the room. The mist covered and hid everything in its path. Blinking you realized you couldn't see the man in front of you.

A deep, suave, sexy voice seemed to come from no where as helped had seemed to arrive. "It seems you did not learn your lesson. I don't mind teaching it to you agiain, Osric." The mist wrapped around him, holding him still. Footsteps tapped across the floor, the occasional sloosh as he stepped in a puddle. Your body shuddered, knowing exactly what liquid he stood in.

It took a few minutes before you realized that the man who had been gripping your hair was no longer touching you, or even anywhere near you.

The mist began swirling into the center of the room, right next to you. Looking into the mist you could just make out a tall silhouette. As rapidly as the mist had spread it was now retreating.

A tall well built man was standing right beside you. Silver hair carefully styled. Red eyes piercing and promising danger. The right one seemed to be glowing.

"You have some guts, touching something of mine, I don't take kindly to thievery. The man, Osric, was hoisted into the air with the mist. He gasped and sputtered clawing at the mist to no avail.

Two men appeared by your side then. One offered his hand, bit you hesitate. Both are wearing black crow masks with subtle red lines on the face of the mask and a red tipped beak. Two red horns poke through the hoods they wear and a gold ring is on one of them. The two are slim and tall, you can tell nothing of their appearance. Clothing and masks make it impossible to discern any identifying features.

The first guy is still holding his hand out to you, he seems neither impatient nor upset that you haven't accepted it yet. Finally seeing no consequence to taking his offered hand you lightly place your palm in his. He gently but firmly grasps your hand and assists you in standing. He let's go after you are steady on your feet and positions himself at your side. The second does the same on your right. Like they are bodyguards.

"Screw you Sylus"! Osric sputters out, still trying to break free of the mist. His fingers are bloody from his efforts to free himself. "Luke, Kieran, see to it that she comes to no harm." The silver haired man says as he squeezes his hand. The mist constricts around Osric further cutting of his air flow completely.

One of the two lightly grabs your arm and spins you around just as a sickening crunch reaches your ears. This kind of thing happened a lot here. Those with power ruled over the weak. It was nothing new.

You had long grown accustomed to the way Sylua dealt with traitors and rats. He did not tolerate disloyalty and gave no second chances.

The events of your parents 25th anniversary party had happened five years ago. You often wondered how your life would have gone if you had never accepted his hand when he gave it. Your father had been supplying weapons to Sylus' organization for years. He'd apparently stuck some kind of deal with Sylus, that had involved your protection.

Sylus had married you, per your father's request and now he owned almost half of your family business. Haven acquired your mother and father's shares. He'd left yours to you.

At first you'd been absolutely terrified of him. His aura radiated danger, almost like he was a living grim reaper. He so often came back to the manor covered in blood. The twins were his direct subordinates. They followed his every command quickly and without hesitation. But at least they had a personality and could provide a sense of calm.

It had taken almost a year before you could approach Sylus without feeling nervous. You hadn't been able to understand your fear of him. He'd posed no restrictions on you, didn't make any ridiculous demands and had never threatened you with harm of any kind.

The turning point had been the day he'd come home injured and concern over his bleeding wounds had overrode the fear. Despite his insistence that he didn't need any first aide treatment, Sylus had not pushed you away or tried to stop you from cleaning his wounds.

After that he began spending time with you and talked to you. Before you knew it you looked forward to when he would come home and just talk to you for awhile. These little gestures and act of kindness had resonated in your heart and little by little you felt yourself falling for him.

He'd granted your request to be touched by him and he spent a night with you. Thinking that he too had given his heart to you, you lived your days believing that he loved you back. That was until she appeared.

In an instant his entire demeanor changed. He made her his top priority. Spending any and all time he had with her. Most nights he didn't even come to your room anymore. His side of the bed was often unspent in.

You hadn't officially met her yet, only seen her in passing. She was beautiful. Long dark hair hung in neat and straight lengths down to her very slender waist. Piercing eyes almost the shade of jade framed by thick dark lashes. She was on the shorter side, even you were taller than she was. This woman held some kind of connection with your husband and the knowledge that your place was very quickly being stripped away gnawed at you from the inside.

Wandering aimlessly through the manor one day you discovered the ladder that lead up to the roof. Even though it was cold outside, you still sat there on the roof. Wondering how long it would be before you were forgotten completely.

Despite the cold and the swirling snow, you dozed off hugging your arms to your sides. What seemed like minutes later you were woken up by a piercing light. The sun was beginning to sting your eyelids, squinting against the harsh glare of the sun's first rays of the day, you tried to sit up straight. Your whole body was numb and cold. It took several minutes to rub feeling back into your fingers.

Carefully moving away from the edge of the roof you stood up. Your legs shook from the movement. Having been in the same position for too long, they had gone to sleep.

You did some light stretches and gradually the shaking and numbing little stings subsided and you felt more sure on your feet.

Finally you made your way to the roof latch, having left it open all night there was a pile of snow at the base of the ladder and it was freezing cold to the touch.

You descended the ladder and walked around the manor. It was quiet, most everyone was asleep at this time. Feeling the desire to see Sylus, you turn around and head to his room. He was usually there at this time. You hesitate at the door. Whenever you'd come to his room he was usually accompanying you.

Just as your about to knock, a voice addresses you from behind. "He's not here, Sylus went out for work. I've been waiting for him to return since last night." Turning around, you see that woman. Feeling angry for a reason you can't quite grasp, you turn around

and storm by her. Purposely bumping into her on the way by. She stumbles but you keep going.

Your sour mood lingers throughout the day killing any appetite oyi might have had. Your wandering leads you back to the roof and you sit in the same spot from the night before.

From your spot on the roof, you can hear his motorcycle approach the manor and you sit their contemplating what to do. Finally after another two hours you head back to his room. When you get there the door is adjacent and you silently push it open. You feel your heart stop.

There on the bed is Sylus on top of her. She's pinned down and it's very obvious what is going on. His naked back is to you and her equally naked leg is wrapped around his waist. Their kiss is intense that you feel your heart break. His hand is twined with hers and pinned above her head. You back away and run down the hall and go to the roof.

Hot tears are streaming down your face as you realized that Sylus had never loved you. He'd just been indulging you for the last several years because you were useful. He could even hate you for all you knew. The one he truly loved was currently tangled with him on his bed.

You feel your heart break further as you realize that with no family or friends you have nothing. You had only ever been useful to Sylus because of you family's business. That was not love and never could be.

You cry yourself to sleep on the roof again, completely defenseless and unaware of the eyes watching you. When you wake up again, there's a dull ache in your head and a ferocious growl in your stomach, but you have no desire to eat or even move.

You sit there watching the stars for what seemed like days. Eventually the sky begins to lighten as the sun begins its ascent across the sky. You continue to sit, even as heavy clouds roll in. Another snowfall is coming, you remembered from the weeks forecast you had read a few days ago. But still you don't move.

It's only when the wind cuts through you, chilling you to the bone that you get up. Once again you rub feeling back into your frozen limbs and head down the ladder. You avoid your room and his. Just the thought of sleeping in a bed you had shared with him makes your stomach turn. Your entire body burns with the feeling if betrayal, but you can neither act on it or alleviate it. The feeling simmers in your stomach driving away the need for food.

Eventually you end up on the couch. The warmth from the fire burning in the hearth slowly warms you up and a drowsy feeling over comes you. Stretching out and pulling the throw down over you, you manage to drift off into a restless sleep.

After what feels like minutes, your body is shaken awake. It's that woman again, hate burns through your veins. You want to tear her apart and rip her to shreds. You glare at everything.

"Hey, the cook said you didn't eat dinner. So I brought you some food" She offers the plate to you. It's all your favorite things. A light fruit salad with beautifully cut fresh fruit and a stack of golden waffles topped with whipped cream and raspberries. Your anger overtakes you and you sit up and shove the plate away from you. She's so surprised at this action that she stumbles back, dropping the plate as she does. The delicate China shatters on the floor as the fruit scattered and the waffles sit there on top of the broken peices.

She looks at you with hurt on her face. "Why did you do that?" She asks just as Sylus enters the room. He looks annoyed at the mess on the floor. Concern overtakes him as he comes closer. Of course none of it is for you, she's the only important one in his eyes. A shard of the plate had bounced of the floor and put a cut on her arm. She had a line of bright red blood blooming out from the slice.

"Did you really think I would accept anything from YOU?" You spit the words at her like venom and stand up. "I know your not so stupid as to be unaware that Sylus is my husband." Your words are as cold as the ice outside. Red blooms across her face as realization strikes her.

You turn to leave the room and just as your about to step into the hall something grabs your arm and yanks you back. Your head whips around and your suddenly face to face with Sylus angry expression.

"She is my guest, you will treat her with respect. Don't lay your hands on her again." You rip your arm from his grasp. "You must think I'm an idiot. She's getting a hell of a lot more than hospitality from you. I owe her NOTHING. She is nothing to me but a sneaky slut that wormed her way into a married man's bed. Both of you disgust me." You storm from the room. As you leave, you take notice of the twins. They are also watching you, but you do not care.

You return to your room and begin to make preparations. You're almost certain now that Sylus hates you. "Divorce is pretty much guaranteed." You say out loud to no one. As you look around the room you realize that nothing in it is truly yours. Everything had been given by Sylus after your marriage. "What a joke I am. I must be the biggest idiot in all of the world. I never should have married him. He was a complete stranger. What a fool!" You kick the dresser in anger, the pain just spurs you on.

After ripping the sheets off the bed and throwing them to the floor your anger had only increased. Grabbing the nearest object, your hurl it to the floor. Feeling satisfied as it shatters. You begin throwing things all over the room. In minutes the neat, beautifully decorated room is in shambles. Glass, sheets, books, jewelry, makeup, and nick-nacks are all over the floor. You turn and leave the disaster you made, making sure to slam the door as hard as you can on your way out. The paintings on the wall tremble from the force.

You storm through the manor headed for the stairs again. You don't recognize the lightheaded woozy feeling that has over come you and you feel dizzy as you reach the ladder that goes to the roof. Halfway up, your foot slips. Before you fall, in a burst of adrenaline you manage to grab the ladder securely. Your heart is beating out of your chest as you cling to the rungs. "That was too close," you mutter taking deep, steady breaths.

Undeterred, you climb the ladder anyway, resolute in seeking peace on the roof once more. It takes a lot more effort to climb up than it had in previous climbs. Your huffing and puffing by the time you manage to get up.

As you walk to the ledge and glance at the snow covered ground below, you realize something is off. The footsteps in the snow are not yours and since it had been snowing for hours, the ones from earlier would have long since been hidden under more snow.

You whirl around ad your mind screams danger. You hands fumble through your layers of clothing to grab the knife you always kept with you. It was a custom blade and designed to attach to your bra. Although it was small, it was very sharp and could easily cut and stab in defense. As your hand manages to grab the handle a figure appears from the top of the roof. He easily jumps down to where you are.

"To think that the infamous wife of Onychinus' boss would be so easy to get to. No bodyguard?" He asks in a taunting tone. The man is dressed head to foot in black. His entire body is covered save for his eyes. Black as a blank night sky and soulless. He points a gun at you. "Drop the knife, or I'll put a bullet in you right here." He says his finger twitching on the trigger.

Having been taught how to fight from a small age, you fein dropping the knife as he moves closer. Just as he's within reach you spin it around and drive it into his upper arm. Unfortunately he was prepared for your tricks and fires the gun. The bullet burries itself deep into your thigh. You cry out and collapse to the ground clutching the wound. Blood seeps between your fingers and down your leg. Falling upon the snow.

"You're going to regret that." The man says as he pulls the blade out of his arm and flings it to the ground. He reaches out and grabs you. You're enveloped in a blinding light and then everything fades away. Sight, sound, and feeling are gone.

It feels like you're floating in darkness for a long time. You struggle to move, bit something is restricting you're movements. A rattling sound is the first thing you can hear as your senses come flooding back. The pain slams into you again and you groan. You realize that you've been blindfolded with a thick cloth.

"She's finally awake. I would really like to know about that blade she stabbed you with. It really did a number on your arm. It must have been very sharp.

"Shut up and just do your job. The boss needs information and she's going to have it. He said do whatever it takes to get it out of her. Just don't kill her." A gleeful cackle made you shudder and then footsteps came closer to you.

"Darkness makes the pain more intense. You will tell me what we want to know." The man says and then you can hear metal being moved around. Your heart begins to race. There is nothing for you to tell them. Sylus had always made sure that you knew nothing of his business and plans. You had only ever overseen the production of weapons. You didn't know their purpose or intended use.

"I imagine I'll get away with it if I do kill you though. Osric was his brother just so you know. Boss has a personal grudge to pick with you and Sylus. This is going to be delicious. Let's begin. We'll start with something easy." He said and then you could feel him standing at your side.

Hours had passed since the torture had begun, but no matter what question he asked the result was the same. You didn't know.

He had tried a variety of methods to break you. The first had been pulling you fingernails our. It had been excruciating and you nearly passed out several times. The he had tried whipping you. Your back was a raw bloody mess from all the cuts. That had made you pass out. His ways of waking you up again were resolute. Dumping ice water on you seemed to do the trick.

Your mind felt like it was going to snap if this went on much longer. Your voice was raspy and hoarse from the hours of screaming and crying. At first you had tried to hold back, but this maniac had taken it as a challenge. Several times he had said you were boring him with your instant responses.

"You're n-not going to-o get any.. anything fro-om me. I have nothing to tell. Even if I wanted to." This was not the first time you had said those words. It's just they fell on deaf ears. "Ju-just kill me al-ready. I I'm useless to yo-ou. He-e doesn't ca-are about me. Ju-just end it already. I-I don't kn-ow anything." This went on for days. You knew time was passing but you had no idea how much until finally a different person entered the room.

"Boss is fed up with you. He wants to know why she hasn't spilled her guts yet. He's tired of waiting for what he wants to know. Can't believe three days and she hasn't cracked once." His voice sounded disappointed and uninterested.

You'd lost count of all the methods they had tried to get you to speak. Several times you had begged him to just kill you but he'd only laughed in response. Sleep had been allowed a few times and sips of water had been given.

They had never removed your blindfold, and you were glad that you could not see what had been done to you. Even if you could feel every injury, being able to see them would have made it ten times worse.

Just as he was getting ready to start again, the door was blasted open. It sounded like it had been ripped right off the hinges. Chaos ensued with whatever had cause the door to explode, and the man started yelling.

"Who the hell are you? How did you get in here?" Crashes followed the words, and then a guttural sputter followed. Seconds later, you felt hands touching you, and you flinched, thinking that more pain would follow. To your surprise, the restraints on your arms and legs were removed, and then someone was carefully helping you sit up. A pair of hands touched the blindfold and then dim light hit your eyes. You screwed them shut feeling that it was painful.

Every part of your body hurt. Stinging and burning sensations were running rampant all over and you just wanted it to end. "We need to move." A familiar voice said in your ear. You open your eyes, ignoring the pain from the light and look at the voice. To your complete surprise Luke and Kieran are by your side.

"We've come to get you. Boss is so angry. I don't want to stick around here." The twins had their usual care free attitude as they watched you. "Why?" You asked looking at the pair. You could sense their confusion. "What do you mean why? You're Boss's wife. Of course he will take back what is his." One of them said as the other drapped a blanket over you and then carefully picked you up.

You grimaced and tried not to show the pain. "M-my leg is broken." You managed to get out between gritted teeth and gasps. They said nothing as they took you out the door.

Having never seen any of the place you were in, you were surprised at the twisting hallways and maze like route that you were taking. But the twins seemed undeterred and walked quickly. Before long there was a heavy metal door in front of you. It was all dented and it looked like an explosion had hit it. The door was already adjar and upon further investigation, you notice that it's hanging off the hinges.

Walking down another short hallway you come up into a large room. With a start you realize that blood is everywhere and there are bodies scattered through out the room. At the front leaning against a table is Sylus. He looks irritated and he has blood spattered on his face. He stands up straight when he sees you and the twins. His gaze hardens as he looks you over.

"Why did you come?" He looks at you blankly, his face giving nothing away. He just looks at you like he's staring right through you.

"Did you ever, even for one second love me?" You ask after several tense minutes go by. He still says nothing. Feeling the unsaid confirmation of what you had thought to be true now a reality you close your eyes against the tears.

A minute later and you open them again. "I am over this. I just want it to end. I don't care about anything anymore. I no longer want anything as I also posses nothing. You can have it all. I just want it to end." After letting go you feel like a weight has fallen off your shoulders. All the hate and resentment you'd felt several days ago has disappeared.

"Take her to the manor and contact the dr." Sylus finally says after many moments. The twins immediately move out. Despite their best efforts you get jostled several times and the pain makes you pass out. You surrender to unconsciousness, thankful to escape for however short a time it will last.

Over the next several months you are confined to bed to allow you injuries to heal. The scarring isn't as bad as you had though it would be, but it extends over most of your arms legs and back. The whip scars will never disappear and serve as a constant reminder to never show your back to anyone.

Eventually the day arrives that the dr tells you all of you injuries have healed and he discharges you from his care. Eight months have passed since that day and finally you are back on your feet. Having packed a bag with a few sets of clothes you grab the strap and the papers you had asked for a few days ago.

Without hesitation you go to Sylus' office and open the door. He is sitting at his desk reading some documents. You walk over and set two things down. One of them reads Transfer of Assets and the other says Annulment of Marriage. Placing a pen on top of it you say resolute "sign them and then you'll never see me again." You take a step back and wait.

He sets the papers down and looks at what you have placed on his desk with a raised eyebrow. "What is this?" You inwardly sigh. "Sinc you do not love me and I have no desire to play second fiddle to anyone else I am not staying. Clearly there is no place for me here. This is to repay the treatment I was given. You owe me nothing and I owe you nothing." You're confidant that with relinquishing your rights to your family's business and everything you endured being at his side will more than repay him.

He appears to be lost in thought as he reads over the papers. "You really want nothing in return?" The only thing you had asked for in the divorce agreement was that he not seek you out and that your paths never cross again. You nod and finally he moves to sign them. You turn on your heel and walk out of the door, out of his manor. This corrupt part of the city and out of his life forever.

A sense of peace washes over you as you get into your car and turn the ignition. Ready to begin your own life.

****************************************************

And thus ends another one. I did make some tweaks to the original plot line I was given because it flowed better in this way. I do hope you don't mind. I stuck to what you gave me as much as possible. I hope you enjoyed this one

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[hairyjocktf]

A Full Dose of Country

Cody was exhausted. He was a star on the wrestling team at his university, but over winter break he’d been conscripted to be a helping hand on his uncle’s farm out in central Texas. After arguing for weeks with his very angry mother over the phone he’d submitted to spending his month off on the ranch. His mom had said that his uncle really needed the help for the season, and to put that athletic body of his to use. Cody rolled his eyes at that; he needed to be training for the next season. Instead he’d spent the past two weeks in the middle of nowhere helping out his uncle Shane, far from his friends and anything fun. Every day was long and exhausting. Cody thought he was in excellent shape but the long hours and excessive manual labor had started to wear on him quickly.

After putting some equipment away in the shed Cody trudged his way back into the small house, finding Shane slouched on the couch in front of the TV. He craned his neck around and gave Cody a quick up and down. 

“Damn son, you look rough today! You better get in bed early, we’ve got a hell of a task tomorrow,” he said. Cody’s shoulders slumped at the news.

“What could possibly be worse than what you’ve had me doing already?” He snapped. Shane was unfazed at the attitude.

“There’s some new bovine flu or something goin’ round. Heard it on the news the other day. I ordered some shots for the cattle to keep ‘em healthy, and I need you to help me get them all handled. Shouldn’t be a challenge for a hot shot like you right?” He snorted. Cody gave him a solemn look.

“Uh huh, sure.”

“I’m just messing with ya, y’know that,” Shane said with more sincerity. “Go on and get some sleep now boy,” he said as he shooed Cody off to his room.

Cody made his way down the dimly lit hallway to the small room he’d been staying in. He wasn’t the neatest guy on the planet but the state of his room was awful, but he’d been run too ragged to care. He pulled off his jeans and shirt and fell onto the bed, and within minutes he was out cold. 

The morning came abruptly with a banging on his door.

“Cody! Get dressed and out here we gotta start this operation early if we wanna finish today!” 

His uncle’s slightly muffled voice was still too loud for whatever hour it was. He threw on his hoodie and jeans from yesterday before making his way outside. The darkness was just starting to give way to dawn as he followed his uncle’s silhouette out towards the barn. The morning breeze was frigid, blowing through his hoodie like it was nothing. Cody shivered as he caught up to his uncle, who was setting up the chute for restraining the cattle. He stood there staring, in disbelief at what he was doing. His friends were partying in Cancun and he was up at 5 am herding cows?

“Well don’t just stand there, help me secure the pens!” His uncle’s bellowing voice snapped him out of his daze. Cody had unfortunately spent enough time on the ranch already to know what to do, and he got to work moving fences and prepping the area. By the time the sun had finally risen above the horizon they were ready. 

“Alright, now you’re gonna herd the cows in here one at a time, I’ll catch them in the chute, hit them with the needle gun, and let ‘em out into that second pen. Simple enough right?” Shane said, again with too much energy.

“Yea, sounds good.” Cody huffed, already feeling fatigued. He jogged back outside to start herding some of the cattle into the pens. He was surprised at how smoothly the entire operation was, within an hour they’d processed a dozen cattle. The problem now was getting the bigger ones in. Cody wasn’t normally afraid of a longhorn but in this situation he was tense, to put it lightly. Keeping his distance as much as possible, he slowly ushered the bull towards his uncle. As they neared their setup he had to get closer and more forceful, before finally spooking the animal into running into the chute. Shane slammed down the gates, holding the frantic bull inside the shaking apparatus.

“Cody!” Shane yelled over the racket, “Come hold this down so I can get a good shot!”

Cody hopped the fence and darted over to his uncle, holding the lever down against a raging bull. Shane was right next to him fiddling with the needle gun to refill it.

“Damn thing always jams at the worst times I swear…” he muttered before finally loading it properly. He squeezed up next to Cody to get close to the animal’s neck and leaned in to administer the shot. In that instant, the bull thrashed. Cody saw the massive horns swinging his direction and panicked, jerking to the side away from the head, directly into his uncle. They both toppled to the ground, and Cody felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. The bull knocked open the gates with no one to hold them down and dashed out into the pasture.

“Jesus Christ,” Shane said as he climbed to his feet, “You alright Cody?”

“Yea… I think so,” Cody mumbled as he stood up, feeling a pulsing pain in his gut. He lifted his shirt to find a small pinprick on his stomach surrounded by a reddened area.

“Aw shit, I must’ve hit you with the gun when we fell.” He walked over to Cody and kneeled down to look closely. “It’s a big needle for the cattle is all, you should be fine I think,” he said. Cody felt less than convinced. He scratched at the slightly itchy spot before letting his shirt down.

“C’mon, we’ve got plenty more cows to handle today. None of ‘em should be that aggressive again,” Shane said while inspecting the chute. Cody was a little shocked at how nonchalant his uncle was about what just happened. Cody headed back out to the pens to continue his job, but the slight itching on his stomach kept his mind divided. Surely nothing in a cow vaccine would be dangerous to a human right? They ate the cows in the end anyway, he thought with a slight chuckle.

Eventually the cows' persistent mooing brought them back to the present, and Cody’s thoughts slipped away from the earlier events. The work got his blood pumping, sending the vaccine’s contents all around his body. While the itch on his stomach finally subsided, a growing uncomfortable feeling was arising in his groin. The viral load had reached his balls, and while it was dormant for cows, the same couldn’t be said for Cody. It entered his cells and began making some changes down there. His balls began to swell, first to the size of walnuts before stretching his sack even more, plumping up to the size of large eggs. His newly enlarged testicles began to flood his body with more testosterone than ever before, laced with some bovine hormones.

His cock was the first to respond, twitching as it slowly grew hard, pressing against Cody’s compression underwear. His cock pulsed, head flaring as it stretched out, engorging to his full size of seven inches. Cody reached down to try and relieve some of the pressure, unaware of what was happening. He adjusted the band of his underwear, allowing more space for his cock to grow. And grow it did, pushing well past seven inches. The sensation of his throbbing member against his tight underwear was driving his body wild, even if he was distracted. His cock reached 11 inches, fully visible with a rock hard imprint in his underwear. Cody tried to adjust his growing package through his pants, oblivious to the situation below. As it capped out a glob of precum shot out of the tip, before the entire shaft thickened to a girth he could’ve only imagined before. A steady stream of precum began to flow afterward, creating an ever growing wet spot through his jeans. 

As Cody continued wrangling cattle, the steady stream of hormones from his massive balls continued to spread. An itch reappeared, but this time in his groin. He’d always kept himself clean shaven down there, but a slight shadow had appeared around the base of his cock. Clear cut hairs were starting to crop up again, a wave of short but dark stubble expanding outward. The hairs didn’t remain short for long, as his bush began to regrow with a vengeance. They pushed out of his skin, curling together as new hairs began to fill in between the old. The hairs pushed out longer and longer, weaving into a dense mat. The forest continued to spread, with thick hairs coating his low hanging balls and expanding out onto his thighs. The hairs began crawling up his lengthy shaft, covering the lower half in a furry sheath. Cody again scratched at his crotch, not noticing the dense growth from outside his jeans. As he finished up working for the day, hairs were slowly popping up further and further up, building a trail from his forested bush to his navel. The thick rug was pushing out against his compression underwear, slowly growing thicker as more hairs filled in.

Cody wiped the sweat from his forehead as his uncle was finally putting away the equipment from the day. He was more exhausted than he’d ever felt, and he didn’t believe he’d ever say that after enduring countless grueling wrestling training sessions with his coach. Thinking on them, he found it harder to recall those experiences despite his muscles aching, but he chalked it up to the brutal day he’d had. The sun was already below the horizon by the time they got back to the house. Cody figured he’d take a shower while Shane was throwing some kind of dinner together, and headed back to his room. He pulled off his hoodie and sweat-soaked shirt, revealing the crawling vine of dark hair making its way up his abs.

“What the fuck?” Cody blurted out in shock. He ran his fingers through the wiry curls exposed above his waistline. He quickly undid his belt and jeans and stuck his hand down in his underwear, deep into the lush sweaty forest that’d been absent when he pulled on his pants that morning. His jaw dropped. What the hell was happening here? He pushed his hand farther in only to find his now massive cock, and his eyes went wide. He darted into the bathroom and yanked down his underwear. In the mirror fully exposed was his flaccid nine inch cock, drooped in front of his comically large balls, all buried within the thickest bush he’d ever seen. Cody delicately handled his dangling member, and the slightest touch had it growing hard, leaking precum from the tip. He was stunned, standing there with precum spilling over one hand and the other buried in the thicket of hair.

As he stood there staring, the virus reached his brain. His panicked face slowly morphed into a grin. This was kinda hot, he thought. Who doesn’t love a massive dick, right? Cody began to rub his hands through the thick tangle of hair, feeling the curls catch around his fingers. His cock throbbed as it grew hard, reaching its full size. He grabbed it with his other hand, feeling the softer hairs that were poking out of his shaft. Cody, overcome with pleasure, let himself go. He stroked with one hand and explored his furry groin with the other. Within a minute he was ready to climax, grunting as he shot thick ropes onto the mirror. 

“Fuck,” he groaned, senses returning. He collapsed back onto the toilet behind, taking a moment to catch his breath before cleaning up his mess.

“Cody! Dinner’s on the table!” His uncle shouted from the kitchen. Cleaning would have to wait. Cody stuffed his still partially hard cock back into his tight underwear and threw on the rest of his clothes before heading out. He still had a grin plastered on his face, and Shane noticed.

“What’s got you in good spirits now, boy?”

“Aw nothin’ just proud of a good day’s work” Cody replied, suddenly caught off guard with his manner of speaking. That voice was his but didn’t sound like him, it was almost… country. No, he’d always spoken like that, he was from Texas after all. The smell of the sizzling food on the table grabbed his attention and he swiftly forgot about his concern. He scarfed the meal down, his body subconsciously needing the fuel. He suppressed a large belch before standing up, thanking Shane for the food, and heading back to his bed. Cody stripped off his shirt and jeans before flopping down onto the mattress, exhausted and stuffed. 

As he laid there, twirling his new pubes between his fingers, he let his thoughts drift back to his friends from school off on their vacations. He wasn’t as jealous anymore. In fact, maybe he was on the better end of that deal. All this manual labor was keeping him in shape for the season; getting drunk daily on the beach wouldn’t do that! His cock began to chub up at the thought of him finally putting on the mass to be at the top of his weight class. Precum leaked down his shaft and into his musky forest as Cody drifted off.

Cody woke in a sweat to a familiar banging on his door. He peeled himself off the sheets, looking at the vaguely body shaped sweat pool he’d left. He himself was also soaked. Then the  smell hit him, a musky sweaty stench had filled the room throughout the night. Cody was confused, he’d never sweat like this, not even after his gym sessions, it wasn’t even hot inside the house. He looked down at himself to see drops slowly streaming down his chest and stomach, which had grown slightly more covered with hair. He thoughtlessly scratched at his chin, fingers raking through small bristles that hadn’t been there before. With no time to ponder more he threw on some jeans and a tank top and ran out towards the barn.

Cody and Shane quickly got to work on the day’s tasks, eager to get as much done as possible before the sun got too harsh. Cody found it easier to get into what he was doing, it felt more natural somehow. As he worked up even more of a sweat than he’d woken up with, the combination of virus and testosterone got pumped around his body at an accelerated rate. The bristles on his chin began to poke out a little more; a shadow of stubble spread across his jaw and up onto his cheeks. Cody scratched at the growing stubble, not noticing the difference from his baby smooth physique before.

That smooth skin was quickly becoming a memory, as his upper lip was covered by the same shadow, dark spots turning into short hairs that pushed out longer and longer. The wiry hairs sprouting from his face grew thicker by the minute, new wisps shooting out between the maturing hairs. He’d grown into a scruffier version of himself, the shadow of stubble creeping down his neck as the hairs on his chin, upper lip, and cheeks fluffed out more.

As he worked, Cody’s arms pumped up more than usual and his legs following suit. His already well defined pecs began to feel sore as they pushed out, stretching his tank even more than usual. What had been rolling hills turned into mountains as muscle packed on. The soreness was quickly replaced with a subtle itch; the tendril of thick curls reaching up from his groin began to climb higher. Hairs shot up north of his navel, growing in a line up towards his beefier chest. His collarbone was the first to react to the cocktail of hormones surging inside him. A lone dark hair shot up over the collar of his tank. Another curled out, and then another. Wispy hairs began to crop up along the top of his chest, cresting over the neck of his tank. The beads of sweat covering his chest only seemed to fertilize more growth, matting the hairs to his skin in swirls and spirals of masculinity. Before long a rug had begun to form on his chest, hairs pushing out and puffing up his tank as it struggled against his growing body.

By mid afternoon, they’d finished everything for the day. Cody’s sudden burst of work ethic surprised Shane, who didn’t seem to notice his nephew’s burgeoning beard. Cody could feel the pump in his body, it was sore but he felt electric after working all morning.

“Whew, that went smoother than I ever figured,” Shane laughed and slapped Cody on the back. “Why don’t we enjoy a beer and take the rest of the day off.”

“Can’t say no to that I s’pose,” Cody responded with a smile. The two walked back to the house and settled out on the back porch. Shane grabbed some beers from inside and tossed one to Cody.

“Seems like you’re getting the hang of all this work around here, son. I could use a hand like yours more often!” Shane howled and cracked open his can. 

“Well, y’know, I guess I’m startin’ to enjoy it all a bit. Somethin’ about it out here makes me wanna stay,” Cody said with a heavier accent than even his uncle. Shane smiled back at him. The two chatted with a better rapport than ever as Cody downed his beer, and then another, and then two more.

His stomach gurgled as more hair spread across his stomach, fully burying his abs under a dark coat of hair. The line reached up to his chest widened, small fuzzy hairs spreading out before thickening up. Cody’s sweat covered chest followed suit. In the cleft between his pecs, hairs pressed their way out, spreading outwards as they grew in denser and darker and caught more sweat. What had been light fuzz across the wide expanse of his muscular form was corrupted by testosterone, follicles going into overdrive pushing out thicker darker hairs. The rug spread out around his nipples and upwards, merging with the hairs covering his collarbone as more continued to pop up towards his shoulders and up his neck. 

Cody was in the middle of downing another beer when a rank stench filled his nose. It was familiar, almost like the one from when he’d woken up. He lifted his arm and was greeted with a faceful of powerful body odor; his pits had become ripe and full of hours worth of sweat. He watched as the carefully shaven skin tinted dark as hairs sprouted en masse. It seemed like a waterfall in slow motion, watching the dark hairs pour out of his pit, growing longer and longer as they trapped more sweat in his damp pit. The growth spread, hairs pushing beyond the edges of his pits and growing the forest larger until it blended with the rug on his chest. His other pit itched as the same growth began to take place, a thick tuft of hair erupting. He could feel the wiry hairs pushing out between his arm and torso, growing bushier and escaping the bounds of his underarm. 

He should’ve been shocked, alarmed, panicked, anything of the sort, but instead he just stuck his hand into the damp jungle to scratch it. His fingers dug into the thick forest, digging deep to get at the sweaty skin below. Upon pulling his hand out he automatically sniffed it, as if he’d done so for a lifetime. The aroma filled his nose, the ripe stench causing his cock to shoot out a spurt of precum. The virus had gotten its foothold, altered his thinking enough to not only be nearly unaware of the changes, but to be aroused by them, to desire them. He leaned back in the chair, lifting his arms behind his head and exposing his hairy matted pits to the world.

The chair groaned under Cody as his body slowly swelled, muscles growing larger and thicker. His back popped as it grew wider, shoulders broadening as his traps and delts exploded with size. His tank top, already at its limit, began to tear at the sides where his lats were widening. Cody scratched at a slight itch on his shoulder, not thinking much of it, but the dusting of hairs on his shoulders had begun to spread, new curls cropping up all over. The wave of fur stretched from his forested chest up over his collarbone to his traps and shoulders before starting its descent. The itch crept down towards his shoulder blades as thin hairs pushed out, quickly growing from fuzz into fur. It almost looked like Cody was developing wings made of hair, as the patches knit together, creeping towards his spine to join into one hairy coat. The bristles continued working down, sprouting into thick stands that tangled together as they pushed out, growing denser as testosterone drenched each and every follicle. The burgeoning trail of hair reached his waistband, where it exploded into a sweaty tuft just above his ass. The hairs continued to fill in until his entire back was coated, a sweat-matted rug that was even curling around his sides to connect with the field of hair on his stomach. 

Cody shifted in his seat, trying to shake an uncomfortable feeling growing down in his underwear. His ass had been filling out all day, stretching his underwear to its limit, but this was different. Deep between his cheeks, thick hairs were slowly pushing out around his hole. They grew dark and wiry, tickling him as they squeezed between his massive cheeks. More hairs began to press out, surrounding his hole before spreading outwards. The shadow of loaded follicles crept over both his cheeks, and shortly after the hairs burst forth in a wave, pushing against his tight underwear as his ass disappeared beneath the growing fur. The hair continued to spread, connecting to his furry back and to his jungle of pubes which similarly thickened even more.

Cody reached down to scratch at his crotch, and paused for a moment after seeing his hand. It was much thicker than it’d been, with rough, calloused palms and thick sausages for fingers. He flipped it over and watched as a thick dark hair wormed out of his knuckle, followed by another, and in seconds there were dark tufts of hair popping up across his hand. The hairs crawled up towards his forearm, where his once soft dusting of wispy brown hairs was overrun by new dense growth. The hairs pushed out long and wove together into a puffy forest that climbed up his arm, the growth not petering out in the slightest. His beefy triceps vanished beneath the growing fur as it reached towards the thick hairs on his shoulders.

He watched the hairs overtake his once smooth and tanned skin but, rather than alarm. all Cody felt was arousal, with his cock chubbing up in his pants. He was half tempted to use that newly hairy hand to grab it, but he restrained himself. Not in front of Shane, it could wait. The sun had started to set, and as if on cue his uncle spoke up.

“Welp, better get workin’ on some supper,” he said, hoisting himself out of his chair. He left Cody out on the patio, finally giving his nephew a quiet moment to himself. Cody gazed out over the pastures, glowing in shades of orange and gold from the sunset. He could get used to it out here, he thought to himself. The desire to get back to wrestling with his team had slipped even further, he’d barely mentioned them during his and Shane’s multi-hour banter. The virus had been multiplying in his head, suppressing those neural connections in favor of those made recently on the ranch. He wanted to stay here on the ranch with the cattle, giving the virus more chance to spread to others. It would do anything to make that a reality.

Cody watched the sun slip below the horizon and headed back to his room. He tried to pull off his tank but instead it shredded, unable to cope with his massive body. He laid down on the bed, feeling the thick hairs on his back rub against the sheets. It was an electric feeling, and very quickly the bulge down there had doubled in size from the sensation. He brought one hand up to the dense rug of hair on his chest, not questioning how it’d grown since the morning, raking his fingers through the wiry swirls of hair. It felt amazing. A wet spot appeared on his jeans and grew as he stroked the thick chest hairs, before he stripped off his pants and underwear to free his fully erect cock from confinement, dribbling precum down its side.

His other hand he brought up to his face, feeling the fluffy growth. It was lighter than the rest of his new growth, but as he scratched at his cheeks he could feel new hairs poking out. The hairs grew in thicker and denser, his beard filling in as skin vanished underneath. The follicles continued to pump out hair after hair, thicker and darker than before as hormones completed his change. The beard hairs pushed out longer and longer, tangling into a solid block of hair that hid his face and neck as it grew down. The bristles poked out higher up on his cheeks, claiming as much of his face as they could. Cody was in ecstasy, feeling his beard come in around his fingers. His cock pulsed without him even needing to touch it, the testosterone coursing through his body thickening all the hairs into a seamless pelt. 

He loved his new body, his new fur, and he had to make it permanent. The virus guiding him, he reached down to his cock, his grip not even enough to surround the girth, and pumped it once up and down. With just that, Cody moaned in a newly gruff voice as he climaxed, his cock erupting with a geyser of cum. Rope after rope of thick cum landed all over his body, getting stuck in the forest of hair engulfing him. As the last load dribbled out of the tip his body relaxed, so did his old life of college and wrestling. Cody laid there, plastered with his own load as waves of pleasure echoed through his body. This was the life, he thought, still rubbing his hands through his cum soaked fur. 

Cody managed to clean himself up a bit by the time Shane called from the kitchen. He sat across from his uncle at the table while they ate, resuming the banter from earlier. At the end of the meal Cody finally decided it was time.

“Y’know Shane, I think I’d like to stick around for good.”

This story is my submission to @occamstfs 2000 follower writing challenge. Definitely my longest one yet, thanks everyone for reading to the end! I hope y'all enjoyed it, and thanks to Occam himself for the motivation, inspiration, and editing he did!

[rainrot4me]

Keep It Rolling

Summary: You and your friend decide to see if you can find ghosts in an abandoned asylum as you record the whole thing. When you run into Hoodie, he thinks it’d be fun to record you instead.

Characters: Hoodie x Female Reader

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Recording sex, bad blowjob, vaginal, threatening with a gun, pussy slapping, size difference, forcing, gagging, stretching, cream pie, size difference

Words: 3.9k

You spent your whole life filming everything. 

It didn’t matter what. Eating breakfast, going to the store, hanging with friends, everything was caught on your little camcorder. You had an internet personality to keep up with and feeding your viewers your personal life was a hefty job. But you loved it. 

So, of course, when your best friend messaged you about some supposedly haunted mental asylum twenty minutes off the interstate, you had to get it on camera. 

The mid-autumn breeze blew through your hair as you and your friend packed your filming equipment into the back of your car, shutting the trunk before climbing into the driver's seat. The asylum wasn’t even an hour away. But as you sped down the interstate, it was like the whole atmosphere had changed. The clouds were dark, the wind blew leaves from the trees, and this ominous darkness loomed around you. 

“Where did these rain clouds come from?” Your friend mumbled, scrolling through her phone and checking the weather which didn’t offer many answers. Brushing it off, you turned down an overgrown dirt road off the highway and searched for the building. If it did start raining, there was no way you were getting your camera out of the car. And if there was no camera, there was no reason for you to go inside. But as you drove further, an overgrown sign dangled on the side of the path. ‘State Asylum for the Mentally Insane.’ Charming. It was much farther after that that you could see the run-down building come into view, boarded up windows and patches of wall missing. The decorations of the building had all but disintegrated, but the foundation and skeleton of the building still stood strong minus the crumbling sections of walls. You pulled the car as close to the end of the path as you could before the overgrown plants stopped your path. Shutting the engine off, you sat and stared at the rolling clouds swarming overhead, judging if this was a good idea or not. Obviously, you knew it wasn’t.

“Shit, whole things coming down. Wonder how much longer it's got till it completely crumbles.” Your friends laughed, hopping out of the car and opening the trunk, slinging a bag full of voice recorders over her shoulder. “I hope we don’t find out.” You joked back, sliding to the back and grabbing your camera and backpack full of batteries and hard drives. The wind howled through the building, an eerie whistling noise echoing off the decaying walls that were visible from the outside. If you couldn’t find anything haunted in there, at least you’d get some good aesthetic shots. “I say we make a lap through the building and see if we can find any particular room that feels right to set up in. Y’know, see if it feels haunted.” They laughed, slamming the trunk shut and sauntering towards the entrance, a large dark door with shattered lanterns on either side. You flipped open your camera lens, filming a good shot of your friend shoving the door open and peeking inside. You quickly followed behind, skipping up the steps and peeking inside yourself.

The entrance was dark, furniture and paintings rusted with age and tossed around on the ground. Leaves and cobwebs accented the space, giving just the right amount of old and creepy as you filmed you both entering. The wind howled through the halls as you scanned each room, discovering abandoned medical supplies, facility rooms, and rows and rows of medical beds. All of it was caught on film, the dim lighting giving just the perfect balance with the soft glow of your flashlight. This had to get you views.

When you and your friend finally decided on a spot, a recreation room fit with a stage and tables, you set your audio recorders on the tables, little blinking lights illuminating the room as you pointed the camera. Your friend pulled out their flashlight, laying it on the table and flicking it on. You angled the lens, catching their face in the glow as they began to ask questions, the eerie quietness echoing their voice. “If there are any spirits here who are wishing to make themselves known, please do so now.” Silence. Besides the settling of the old floorboards, there wasn’t a movement or sound to be made. They tried again. “We’re here to do nothing more than talk. Please don’t be afraid to communicate.” Nothing again. You were growing impatient, switching your camera between your friend and the dormant recording devices, no lights signaling activity was being captured. Your friend groaned, holding out for maybe just some noise but ultimately flipping off the flashlight and scooping the recording equipment back into their bag. “Maybe we just picked a bad room. I want to try something though.” You flipped your camera shut, breathing deep and smelling nothing but mould and concrete. “And?” 

They shuffled the bag onto their shoulder, shining their flashlight around the disheveled room. “I saw on some ghost channel they split up and went to opposite ends of their hospital and got a lot of activity. Apparently, ghosts like it when you’re alone.” They smiled, shuffling back to the hallway. “Sounds good to me,” It didn’t, but who were you to say no to some good content? “Walk to opposite ends of the building and meet back in thirty minutes?” You both nodded, turning away from each other as you trudged your way to the farthest end of the asylum. 

You felt like you had walked forever, stepping down two flights of stairs until you ended up in what you assumed to be the basement. Random trash and unorganized medical equipment littered the floor but it was charming in a way, like the place was a relic of what it used to be. The damp air surrounded you, every step echoing off the concrete walls and recording beautifully as you flipped on your camera. Cobwebs hung in every corner, more afraid of running into one than running into an actual ghost, but content was content.

You set your camera on the ground, shining your flashlight at your face as you crisscrossed in front of the lens. The hall was silent, the dark corners sending chills up your spine as you couldn’t see past where your flashlight glow went. You settled yourself, breathing deeply before calling into the darkness. “If there are any spirits here who would like to communicate, please make yourself known.” Silence. The rhythmic dripping of water from the pipes offered some relief as you listened closely, but ultimately heard nothing. You sighed, trying again. “I am only here to talk. Please make yourself known.” Nothing still. It was relieving, sort of, praying internally that you’d find nothing as you stared into the camera’s lens. Shaking your head, you gave it one final attempt before you’d decide to head back upstairs. “If any spirits wa-” 

That was when you heard it. The loud thud echoed from down the dark hallway. Fear shot through you, quickly aiming your flashlight but seeing nothing that could have made the noise. “Hello..?” You called, picking your camera up and directing it the same way. There was no response. But as you went to stand, a very clear sound of someone clearing their throat echoed. You scrambled to your feet, realizing this wasn’t going to be paranormal, but some squatter you’d accidentally run up on. Your hands were shaking but relentlessly keeping the camera trained on the hall, staring intently for any sign of motion. Deciding not to press your luck further, you quietly stepped towards the stairs, barely reaching the railing before you saw it. The tall figure of a man resting his shoulder on the wall beside you and staring straight at you. 

A scream bubbled in your throat, panic building before he was on you in a second, his large hands shoving his over your mouth and holding your head still. You gripped your equipment tightly, panicking desperately as you tried to wiggle your way out of his grasp. That all stopped as soon as you felt the gunhead press against your ribs, nudging you to be compliant. “One word and I shoot.” He huffed, his deep voice reverberating against the walls. That’s when you could see him in the glow of your flashlight. He wore a ski mask that covered every feature of his face, but had a weird face drawn on. Tears rolled down your cheeks, realizing what a heap of trouble you were in. Whining, the man released your mouth but nudged the gun deeper into your rib, forcing you to the wall behind you. His gruff demeanor shakes you. “Explain yourself. Now.” He commanded, shoving the hilt further up. You panicked, quickly answering. “Uh- My f-friend and I came to see if we c- could find ghosts. I was making, uh, a video.” You cringed, holding the camera up as it was still rolling, capturing everything that had happened so far. The man jerked the camera out of your hand, examining it before tossing it to the floor, a whine escaping you as you watched it skid against the concrete. He leaned in close to your face, his breathing mumbled by the mask. “No ghosts, huh?” He towered over you, his large frame encapsulating you easily. You shook your head awkwardly, gulping as he pulled the gun from your side but quickly repositioned it under your chin, nudging it forcefully. “Sorry sweetheart, but I’m afraid this is as far as you’ll get.” He cocked the trigger, the noise sending a full-blown panic through you as you gripped his arm. “Please! Please- oh, God, I’ll do anything,” You huffed, tears pouring heavily. “Anything you want. Money, your dick sucked, food, anything!” You pleaded, face growing red as you shook with fear. 

The man leaned back, pulling his finger off the trigger as he chuckled. “What was that second thing?” He smirked, resting his hand on his hip but not letting that gunhead leave your chin. You blushed roughly, your words betraying you as you just word-vomited something to save yourself. “I said anything.” You huffed, gritting your teeth as you felt the cold metal leave your skin, sighing deeply. 

The man holstered his gun in the back of his jeans, sauntering over to your camera on the ground and scooping it up. He wiped it off, flipping the screen open before pointing it at you. You blushed, feeling awkward on the other side of the lens for once. He chuckled, stepping closer to you as he moved the camera to the side, staring at you directly. “Well?” He grinned, focusing his gaze back on the camera screen that captured your red face, the flash accentuating your features. His mask concealed his expression making you unsure if he was being serious or not, but you didn’t want to test those waters knowing full well he had a gun.

You awkwardly knelt in front of him, the concrete wall behind you cramping you. The truth was, you had no clue what you were doing. No boyfriends made their way around to lay you, so whatever you were about to pull out of your ass: your life literally depended on it. 

You fiddled with his belt, sliding it open before nervously pulling the zipper of his jeans down. He wasn’t even half-hard in his boxers. You palmed at the bulge awkwardly, glancing up as the camera stared at you, his face peeking behind and watching you closely. Growing in your hand, you tucked your fingers under his boxers and tugged them down, his large cock barely bobbing out. It was awkward, but you took the length in your hands and slowly began to stroke, feeling it harden slowly. This was good. Nervousness pricked at your stomach as you licked at the tip. You slowly pressed the now hard length into your mouth, getting as deep as you could before pulling back. Slobber coated the length, gleaming in the flash of the camera. You leaned back in, wrapping your hand around the base of his cock and taking the rest of what you could in your mouth. It wasn’t good and you knew it. Your teeth constantly scraped against his length. Not to mention any time the tip passed your tongue you were gagging back off of it.

He was growing impatient, the half-assed attempt at head making his head hurt. You felt his hand slink up the back of your head and grip a handful of your hair, slowly guiding your head back onto his cock. “Open wide.” He commanded, holding the camera lower to get a good shot. You hung your jaw lower, gripping his jeans quickly as you felt him press into your mouth further than you knew you could take. You gagged, straining to pull your head back but he wouldn’t let you, he just kept pushing your head further. You slammed your eyes shut, tears pricking as you wrapped your lips around the thick cock deep in your mouth. He finally pulled your head back, giving you a second to breathe before you snapped his hips back into your mouth quickly. You whined, throat choking as he thrust your head on his cock quickly. He held your hair tightly as he forced himself down your throat, practically face-fucking you and not giving you a second to adjust. 

“Damn, you got a mouth on you, huh?” He huffed, shoving the camera closer to your mouth wrapping around him tightly. You groaned, eyes rolling as you gagged each time his cock pressed against the back of your throat. It was loud and vulgar, the wet sounds echoing off the walls. He refused to let up though, groaning as he held your head back. “There you go. Keep that throat open, sweetheart.” He moaned deeply, pressing your head flush against him but not pulling away. You began to panic, gripping at his jeans as you choked, no air reaching you. He chuckled, cock throbbing in your mouth at the sound of drool gurgling in your throat. He finally pulled you off his length, a loud gasp escaping you as air filled your lungs. He pulled your hair back making you stare at the camera, your flushed face and slobber-covered lips shining brightly against the flash. “God…” He let go of your hair, pumping his cock into his hand before kneeling at your level. “Yeah, I’m not done with you.” He grinned, gripping your legs pulling them out from under you and landing you on your back. He crawled over you, nudging himself between your legs as he tugged at your shirt until it bunched above your bra. He hooked his fingers under the cups, pushing them up and exposing your tits. Hands were on them in a second, massaging and pulling at the mounds. 

Your whines echoed as he pinched your nipples, pulling them roughly and kneading the buds in between his fingers. “You’ve got such a nice body sweetheart. I can’t wait to ruin it.” He scaled the camera across your body and shot your curves well. It was incredibly embarrassing. 

He pulled his hands off your nipples, leaning back to set the camera on the ground and angle it between your legs, getting a good shot of your crotch. If anything, you were impressed with his familiarity with a camera. But the other half of you cringed as he unbuttoned your pants and slid them off your legs, giving the camera a clear shot of your damp panties. His fingers rubbed at the spot, his thumb pressing roughly against your clit and making you squirm. You reached down quickly, grabbing his wrist. That wasn’t going to happen. He immediately grabbed your wrists in return, pinning your hands above your head and relishing the way your body arched in defiance. “Calm down, huh? Relax…” He grinned, sliding your panties off your hips with his right hand and sliding his fingers up your folds, collecting your arousal. Pressing your legs open, he spread your folds the same, the cold air making your clit twitch. “Such a pretty cunt…” He groaned, spreading your lips and spitting against your hole, making you squirm.

He rubbed his fingers against your entrance, circling the area as you arched your back, silently begging for him to slide them in. That was when you saw his hand reach back and quickly slap down on your cunt, a sharp sting hitting you. You gasped, his hand slapping you again before you could even say anything. His palm continued to connect with your cunt, rubbing the area roughly before bringing his hand back to slap down again. You were a whining mess, every sting and slap making you so much wetter. The squelching sounds your cunt made every time his palm reached was embarrassing, your moans mixing and creating an insanely lewd noise. “God! Please…” You whined, squeezing your knees closer and trapping his hand against your cunt. He chuckled, giving in and pressing his fingers into your soaked entrance, a loud squelch echoing. You groaned, his fingers reaching deeply inside of you and curling just the right way. When he began to pump his fingers, it was all you could do not to scream your pleasure. Your throbbing clit ached as his fingers curled against your walls, each curl causing them to clench down. His thick fingers worked you open, your squirming body being easily held down by his muscled arms. Your orgasm came incredibly fast, your walls tightening around his fingers as they stretched your entrance wide and became soaked with your ecstasy. 

He pulled his fingers out sharply and brought them to the hem of his mask as he slid it up just above his nose. He licked his fingers of your arousal, smiling at you as he took them down to the knuckle. Your eyes frantically glanced at the camera lens, the flash blinding you as you begged the battery would magically die and none of this would be recorded. No luck. “Damn sweetheart, you think that cunt’s ready for me yet?” He grinned, pulling his mask back down and wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling you quickly to rest your thighs on top of his. His cock was twitching and angry, the head pulsing as he pumped it in his hands. He let it rest on your tummy. You glance down, head spinning as you realize just how big he is. “Oh, I’m gonna be in there.” He chuckled, releasing your wrists to scoop his hands under your hips and angle them up. He nudged the head of his cock against your entrance, leaning down to meet his face with your as he breathed deeply. “Try to not scream, yeah?” 

Before you could question why, he slammed your hips down onto his length. The rough stretch and sting of him entering you so abruptly made you cry out, tears leaking down your cheeks. He didn’t wait. Either because he couldn’t or because he didn’t care. His hips snapped into you quickly, fingers digging into your bare hips as he forced your hips to connect with his. “Shit-” He was grunting with every thrust, heavily breathing behind the mask. Your moans and cries matched his, every nudge of his cock against your walls making your back arch and jaw hang open. It was dizzying. He was perched on his knees, holding your hips off the ground and fucking into you like some fleshlight. 

Every tug at his hands and pull at his jacket went unnoticed as you clawed against him, trying your hardest to find some stability as your body was being rammed against. Your cunt throbbed with every squelch and slap, your walls constricting around the thick length invading inside of you. The camera caught it all, angled perfectly to see every inch of his cock sink into your cunt as he thrust quickly. It caught every lewd moan, every slap of skin. The tears were rolling down your cheeks, the sting and stretch of him mixing with the absolute pleasure slamming into you. “Fuck, so tight. Gonna milk me dry, sweetheart.” He huffed, repositioning for a split second before angling his hips up to ram into your g-spot. You screamed out, hand reaching for your clit as you rubbed in pace with his thrusts up into you.

That’s when he grabbed the camera, angling it down directly at your cunt as he sunk into you quickly. “Cum on my cock. Yeah, let me see it.” He moaned, shoving your hand out of the way to press his own fingers against your clit, rubbing quick and rough. You slapped your hands over your face, eyes rolling as you felt your orgasm rushing against you. The masked man was moaning louder, little whines escaping his lips as his own pace became sloppy. “Cum all over me, sweetheart.” He groaned. It sent you over, waves of pleasure crashing into you quickly as he refused to let off of your clit. You screamed out, arching your back against his fingers as he rubbed your orgasm out. Walls around his cock constricted, milking him as he held the camera close, the flash catching every drop of sweat and arousal that mixed on you. He bottomed out against you, moaning loudly as he released deep into your cunt. 

The room went quiet apart from your panting. The camera caught it all, each pulse of his cock as he filled you full, your hands gripping tightly against his wrist as he held his thumb over your clit. He slowly pulled out, hissing as you felt the stretch of him. When his head popped out, he moved the camera down, catching every second as his seed leaked out of you. “Did so good sweetheart. Took me so good.” He huffed, sliding his fingers through your folds and spreading his release across your cunt, making you squirm. He pressed his fingers into your swallowed entrance, pressing his seed back in. When he pulled them out, he flipped the camera shut, turning the flash off and setting it back on the ground. 

Finding your panties, he slid them back on you and relished as he watched them soak darker. He helped you button your pants back, pulling your shirt down and helping you stand. Handing you the camera, he laughed at your hazy expression, your heavy eyes and swollen cheeks evident of your fucked out cunt. “Thanks, sweetheart, now run along before I change my mind.” He huffed, turning back to the dark hallway and waving you off. “Good luck with your ghosts.” You nodded, frantically turning back to the steps and rushing up to the fresh air. It hadn’t been long, but as you listened closely and heard the sound of heavy rain, you trudged to the other side of the asylum and found your friend just as hopeless as you left them.

“Did you find anything? I had a whole lot of nothing.” They sighed, leading you to the entrance and out to the car as you tried to hide your equipment from the rain. “Nah. Nothing interesting.” You sighed, climbing into the driver's seat and speeding off back down the dirt path. 

When you eventually made it home, you sprinted to your laptop and shoved the SD card in, loading up the video. Your hand covered your mouth as you watched the scene unfold, arousal growing in your pants again as you felt the leak of the masked man’s seed against your folds. 

The video played through, every squelch and moan sending shivers through you as your hand slid down between your legs, rubbing lazily as you rewatched his cock sink inside of you. 

You’d have to go ghost hunting more often.

Comments are reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

[benevolentbones]

me before you | spencer reid x reader

warnings: angst!!! kidnapping, graphic depictions of injury, death, female reader

word count: 2.6k

summary: you go missing on a job and spencer goes ballistic

a/n: i hope you guys enjoy a touch of angst! i think this is my longest fic i’ve ever written:) reblogs & comments appreciated <3

“where is she.” spencer’s voice boomed as he bursted into the conference room. every set of eyes in the cramped police department office shot to the loud sound.

spencer stood in the doorway, his fbi vest still strapped to his body. his hair was disheveled and brushed off of his face, his white button up was half buttoned and the sleeves were messily rolled up to his elbows.

his eyes scanned the room, flickering over the local police force until they landed hotch. he stormed into the room, his face contorting with rage. before hotch could even utter a word out, spencer’s hands were on him, gripping a handful of the older man’s shirt.

“where is she, hotch.” he snarled, hotch using his hands to create a distance between him and spencer.

derek immediately jumped up, pulling spencer’s flailing form off of his superior. everyone watched in shock and horror, spencer had never acted like this, and certainly not on a case.

“we don’t know.” hotch stated, a calmness to his voice, but he was as just concerned as spencer was.

“why- get off of me-“ spencer fought back in morgan’s strong hold eventually breaking free after lashing around.

“why did you let her go in without back up- are you out of your fucking mind.”

“outside. now.” hotch breathed, he didn’t want complete strangers to witness whatever was about to occur. he walked calmly through the doors, his oxfords thudding against the marbled floor.

spencer followed suit after shaking derek off, his steps messy as he fumbled behind hotch, who made a turn into a private empty office.

“reid-“

“no. don’t go there- what were you fucking thinking hotch-“

aaron leaned against the desk, his arms folded over his chest. spencer stood a few feet across from him, pacing the room.

“we didn’t know what we were in for, the house was clear..” he trailed off, recounting the events that took place an hour prior.

~

you, derek and hotch were staking out the potential unsubs house, it was a bungalow in the suburbs and a pretty run down one at that, sitting behind the van you had driven in.

“morgan, take the front. y/n, follow me around the side.” hotch spoke, his dark eyes landing on you.

you nodded, following the older man to the side of the house. from your position you could hear derek shout.

“FBI open up-“ followed by the sound of the door slamming open.

you continued to follow hotch to the back entrance, which he swiftly broke down and then entered the house.

he held his gun up, doing a sweep of the back room. “clear” he yelled out,

from the next room over he could hear morgan yell back. “hotch look at this-“

the dark haired man quickly walked to where morgan was.

they stood in the middle of the living room, the place was run down and smelled like mold. on the weathered coffee table laid a videotape recorder and a note.

hotch bent down, picking up the note. the words ‘i got you, your turn.’ were etched onto the page, hotch turned his attention to derek who beared the same confused expression.

“what does that even mean? l/n get in here.” he yelled out, attempting to get your attention to see if you could help make sense of things.

a few moments passed before he called out again. “y/n?”

hotch walked to where he had left you, the back door was still wide open, he eyes trailed down to the ground, which was when he saw it.

your gun.

from outside the sound of a engine starting up rattled, the tires screeched as the vehicle pulled onto the road.

fuck

“morgan, take the camera and the note- she’s not here.”

~

“what so you’re telling me you left y/n on her own? knowing that she fit the description of all the unsubs victims- you can’t, you can’t be-“ spencer cut himself off, letting out a choked sob.

“reid i am sorry. we will find her.” hotch reached a hand out to touch spencer’s shoulder, a wave of sadness washing over his body as he watched spencer begin to break down.

with hazel eyes brimming with tears threatening to fall, spencer sunk into hotch’s embrace. letting out shaky breaths in between cries.

“you- have to get her back- i need her- she-i can’t let her- go first.“ hotch rubbed soothing circles on spencer’s back, which proved to be hard through the bulletproof vest.

“we will find her, reid. let the team work, go home. you need rest.”

hotch was right, it was nearing two in the morning and spencer had not slept for almost thirty six hours. the circles under his eyes were noticeably more dark, looking nearly hallowed out.

spencer pulled away from the hug, his doe eyes red and puffy from the crying.

“i’ll send morgan with you, we will notify you when we find something. and we will.”

“okay. thanks.” the younger male sniffled, his tired eyes meeting hotch’s as he walked out of the office.

~

your eyes blinked awake, a slight grogginess to your vision. the florescent lighting above you hurt your eyes and your head ached.

you attempted to move but felt your hands and legs bound, your eyes darted around the room. you were tied up, sitting on a wooden stool, the room was practically barren except for a pile of sheets in the corner, a table lined with tools and a camera on a tripod. the red light blinking intermittently.

you spotted a small rectangular window at the very top of the wall, it was covered in weeds from the outside. i’m in a basement.

you wriggled, attempting to break free but only causing yourself to get rope burn, you hissed in pain.

“fuck sake.”

the metal door in front of you swung open, revealing a tall man dressed in black. he had an eerie grin etched on his face, his striking blue eyes staring at you like you were something to eat.

“hello agent l/n, nice to see you’re finally awake.” his voice sounded rough, as you ambled into the door, closing the door over leaving it a few inches ajar.

“thomas wilson.” you spat out.

“you have a smart team, y/n. you managed to find me just after five kills. bravo.” his voice laced with a mocking tone.

“it’s a shame they didn’t have your back.”

you stayed silent, eyeing his form as he began to circle the stool you sat upon.

“but i fear- this may be my last kill, so i’m going to be thorough.”

you felt your stomach drop. you were hoping, praying that maybe the team was on the way, that they would be able to get here in time.

you tried your best to read thomas, you could tell by the way he limped around you that he was injured, and he didn’t seem a hundred percent confident in himself. maybe you had a chance.

“how’d you get hurt? i’m a medic, i could help you thomas. you don’t have to-“ your attempt at empathy was cut off by a strike to your face.

the man pulled back his fist, as you slowly recoiled your head. you could feel your eyes swell, staring intensely at him through wisps of your hair that fell over your face.

“silence. we don’t have much time. i need to prepare.” he muttered to himself, walking towards the table to your right.

you racked your brain, trying to think about the other victims and their similarity to you. hair colour, eye colour, frame and stature, age. but they were all single women, involved in prostitution in one way or another. maybe you could convince him that way.

“i’m engaged, thomas.” you spoke, trying to get his attention. “i know your other victims were all single- i have a fiancé.”

“where’s the ring.” he didn’t bother looking back at you, your empty hand flexed into a fist. you never wore your ring on the field.

“i can show you photos- my phone, it’s in my jacket pocket.” you were trying to delay whatever he had planned, you were grasping at straws.

thomas limped towards you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out your phone. it was turned off, but he rebooted it, unlocking it and going straight for your camera roll.

he caught the bait.

~

“sir- y/n’s phone just turned back on.” garcia practically shouted.

“can you track it? -emily alert the swat team now.”

“on it sir.”

the majority of the team piled into cars, fbi vests strapped to their bodies. garcia sent the location to hotch and the cars sped off, it was just twenty miles from where you were taken.

“you sure this is the right place?” hotch spoke out into his phone, a slight anxiousness to his voice which didn’t go unnoticed by penelope.

“yep. i quadruple checked, the satellites picked up the van dropping the unsub and a victim at this exact address.” garcia stated from the other end of the line, faint clacking of the keyboard could be heard from her side.

“thank you, garcia. keep me posted.” he muttered before ending the call and stuffing the phone into his pocket.

“did anyone tell morgan?” hotch spoke, morgan had brought reid home and was told to stay with him incase of any updates.

“just now sir.” emily spoke, shutting her cellphone.

~

“see- that’s me and my fiancé, spencer. he works with me.” you stated as thomas scrolling through thousands of pictures of you and spencer.

you could tell this caught him by surprise, you were sure his other victims probably pleaded for their lives, saying they had families and partners to get back to. it made you feel sick.

“it’s not too late- thomas please let me go, i don’t want to leave him.” you mumbled out, fighting back tears at the thought of how distraught spencer must feel right now.

“i- i cant it’s too late. i have to do this.” he stuttered out, still scrolling through pictures on your phone, his face frowning when he came across your engagement photos.

“can i call him, can i say goodbye?” your eyes met his pale ones, you could see from his expression he was thinking things over.

“fine.”

he searched up spencer’s name on your phone, pressing the call button and holding it beside your ear.

spencer was in a car when his phone started to buzz, morgan had received the call about your location and immediately told spencer who refused to let the older man leave without him.

spencer picked up immediately once your contact came up on his phone.

“y/n- are you okay- are you hurt?” he blurted into the phone, putting it on speaker so derek could listen in. he felt a sudden relief at the sound of your voice.

“spence. i- i’m not hurt.” you paused briefly, eyeing the man next to you. he was listening in. “spence, i love you so much.” you mumbled out, white hot tears staining your cheeks.

“baby? what’s happening.” spencer questioned, his hazel eyes beginning to well up.

“i love you- and i’m sorry, i don’t think i have much time left.”

“no. no no no- you promised- me before you-you can’t leave me“ he rambled out, his heart sinking as tears began to flood from his eyes. derek gripped the steering wheel, pressing his foot down on the pedal, they were nearly there.

“i know baby- i tried-“ you choked out a sob, hearing spencer crying broke you.

thomas was getting visibly frustrated, his grip on your phone tightened. “that’s enough.” he muttered out.

“i have to go spence- i’m sorry i love you so much.” and with that, thomas had ended the call. tears streamed down your face as you tried to muster up the ability to stop.

the older man ambled back to the table, he had laid out a number of weapons. you recalled the details of how the other victims died, each one exactly the same down to the last cut. thomas likely suffered from remorseful ocd.

the man turned back to you, a knife in his grasp. he could tell he was battling within himself, he didn’t want to do this, but he felt like he had to. you could faintly hear the sound of cars passing the house, praying that someone would show up.

“i’m sorry” he muttered out as he brought the knife to your collar bone, pressing it into your skin and dragging it across.

you screamed, a wave of pain engulfing you. blood quickly began to trickle from the laceration, staining your white shirt a crimson hue.

if this was how you were going to die, you were going to make sure it haunted him forever. your eyes locked onto his, forcibly making eye contact as he switched to your left side, beginning to slice the other side of your collar precisely.

you gritted your teeth, feeling the cool metal of the knife drag across your skin. he pulled back, now pressing the bloodied knife to your throat. he was behind you, all you could do was stare straight ahead at the door in front of you.

suddenly the door burst open, hotch standing before you with a swat team piling into the room.

“drop your weapon.” he commanded, his voice booming as he pointed his gun at unsub. you have never been so relieved to see aaron hotchner in your life.

“i can’t, i have to do this.” thomas muttered out, his hand shaking as he pressed the knife to your throat. he began to press it firmly against your skin, you winced out at the pressure.

hotch immediately fired a shot, the bullet sinking into the unsubs shoulder causing him to fall back and shout in pain. a member of the swat team rushed to thomas, restraining the male as he put a pair of handcuffs on his wrists.

hotch was by your side in seconds, unbinding your hands and legs. “are you okay?” he questioned, concern lacing his usually stoic voice.

you nodded, rubbing your throat once your hands were free. you attempted to stand up, wobbling as you placed your feet on the ground, you felt weak, the bleeding around your collars had slowed but you were still losing blood.

“let me.” hotch scooped you up in his arms, carrying you up the stairs and out of the house. it was dark, and there was a swarm of swat cars and an ambulance waiting for you.

a car pulled up to the scene, the passenger door swung open and spencer stumbled out, barely getting his seatbelt off.

“y/n?!” he called out, scanning the area, once his eyes landed on your form in hotch’s arms he sprinted over.

“spence-“ you began before you were engulfed in a tight hug, hotch passed you over to spencer, making his way to the ambulance to alert the medics.

“i thought- you were-“ he blubbered out, his eyes puffy from crying.

he fell to his knees, his hold on you not wavering. you wrapped your arms around his neck to the best of your ability. he pressed a kiss to your forehead, rocking you in his arms.

“i’m going to get blood on you-“ you mumbled, trying to lighten the mood.

he let out a short laugh, followed by a small cry.

“i’m okay spence- i love you, i’m okay.” you reassured him.

“i’m never letting you go again.” he rested his forehead against yours, letting out a shaky breath.

taglist!! @0108s22m @rainoftearss @potatovoyager @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @luvmia222 @shardsofmarxx @silver138 @lover-of-books-and-tea

[wanders-in-wonderland]

Don't Move

*Loosely inspired by the new Netflix movie Don’t Move but I haven’t actually watched it and only saw clips and read the synopsis.

I never should have parked so far from the grocery store. I’d stopped to grab a few items for dinner on my way home from work and parked in the last row, wanting to give myself an opportunity to walk a little extra to the store and stretch my legs after sitting at a computer desk all day, especially since today was an uncharacteristically sunny fall day. When I finish shopping and come back out to my car, I vaguely take note of another car parked next to me.

Weird, considering half the lot was empty but who am I to judge, I’m not the parking police. I roll my cart to my car, unload my shopping bags, and return the cart before rounding my car to get in and leave. That’s when I realize that the car next to me parked absurdly close to mine.

I silently judge the distance and decide that maybe I can squeeze myself into my driver side door without dinging his door or mine so I step in the space between the two vehicles. As soon as I pull open my door, I can tell that my plan won’t work. I huff out a little laugh and decide to just crawl in through the passenger side when I hear the car door slam from behind.

“Sorry!” An embarrassed sounding male voice sounds. “I totally misjudged the distance and parked a little too close.”

I turn to see a tall man stride around what I assume is his car that he was sitting in, coming towards me. I smile back at him, “No worries, it happens to the best of us. I can just crawl in through the other side.”

His eyes crinkle in a kind smile and he raises one hand to run through his hair bashfully. I realize that he’s really attractive, the kind of boy-next-door attractive that makes you feel at ease. He’s closed the distance between us and stands near the back bumper of both our cars, his frame filling the space and effectively trapping me in.

“No, don’t, I can move my car, just give me a sec,” he says, giving a wry chuckle. I glance down at his other hand and see him holding an umbrella. I raise an eyebrow, gesturing towards it with my chin, “Expecting rain?”

He looks down as if he’s surprised to see the umbrella in his hand, “Oh! This! Well, you can never be too prepared, right?” He shrugs lightly and takes another step into my space.

“Plus, it’s really useful for times like this,” he says before clicking a button on the handle that makes the tip light up with electricity. His umbrella is a stun gun in disguise. Before I can react, he jabs it into my side and I let out a strangled yelp as sharp pain floods my body and I crumple.

He catches me and the last thing I see before my vision goes black is his handsome face twisted in a dark, menacing smile.

—

The rhythmic jostling of a car wakes me up and I found myself laid out across the backseat of a car with my arms tied behind my back and my legs tied together at my ankles. I let out a soft whine, my body aching as I slowly clear my head.

My eyes dart around the car and I see him driving. He tilts the rearview mirror down so we can see each other and he flashes me a charming smile.

“Good morning. Sleep well?” His voice is teasing, as if we were lovers, waking up in bed together and not a deranged kidnapper and his prey.

“What the fuck? Let me go!” I thrash against my restraints but he’s also strapped me into the seatbelts and made it impossible for me to get free.

He smiles, “Don’t worry, we’re almost there.”

I feel the car turn and from my limited view out the windows, I see him turn us from a main road onto a smaller path that seems to lead into the forest. Fear starts to overtake my every emotion.

“Where are you taking me? Are you going to kill me?” I say, my voice cracking.

He laughs in response but doesn’t deign to give me a verbal response. Before I can muster up the courage to ask more, the car comes to a stop and he steps out before opening the door by my feet.

With a strong grip, he hauls me out of the car and I stumble out, legs unsteady and uncoordinated from being bound together. “Please, please, let me go!” I beg him, my heart in my throat.

He grins at me, “Let’s play a game. I’ll give you an opportunity to run, and if you out-run me, I’ll let you go.” I gasp, staring at him, waiting for the catch. He reaches behind me and with a swift motion, unties my arms. He leans down and does the same for my ankles and I stare at him in shock.

“You better run, little bird.” His voice is teasing as he takes a step back from me. I don’t hesitate. I spin and take off.

My breath is harsh and my heartbeat wild as I sprint through the woods, ignoring the branches that scratch at my face and arms. I hear his laugh following me and then his voice shouting after me, “Run, little bird, run as fast as you want but you won’t get far!”

I don’t stop to think, just mindlessly crashing through the woods as fast as I can, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. I’m not sure how far I’m able to get when suddenly, my leg seems to give out from underneath me and I take a tumble.

I gasp, trying my best not to scream as I trip and find myself landing hard on the ground. Pain shoots through my body and I grit my teeth, not wanting to make any more noise in case he can hear me. Adrenaline is still pumping through me as I scramble to push myself back up from the floor. I manage to stand and take a step before my knees buckle again and I drop to my hands and knees.

What the fuck is going on? Why isn’t my body cooperating? I’m frantic, horror filling my blood as I realize something is very wrong. My legs won’t move and I don’t know why. I try to crawl forward but suddenly, my arms give out and I end up sprawled across my front, branches digging into my body painfully.

I can’t escape like this. My brain is begging my body to just move and keep running but nothing is happening. I use an excruciating amount of effort to roll myself from my front to my back so at least I can have a better vantage point but that’s all that I’m able to accomplish before my body completes shuts down. I’m left splayed out on my back, limbs frozen, mind screaming in panic when I hear footsteps approaching.

And then, I hear his voice. “Little bird, did the drugs kick in?”

My heart drops at his words. He drugged me. That was why I couldn’t move. Tears filled my eyes and I blinked rapidly, the only movement I could still produce.

I see him walk into my view through my tears and I hear him chuckle. “Looks like my little bird can’t fly anymore.” He walks up next to me and looks down at me and waves a syringe mockingly.

“A paralytic. Fast-acting and long-lasting. You’re going to be like this for at least several hours,” he says, a maniacal gleam lighting up his eyes. I try to speak and realize that I can’t even do that.

He crouches down next to me and brushes my hair off my face, then trailing a hand down my cheek, collecting a tear. “We are going to have so much fun together, little bird.”

He hefts me up into his arms and carries me through the forest, retracing the path I’d ran down. I realize with a sinking heart that I did not make it far at all and in a few hundred yards, we end up back at the car. My mind is still screaming at my body to move but nothing obeys.

He carries me into a cabin, the intended destination of our car ride, and I stare listlessly at the space around us. We end up in a bedroom with a large bed and I feel another wave of fear pass over me. He’s going to rape me.

He lays me down gently on the bed like I’m some kind of precious cargo. Then he disappears from view and I hear the sound of running water from what I assume is the connected bathroom. He comes back holding a first aid kit and a wet towel. He starts with the scratches on my face, wiping them down before putting some kind of cream over them, his fingers gentle.

He makes a tsk sound at me, “Look at you, little bird. Covered in scratches, I’m going to need to take good care of you, hm?” He smiles down at me and my stomach curdles. My eyes are wide as I stare back at him, silent.

Then he pulls out a pair of scissors and I want to flinch but I can’t. He starts to cut my shirt off my body and I feel dizzy with terror as my clothes start to fall away in strips. I beg my body to move but just like before, there’s nothing in response.

He moves down to my pants, opting to unbutton them and gently pull them off my legs, taking care to maneuver my body around. Tears are streaming down my face, wetting my temples and my hair as I stare up at the ceiling blankly.

I’m naked now, stripped bare, splayed out on the bed. “Fuck, little bird, you’re beautiful,” he says, his voice low. He runs a hand down my cheek, ghosting over my throat and down between the valley of my breasts, over my stomach, and he comes to rest in between my legs. I close my eyes, trying to escape from this horror.

He nudges my legs further apart, revealing my pussy to his hungry gaze and I feel his finger dance across me. The movement is gentle, teasing, and if I could move, it would have made me tense and jerk away. But instead, I lay still, my body unable to do anything except let him take what he wants.

He trails a gentle finger against my clit and the touch makes electricity dance down my spine. He pulls his hand away for a second and I feel his finger press against my mouth. My eyes fly open to meet his. He smiles at me before gently pushing his finger into my mouth. My lips part with no resistance and when he pulls his hand away, a string of saliva follows.

His spit-wet finger goes back to between my legs and he rubs my clit again. My eyes clench shut as an unwanted wave of pleasure washes over me and if I could moan right now, I know that I would be biting it back. His wet finger moves up and down over me and he knows exactly how hard to rub and where to touch. I feel my breath stutter in my chest and I want nothing more than to push him away, to make him stop.

“Little bird, I can feel you getting wet,” he purrs at me and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out. “I’m going to take such good care of this pretty pussy,” he says as he gently slides a finger inside of me. I’m so wet now that there’s no resistance at all, and my relaxed body only helps him breech me.

He adds a second finger and suddenly, I feel the hot touch of a mouth on my clit. It’s unbearable, the forced pleasure permeating every single sense and nerve, the paralytic erasing every possible outlet I could have to soothe the sharp, overwhelming blanket of unwanted bliss. I can’t clench my legs, can’t roll my hips, arch my back, or even make a single sound. It’s torture.

His mouth and fingers work at me relentlessly and I can feel an orgasm building up. Except my body can’t respond to it, my pussy can’t tense and contract, there’s nothing to soften the rush of pleasure that slams into me. Tears are streaming down my face as my orgasm takes my breath away, the unimaginable pleasure shooting through me with no physical outlet. It makes my entire being go hazy, my breathing quickening as much as it could with my body in this state.

He doesn’t stop when I cum. His fingers continue to slide into me, curling upwards to hit my g-spot with painstaking accuracy. He lifts his mouth from my clit and flashes me a devious smile, “I told you I’d take good care of you. And fuck, you taste so fucking good, little bird. I could do this all day.”

His lips seal around my clit again, sucking, flicking, licking. I’m trapped in my body, trapped in this unbearable pleasure, as he wrings another orgasm out of my helpless body. Finally, he pulls back, sliding his fingers out of my dripping pussy. He sits back on his heels and looks down at me, triumph and satisfaction making him look like a king surveying his conquest.

He slides off the bed but stays in my field of vision as he begins to strip, every article of clothing removed revealing his attractive form. When his pants and underwear come off, I see his long, hard cock jut out, tip already dripping with pre-cum. I want to beg him to stop, tell him that I can’t take anymore but I can’t. I can only watch as he stalks toward me, crawling onto the bed and settling between my legs again.

He’s on his knees, towering over me as he strokes his cock languidly. “I’m going to make you fall apart on my cock, and make you take every single inch in that tight fucking cunt of yours. You are going to be mine, little bird.”

He moves my legs from where they’ve been spread wide, moving them to press both against my chest, leaving my pussy exposed and open for him. I feel the head of his cock push against my pussy and I close my eyes, trying to will myself away from this.

He laughs, “You can’t hide from me, you know that.” His body moves as he slides his cock into me. He’s gentle, slowly feeding an inch at a time, giving my lax body time to adjust to his massive size. I want to thrash and writhe, the feeling of his cock filling me so completely takes my breath away and it feels so fucking good I want to crawl out of my skin.

He lets out a low groan, cursing under his breath as he finally sinks all the way into me. “Fuck, you feel so fucking good, your cunt was made for me.”

Then, he fucks me. His hips slam into me without remorse, every thrust making my body jolt, his grip on my legs and hips the only things keeping me in place. My eyes roll back into my head as the pleasure overwhelms me.

Every thrust slams into my cervix, the pain-tinged pleasure makes me want to scream, to do anything to relieve this mind-melting, all-encompassing feeling. His movements are relentless, each one punctuated by the sound of his pleasure-filled groans. The sound of my pussy’s wetness fills the room, along with our skin slapping together, creating a cacophony of lewd noise.

“Fuck, little bird, I’m going to cum in your tight cunt. I’m going to mark you as mine from the inside,” he growls, his grip on me tight as his hips speed up. Waves of pleasure crash through me and I want to claw myself out of my physical form. I can’t cope with the pleasure shooting through every nerve with nowhere to go.

His hips stutter against mine and I hear his voice rasp out a drawn-out moan as he cums inside of me. He lets my legs down gently, taking care not to strain me as he leans over me. “Fuck, next time I do this, I want you writhing underneath me in pleasure,” he says, voice breathless. I can only stare back at him in response.

He pulls away from me, the feeling of his cock leaving my pussy sending tingles down my spine. He looks at me, his cum dripping out of my cunt and he smiles. “Don’t worry, we’re not done yet.” His words push a stab of anguish into me. What more can he do to me? I can’t handle any more.

He climbs off the bed and steps out of my line of sight. When he comes back, he’s holding a horribly mean-looking vibrator. My eyes widen and I blink frantically, my mind screaming at him to please stop. He can’t hear me but he wouldn’t listen to me even if I could verbalize my pleading.

He smiles and spreads my legs apart again, leaving me exposed and I hear the wretched sound of the vibrator fill the room. There’s no gentle touch, no softness that comes to soothe me, just the horrible, nerve-shattering press of the vibrator against my clit.

My mind breaks. The pleasure explodes out of me but every single muscle of my body stays relaxed, amplifying the unimaginable feeling. There’s nothing to dampen it, no clenching of my legs to make it any better, no cries, moans, whimpers, and screams leaving my throat to distract me. Just the vibrator destroying me.

My orgasm rips through me and he doesn’t relent. Moments later, another orgasm makes my every nerve combust and he only grounds the vibrator harder against me. The next one makes my vision go white and my brain shuts down any higher function and leaves me a shell only capable of experiencing the torturous pleasure. The last orgasm rips through me and tears through my consciousness and my world fades to black.

—

I wake up to a darkened room, clearly a few hours since I passed out, judging by the dusky sunset peeking in through the windows. I’m raw, destroyed, shattered. I desperately will my body to move and I feel my heart jump when my fingers twitch against the bed. My eyes dart around the room, taking in the lack of his presence, and for the first time, I feel hope beat in my chest.

And then, I hear footsteps and see him walk into view. My heart sinks. He’s holding another syringe and he smiles at me. “I see you’re awake, I hope you had a good nap.”

I desperately try to force my body to move but all I get is another pathetic twitch of my fingers. His gaze zeros onto it and he smirks. “Looks like you need a second dose, little bird.”

I want to scream, to beg, to do anything to put up a fight but there’s nothing that can be done. He comes up to the bed and with gentle fingers, pushes the syringe into my hip and presses the plunger down. Tears drip out of my eyes as I fight against my paralyzed body, my fingers still twitching desperately.

A few moments later, even that movement leaves me. He brushes my hair off my forehead and leans down to press a long kiss against my head. “You’re mine forever now, little bird.”

--

Note: This concept is so hot to me and when I saw a clip of the movie's premise, I knew I had to write this! Hope y'all enjoy! <3

[itneverendshere]

THE OTHER SIDE OF PARADISE - rafe cameron (+18)

request: "a rafe enemies to lovers 🫣 the reader is jjs sister the whole drama before but then she gets left behind on the ship and rafe ends up comforting her and then yea that’s all I got you can do whatever else the rest 😛" + "def some little smut during the enemies part and a long story"

WARNINGS: maybank!reader; kidnapping; smut!; violence!; rafe is a red flag; guns and blood; p in v;

word count: 8k

part ii; part iii; part iv; part v; part vi; part vii (finale)

The sun dipped low, painting the Outer Banks marshes in shades of fiery orange. Tensions between Kooks and Pogues had hit a fever pitch, and in the middle of it all? Rafe Cameron, the last person you'd want to encounter. Ever. 

Every run-in with him left a bitter taste in your mouth. It was like he had a knack for getting under your skin. Arrogant, volatile, downright psychotic — Rafe was a walking disaster. Each interaction with him sucked the life out of you. You were convinced that nothing good could ever come from being around him. And yet, there you were, another Maybank, caught in the chaos of the island's most influential family feud.

You knew the risks, but loyalty drove you forward. And now? Well, now you were in deep shit.

Your plan had been reckless, driven by the desperate need to save Sarah from her deranged family and retrieve Pope's stolen cross. Everything had gone smoothly until chaos erupted, and you found yourself abruptly yanked away from the corridor by a strong grip on your arm, before you could even call out for your brother and Kie.

Another hand clamped over your mouth, stifling any attempts to scream. In a blur, you were dragged into a dimly lit cabin, the men's hold on you unyielding. Struggling was futile and stupid against his iron grip. He tossed you inside, slamming the door shut and locking it behind him.

The gravity of your situation hit hard immediately – you were alone, at the mercy of the Cameron's. Ward Cameron, the man who'd silenced anyone who dared oppose him, even going as far as faking his own death, kidnapping his own daughter, and manipulating his son into committing murder. Because in his sick twisted world, family trumped everything. Even murder.

Great.

Your mind raced as you took in your surroundings. The cabin was small and sparsely furnished: a bunk, a tiny porthole high on the wall, and a single chair bolted to the floor. There was a faint hum of the ship's engines, a reminder that you were far from land and any chance of immediate rescue. You quickly checked your options but there weren't many. The door was solid, and you didn't have anything strong enough to force it open. Fuck, fuck fuck. 

You took a deep breath, trying not to lose your shit. Panic wouldn't help; you needed a plan. But then, like a nightmare come to life, the devil himself stepped into the room, his eyes piercing as they landed on you. The man who had captured you stood behind him, a smug grin on his face. 

Rafe was visibly surprised to see you, but he quickly concealed it behind a calculating expression. His forehead glistened with sweat, his hair damp and sticking to his temples. His shirt clung to his back, soaked through from the scorching heat, and beads of perspiration trickled down his face. He wiped his brow with a weary hand and his gun gleamed ominously in the dim light.

"Well shit,” Rafe's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Look what we have here. Didn't expect to see ya again so soon pretty Maybank.”

You tried to keep your expression neutral, but your mind was racing with questions. Where were your friends? Were they safe? Was your brother even alive? Before you could ask, Rafe continued, his tone mocking. 

"Your brother really did a number on you, huh? Left you behind without a second thought. Typical Maybank shit. Always knew you were unreliable."

Son of a bitch.

You clenched your fists, fighting to keep your composure. "You're lying," you countered, "He wouldn't leave me."

Not unless he was forced to.

Rafe chuckled, a dark, humorless sound. "Believe what you want. They left. Now, you're my problem. Lucky me."

“You’re lying.”

His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint as he walked towards you.

You took a step back, but there was nowhere to go. The cold, metal wall pressed against your back, mirroring the chill that settled in your bones. It felt like you were being hunted.

"Now, what am I going to do with you?" he mused, tilting his head as if genuinely contemplating your fate. The gun in his hand swung lazily at his side, but you knew better than to think it wasn't ready to be used at any given moment.

You swallowed hard, your mind frantically searching for a way out of this hellhole. He was unpredictable and volatile; years of snorting cocaine and family trauma did that to some people. 

But maybe, just maybe, you could reason with him. You were always a litte too good for your own good.

“Rafe, listen. You don't have to do this. Let me go and we can both walk away from this. No one has to get hurt."

Again. 

His laugh was bitter, like you were trying to humor him,"You think I'm going to let you go just because you asked nicely?" He stepped closer, his breath hot against your face. "Nah. You're going to stay right here until I decide what to do with you.“ 

You tried to keep your breathing steady, but all you felt was fear.

The odds were against you, as they had always been your entire life.

"What do you want, Rafe? The cross? We can make a deal."

His eyes narrowed, the amusement fading. 

"You think this is about money? About that fucking cross? This is about power. Control. And right now...huh, shit, I control you." He leaned in, his voice a deadly whisper. "The cross is mine now. How do you feel about the Bahamas?”

Your top lip curled in disgust, “I’d rather drown.”

His smile twisted into something even darker. “I think you’re worth more alive, at least for now.”

You refused to show him any more fear. “To you? Or Ward? Do you only get this cocky when daddy’s not around to rein you in?”

Rafe’s expression hardened, and for a moment, you thought you’d pushed him too far. He leaned in close, his eyes cold and unforgiving. 

“Watch your fucking mouth, Maybank. You don’t know anything about my family.”

You laughed bitterly, unable to stop yourself. “Yeah, no. You're right. Just that you're dad’s little lapdog, doing his dirty work while he pretends to be some upstanding citizen. And where’s your mom in all this? Oh! She left.”

The punch came so fast, you didn’t see it coming.

Pain exploded across your jaw, and you tasted blood. He grabbed your chin, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t fucking talk about her, dirty pogue. Ever.”

Anger took over you like wildfire, hotter than the pain. Your jaw throbbed, but the rage was stronger. You wanted to hit him back, to wipe that smug look off his face, to make him feel the hurt he had inflicted on you. Your fists clenched at your sides, every muscle in your body burning with desire for retribution. The fury in your eyes matched the darkness in his.

You spat blood at his face, glaring up at him defiantly. “You’re just a puppet. Your sister hates you, your dad uses you, and deep down, you know it. You’ll never be more than his bitch.” 

His grip tightened painfully, rough fingers digging into your flesh, lips twitching into a snarl, but you didn’t flinch. If you were going down, you’d go down fighting.

His eyes flickered with something you’d never seen in him, before he released you, stepping back. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? So tough.”

“Smarter than you,” you shot back. “At least I know who I am. What are you, Rafe?“

He stared at you, tongue pressed against his cheek, eyebrows furrowed. Then he laughed, a harsh, grating sound that sent chills down your spine. His hand reached out, and your breath stilled throat tightening as he fiddled with a lock of your hair. He’d let out another laugh, entirely dismissive of the way you’d felt.

“You’ve got guts, Maybank. It's gonna get you killed.“

You wiped the blood from your mouth, “I’ve survived worse than you.”

And you had.

If anything prepared you for violence, drugs, and pain, was living with Luke Maybank your entire life. And maybe, if you didn’t hate Rafe with every fiber of your being, after everything he’d done, you’d feel sorry for him. But you didn’t, and he sure as hell didn't feel sorry for you. 

For a moment, the room was silent except for the low hum of the ship’s engines. Then Rafe turned on his heel, motioning to the man by the door. “Watch her. Make sure she doesn’t go anywhere.”

“Do I look like fucking Michael Phelps? Where the fuck would I go? We’re on a ship you crazy bastar—Hey! Rafe! Open the fucking door!” 

The door slammed shut behind him, the sound echoing through the small, dimly lit cabin. You listened to his footsteps fade away, feeling a sense of dread settle in your chest. What the fuck had you gotten yourself into? They could kill you, dispose your body in the ocean and no would care. No one would think you’d gone missing, because you were a Maybank and that’s what your kind of people did, apparently.

Your brother would probably assume you were dead, he’d try to get justice and fail in the end, because the rich always won.

The musty air of the cabin felt oppressive as you turned away from the small porthole, where the bright sun and endless expanse of blue ocean mocked you from beyond.

The days melded into one another, marked only by the delivery of meals and the sporadic presence of Rafe. You had hoped for some clarity, some hint of what your future looked like, but his visits offered nothing but insults or complete silence.

You paced the small room, your mind racing with the possibilities of what they had planned for you. The guard remained a silent sentinel, a constant reminder that escape was not an option. But then, the cabin door creaked open again, and you tensed as Ward Cameron stepped in, his presence commanding immediate attention. 

He gave a nod to the guard, who stepped out, leaving you alone with the man who held your fate in his hands. A fucking lunatic with enough means to play for all the dramatics he enjoyed. Great.

"Get comfortable," Ward announced, "We're almost there."

"Almost where?"

"The Bahamas," he replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "A little slice of paradise, if you will."

"And what happens then?" you pressed, needing to know more.

Ward studied you for a moment, “Keep out of sight, stay quiet. Rafe and I have some business to attend to, and we can't afford any distractions."

"And if I refuse?" you challenged, though you knew the answer.

Ward's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. You knew he enjoyed watching people squirm around like worthless worms.

"Let's not be stupid, sweetheart. You're here because you know too much. Refusing isn't an option. Cooperation, however…”

A chill ran down your spine at his words. The answer was very clear, and you realized that your only chance was to play along, at least until you could figure out a way to escape this nightmare.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. Eventually, you felt the ship slow, the engines quieting as you approached your destination. When the door opened again, Rafe was there, that stupid frown always attached to his face.

"Time to go," he said simply, motioning for you to follow, "Move."

You stepped out onto the deck, the warm, salty breeze hitting your face as you looked around. The sight of the lush, tropical landscape did little to ease your anxiety. You were led to a smaller boat, and soon you were speeding towards a secluded island, the main landmass of the Bahamas visible in the distance. You were a world away from the familiar streets and faces of The Cut. It was straight out of a postcard. Something you and JJ would fantasize about while high of your asses and writing bucklists. 

God, JJ. You only hoped he made it. You’d never gone a day without each other before you were dragged into this mess last summer. It wasn’t fair. You only wanted enough money to get by, an easy fix to get everything sorted, finish college, ship your dad somewhere far away from you two. But Ward’s greedy ass had to ruin everything for you. 

As the boat neared the shore, you couldn't ignore the feeling of impending doom. Were you going to die there? In between pristine beaches and swaying palm trees?

Rafe’s hand gripped your arm, his grasp tight as he led you onto the sandy beach. Ward followed close behind, as he surveyed the scene before him.

"This way," he said, his voice cutting through the sound of the waves crashing against the shore.

You followed obediently, your mind racing with possibilities. Escape seemed unlikely, but you there was still a slim hope that you could find a way out of this mess. Eventually.

The path led deeper into the heart of the island, the dense foliage casting long shadows as the sun began to set. You could feel the weight of Ward and Rafe's gazes on you, watching their prey.

Finally, you reached a clearing, and your heart sank as you saw what awaited you. A small house. In the middle of nowhere. Oh god, you were a dead woman. 

“This will be your home for the time being" Ward said it like he was offering you a vacation rental and not kidnapping you. A lunatic.

You wanted to protest, to demand answers, but you knew it was futile and there was little fight left in you from how tired you'd been feeling.

“Rafe will be keeping you company."

The way Rafe’s head snapped in his father’s direction told you more than what you needed to know. Once again, daddy dearest was calling the shots without taking his opinion into consideration.

Ward’s casual cruelty was suffocating, a reminder of the power he had over everyone. As he turned to leave, leaving no space of negotiations or pleadings, Rafe’s eyes bored into yours. No questions asked, only blind devotion to his father. 

The door slammed shut, leaving you alone with Rafe once more. He looked at you, resentment playing across his face, like this was your fault and not theirs.

“I’m not going to make this easy for you," You hissed, “I’m not dying here. Not with you.” 

Rafe chuckled, greasy bangs moving as he shook his head, “You really think you have a choice here?” He stepped closer, his presence overwhelming in the confined space, “You think you’re special? Nah, Maybank. He’ll get rid of you eventually, don’t worry.”

“Exactly. He will, not you. You don’t have any control either and I think you hate being here as much as I do. That shit makes us both prisoners.”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off guard, “Stay out my fucking way or I’ll kill you myself.”

You were sure he wouldn't, only if Ward asked him to.

He’d fucked up enough before, when he accidentally shot Sarah and didn’t look the slightest bit apologetic. You knew he wouldn’t do it again, not if he wanted to keep his head on his shoulder and his trust fund. Ward Cameron hated slips ups, hated even more the monster he raised, but he sure came in handy when he needed him. 

"Empty threats," you shot back, squaring your shoulders. "I've dealt with bigger monsters than you, Rafe."

He only started at you, eyes bloodshot red, perhaps from the lack of sleep or maybe because he was high off his mind, you didn’t care to ask. But just as quickly, his usual sneer returned. "Enjoy your stay, Maybank.”

With that, he turned and left the room. Him and the stupid slamming of doors. You were alone again.

You had to get out. You knew it wouldn't be easy, but you were a Maybank—survival was in your blood. You took stock of your surroundings once more, this time with a sharper eye. The walls were thin, the windows barred, but there had to be some weakness, some way to exploit the situation.

You ran your fingers along the seams of the walls, looking for anything that might give. Your mind raced through every piece of advice JJ had ever given you about breaking and entering. You’d done a lot of that over the years, and while most people thought you pogues were simply criminals, they never cared enough to ask why you and your brother spent so much time in and out of the sheriff’s department. 

So, what if two dirty, no-good kids were barely hanging on for dear life? No one gave a shit. 

Weeks blurred into each other, each one marked by the same routine.

Rafe's visits, Ward's passive aggressive threats, and the endless search for an opportunity to escape. You watched Rafe carefully, noting his every move, his every interaction with Ward.

You noticed the way Ward belittled him, treating him more like a tool than a son. It was a toxic dynamic, one that made you wonder if Rafe was as much a victim as you were. You’d seen bits and pieces before, but Sarah had described Ward as some sort of saint up until recently.

Rafe on the other hand? Their dynamic was so different from what you were used to. You and JJ were like two peas in a pod, you’d die for him and you know he would do the same, no questions asked. If there was one good thing in your life, it was your brother. 

You couldn't help but feel a little pity for Rafe, despite everything he'd done. He was a product of his environment, molded by a father who saw him as nothing more than a means to an end.  It was easy to spot the cracks in his armor if you spent enough time in the same room, the secretive moments of doubt and vulnerability. The way his hands would shake every time Ward raised his voice, the way he would bite his nails to hide the embarrassment booming in his cheeks. How he never walked into his father’s space or any other room without announcing his presence.

It gave you whiplash. 

You began to argue less with him, your animosity giving way to a grudging understanding. You hated feeling so…forgiving. This boy had done unspeakable things to you and your friends, to your family…and there you were. Feeling sorry for him like you didn’t know better. 

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the small house, Rafe brought you dinner. He placed the plate on the table, his movements tense, his expression unusually subdued. Strangely so, you’d memorized that expression. You didn’t even have to ask to understand what had gotten under his skin.

"Why do you let him treat you like that?" you asked, your voice softer than usual. You didn’t understand why you did it. You regretted the words the moment they came out of your lips, but there was something inside itching you to ask. 

His eyes snapped to yours, rage and something else—pain—flashing in them. "What the hell do you know about it?" he snapped, but there was less bite in his words. At this point he just sounded tired. 

"I understand,” you replied, thinking of your own father. "I know what it's like to want to prove yourself, to be more than what they think you are."

Rafe's jaw clenched, his eyes dropping to the floor. For a moment, he looked lost, like a boy searching for something he could never find.

"You don't know shit," he muttered, but there was no conviction in his voice.

"I know enough," you said quietly. "You don't have to keep doing this. You don't have to be his puppet."

He laughed bitterly, shaking his head. "You think it's that simple?"

"Maybe not. But you can choose to be better than him. You can choose to stop this.”

Rafe looked at you, really looked at you, for the first time. It was borderline unnerving. The weight of his stare. The way your stomach flip-flops under his attention. 

“Shut the fuck up and eat, Maybank."

But beneath it all, there was something else. Something you’d seen before, when you looked at yourself in the mirror after you took the biggest beating of your life and Luke finally got thrown into jail: hope. 

He didn't say anything, just turned and walked out, leaving you alone. 

Again. 

The days continued to pass, but something changed. Rafe was less hostile, more contemplative. He didn't treat you as roughly, didn't hurl as many insults. It was a small change, but it was there. And you began to see a way out, not just for yourself, but for him too.

You knew what he did, knew what he was capable of, but no one deserved to rot in hell with someone like Ward. You needed to bide your time, to wait for the right moment. And when that moment came, you had to be ready to act. 

Another day began with the same oppressive humid heat. The sun had just started to rise, casting golden hue over the island. You were in the small kitchen of the house, preparing a meager breakfast from the limited supplies you had that day. The routine had become almost mechanical, a way to keep your mind occupied and stave off the panic.

Rafe entered the kitchen, eyes barely open as he wiped the sleep away. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the sound of the liquid hitting the glass breaking the silence. Very healthy.

He stood with his back to you, staring out the window. 

“What’s Luke like?”

You froze, your hands pausing mid-motion. It was an unexpected question, one that made you want to hurl on the spot even though you hadn’t had anything to eat yet. 

“Why do you want to know?" you asked cautiously, wondering if it was some kind of trick question.

Rafe shrugged, still not turning to face you. "Just curious. You Maybanks are a tight bunch, right? So what's he like?"

Tight bunch…that was one way to put it. 

You took a deep breath, trying to decide how much to reveal. "He’s a drunk, a thief. But he's still my dad."

He finally turned to look at you, his eyes narrowing. "So why do you stick around? Why not just leave him?"

You knew what he was trying to do, giving you a taste of your own medicine. You couldn’t blame him. 

"Because he's family. And sometimes, family is all you have. Even when they’re terrible, even when they hurt you, sometimes you can’t just walk away."

"Family's supposed to be everything, right?" His voice carried a bitter edge, hinting at his unresolved inner conflicts.

"That's what they say," you replied quietly.

He took another sip of his whiskey, his eyes never leaving yours. "Must be tough, having a dad like that."

Tough? It was heartbreaking. Knowing that the one person who was supposed to love you, cherish you and protect you for life never gave a single fuck about his kids? Yeah, sure it’s “tough”.

"Guess we have that in common.”

Rafe looked away, his jaw tightening. "Yeah, we do." He set his glass down with a heavy thud, the sound resonating in the small kitchen.

For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, but then he took a deep breath, his shoulders sagging slightly.

"I get it," he said quietly. "More than you know."

You watched him, the way his fingers ran along the rim of the glass. "Then why do you keep doing this? You don’t have to."

“It's not that simple," he snapped. "You think I have a choice? I killed someone. For him.” 

It was the first time he had said those words out loud. And it made him sick to his stomach. That he’d been scared and high enough to do something so reckless, just so they wouldn’t take away his dad. 

"We always have a choice," you countered, "Maybe not the best ones, but we can always choose to be better."

He shook his head, turning away. "You don't know anything," he muttered, but there was less conviction in his words than before.

"I know enough," you said softly, watching his retreating back. "And so do you."

He paused at the doorway, his hand gripping the frame tightly.

Without turning around, he spoke, his voice low and strained. "I'll see you later."

As he left, the kitchen felt colder, but you knew you had reached him, even if just a little. And that gave you hope.

After that, Rafe’s visits were less frequent, and when he did come by, there was an uneasy tension between you both. You couldn't tell if it was because of your last conversation or the sheer exhaustion of being trapped in this toxic cycle.

Still, every interaction seemed to chip away at the walls he'd built around himself, revealing little glimpses of the person he might have been, had his life taken a different path.

Tonight, the air is still, the only sound is the gentle lapping of waves against the shore. You have been biding your time, watching for the perfect moment to make your escape. The house is quiet, Ward is gone and you haven’t seen Rafe in two days. By now, you know how the guards outside fell asleep before 2am like clockwork. 

You can it. 

This is your chance, and you can’t afford to waste it.

You move silently, slipping out of the small bedroom and into the hallway. Every creak of the wooden floorboards seems to echo in the stillness, and you hold your breath, praying you won’t get caught.

Your heart races as you slowly turn the handle of the front door, wincing at the faint click that accompanies the action. Once outside, you glance around, ensuring the coast is clear, then make your way towards the small boat moored at the edge of the beach.

The plan is simple: get to the boat, start the engine, and head for the main island where you could find help.

You keep low, moving quickly but cautiously, like a cat. The boat is within reach when a noise behind you makes your blood run cold. 

The crunch of gravel underfoot is unmistakable.

You turn sharply, and in the dim moonlight, the silhouette of one of the guards emerges from the shadows. The asshole who got you here in the first place. He’s closer than you had anticipated.

Your heart pounds, adrenaline moving through your veins as you break into a sprint, abandoning stealth for speed.

"Stop!" the guard shouts, his voice carrying across the trees. You don’t dare to look back, your eyes locked on the boat. A sharp crack split the night—a gunshot. You feel a searing pain in your arm, but you can’t stop. You push through the pain, your goal now just a few yards away.

Another gunshot rings out, but you are too focused to notice where it lands. You reach the boat, hands trembling as you fumble with the ropes. The pain in your arm intensifies, but you force yourself to keep moving, when suddenly, a heavy hand grabs your shoulder, spinning you around.

You struggle, kicking and thrashing, but he’s stronger. He pulls you to the ground, pinning you down as he radioes for backup. It feels all to familiar. You hate very second of it.

"Got her," he says into the radio, his terrible breath hot against your ear. You try to wriggle free, but his grip only tightens. Moments later, two more guards arrive, hauling you to your feet and dragging you back towards the house. This wasn't supposed to happen.

The sting in your arm is painful reminder of your failed attempt as they pull you inside, your brief taste of freedom slipping away. You were so fucking close.

Moments feel like hours as you sit in the chair, the pain in your arm throbbing with each heartbeat. They didn't even try to stop the bleeding.

The quiet murmurs of the guards outside are interrupted by the heavy, hurried footsteps of someone approaching. The door flies open, and there stands Rafe, disheveled and wild-eyed, a gun clutched tightly in his hand.

“What the fuck is going on?” he barks. His gaze scans the room, landing on you. 

The sight of the blood staining your arm makes his expression shift from bewilderment to fury.

He storms towards you, his eyes blazing. “What happened?” he all but demands.

Before you could answer, he whirls around to face the guards who re-enters the room. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Rafe shouts, waving his gun erratically. “She’s bleeding! I try to sleep in peace and this is what I come back to?”

The guards exchange nervous glances, shifting uncomfortably under Rafe’s glare. “She was trying to escape, Mr. Cameron,” one of them stammers out. “We had to stop her.”

His expression twists with rage. “So you fucking shot her?” His voice drips with incredulity and disdain. “Do you even understand what you’ve done? My father wants her in once piece.”

The guard who caught you tries to explain, but Rafe cuts him off.

“Shut up. Just... shut up.” He turns back to you, his eyes softening slightly as he takes in the sight of your injured arm. Or maybe the pain is making you delirious.

 “We need to get that cleaned up,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Without another word, he holsters his gun and gently takes your uninjured arm, pulling you to your feet. The guards look on, unsure of what to do or say. 

Rafe shoots them a deadly look. “Get out,” he snaps. “Before I shoot you bitches myself.”

Once Ward’s men leave, Rafe's demeanor changes. His concern, which had briefly softened his striking features, making younguer, hardens back into anger. He runs a hand through his long hair, pacing the small room before finally stopping in front of you.

He looks pissed.

He sneers at you, his voice dripping with exasperation, "I thought you had some brains in that pretty little head of yours," he spats out, practically screaming in your face, "What were you even thinking? Do you realize how close you came to getting yourself killed?"

You try to speak, to defend yourself, but he doesn’t give you the chance. His words come fast, "You could've died out there! A bullet barely missed you—do you even understand how lucky you are?"

The monologue doesn't stop there.

His fists clench at his sides, "I just don't get it. Do you think you're invincible? Because you're not. You're just..." He stops himself, taking a deep breath as if trying to control his temper while he paces around th room, unable to stay put, "You're just reckless," he continues, his voice quieter but still seething, "You didn’t think about the consequences, about what it would do to..."

What?

"Don't act like you give a shit about me," you call after him, your voice trembling. You don't know if it's the pain or the weird pull in your stomach making you feel all weird and fuzzy inside.

He stops in his tracks, his back stiffening for a moment before slowly turning to face you,"I don't," he retorts, "But my ass is on the line too. You think Ward won't come down on me if something happens to you?"

You take a step towards him, despite the throbbing pain in your arm, not buying his bullshit speech.

"So this is all about you, then? Your precious ass and how it looks to Ward? Typical Cameron bullshit, only caring about themselves."

Rafe's eyes narrow, his jaw clenching. "You don't know what you're talking about," his voice is dangerously low. "You think this is easy for me? Keeping you safe, dealing with all this? It's not just about me. It's about keeping everything under control."

You scoff through your nose.

“Here we go again. Control? You think dragging me back here, shooting at me, is control? It's chaos, Rafe. You're just as trapped as I am, and you can't stand it."

His face twists showcasing his wrath, and he takes a step towards you, closing the distance.

"Shut up!” he growls. "You don’t understand the pressure I'm under. The expectations, the demands. I didn’t ask for any of this."

"And neither did I," you shoot back, a strict finger aimed at his face in warning, “So shut the fuck up.”

He takes another step, his face inches from yours, his breath hot and ragged.

"You have no idea what you're talking about. You think this is just about me? It's about keeping everything from falling apart. It's about—"

Before he can finish, you grab the front of his shirt, pulling him even closer, your faces almost touching.

“I don’t care about your excuses, Rafe. I don’t care about your pressures or your fucking control. All I know is I’m not staying here.”

The look he gives you was filled with enough ire to have a hint of satisfaction sparking in your chest, the hollow beneath his dark brows deepening as his pretty features contorted. His breath comes in short, sharp bursts. His hands come up, gripping your waist, not gently but not roughly either, as if he can’t decide whether to push you away or pull you closer.

"You're impossible," he hisses, like the snake he is.

"And you’re a coward.”

The next moment happens without much thinking. Without any thinking, really.

Rafe’s grip tightens, fingers didding into your skin and before you can process what is happening, his lips crash into yours with a ferocity that you never saw coming. His mouth is demanding, almost punishing, and you, like an idiot, kiss him back, your hands fisting in his shirt, pulling him closer even as you want to push him away.

The kiss is all rough and desperate, there's only room for anger and frustration, a collision of two souls too damaged to recognize the depths of their own pain. You should know better.

And yet, beneath the layers of animosity and resentment, there is a stupid spark—as if you are both too messed up to understand how much you need each other. Each fingertip of his leaves an imprint wherever he touches, a silent declaration of the strength he’s restraining. And some sick twisted part of you finds that attractive.

It’s like he’s fighting to contain this fury within him, to keep it from overwhelming you both. But you want it.

If someone told you you’d be kissing Rafe fucking Cameron of all people just a month ago, you’d think they were crazy. And yet… 

All you want are his hands on your body, his warm skin against your own.

Oh his hands.

They roam slowly over your lower back, over your waist again. You breathe out a sigh of relief, taking the collar of his shirt in both your hands as you pull him closer, relishing in his warmth. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes. And while you grew up hating that particular combination, it worked on him.

He pulls away slowly, your lips the last to part, and blinks down at you. You watch him lick his bottom lip, swollen, wet with both of your spits, taking in the sight of you.

“’You’re bleeding—“

“Shut the fuck up.”

His blue eyes flare with renewed anger, turning almost black—something darker, more primal. Your words are like a match to gasoline. He doesn’t answer verbally; instead, he takes a half step back before swooping you into his arms, lifting you effortlessly.

With a swift motion, Rafe carries you to the dining table, and you barely have time to register the cool wood against your back before he’s on you again, his body pressing down on yours with a desperation that matches your own. There’s no tenderness there, only raw need.

He pries your lips apart again, his tongue sweeping in as he kisses you deeply, his mouth moving invasively over yours. His fingers grip your jaw with a vice-like hold. A strange sensation flutters beneath your skin, and you wrap your legs around his hips, closing the distance between your bodies as he presses flush against your center.

His hands move with such intent, slipping under your shirt, his fingers tracing every curve with a delicious blend of roughness and urgency. Your hands tangle in his hair, urging him closer as your kiss deepens. Everything around you fades into background noise as the room spins, his body so close making you breathless, his taste lingering on your lips.

You tug at his shirt, fingers fumbling with the buttons because you just can’t wait. He lets out a deep, sexy growl that makes a shiver run down your spine. His hands are all over you, touching your skin and leaving fiery trails wherever they go. It feels like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you, wanting to claim you in a way he hadn't before.

"You're impossible," he mutters against your lips, the words barely audible over the sound of your heavy breathing. He leans down closer to your collarbone, to catch the scent on your skin, and he can’t tell if you are amused or annoyed from the way your cheeks round.

"And you’re an asshole,” your voice comes out breathless.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, the tip of his nose brushing against yours slightly "Drive me fucking crazy.”

"Good," you reply, your fingers tightening in his hair, pulling him down again. You can feel the tension in his body, the way he’s holding back on you, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

But you don’t want control. You want to lose yourself in this moment, to forget everything you've been through and just feel. Live a little and forget about your problems.

Rafe seems to sense it, his hands becoming more insistent, his touch more possessive. He lifts you slightly, positioning you better on the table, his body slotting perfectly between your legs. The friction is exquisite, a delicious tease that leaves you wanting even more.

"Rafe," you breathe, and he almost falls to his knees at the soft whimper that leaves your lips, unable to stop the jerk of his hips forward.

He responds instantly, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you closer as he kisses you with a fervor that leaves you dizzy. The table creakes under your combined weight, but neither of you care. Your hand grab his forearm, over the veins strained from his grip on you, your nails sinking into the skin exposed.

You break the kiss, gasping for air, your eyes locking with his. There’s a wildness there, and for the first time in your life, you like it.

You reach up, tracing his jaw with your fingers, feeling the grown out stubble beneath your touch as his mouth, hot and demanding, leaves a trail of fire in its wake on your neck. A noise of pleasure slips from your mouth as he palms at your breast, thumb grazing across your nipple as his teeth graze your collarbone, kissing down, littering your skin bite marks.

"I hate you," you pants, pouring as much venom into your words as possible. Your thighs tighten around his hips, feeling every inch of him against you. 

“Your body doesn’t,” He replies coldly, each syllable slowly drawn from his throat.

“Fucking asshole.”

“Fucking brat.”

You open your mouth to hiss something at him, to fight back, show him that you are the one in charge, but the intention dies the moment Rafe cups you through your shorts.

A pathetic excuse of shorts due to the heat.

Heat blooms in your stomach, melting into a torrent want that floods your skin and leaves you breathless. His determined blue eyes pierce into yours, watching as he presses the heel of his palm against the apex of your thighs, his middle finger tracing your pussy and applying light pressure to the sensitive dip between your legs.

“Cat got your tongue, pretty?” He asks, lips brushing over your mouth, loose bangs brushing against your brow “Thought you had more fire in you.”

He moves your shorts and underwear out of the way and your lips part on a sharp inhale as you feel him touch you for the first time. You can't think properly while he's doing this. Your brain feels to mushy to form a proper sentence.

“Yeah, thought so.” 

All that matters is the man in front of you, his relentless grip on your senses, his control over your body.

"God, I hate you," you whisper again, the words almost a prayer, a futile attempt to cling to the anger that has fueled you for so long.

But even as you say it, you know it’s was a lie. Partly.

You hate how much you need him right now, how much you crave his touch, his dominance. Perhaps you’ve been locked away from society for too long. That’s the only plausible reason for you to let Rafe Cameron touch you.

Rafe smirks, a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.

"No, you don’t.” 

You do. At least you used to, everything is confusing now.

He teases you, his touch light and teasing, drawing out your frustration, your need. "Tell me what you want," he murmurs against your lips, his voice a seductive growl that makes your heart race.

You bite back a whimper, refusing to give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg. But the need is so overwhelming, you nearly give in.

“Fuck you," you spit out, your defiance crumbling under the weight of your desire.

He chuckles darkly, his fingers finally slipping inside you, curling and stroking in a way that makes your hips buck against his hand. Oh, he was going to ruin you.

"That's right," he whispers, his breath hot against your ear. "Let me hear you."

A broken moan escapes your lips, and you arch into his touch, your body writhing with need. His fingers move expertly, finding all the right spots, driving you near the edge with a skill that makes you breathless. Every touch, every stroke is designed to push you closer to the brink, to break you down until you are nothing but a trembling, pleading mess. You hate that he's so good.

"Rafe, please," you finally gasp, the words ripped from your throat by the overwhelming pleasure. "P-Please, I need you."

You'd be embarrassed later.

His smirk widens, and he pulls his fingers away, making you whimper in frustration. He doesn’t make you wait long, though. With swift, practiced movements, he frees himself from his pants, the sight of him hard and ready making your mouth water. 

Without a word, he positions himself between your legs, the head of his pretty cock teasing your entrance.

"You ready for me?"

You nod, your eyes locking with his, "Please.”

He doesn’t need any further encouragement. With a single, powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. The sensation overwhelming, a perfect blend of pain and pleasure that makes you cry out. Your back arches involuntarily, your lips parting as he enters you, filling you completely in a way you have never imagined.

He rolls his hips firmly against yours, and your head tips back as his cock rubs perfectly against you. You never felt so full. He doesn’t give you a moment to catch your breath, giving you another firm roll of his hips, testing you out, figuring out his rhythm.

His movements are hard and relentless, pounding into you, knocking the breath from your lungs with each forceful thrust, barely giving you time to adjust. Not that you want slow.

You cling to him, your nails digging into his muscular back, your body moving in perfect rhythm with his. The table creaks and groans beneath you, but you don’t care.

All that matters is the man above you, his relentless drive, his unwavering hips. His hands grips your hips, pulling you closer, deeper, his thrusts becoming more erratic, more desperate. You can feel him losing control, his need matching your own. 

Your eyes squeeze shut, blocking him out so you can pretend you aren’t stupid enough to let the man that ruined your life fuck the living hell out of you.

"Eyes on me,” he growls, his voice all rough and commanding. "Let me see you.”

Even though you really want to shut him out, you just can’t fight the crazy pull he has over you. His voice is like a force of nature. You open your eyes against your better judgment.

Seeing him above you, his face twisting with raw need and determination sends chills down your spine. His eyes are locked onto yours, filled with this unyielding intensity you never seen before and that leaves you breathless. No one had ever looked at you like that during sex.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with approval. It makes you want to run for the hills, "Fucki—Oh, fuck. Y-You're sucking me in so nicely, huh?"

With each thrust, he drives you closer to your orgasm, your body responding to him in ways you can’t hold back. The pleasure is overwhelming, it leaves you gasping, moaning, begging for more. You don't even know what you're doing anymore. His name slips from your lips in a broken, desperate plea, and he answers with a renewed vigor, his movements becoming more frenzied.

"Fuck," he growls, his voice rough and strained. "You're so tight... feels so fucking good."

You can barely form coherent thoughts, let alone words. Your entire world has narrowed to this moment, to the feel of him inside you, to the overwhelming pleasure that consumes you.

"Rafe," you whimper, the sound barely more than a breath. "I'm—I can't..."

He understands.

His pace quickens even more, his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "Come for me," he commands his voice a whisper against your earlobe that sends shivers down your spine. "Let go."

His words push you over the edge, and you come with a scream, your body convulsing around him. The intensity of your release is like nothing you ever felt before, a white-hot explosion of pleasure that makes you lose it. So this was what great sex felt like?

Rafe follows you over the edge, his own release crashing through him with a force that leaves him shaking on top of you. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin as he rides out his orgasm, groaning as his movements slow down, until he finally stills, still buried deep inside you.

For a moment, everything is still, the only sound the ragged breaths but then he lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours, and for a moment, there is something almost tender about him.

“Y-You—“ He sighs, pausing, “Don’t pull that shit again. I’ll get you out, okay? 

“Rafe...“

Before you can process his words, before you can question or argue, his lips are on yours again. Differently this time. Gentle. 

Devastating almost. 

“You’re still bleeding Maybank.”

Right. He'd fucked you good enough to forget about the pain. The moment of vulnerability between you evaporates, leaving you with the realization of your situation.

You just fucked Rafe Cameron. On a table. After being shot.

You push at his chest, forcing him to back off slightly, and hiss through clenched teeth, “Then do something about it."

He just stands there, staring at you as if he has never seen you before. As if he’s truly seeing you for the first time despite having known you since you were seven, despite all the moments marked by violence and terror. And you hate every second of it because your heart is practically leaping out of your chest.

No one has ever looked at you like that before.

And then he simply shakes his head, coming closer again, resting his forehead against yours, hands back on your thighs, fingers pressing as if he needs to ensure that you are real, that everything’s real.

“We’re getting out.”

You want to believe in him more than anything. In that moment, it’s the only thing that matters. Even if it sounds stupid. You need it, at least for now.

“Yeah?"

“Yeah, pretty Maybank. You and me."

“Okay.”

“Okay.”